4

“What are you doing up here?” Gideon asks, gaping like I took a swing at him.

“Gideon, I told you we needed to hurry!” I point back to the mill, frantic. “Melody’s necklace is in there.”

“What?” he asks skeptically. Maybe this is why I was too afraid to tell him. Deep down, I knew even my best friend wouldn’t believe me.

“We don’t have time,” I say, realizing the phone at my feet has gone quiet.

Gideon takes a cautious step toward me. “Cass, Melody’s fine. She updated her Instagram ten minutes ago.”

“No, she was—” I crane my neck to look back at the ruins. “But her necklace.” I reach down to snatch my phone and then sprint back to the mill. Gideon’s steps pound the earth behind me, but I keep running, this time straight through the glaring hole that used to be a door. I barrel through the cobwebs and overgrown vines, kicking over the rotted bench.

But my heart lunges, knowing before my eyes do. The necklace is no longer coiled on the stone.

It’s gone.

“How…” I kneel, pushing aside the leaves and trash in desperation.

“Cass, what are you doing?” I stand to face Gideon, who delicately presses his fingers to my cheek. A hint of sweat mixes with the pine scent of the air. “You shouldn’t be up here. You’re not well.”

I pull back, torn between laughing and crying. Maybe I am unwell. Was the necklace an unfortunate effect of my concussion? Another hallucination? Maybe Gideon was right all along, and this was a massive prank.

Or he came back. Brandon could’ve ducked back into the moss-covered ruins and taken it. He could’ve cleaned up the evidence.

Gideon tugs out his phone, scrolling through before handing it to me. It’s Melody’s Instagram account. There’s a photo of a deflated tire with a caption: Sooo frustrating when you get a flat and miss your shift . I swipe to a second photo of Melody wearing her Gina’s Diner uniform and a big frown. “I checked her social media accounts while I was waiting for the ice.”

I reread the words, hearing Melody’s loud, whiny voice through the post, clear as day. “She’s really fine,” I say, barely believing the words.

“She’s really fine,” he echoes, like a parent trying to convince his toddler there’s no monster in the closet. “What were you doing up here?”

My head sags. “I’m sorry I ditched you.”

“But what made you—”

My phone rings in my hand, and I jump. It’s the sheriff’s station. I want to ignore it, but I have to deal with this. “Hi, ma’am, I was mistaken. Everyone’s fine.”

“What?”

“So sorry to bother you.”

“Okay, then,” the secretary, Pam, says slowly, like I’m another stupid kid wasting the sheriff’s valuable time. Which is exactly what I am. And Gideon knew it.

Stupid. The raspberry wine cooler was so specific. Too specific. Brandon decided to mess with me because he’s exactly the kind of guy I always suspected. First, he pulled my darkest secrets out of me like a magician with those never-ending handkerchiefs, then dragged me around all day like a fool.

And now, for the first time, Gideon’s watching me in that guarded way people do.

People who know I have secrets.

“Let’s go,” I say, taking one last look at the ruins before heading to my bike.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I stumble into my house and Gideon helps me to the sofa. “Don’t say anything about Melody to Asher,” I whisper. I can’t deal with my big brother worrying about me right now.

“Fine.” He heads to the kitchen for more ice. My mom is in there, prepping for dinner. She rushes out to the living room, carrying the pungent smell of freshly cut onions with her.

“Cassidy, you fell off your bike?”

“Yeah, Mom,” I mumble as Gideon stoops beside me, pressing ice to my head.

Asher hears the commotion and wanders in. My mom takes over ice duty, lowering onto the sofa. Her figure blocks Gideon’s as he and my brother exchange hushed words I can’t make out.

“Do you need something for the pain?” Mom asks.

I nod, which only magnifies the ache. She stands up, lips pinched as she studies me. “Any nausea? What did you have for breakfast?”

“No, and burnt toast with grape jelly,” I answer. Satisfied, she hurries off down the hall.

Asher nears the sofa, smiling gently. “Sounds like you’ve had quite a day.”

My face falls. I can’t help it.

He sits down on the edge of the sofa, but Gideon hovers at the edge of the living room. “I’m going,” he says, his gaze veering to the rug; he can’t even look at me.

“You sure?” Asher asks. “My mom always makes enough dinner for you. I thought we were going to sit around and watch movies tonight.”

“I’m supposed to go to that party,” Gideon says, running a hand over the back of his neck. “I’ll text you later, Cass.” Then he and his comforting scent walk through the foyer and out the front door.

Asher scoots closer. “What’s up with him?”

I fight the aching, stinging sensation in my eyes. “He’s mad at me.”

“For not going to the party? You’re injured.”

“No, it’s not—it’s fine. I’ll talk to him in the morning.”

Concern floods Asher’s face, but he shrugs.

“Asher, do not talk to him about me.”

He peers at me for another moment. “Okay.” Then he bends closer, gingerly lifting the ice from my head and squinting at my wound. “You’ve looked better, Cass.”

I smile, but it’s false and makes my head sting.

Later in the evening, I learn Brandon can’t make movie night. Which figures. He’s had quite the day, after all. Hasn’t he? He’s probably afraid I’ll call him out in front of Asher for messing with me. But the last thing I want is for my brother to know about today.

Even without Brandon, it swiftly becomes the worst movie night ever. When Gideon’s over, we usually watch classic horror. Really, we’re all big scaredy-cats. We scream, laugh until we cry, and then find the most inappropriate times to quote ridiculous lines. Since Gideon’s not here, we’re watching some old, boring movie Asher says is important because it’s on the American Film Institute’s top 100 list. But my attention drifts. I check my phone every two minutes for a text from Gideon that never comes. I think about that muffled voice in the woods. My notebook, the page smeared with drops of strawberry milkshake. The look on Gideon’s face at the sawmill. It wasn’t the first time I’ve seen that look in my life. But it was the first time I’ve seen it from him.

Growing up as the girl who survived the fire has merited that look from family, friends, and strangers alike. Mostly because another little girl, a neighbor, wasn’t so lucky.

Also, because I started the fire.