Then we’re inside. The dance floor’s packed, music pumping, lights flashing. It looks exactly as it did when we arrived before. I turn to where I saw Carly last time I got here. There’s Kelley and . . . there’s Dee. Jackson and I push our way through the crowd to them.

Before I have a chance to ask, Dee yells in my ear, “Have you seen Carly? She’s late and I can’t reach her!”

“She’s not here?” A band of steel crushes my ribs, stealing my breath.

Dee shakes her head.

“When was the last time you spoke to her?” Jackson asks.

She glances at him, frowning. “I don’t know. About an hour ago?”

I round on Kelley, trying not to show how frantic I feel. “What about you?”

We’re all yelling to be heard over the music.

“Haven’t spoken to her since I got here. What’s wrong, Miki?”

Before I can figure out what I’m supposed to say, Jackson grabs my arm and, using his body as a wedge, gets us back through the crowd to the doors. We practically slam into Luka coming in as we’re going out.

There’s a split second of sheer joy at seeing him whole, unhurt, his massive injuries left behind in the game.

Then he asks, “Carly?” His expression is haunted, and I’m hurtled back into a reality where my best friend may be dead because she came after me. To warn me. To keep me safe.

My fault.

“She’s not here,” Jackson says. “And no one’s heard from her since the dance started.”

Luka looks at me and asks, “Ideas?”

My brain feels like a lead brick.

“We check her house,” Jackson says.

There’s an idea.

Luka nods. “You drive,” he says, his tone grim, and we head for the Jeep.

The second Jackson rolls up in front of Carly’s house, I don’t wait for the boys. I leap out of the car while it’s still slowing, tear up the front walk, and ring the bell. I hear someone walking around inside; then the door opens.

My words catch in my throat, clogging my windpipe, stopping my breath.

Carly’s mom stands there, her shoulders sagging, her expression grim.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

THE EXPRESSION ON MRS. CONNER’S FACE SENDS DARTS OF terror straight to my heart. If it wasn’t for Jackson coming up behind me and grabbing my elbows to hold me up, I might collapse.

“Miki,” Carly’s mom says. “Did she call you?”

I can’t talk. I can only shake my head.

“I thought we were done with this.” She sighs. “It’s been years since she had one of these fits. Maybe you can get through to her.” She throws her hands up. “I’m all out of ideas.”

I try to align my thoughts and expectations with Mrs. Conner’s attitude. She isn’t grief stricken. She isn’t in a panic. She’s upset, yeah, but she seems more . . . annoyed than anything else. Then her words filter through my fear.

“Carly’s . . . okay?” I ask.

She shrugs. “As okay as she ever is when she locks herself in the bathroom for an hour, sobbing her guts out, refusing to talk to me or unlock the door.”

My relief is so acute that my knees give out completely. Jackson presses against my back, keeping me upright.

“She’s not—” Dead.

Carly’s not dead. She’s locked in the bathroom. Whatever’s wrong with her, we can fix this.

Mrs. Connor narrows her eyes at Jackson and Luka, who stand behind me. “Is this because of one of you? Did you break her heart?”

Embarrassing mom question. I feel an acute pang of longing, a wish my mom were here to ask every embarrassing question under the sun.

“No,” I say. “This has nothing to do with either of them. Maybe she’s upset about her costume. Did she say anything? Anything at all?”

Mrs. Connor shakes her head. “Other than ‘go away’? No. She’s been in there for over an hour. She won’t come out. Won’t talk to me. I could hear her crying. I threatened to get one of her brothers to break down the door, but she just told me not to come in, no matter what. And now they’ve all gone out and it’s just her and me, and she hasn’t made a peep in about twenty minutes.” She sighs. “Not that I’ve been standing outside the door listening. Just checking on her here and then.”

“I—” The word comes out as a croak. I wet my lips and try again. “Let me talk to her,” I say.

Pulling the door wide, Mrs. Conner motions us inside. “Give it your best shot, Miki.”

I toe off my boots. Jackson and Luka do the same and the three of us head up to the bathroom, Mrs. Conner watching us warily. Okay, this is weird. Me and Jackson and Luka hunting Carly down in the toilet.

I knock on the door. “Carly?”

No answer.

“Carly? Open up. I’m here with Jackson and Luka. We’re worried about you.” I just need to see her. I need to know she’s okay. “And Kelley and Dee want you at the dance. Ketchup and relish aren’t quite the same without mustard.”

No answer.

Luka reaches over and rattles the doorknob. Locked.

We exchange so-what-do-we-do-now looks. I glance over my shoulder at Jackson to see if he has any ideas, but he’s not there. He’s standing at the top of the stairs, talking quietly to Carly’s mom.

I turn back to the door and tap on it. “Carly? Listen, you don’t need to open the door if you don’t want. Just answer me. Tell me you’re okay. Otherwise . . .” I try to think of a threat. Again, I glance at Jackson. He’s standing there, watching me, arms crossed over his chest. Mrs. Conner has left us alone, so no help there. I sigh and turn back to the locked door. “Otherwise, your mom said she’s going to call 911. She’s really worried. We all are.”