A girl steps into the frame of the far end of the hall. Her features look like they’re specifically angled to catch the light. She’s wearing a white T-shirt and a black jean miniskirt, and somehow it doesn’t look standard or boring on her, like she’s doing it to blend in, more like she’s turning herself into a canvas to splash paint on later. Her arms are covered with bracelets and her fingers are stacked with a rainbow of rings. I name carnelian and rose quartz, amethyst and clear quartz before I run dry. The thing that I notice first, last, and a few times in between is her hair. It curls in a way that leaves air between each loose, lazy spiral. It’s a red a bottle could never conjure, a red that jealous girls would kill to get.

I walk right up to her, because sometimes I can do bold, even when there’s a pretty girl involved. Especially when there’s a pretty girl involved.

“Hey,” I say, grabbing for the books that seem like they’re about to spill out of her hands. “I’m Danny. Made in Michigan, but I’m really glad to be . . . not there.” I wince at how slick that wasn’t. It feels like getting stuck halfway down a waterslide. “Are you new?”

The girl stares. Except she’s not looking at me, not really, more like the patch of air in my general vicinity. When I try to catch her dark-brown eyes, I can’t. But it’s more than that. Their surface is frosted over. Like fog in the woods.

Or two shards of brown sea glass.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “Is this about Sebastian? I can walk you to the counselor’s office.” The vice principal gave me directions during orientation in a pointed way, like she knew about my history.

It occurs to me now that she probably does.

The girl’s misty eyes roam, never settling, and I’m fighting the urge to back away slowly. Something about her feels strange, but that must be in my head, which hasn’t calmed down since I found Sebastian.

“At least let me walk you to your next class,” I say. I’m trying to stay grounded after what happened in the woods, and flirting with this girl is as good a lifeline as anything I can imagine. But it leads me right back to the last person I was flirting with.

The dead one.

The bell rang a while ago. We’re the only ones left in the hall. I grab the girl’s books, because now I’ve promised to help, but I’ve also promised Mom I won’t ditch class under any circumstances.

“What’s your next class?” I ask.

The girl doesn’t say a thing.