What would he or Geneva or Jacob or Tucker think if they knew I was living in a truck a month ago? I have a deep craving to dive headfirst into my old sleeping bag, wherever it is three thousand miles away, and never come out again. But then Well opens the door wearing a green silk dress complete with corset, heels, and black lipstick, and I feel… better. Well is 100 percent a person who lives by his own rules. He wouldn’t care if I lived in a hot-air balloon before this. Actually, he would love that.

After Dan beeps his horn and drives off, Well grins at me and then frowns. “You didn’t dress up!”

“And you dressed up as… a Disney princess?”

“NO! Have you seriously never seen Hocus Pocus?” He shakes his head at my jeans and Hard Rock sweatshirt and Converse. I’m really proud of my Converse. They are bright red and the first “new” thing I let Ginger buy me that I got to pick out.

“Um, no?” I say. Should I have previewed this movie to make sure it’s not loaded up with things to make me scream or jump or cry? I know my triggers. I can’t believe I didn’t come more prepared.

“If we’re getting all honest here”—Well leans in—“neither have I. But it’s Bette Midler and Halloweeny. If you want to be a real thespian, you have to watch it.”

“What’s a thespian again?”

“Ha. Ha. Get in here. Everybody else is already downstairs.”

I follow him down the polished spiral staircase, keeping my distance, because he is clomping along in five-inch heels, and he is not very good at it. I wonder where he even got them, or the corset, for that matter.

“I raided the costume closet at school,” he says, even though I didn’t ask. “The high school did Gone with the Wind a few years ago.”

When we get to the bottom of the stairs, I forget all about the dress. “You’re kidding me, right?” Red velvet theater seats five rows deep sit in front of a screen that stretches all the way along the wall. There’s even a curtain to pull across it.

Apparently Well’s version of “come watch a movie at my house” is actually “come watch a movie in my theater.” My stomach bottoms out at the idea of it. A whole room of your own just for movies.

“What?” He grins. He has a smudge of black lipstick on his front tooth.

“So, be real honest here. Is your dad a millionaire?”

“Honestly? Yeah. Now come on! I’ve got marshmallow ghosts and peanut butter pumpkins.” He clomps away, but I’m still trying to take it in. Where do you put a million dollars? Mom and I never even had a bank account.