Thane glances at the cigarette, poised between his thumb and forefinger, and then puts it out against the school’s white stone, leaving a smear of ash.

“I guess you don’t know me very well, then.” He blows the remainder of the smoke from his mouth and nostrils and nods toward the driveway. “Is that your mom?”

My heart picks up speed. Sure enough, when I look, she’s there. I glance at Thane, wondering if she saw him smoking. She might assume I’ve fallen in with the wrong crowd, and on the first day too.

“Well, it was…nice…talking to you.”

A smirk cracks Thane’s lips. It does strange things to his eyes, and by strange, I mean they suddenly seem almost friendly.

“I look forward to getting to know you, Anora.”

I hurry away from him. As I approach the car, I can’t make out the expression on my mother’s face, and I feel a sense of dread as I open the passenger side door and slide into the seat.

Damage control, I remind myself.

“Hey, Mom!” My voice sounds unnatural and high-pitched. “How was the interview?”

A tactical move—this question keeps Mom from asking about my day and about Thane and his stupid cigarettes. I bow my head, sniffing the collar of my blazer. I hope I don’t smell like them.

“It went great.” She smiles, and I straighten a bit. “I got the job. It’s a bit of a step back since it’s a different field, but I like my new boss. I start tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“I’ll admit we won’t be able to get the house in order until this weekend, but…we should be thankful it was this easy. It’s not like I had as many options here as we did in New York.”

Her voice changes—sharpens—and it feels more like an accusation than a statement. It’s something Mom—whether she admits it or not—was doing even before we came here, and each comment is like a stab to my gut. During her good times, she’s a good mom. But when things are bad—and they have definitely been bad since I admitted to seeing dead people—my mom doesn’t really parent. It’s like it’s all too much for her. What confidence I gained from her initial smile evaporates immediately, and I shift my gaze forward.

“Well, I’m happy for you, Mom.”

She doesn’t respond, but I feel her eyes on me.

“So who was the boy?”

I look at her. “The boy?”

She narrows her eyes. “The boy you were talking to just now.”

“Oh.” I can feel guilt like a damp cloth on the back of my neck. “No one I know, really.”