“Umm, okay. True.” This is starting to feel like a test I haven’t studied for, like the dream where I show up to take the SAT and all of the questions are in ancient Greek or the pages are blank but everyone else has the normal test and is busy filling it in.

“You brought me here because your friend is missing?” I ask. Just to be clear.

The Grays nod. But they’re not a matching set even when they’re doing the same thing. There are the obvious differences: the sizes and shapes of their bodies, from wisp-tiny Lelia to broad-shouldered June; Hawthorn, who is all dramatic angles, and Rush, who is big and made of bold curves. I think Rush and Lelia are both white, Lelia with a perfectly baked California tan and Rush on the pale side. Hawthorn is Black, and June — maybe Pacific Islander?

And then there are their reactions to what I just said. June blinks at me, waiting and eager. Lelia’s fidgeting, her arms over her bare chest. Rush is clearly upset. Hawthorn studies her toenails in a way that tells me she wants this part to be over. Each one has a different feeling painted over her prettiness. They’re all beautiful, in ways that go all over the place, four different paths through the woods.

And they leave a space, no matter where they’re standing or sitting, for the girl who’s not there.

“You think I . . . can do something? To get her back?”

“What kind of abilities do you have?” June asks, kneeling in front of me, then wincing like it was a bad idea.

If they pulled me away from Michigan and replanted me here, I owe them. I grab around, wanting to offer them talents. “I have the ability to make most people in a small town uncomfortable. I’m good at surprising my parents . . . in a bad way. I disappear sometimes.” I pause before the last one, but I can’t see a reason to hold it back. “Also, I kiss a lot of people. Mostly girls.”

June puts her hand up for a high five. I’ve never gotten this reaction before. Anger, yes. Silence filled with nervous blinking, yes. People trying way too hard to prove they’re okay with it, so hard they pretty much prove the opposite, yes.

I tap my hand against hers.

“That’s great for you,” Lelia says, brushing down the white tank top that she must have brought with her, even though it seems to have appeared from nowhere. “But I don’t see how it’s going to bring Imogen back.”

“Danny is here for a reason,” Hawthorn says.