There’ve been so many times when I’ve had to do things on my own: comforting myself after nightmares, nursing myself through colds and the flu. One time a raccoon invaded our house, and I had to trap it in a towel and throw it out the front door. Still, it makes me almost breathless, the hurt. I feel starkly alone.

I listen in the dark, but all the noises of the house have gone silent.

I give myself a talking-to:

There’s no such thing as ghosts, sweetie, I tell myself. You’ve always had an overactive imagination. This is exactly the kind of thing you’ve decided you don’t believe anymore, as of this very night.

And then, when that doesn’t quite work:

If you can just make it to morning, you’ll be fine. Ghosts only come at night. I think.

I wish Germ were here. Together we would know what to do. Together it’s like we make one fully formed human. I just have to make it to the bus and Germ in the morning, and everything will be okay.

I sit staring out the window all night, until the sky begins to lighten above the horizon. And when the day grows hazy outside, I watch my mom get up from bed and pull on her robe and walk to the door, like a person in a trance. She doesn’t see me till she nearly trips over me.

She blinks at me a moment. And then she merely waits for me to get out of her way.

I follow her into the hall and peer downstairs.

The parlor below, the hallway, the kitchen, all seem quiet and normal.

I come to the bottom of the stairs and look at the closed basement door awhile. All normal at first glance.

And then I see the clock hanging in the parlor. I’m going to be late for the bus.

CHAPTER 3

Dazed, I rush into an oversize sweater and a pair of stretchy pants and two socks that don’t match and put my flashlight around my neck. I make a jelly sandwich and hurry back up to the attic to check on Mom, who’s already in front of her computer working.

I set the alarm on her computer to remind her to eat. “There’s spaghetti in the fridge,” I say. “And drink some milk. It’s good for you.”

I kiss her—a gesture she pulls away from. And then I race outside to the safe harbor of the bus just as it pulls up.

When I see Germ, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Seeing her familiar freckles, her impatient gestures for me to sit down, makes me feel like I’m safe, even if she is wearing that goofy eyeliner again, and now lip gloss too.