“Hello,” I manage to choke out.

“Charlotte?” I want to jump and shout and sing all at the same time.

“Hey,” I say, hoping he can’t hear the pounding of my heart that fills my own ears.

“How’s your break been?”

“Good,” I say, delighting in how fun small talk can be. Even if my nerves are crackling over every inch of my body.

“No more migraine problems?”

“Oh no, no problems with any of that.” And there haven’t been. Two little visions since Saturday with Smith. No big deal at all.

“Good. I’m glad. Well, anyway, this is kind of a weird request, but . . . are you busy tonight? I know it’s Christmas Eve and I should have called you sooner, but things weren’t for sure yet and—” I hear him take a breath and I’m oddly relieved that he’s not always cool and collected. “I’m sorry about the late notice, but do you think your mom might let you go out?”

I glance at my mom and think about how hard it was to get her to let me go to the library on Saturday. In daylight.

But this is Linden. She’ll understand.

Won’t she?

“What time?” I ask, stalling.

“Eight?”

Eight. Maybe we can deliver the cinnamon rolls a little early. I mean, it’s only two o’clock and they’re done except for one batch still in the oven. And we’re generally home around then anyway. “Lemme check.”

I cover the mouthpiece of the phone and look at my mom, eyes wide. “Mom, it’s Linden!” I say his name in a whisper. Just in case.

Mom raises her eyebrows at me. “Oh really?” she says playfully.

“He wants to know if I’m busy tonight at eight.” I look at her, pleading with my eyes. “Will we be done by then?”

“What does he want to do?”

I sigh. “Does it matter?”

Her face becomes a little more serious. “Yes,” she says. “I don’t want you outdoors, or alone, with no adults around. Not because I don’t trust you, because I do, but because two teenagers have died in the last three weeks.”

Oh yeah. Real life. The cocoon of safety that has enveloped my mom and me for the last several hours is instantly gone. “Um, Linden, what did you want to do? My mom’s worried about safety,” I tack on, lest he think I have any reservations.

“Oh, mine too!” he shoots back. “That’s why I waited so long to call. It’s my family’s annual Christmas Eve party. I was going to ask you last Friday, but they were still going back and forth on whether or not to hold it. Anyway, that’s why I got your number.”

Everything inside of me warms. It’s not some last-minute, oh-crap-I-need-a-date thing. He’s been thinking about it—about me—for almost a week. Maybe it is a real date. I don’t know that for sure—he might just want a friend—but even if that’s the case, he still picked me.

“It’s kind of fancy, I guess,” Linden rattles on, probably just filling the silence I rather awkwardly left for him, “and it’s super traditional and they still want to hold it despite—” His voice cuts off and I lift a hand to my heart, aching for him. “You know,” he continues after a long pause. “My parents decided that this year—more than ever—they need to help raise people’s spirits. But they’re being careful. Tell your mom we’re doing valet service so no one has to walk to a parked car alone, and that my dad hired a security guard to patrol the house.”

“Wow, they’re really taking this seriously,” I say, genuinely impressed.

“It’ll be subtle,” Linden replies. “But they want everyone to feel safe. To be safe.” He hesitates, then says, “Listen, Charlotte, I hope this doesn’t sound too weird—and I don’t want you to take it wrong—but Bethany and I were . . . we were good friends, and she was friends with pretty much everyone I hang out with and we’re all really having a hard time and—” His voice cuts off and I hear him take a deep breath. “I need a date who isn’t going to make me think about Bethany all night. And I remembered what you said right after . . . right after she died and I know this probably isn’t what you meant, but —I just . . .” His voice cracks and I have to blink back tears at the sound. “I need one night to not think about all this.”

“Of course,” I say as soon as I’m sure he’s done speaking. “I meant it when I said you could call me for whatever.” My mom has wheeled herself in front of me and is making faces, begging for hints, but I lift a “just a second” finger. “I’ll talk to my mom and text you in a few minutes, okay?”

“Perfect.”

“So?” my mom asks as I hit END.

“He needs me,” I say, the wonder of it spreading through my veins like warm maple syrup.

Mom tries to insist on dropping me off at the party, but when I tell her about the whole valet and security-guard thing, she relents and lets me borrow the car.

“On one condition,” she says sternly, and I brace myself. But she can’t hold a straight face straight for very long and she breaks into a grin and says, “Take a couple of pictures with your phone. I’ve always wanted to see the Christiansens’ house and I hear they deck it out to the nines for this party.”

Sierra comes out of her room to help me get ready too. It’s almost a shock to see her. I’ve been avoiding her since I snuck into her room, and especially after breaking every rule I know—and several I clearly don’t—with Smith. “It’s about time you had a good night,” she whispers in my ear as she hugs me. I hug her back fiercely, wishing I could tell her everything that has been happening, and promising myself that I’ll at least consider telling her someday.