"Oh yeah?" She smiles, her eyes lighting up as they focus on mine. "Then why'd his Jeep just pull into the drive?"

I turn, peering out the window, then glancing at her. Sighing under my breath as I say, "Fine. Watch your show. Whatever. See if I care. But if it gives you nightmares again, don't come crying to me."

"C'mon, Ever, what's your deal?" Brandon says, his expression crossing the border from curious to annoyed in a matter of seconds. "I waited over an hour for your little sister to go to bed so we could be together and now you start acting like this. What gives?"

"Nothing," I mumble, refusing his gaze as I readjust my top. Peering at him from the corner of my eye as he shakes his head and buttons his jeans—jeans that I never asked to be unbuttoned in the first place.

"This is ridiculous," he mutters, shaking his head and fastening his belt. "I drive all the way over here, your parents are gone, and now you're acting like—"

"Like what?" I whisper, wanting him to say it. Hoping he can sum it up in just a few words, define just what it is that I'm going through. Because earlier, when I changed my mind and sent him the text asking him to come over, I thought it would put everything back to normal again. But from the moment I answered the door, my first instinct was to close it again. And no matter how hard I try, I can't figure out why I'm feeling this way. I mean, when I look at him, it's obvious how lucky I am. He's nice, he's cute, he plays football, he's got a cool car, he's one of the most popular juniors—not to mention that I liked him for so long I could hardly believe it when I learned he liked me. But now everything's different. And it's not like I can force myself to feel things that I don't. I take a deep breath, fully aware of the weight of his stare as I toy with my bracelet. Turning it around and around, trying to remember just how it got there. Aware of something niggling at the back of my mind, something about—

"Forget it," he says, getting up to leave. "But I'm serious, Ever. You need to decide what you want pretty soon, because this..."

I gaze at him, wondering if he'll finish the sentence and wondering why I can't seem to care either way.

But he just looks at me and shakes his head, grabbing his keys as he says, "Whatever. Have fun at the lake."

I watch as the door closes behind him, then I move to my dad's recliner, grab the afghan my grandma knit for us not long before she died, and pull it up to my chin and tuck it under my feet. Remembering how just last week I was telling Rachel I was seriously considering going all the way with Brandon, and now—now I can barely stand for him to touch me.

"Ever?"

I open my eyes. Riley's standing before me, her bottom lip trembling, her blue eyes on mine.

"Is he gone?" She glances around the room.

I nod.

"Will you come sit with me, while I try to fall asleep?" she asks, biting down on her lip, giving me that sad puppy dog look that's impossible to resist.

"I told you that show was too scary for you," I say, my hand on her shoulder as we head down the hall, getting her all tucked and settled before arranging myself right around her. Wishing her the sweetest of dreams and smoothing her hair off her face as I whisper, "Don't worry. Go to sleep. There's no such thing as ghosts."

Chapter Forty-Seven

"Ever, you ready? We need to leave soon! We don't want to hit traffic!"

"Coming!" I shout, even though I'm not. I just continue to stand there, right smack in the middle of my room staring at a crumpled piece of paper I'd found in the front pocket of my jeans. And even though it's written in my hand, I've no idea how it got there, much less what it means. Reading:

1. Don't go back for the sweatshirt!

2. Don't trust Drina!

3. Don't go back for the sweatshirt no matter what!

4. Damen

And by the fifth time I read it, I'm still just as confused as the first. I mean, what sweatshirt? And why am I not supposed to go back for it? Not to mention, do I even know a Drina? And who the heck is Damen, and why is there a heart by his name? I mean, why did I ever write such a thing? When did I ever write such a thing? And what could it possibly mean? And when my dad calls again, followed by the sound of his footsteps storming up the stairs, I toss the paper aside, watching it land on my dresser before falling to the floor, figuring I'll sort it all out when we return.

As it turns out, the weekend was good for me. Good to get away from my school, good to get away from my friends (and boyfriend). Good to spend time with my family in a way that we don't get to do all that often. In fact, I feel so much better now, that as soon as we get back to civilization, back to where my cell can access a signal—I'm going to text Brandon. I don't want to leave things the way we had. And I really believe that whatever weird thing I was going through is now past.

I grab my backpack and toss it over my shoulder, ready to leave. But as I glance around our campsite one last time, I can't shake the feeling that I've left something behind. Even though my bag is packed and everything appears to be clear, I continue to stand there, my mom calling my name over and over, until she finally gives up and sends Riley.

"Hey," she says, pulling hard on my sleeve. "C'mon, everyone's waiting."

"In a minute," I mumble. "I just have to—"

"Have to what?" She smirks. "You have to stare at the smoldering embers for another hour or two? Seriously, Ever, what's your deal?"