The entire time Joy keeps catching Fox staring at her. He turns away quickly—but not quick enough—whenever she glances his way. Suddenly, his plate, his wine glass, even the ceiling at one point, are the most fascinating things he’s ever seen. His chaotic nervous energy electrifies her into giddiness.

Joy resists the urge to laugh at him, hiding her smile behind her napkin. People stare at her daily for a multitude of reasons: her face, her body, her skin color, they recognize her—and she’s gotten used to it for the most part. Any problems they have with her are their problems. She’s never given much thought to receiving attention like this before.

It isn’t like when Malcolm admires her. He does so openly, and without embarrassment. With Fox it’s almost like he feels guilty for looking at her too long. As if he’s only allowed to catch glimpses of her while she’s not paying attention, but it’s not enough for him to hold on to. He has to try, try, try again until he can get the image of her to stick in his mind.

Feeling bold, she rests her elbow on the table and cradles her cheek in her hand (manners be damned). Keeping her voice low, she says, “Hi.”

Fox wastes no time giving her his full attention. “Hey.”

The lights in the room flicker—quickly turning off and on, accompanied by a loud buzzing noise. Joy looks at Malcolm, who seems just as confused. The music cuts in and out, like a record skipping, before shutting off completely.

“Power surge?” Fox asks.

Now it’s as if someone is turning a knob, dimming the lights until they’re almost out, leaving the room almost pitch-black. Joy can barely see Summer and Malcolm across the table. She reaches out, holding Fox’s forearm for comfort and to make sure he stays near her. He covers her hand with his, bringing it closer to him.

Suddenly, the lights flare back on even brighter than before. The music starts playing again, picking up right where it left off.

Joy glances around the room. “What in the murder mystery—”

“Oh. My. God.” Summer’s jaw is practically near her plate. “Malcolm, did you rent a haunted cabin?”

“Uhh, not on purpose.”

Fox says, “Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Mmm.” Joy gives his arm a gentle squeeze. “They don’t like it when you say that.”

“You can talk to ghosts?”

“No, but I’d be pissed too if someone said I didn’t exist.”

“Everything seems fine now.” Malcolm sighs, frustrated. “That was probably a power surge. I’ll find the circuit breaker and look later. Let’s just finish eating.”

Joy lets go of Fox’s forearm, laughing lightly. “Thanks.”

“You know what could be fun?” Summer sets her wine glass down. “We should go buy a Ouija board—”

“No,” Joy and Malcolm say together.

Ten