“Oh, hey,” he said back, like he’d just noticed I was there. “Do you have my letter?”

“It’s at my house.”

“I’d like to get it soon.”

“Of course.”

I hadn’t brought it with me. I’d collected three letters, including my own, and I’d left them all at home. They were complicating the Adventure. We didn’t need them for the sleepover.

Bigs and Teeny arrived next. I couldn’t recall the last time it had been only the five of us somewhere. The room was alive with that unfamiliarity, giving the walls more to say. Does this combination of people work? Can you even remember?

When Ruby came, the six of us configured our sleeping bags into a pattern that made sense. Room was left for Nick’s to go beside mine, which caught in my throat like a sweater on a hook. As we waited for him, we stayed tucked away under the bedsheet tent. I felt at once very small and very important, my favorite feeling in the world. I was with my secret society, reconvening in a secret hideout, for a secret party.

Secrets, secrets, secrets.

Teeny poked at the flashlights piled up in the middle of our formation. “If we’re supposed to be telling ghost stories with those, I’m gone. It’s already bad enough being in this house.” She pulled her knees up to her chest. I couldn’t decide if the Marley magic was growing, or if Teeny never once doubted the house was haunted. “If you wake up and I’m not here, don’t leave thinking I went home. Walk this house up and down and make sure I haven’t been dragged into the attic by some demon.”

“Stop it! Now you’re scaring me,” Bigs said.

Everyone let out disjointed, apprehensive laughs, baited with anticipation. We were so close to what was going to happen. It was almost touchable.

Harrison stole away to make drinks for everyone. He brought them in one by one, each a different combination of liquids. “This is my specialty,” he told us as he did it. “Call me Mr. Mixologist.”

Aidy scoffed. “Yes, everyone please call him that. It’s such a great gift he has. Let’s make sure to celebrate his knowledge of mixed drinks as often as we can.”

Teeny busted into a full throttle laugh. “You are catty.” Harrison brought in her drink. “It is good, though,” she told Bigs in whispered confidence, even though we all could hear.

Mine was the last drink Harrison made. As I pondered it, he told me, “Hey, I know what I know,” and shrugged the same shrug I loved to shrug. The dismissive, know-it-all shrug.

We sipped away at the drinks in hand, skirting around telling stories of past memories. That kind of talk would surely be the catalyst, and everyone knew it.