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“Then she should stop flirting with you,” Flynn said, flashing me a devious grin and flipping a chunk of dark hair out of his eyes. Maybe that hair was the reason he was perpetually in a bad mood. “Come on, man. We need a guitarist, pronto. What can you play, Emma?” he said, those ice blue eyes chilling me.

“I can’t play anything,” I said.

“Come on. Surely you can play the tambourine. Or the triangle.”

Blood rushed to my cheeks. “I’m musically challenged,” I joked.

“But she writes kick-ass poetry,” Owen said. “She could help us with songwriting.”

“Wonderful,” Flynn said. “Our very own Yoko Ono.”

Owen frowned. “Stop being a jerk, Flynn.”

“Me?” Flynn said, all innocence. “I’m just trying to find out what makes Emma special. Can she sing?”

“No,” I said.

“Come on, Emma, everyone can sing. Just put your lips together and—”

“Stop it, man,” Owen said. “You’re making her uncomfortable.”

“Am I making you uncomfortable, Emma?” Flynn said, hopping off the stage and walking toward me. “I’m sorry. Allow me to apologize.” He pulled a joint from one of his jeans pockets and lit it, then handed it to me.

“No, thanks,” I said.

“You don’t smoke?” I shook my head. “Well, we can take care of that.”

“I don’t care if you guys smoke,” I said. “But I don’t want to.”

“How do you know if you’ve never tried? Come on. It might make you a little less . . . uptight.”

“I’m not uptight,” I said.

Flynn’s eyes went unnaturally wide, and Jess laughed. “Maybe a little,” she said. “Look, it’s not a big deal if you don’t want to. But it’s not a big deal if you do. It’s just a little pot.”

I glanced at Owen for support, but he’d already taken the joint from Flynn. I watched as he inhaled slowly, holding his breath for a few seconds before exhaling. A plume of pungent, sweet smoke wafted toward me.

“I feel like I’m on an after-school special,” I said, laughing.

“Believe me,” Flynn said. “So do we.”

Owen held the joint toward me, and I shook my head. Jess took a hit, then passed it back to Flynn. “Last chance,” he said, gesturing to me one more time. “Suit yourself.”

He took the last hit, gulping and swallowing the smoke like it was oxygen. “Okay, enough of this bullshit,” he said. “Let’s rehearse. Jess, see if you can keep up with us.”

Owen grabbed his guitar from the corner, and Flynn sat down at the keyboards, pulling a small microphone in front of him. Jess went to sit behind the drum set, and I sat on the floor beneath them, a sober audience of one.

Flynn started the song off with some melancholy piano chords. After a few measures, Owen began strumming a chunky rhythm on his guitar while Jess did her best to provide a backbeat. When Flynn’s vocals broke through the music, I felt an unexpected rush of emotion. I’d expected whiny, screaming emo vocals, not this full-bodied, visceral singing that could go from a throaty growl to a heartbreaking falsetto in a moment.

A few of the lyrics lodged in my brain: “In my dreams we are more than friends; the reason I never want my dreams to end,” followed by a chorus that went: “Broken and battered is my heart, but it cannot be ripped apart. It will beat on, like this song. Like a boat against the throng.”

The faster the tempo, the more frenzied Flynn’s playing became until Jess realized her novice percussion skills weren’t up to the task. Somewhere toward the crescendo, she threw her arms up and dropped her sticks to the ground, while Flynn collapsed onto the keys, making a jarring, discordant clamor that seemed a fitting end to this beautiful, schizophrenic song.

I didn’t know whether to clap or holler or remain silently in awe. Flynn was really good. And for all his obnoxious swagger, he’d written a sentimental love song.

“That was . . . fantastic!” I said.

“I screwed up,” Jess said.

“It didn’t matter. It was so . . . raw. Full of emotion.”

“You sound surprised,” Flynn said.

“No,” I said. “I’ve just never heard a song like that before.”

“Because you listen to commercial crap,” he said, putting us back on the solid ground of mutual animosity where we were both more comfortable.

“You really liked it?” Owen said.

“It was great. You guys sound amazing together. Do you have a band name yet?”

“Ice-9,” Flynn said.

“I like that,” I said. “Did you make it up?”

Flynn’s glare went through me like a stab of cold metal. “It’s from
Cat’s Cradle,
” he said. He might as well have added
dipshit
to the end of the sentence. Then he hoisted himself up on the edge of the stage and fumbled around in his backpack for a few minutes, pulling out a fifth of whiskey. “Anyone up for the finest Kentucky bourbon Massachusetts can sell?”

I had a headache and felt tired, and I didn’t feel like playing another round of peer-pressure death match. “I hate to break up the fun,” I said, “but I’m beat. I should probably get to bed.”

“Already?” Jess said, and Flynn gave her a look like,
What did you expect?

“I’ll drop her off and come back,” Owen said.

“No, Owen, that’s okay,” I said.” It’s your birthday. I can take the shuttle.”

“No way am I making you wait for the shuttle,” he said. “It’ll take hours.”

“You sure?” I said.

“Positive.”

Flynn narrowed his gaze at me and said in a hypnotic voice, “Fly back to school, little Emma.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to think of a stinging retort, but coming up empty-handed. I didn’t know why I had let Flynn ruffle my feathers so much.

Owen put his hand lightly on the small of my back as we exited the club and escaped into the autumn air. I felt a rush of elation at being liberated from the uncomfortable tension of that warehouse and the constant appraisals of a guy who seemed to hate me for no reason at all.

“So what’s Flynn’s deal?” I asked Owen on the ride home. “Seems like he has a vendetta against the world.”

“I know he comes off sort of rude,” he said.

“Sort of?”

Owen smirked. “Not that it’s an excuse, but he has a pretty crappy home life. His father’s an asshole, and his mom’s knocked out on prescription drugs half the time. Still, I don’t know why he seemed to be taking it out on you tonight.”

“Oh, so you noticed?” I said. I slumped in my seat, feeling uncomfortable about the whole evening.

“Don’t worry about Flynn,” he said. “I’m sure his attitude has nothing to do with you.”

“It still sucks,” I said. “I want to be able to hang out with you without getting verbally eviscerated every five minutes.”

“I totally understand,” he said, laughing. “We’ll just have to hang out alone next time.” There was a shy sweetness to his voice.

Owen parked his car in front of Easty Hall, and I turned my head glumly, waiting for him to say something heartening.

“Are you okay?” he said.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

“I haven’t been sleeping,” I said.

“Is it Gray?”

I sighed. “I don’t know. I think it’s a lot of things. But don’t worry. I’ll be okay.” I had the tremendous urge to lean my head on his shoulder. “Hey,” I said, feeling suddenly shy around him. “We never even sang ‘Happy Birthday.’ ”

“You can sing it to me now,” he said, teasing.

“You really don’t want to hear me sing.”

“Actually, I’d like nothing more.”

“Maybe someday. But for tonight, you’ll have to be content with this. Happy birthday, Owen.” And on some wild impulse, I kissed him on the cheek. His face broke into a smile that could have melted icebergs.

I jumped out of the car and ran all the way back to the dorm, feeling a surge of adrenaline that probably meant another sleepless night. Michelle still wasn’t back when I let myself into the room. I felt a little guilty that I’d been hanging out with her boyfriend all evening, and that I’d been accused of flirting with him. I wondered why Michelle was pulling away from us both and why everybody seemed to be changing so much. A part of me wanted everything to go back to the way it had been—me and Michelle as allies against the evil Lockwood Empire, with Owen and Gray our two loyal boyfriends.

But another part of me wondered what would happen if I let myself change, too, if I stopped clinging to the past and opened myself up to whatever the future might hold.

C
HAPTER
5

O
ver the next few weeks, I began running more frequently so I could get out of my room, but also so I could feel more connected to Gray. I’d imagine him beside me and have conversations with him in my head. The first few runs were painful, as my brain kept telling me I wasn’t strong enough, that I should quit. But then Gray’s voice would talk me through it until my conscious mind shut down and my subconscious took over. On those days, it was almost like I went into a trance. Miles would pass, and I couldn’t even recall the run itself.

Sometimes I’d stop at the stream and think about going back up to the witch caves. I couldn’t get over the sense that these woods were still alive with the ghosts of the condemned, and that their spirits were restless and lonely like me.

One rare afternoon when Michelle and I were both in our room doing homework, I decided to tell her about my discovery of the caves.

“What were they like?” she asked.

“Smaller than I expected and really dark. I can’t imagine someone living in one for an entire winter. They were sort of eerie but cool. I’m thinking of hiking out there again,” I said. “Would you come with me next time? So I don’t wimp out.”

“Emma, they weren’t actual witches hiding out there,” she said. “They were regular people who’d been falsely accused.”

“I know. But still, I got this strange vibe when I was there. Almost like their ghosts were still trapped on that hill.”

“Now you sound like Darlene.”

I laughed. Michelle’s Aunt Darlene was part dream interpreter, part voodoo practitioner, and all-around wise woman. She believed in the spirit world and claimed to communicate with the dead. Michelle discounted her beliefs as superstition, but last year when I’d been in the coma and had crossed over into the world of
Jane Eyre,
Darlene had helped me figure out what it all meant. She told me my dreams were a mystical pathway—a gift I’d been given by the spirit world so I could communicate with my mother.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said. “I miss Darlene. We should go see her.” Not only was Darlene incredibly insightful, but she owned her own bakery and plied us with homemade Haitian pastries and coconut drinks every time we went. “Have you been to see her lately?” I asked.

“No,” Michelle said.

I hesitated about whether to ask the next question. “Then why did you tell Owen you were going home to see her the night of his birthday?”

She looked up from her book, clearly taken by surprise. “What?”

“Owen told me that’s why you couldn’t make it to the Depot to watch their band play.”

She shut her book now, looking annoyed. “Well, for one thing, I took Owen out the night before on his actual birthday. Two, I can’t stand Flynn. And three, I had to rehearse a scene with Elise.”

“So why did you lie to Owen?”

“Because he doesn’t like me hanging out with Elise,” she said.

“Hmm, I wonder why.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that last year, you thought she was evil.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not as evil once you get to know her.”

“Not as evil. A ringing endorsement.”

“Really, Emma, haven’t you noticed that she doesn’t hang out with her old friends anymore? She actually seems sort of lonely.”

“Oh God,” I said. “Now you’re feeling sorry for her? After everything she did to us?” I could feel the argument spiraling out of control, but I didn’t know how to rein in my momentum. “You’re defending Elise, lying to your boyfriend, and ignoring me.”

“Ignoring you?” she said. “You ignored me all summer!”

That shut me up. Here I was getting jealous that Michelle was spending all her time with everyone but me. Yet all summer long, I’d chosen to spend time with Gray instead of her. And now I expected things to go back to the way they’d been? That wasn’t fair.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re right. I wasn’t there for you this summer.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry, too. It’s not that I don’t want to hang out with you anymore. It’s just this play. I didn’t realize it was going to be so all-consuming. Things will get better as soon as it’s over, I promise. But right now, I really need to get some work done. I’m going to go to the library. I can’t concentrate here.”

“Meet back here for
Downton Abbey
tonight?” I said.

“Sure thing,” she said. But I felt like she was humoring me.

As soon as she was gone, I wished I hadn’t been so aggressive with her. But there was so little I understood about Michelle. Did she still love Owen? Was she still seeing that guy from the summer? Did she still want to go to MIT?

Maybe she didn’t have the answers either. It seemed we were both going through growing pains, trying to figure out how to roll with all the changes being thrown our way.

All I wanted was to see Gray, seemingly the only constant in my life. I couldn’t wait to look into those hazel eyes that knew me so well, to fall into his arms where everything seemed to make sense.

When the weekend of his Coast Guard graduation finally arrived, I woke early, my limbs jangling with nerves. Owen was driving me to Gray’s house that afternoon, and I was going to travel down with Gray’s family to Cape May, where we’d spend the night in a hotel so we could make it to the ceremony by ten the next morning. I didn’t love the idea of spending six hours in the car with Gray’s family, but my dad wouldn’t let me to drive all the way to New Jersey by myself.

Owen asked if I wanted to drive his Prius to the Newmans’ house, and I jumped at the chance. When I sat down in the driver’s seat, I had to adjust it a few inches forward so I could reach the pedals. “You got so tall this year,” I said. “And I remained a midget.”

“I like you short,” he said. “It makes me feel manly.” He beat his fists against his chest, Tarzan style.