IT’S NOT THAT I’VE never been wrong before. I’m sure, at some point in my life—maybe even many points!—I’ve gotten things mixed up. I’ve probably gotten an answer or two incorrect on a quiz, for example. And I do remember a day in second grade when a snowstorm was predicted to hit us; I’d persuaded Daphne to skip her book report, since I was positive school would be canceled. It turned out to be just a rainstorm, though, and poor Daphne had to write her report on the bus.

But other than that, I had a pretty good track record of being right. Which was why I couldn’t seem to get over the stupid, stupid mistake I’d made.

“Literally, when will you stop talking about this?” Daphne’s voice, coming from her bedroom, was high on the exasperation scale. I didn’t blame her. But I was more exasperated than she was.

I answered from her bathroom, where I was staring at myself in the mirror. “Literally? Probably never.”

Out of habit, I went to push up my glasses, but ended up jabbing myself on the bridge of my nose. It was Tuesday afternoon. My contacts had arrived, and I’d spent the afternoon figuring out how to put them in. My first few attempts had been such a disaster that I’d ended up at Daphne’s house, where her vanity, lined with Hollywood-grade lighting, had helped. Now I couldn’t stop looking at my reflection. Without my trademark glasses, I looked, somehow, both older and younger at the same time.

“Whoa,” Daphne said as I stepped out of her bathroom and blinked in the bright light.

“This feels weird.” I patted around my eyes. “Do I … you know.”

“What?”

I shuffled my feet for a few seconds, feeling my face grow hot. “Do I look funny?”

“Velma.” Daphne got up from her bed, where she’d been lounging and playing with her phone—probably scouring Ram’s social media feeds, not that she’d ever admit it—and grabbed my shoulders, peering at my face. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You’re hot. Whether you’re wearing glasses or not, you’re hot. Now can we go to this party already?”

“Why, again?” I muttered. I wasn’t in the mood for a party. (Honestly, was I ever?) But tonight in particular felt heavy, weighted with not just my stupid mistake but with all the ghosts who were waiting for us to prove they weren’t real.

I needed to find out why someone would dump jewels—especially jewels worth a significant amount of money—into the ocean. Not to mention prowling around the Haunted Village with them. Because once I figured out the why, I could narrow down the who.

“How many reasons should I list?” Daphne began counting off on her fingers. “So we can see Shaggy and figure out why he’s lying to us. Because it’s a weeknight and there’s nothing else to do. Or maybe so you can debut your new look. Or, I know! So we can, for just one minute, stop talking about ghosts and jewels and the Vanished, and do something normal for once?”

“Since when does going to one of Shaggy’s parties count as normal?”

Daphne fixed me with a glare. “I know you hate to admit it, but parties can actually be fun. Most teenagers think so! Besides, the last time you went—”

“First time,” I interrupted.

“You were on a mission to yell at Marcy, and you and I weren’t … well, you know. Speaking.”

Oh, I remembered.

“So this one will be different,” Daphne concluded.

“Where’d his parents go, anyway?” I flashed back to the look on Mr. Rogers’s face at the beach the day the jewels washed ashore. He was definitely a guy who seemed like he needed a vacation.

Daphne shrugged. “Who knows? That guy always has somewhere exotic to be. Or maybe he wanted to protect Shaggy’s mom from the ghosts of Crystal Cove.” She made a silly face, as if to say the idea was preposterous, but I knew Daphne well enough to know that part of her was probably wishing she’d made the same plans. It wasn’t that Daphne believed in ghosts, necessarily; it was more that she didn’t not believe.

We finished getting ready, which for me meant retying the laces on my combat boots and making sure my phone was charged, and for Daphne meant changing out of the dress and blazer she’d worn to the Howler offices and back into jeans. She pulled on some kind of complicated top that had ties dangling all over it, which she knotted with ease. Then she added lipstick and swapped out her diamond studs for a pair of long earrings that looked like half-moons, brushed her hair until it shone, and grabbed her purse.

“Ready?”

I bit my tongue.

When we finally made it to Shaggy’s house, my eyes were watering from the cold.

“Stop touching your eyes.” Daphne swatted my hand.

“This feels too weird!” I complained. The wind whipped through Shaggy’s front yard.

“You’re too weird. No one’s even going to notice you’re wearing contacts, they’ll just think you got a haircut or something. People don’t really pay attention to other people.”

I shivered under my black jacket and stared at the Rogers estate as Daphne trotted up the front stairs to the oversized entrance. It was hard not to; the house was so big, it was nearly impossible for my eyes to avoid it no matter where they landed. She rang the bell and then, seeing that I wasn’t next to her like she’d thought, huffed, stomped back down the stairs, grabbed me by the elbow, and pulled me up.

Aimee Drake opened the double doors. “Daphne!”

Daphne’s smile was bright and, I noticed straightaway, a level six on the fake scale. That meant Aimee was tolerable but just barely.

“So glad you made it. You’ve been totally MIA lately, you know that?” Aimee trilled. She shot me a glance and then whispered something in Daphne’s ear.

“What was that?” I said loudly. Aimee blushed and disappeared into the crowd while Daphne chuckled into her hand.

And what a crowd it was. The entrance to the house was grand and imposing, flanked by two matching grand staircases and centered by a glittering chandelier. It shed sparkles over the crowd, who were eating—Shaggy’s parties always had tons of food—and dancing. I was too short to see over the countless heads around me, but I knew the great room, where I’d spent countless sleepovers, was just to the left of the entrance, and the formal living room was to the right. I was sure those spaces were crammed with people, too.

“I need some air,” I mumbled. I started for the backyard, which I knew was through the long hallway where old-fashioned portraits of various Rogerses lived, their eyes following me until I reached the sliding doors that led to the back deck. Daphne hadn’t told me she was following me, but I knew she was by the way the crowd parted for us—well, for her—as well as by the many greetings and smiles thrown my way. Her way.

“I wonder where Shaggy is,” Daphne said as we surveyed the backyard. The deck was two stories, a far cry from the rickety old patio that had been here when we were kids. We followed the music to the edge and looked at the pool, which was heated (a few kids were splashing around) and underlit by spotlights, so that bright pinks and greens lapped the water. Daphne gasped. “Whoa.”

I nodded, speechless. “I didn’t realize I was missing all this by not coming to these parties.”

“Believe me, you’re not. He’s never done this before!”

“This” was a stage set up at the far end of the pool, outfitted with professional lighting and sound, including strobe lights pulsing to the sound of the beat. Onstage, the Hex Girls were in the throes of one of their wildest songs, and the crowd was rapt. I stared, entranced, my eyes skipping over Luna, pounding the keyboards while swaying her hips, and Dusk, hitting the drums and baring her fangs. Thorn was thrashing at her guitar and pouring out her heart into the microphone. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

“Earth to Velma.” Daphne nudged me and pointed. “Target acquired.”

Shaggy was hanging out by a long table piled high with food, with what looked like a sandwich in one hand and a candy bar in the other. He was talking earnestly to someone I’d never seen before; he had to be in his twenties, and he had to be related to Shaggy—that sandy hair and broad forehead were an unmistakable genetic gift from the Rogers family. Next to them was Taylor, doing what Taylor was quickly becoming known for: standing still, quietly surveying the crowd. I frowned. Why did it always seem like she was watching and waiting? I was starting to understand why Daphne was suspicious of her.

It took us a while to make our way over to Shaggy. I kept catching flashes of girls’ earrings and necklaces and rings as they shone in the moving spotlights; every one of them hammered home my mission: We had to figure out the story behind those jewels. Only then would the rumors about ghosts finally end.

I crossed my fingers as Daphne pushed our way through the makeshift dance floor next to the pool. The truth is, though, I didn’t think Crystal Cove would ever fully surrender its hold on the supernatural. And what did that say about those of us who lived here?

“You’re a hard guy to find,” Daphne said, by way of greeting, once we’d finally reached Shaggy. The Hex Girls were taking a break, and the ripple of silence in their wake made me realize how serious I suddenly felt. I swallowed my nerves and tried to channel Daphne’s calm, cool vibe.

“Like, what? Velma Dinkley?” Shaggy nearly fell over at my presence. “Two parties in a row? What did I do to deserve this?”

“This is quite the shindig,” I replied. I nodded at Taylor and then stuck my hand out to Shaggy’s friend/relative. “I’m Velma.”

He shook it, his face crinkling into a smile. “Jack Rogers.”

“This is, like, my favorite cousin! Daphne, Velma, meet Jack.” Shaggy looked proudly at his cousin. “I basically threw this party in his honor.”

“Oh man,” Jack groaned. “Don’t tell me that, bro.”

I furrowed my brow. My understanding was that Shaggy’s parties were secret; how was he going to keep this one from his dad?

“How long are you visiting for?” Daphne asked.

“A couple of weeks. I help Shaggy’s dad out with the family businesses and had some meetings to take in person.” Jack had a little bit of sandy-colored scruff on his chin; he scratched it absentmindedly. Something about his posture gave me pause; while he looked like Shaggy, he didn’t move like him. He was stiff and uneasy; the opposite of Shaggy’s visible comfort.

Shaggy whistled. Within seconds, Scooby came bounding through the crowd, landing at Shaggy’s heels. As I scratched Scooby’s ears, Shaggy said to his cousin, “I don’t know how anyone can handle working with my dad, but you make it look easy.”

“Me?” Jack scoffed. “No way, dude. I just have to work with the guy. You have to live with him. He’s my uncle and I love him, but … man …”

I waited for Jack to finish his thought, eager to hear someone else’s opinion about Shaggy’s dad, but instead he crammed the remains of a bag of chips into his mouth and wiped the crumbs from his shirt—proof that their foreheads and coloring were definitely not the only genetic traits Shaggy and Jack shared.

“I haven’t seen you around Crystal Cove before,” I offered. My mind was whirring and clicking, trying to sort out Jack and his place in the Rogers family. I had a hunch he fit in, somehow, with the secret Shaggy was keeping; with the help Marcy said he needed. But seeing Jack here at one of Shaggy’s famous parties felt off somehow—he was a Shaggy lookalike without the dog, without the surfer lingo. Like he was Shaggy from another dimension, one where he’d ditched the beach in favor of the boardroom.

“I don’t visit too much,” Jack said, scanning the crowd. I had a sickening thought.

“When did you arrive in town?”

“Jeez, Velma, take it down a notch,” Daphne instructed under her breath. I elbowed her four times, which I hoped she would decipher to mean I have a plan.

“Um …” Jack scratched his chin. He looked to Shaggy for help. “Saturday?”

“Friday,” Shaggy confirmed. “I remember because, like, it was raining, right? And your flight was way delayed? And I ended up eating all the pizza I’d ordered for you by myself?”

Hmm. Theoretically, a Friday arrival meant Jack would have had plenty of time to scatter the jewels into the ocean before Saturday morning. Why, I wasn’t sure. But still, it was a lead worth exploring. I made a mental note to check Friday’s flight delays to see if his story held up.

“I’m new in town, too,” Taylor suddenly said, giving us a little wave, as though we hadn’t already greeted her. She’s definitely weird, I thought, and then immediately felt bad about thinking it. I knew what it was like to be branded the outsider, the strange one. But wow, Taylor was wasn’t doing herself any favors.

“Right,” I deadpanned.

Daphne gave me a look. “Where are you from again?” she asked Taylor.

Taylor’s eyes lit up. It was the most animated I’d ever seen her. “Arizona. My parents, um, well, my mom, she wanted to come back home.”

“Mmm,” Daphne said, surveying the crowd. Taylor was losing her, and she seemed to sense it, so she rushed in to fill the silence.

“It’s good for my mom to be back, but it definitely sucks moving in the middle of the school year,” Taylor spilled. I raised my eyebrows. “But hey, at least now we have a chance to help right some wrongs here.”

I frowned. Before I could ask her what she meant by that, Shaggy’s face changed. “Fred! Dude!”

I froze, wondering why I was having trouble breathing. Fred Jones, tall and movie-star handsome, burst into our circle, bringing with him that easy energy that made everyone think they were his one and only best friend; the kind that made every straight girl think they were destined to be his true love. I reached for my glasses before remembering they were no longer there, and as a result, my hand hung, awkwardly, midair.

Shaggy introduced Jack to Fred while I tried to move my arm out of the way and pretend I’d meant to do it all along. “Why are you moving like a robot?” Daphne hissed into my ear. Casual Velma, that’s me!

I felt the unmistakable heat of someone’s eyes boring into my face. Slowly, I looked up. It was Fred. Fred Jones was staring at me, his face questioning but also something else, something I couldn’t quite decipher.

Fred was my childhood friend, the kid who was game for anything, back when we ran Mystery Inc. These days, Fred was Mr. Congeniality; everyone’s favorite date to the dance. Tall and limber, he was always pulling some wild physical stunt to catch people’s attention—or maybe divert it, I wasn’t sure which.

“What?” I barked at him. I heard Daphne sigh, but I couldn’t find the courage to meet her eyes.

Fred considered my question, cocking his head and studying my face. My nerves bubbled over into a chuckle that burst from my chest. Daphne closed her eyes for a moment, like she couldn’t bear to watch.

“Velma.” Fred said my name like it was a statement.

I wiggled my eyebrows at him. “Yes, Fred, Velma Dinkley. I promise we’ve met before.”

Daphne let out a low moan while Fred’s eyes took on a twinkle. “Aha. It’s the glasses.”

I felt heat shoot up from my lungs and pool in my cheeks as Fred stared at me. His staring made Shaggy stare, too, which made Jack stare. Thankfully, Daphne, sensing my discomfort, clapped her hands once. Four heads turned from me to her, and just like that, natural order was restored. “Shaggy, you got a minute?”

Panic—or something awfully close to it—flashed across Shaggy’s face before it resettled into its usual laid-back expression. “Like, always. I just have to …”

Shaggy mumbled something and then, taking a page from the Vanished, he disappeared, swallowed by the crowd. Jack too.

Daphne and I gaped at each other.

“So,” Fred said, like he was having his own separate conversation in his head that he’d suddenly decided to share with the rest of us, “what made you ditch the glasses? They were your … you know. Thing.”

My thing. My thing? I’d hoped my “thing” would be a little more substantive than just the lenses I wore so I could see the world around me. But it was good, I realized, helpful even, to know that’s how Fred Jones saw me. I was just a girl with big glasses.

“Hey, Fred, how’s Jacqui Parker doing?” Daphne asked pointedly. Fred tore his eyes from mine and gave Daphne a questioning glance.

“Uh. Fine? How would I know?”

“Last I heard you were dating her,” Daphne said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, no,” he said quickly. Too quickly, I thought. He stared at me so intently I wondered if he was doing some kind of measurement of my face. “No, I’m single.”

“For once.” Daphne’s big smile belied her snark. I could tell Fred wasn’t sure of whether she was making fun of him or not. I tapped my foot—the Hex Girls had just come back onstage, and Dusk was tapping at the drums—and tried to escape the intensity of Fred’s gaze. I did the only thing I could think of: I changed the subject.

“Fred, have you ever met Jack before?”

“Who? Oh, Shaggy’s cousin or whatever? Never heard of him.” He shook his head. Well, that was weird. Shaggy and Fred were pretty good friends. You’d think Shaggy would have mentioned him.

“Velma.” Fred said my name again, and again it felt like a statement. Exasperated, I glared at him.

“What?”

“Wanna dance?”

I blinked. He held out a hand. I blinked again. Fred Jones … asking me to dance? With him? This had to be a joke of some kind. One of Fred’s classic pranks.

As if he read my mind, he added, “Seriously. I love this song.”

The Hex Girls were playing a cover of a slow, intimate song from one of my favorite singers. Which meant that Fred and I liked the same music. I didn’t know why, but I found that shocking. Maybe Fred wasn’t who I thought he was.

I accepted his hand and he pulled me onto the dance floor. I tried to ignore the curious glances we received, but honestly, I didn’t blame them. No one was more surprised at this dance than I was.

Fred wrapped his arms around my waist and I rested mine against his neck as we swayed. We didn’t say a word, and I wondered what he was thinking.

Before the song ended, he let me know. “I seriously can’t get over you without your glasses.”

“Try,” I suggested.

“It’s just … wow. You look so different. Why’d you do it?”

“Why did I get contacts?” I tried not to let my annoyance bleed into my tone, but I was definitely feeling peeved. “So I can see, I guess. And because my new glasses kept falling off my face.”

Fred, uncharacteristically, began to trip over his words. “Well, you look great. I mean, they look great. I mean, your face without contacts …”

“Looks great,” I finished for him. I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat. I couldn’t even explain why I suddenly needed to cry, other than to say that I had wanted Fred to notice me. All of me. Not just my face.

When the song ended and the Hex Girls transitioned into something louder and faster, I released my arms and stepped away from Fred, too mortified to meet his eyes. He called my name, but I pretended not to hear it over Thorn’s high note.