She leaped up, racing across campus toward the parking lot, desperate to get home. To find her daughter. But before she could reach the car, the parking lot faded. Darkness enveloped her. Her scalp prickled, a funny feeling descending on her.

The sensation of being watched drew her from her dream.

It was a familiar feeling. One she’d had countless times when Amelia was a little girl. She’d startle awake to find Amelia standing beside her bed.

“Mommy, I’m scared.”

But this time when she opened her eyes, it wasn’t Amelia in her room.

It was Lauren.

She blinked, rubbed her eyes, certain she was seeing things.

When she looked again, Lauren was gone. She exhaled. Rolled over onto her side. Then froze. Her door was open an inch or so, swaying slightly from the heating vent above. She always slept with the door closed. She slid out of bed. Padding into the hallway, she caught movement, a splash of dark hair, disappearing into Amelia’s room. Whitney followed it, swung open Amelia’s door. Both she and Lauren were asleep, back-to-back in Amelia’s bed. Whitney stood there a moment, listening to their steady breathing.

She stepped back into the hallway, closing Amelia’s door lightly behind her, then ambled back into her room and stared at the spot where she’d seen Lauren. But it couldn’t have been her, right?

She was asleep.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Afterward, Whitney kept telling herself that she imagined someone in her room. That she’d dreamed it. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Who was this new friend of Amelia’s? This girl who’d shown up out of nowhere?

And what did she want?

27

THE SATURDAY AFTER my ugly encounter with Mitch, I showed up at Millie’s house late at night. She was home alone, her mom out on a date. She let me in but was clearly still angry with me. Music blasted throughout the room. Without offering me anything, she sat down on the couch, sipping a glass of her mom’s vodka.

I poured my own glass and joined her. It was like liquid fire going down my throat.

“Do you honestly think I would come on to Mitch?” I asked her, wrapping my hands around my glass. The condensation seeped into my palms.

“Honestly?” she asked. “Yeah, I mean, you are kinda always butting into my life. And, no offense, but sometimes it seems like you do wanna be me.”

I didn’t want to be her, I swear. I wanted to be near her. Close to her. I wanted to be enough for her.

“Sometimes it seems like you’re obsessed with me or something,” she tacked on, staring down into her drink.