After the hissing had subsided, Jesse slid off his bag and unzipped it. He lifted his camera from his bag and straightened up. He peered through the viewfinder and slowly began to scan through the room, taking shots every few seconds. He did this for a few minutes, snapping photos of the broken chandelier, of the covered antiques that he mocked and said could be ghosts.

“I don’t like this place. It feels creepy.”

“You know, Mira, sometimes you can be such a child,” he muttered.

Jesse’s remark smarted even though she pretended otherwise. She could be as bold as him. He had to know this. She’d come, hadn’t she? That should count for something. Celine hadn’t come and was probably having a better time than either of them. Mira wished she’d stayed behind too, but she was here, full of naive hope that maybe Jesse would see her differently, but right now it seemed like he barely noticed her at all.

Mira’s face burned. Jesse continued to snap more photos, too consumed to notice she was upset. He headed for the staircase, but Mira stopped him from going farther. Shouted for him not to go.

“What? Why?” he asked. “You see there’s nothing. I’ll be a few more minutes and then we’ll leave. I want to see what’s upstairs. Go up and take some pictures. You don’t want to come?”

Mira didn’t answer and glanced at the staircase. She stepped toward Jesse, thinking she could do it, but stopped, fearing it was a mistake to continue. They needed to leave, but why? What was there to be scared of? Jesse took another step. He fiddled with his camera, snapping shot after shot.

When Mira wouldn’t follow him, he lowered his camera. “You believe the stories, don’t you?” he asked, and Mira nodded, feeling a blush of shame in the confession.

Mira braced herself for Jesse’s teasing. “I wish I could be more like you,” she said, sputtering out the words. Her eyes watered, further confirming a humiliating truth about who she was. “I wish I could, but I’m not. You were right about what you said earlier. I am a child.”

Jesse didn’t laugh like she’d expected him to. His whole demeanor changed, softening, opening himself up to her in an unexpected way. “Hey, no, I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Truth is, maybe I am scared a little,” he whispered, and the kindness of his gesture pained her with her own yearning. Gone was his usual smirking expression, his bluster, and she was able to catch a glimpse of what he hid, a vulnerability he fought against, and she was grateful he allowed her to see.

“You go on outside and I’ll meet you in a few minutes. I promise—a few more pictures and I’m done. We’ll leave and we don’t ever have to set foot inside this place again. Okay?”