"So that's why you were crying?" I ask, watching crisp autumn leaves blow down the street. "Because he pushed you too far?"

"Pushed too far..." She pulls her hair into a bun and secures it with an elastic off her wrist. "Look Em, I know I freaked out on you last night, but I swear it isn't what you're thinking. No one slipped me a roofie and I wasn't as drunk as you thought."

We jump back from the curb as the sprinklers turn on. "Then what was that talk about seeing death?"

"What are you talking about?" she asks as we run to the edge of the driveway, out of the reach of the sprinkler. Our shoes and the bottoms of our legs are wet.

I lower my voice. "You said you saw death last night."

She takes a pack of gum out of her pocket and pops a piece into her mouth. "I did?"

"Yup. And you were more than just upset-you were freaking out."

She pops a bubble. "Hmm.... Maybe I wasn't as sober as I thought. Or maybe your gift was confusing my head." She chews on her gum slowly, considering. "Well, I don't know why I was talking about death, but I was upset because this really hot guy totally wasn't that into me, so I wandered off with Laden because he was interested."

"I've never seen you that upset, except for once." Right after she found her mom. "Guys are disposable to you. How could you be so upset because one blew you off?"

"Okay, first off, he didn't blow me off." She flares up her hands and sways her head with att.i.tude. "He was just distracted. And besides, that's not the only reason I was upset. Laden left me on the side of the road like a total douchebag."

I gape at her. "How did you get home?"

"I walked," she explains nonchalantly. "We were just on the bridge, so it wasn't that big of a deal."

"It seemed like a big deal last night," I point out.

She sighs and sits down on the curb. I plop down beside her and we stretch our legs out into the road as the sun shines down on us. "Remember when we used to sit here and wait for my dad to come home?"

I give her a small smile and lean back on my hands. "He always used to bring something for us, like a candy or Play-Doh."

She laughs at the memory and her eyes crinkle at the corners. "G.o.d, he always seemed like such a great dad, but he turned out to be a total jerk, bailing on his kids like that."

"It wasn't your fault he left." I stare at the jack-o'-lanterns on the porch of the house across the street, remembering when Raven's dad helped us make one that looked like a cat. It was one of our rare perfect moments, full of weightless laughter, pumpkin seeds, and the gentle autumn air.

"I know. It was my mom and her stupid drug habit." She pauses, her jaw taut. "How did we end up with such c.r.a.ppy parents?" Her eyes widen. "Oh c.r.a.p, I didn't mean that. Your dad was a good guy. He just had some bad habits."

"Like stealing cars," I mutter, gazing up at the clear sky.

"I said I was sorry... Look, I'm still p.i.s.sed off about that guy last night and I don't even know why I'm saying this stuff."

"It's fine." I flick a gnat off my knee. "But I have to know something."

She rubs some lip gloss over her lips. "What's up?"

I know what she wants me to say-what will make her feel better. "How hot was the guy?"

Her eyes light up and she squeals. "Oh my G.o.d, he was so hot. Seriously, Em, like hotter than any of the losers at our school."

"And how old is he?"

"He's a junior, like us. He actually just moved here from New York."

A lump rises in my throat. "Oh yeah? New York, huh. That's pretty awesome."

"It's not pretty awesome. It's amazing." Her voice effervesces. "And he's got these really beautiful dark eyes and his s.e.xy eyebrow ring."

"Sounds like your type." Jealousy burns under my skin. "But I mean, you said he wasn't into you, right?"

She narrows her eyes at me. "Not yet, but he will be. And you're going to help me." She pulls me up by the arm and I wince. "His first day of school is tomorrow so I have to look fabulous." Her eyebrows furrow as she stares at the empty driveway of my house. "You never told me where your car was."

"I wrecked it last night," I say with no desire to explain it to her. "On my way home."

"Oh no, Emmy, I'm so sorry." She gives me a big hug.

"It's okay." I give her a soft pat, desperate for her to let me go. "It was just a car... Raven, can you let me go please."

"Oh, sorry." She frees me from her arms. "Is the car fixable?"

"Not unless we can get it out of the lake." My tone is sunny, but my heart is dark. It's just a car.

"Wait a minute. You drove it into the lake." She swats my arm and I flinch. "Why didn't you tell me last night when I made that comment about your clothes?"

"You were upset." I scuff the toe of my boot against the rocks in the driveway. "I didn't want to make it worse."

"I'm sorry." She frowns. "I'm a terrible friend."

"You're not a terrible friend," I reply. "You were just distracted by your own problems."

We wander down the sidewalk toward her townhouse right next door. The street is quiet and the air is gentle against my skin. Crisp leaves flurry from the branches of the trees and cover the lawns with pink and orange. It's late October and the lawns are ornamented with Halloween decoration: giant witches, fake tombstones, skeletons.

"Em, how did you get out of the lake?" She pauses to readjust a loose strap on her sandal. "Alive?"

"All those survival tips my dad always crammed into my head finally came in handy."

"You got out by yourself? How? And how are you walking around completely okay?"

"I guess I'm just really lucky." I don't know why I lie. It's like there's this part of me that doesn't want her to know.

"Lucky? More like a freaking walking miracle." She steps in front of me and looks me in the eyes. "I can't believe I wasn't there for you. I'm so sorry." She pauses and then shifts the subject. "Come on. You and I are going shopping because you need some cheering up and I need a s.e.xy new outfit for school tomorrow."

I follow her up the driveway and wait by her Corolla while she runs inside the house and gets the keys. That's the thing I love about Raven. She hardly asks questions. She didn't ask how I got home. What I was going to do about my dad's car. Why I didn't go to the hospital. But as much as I love not being grilled, I wonder if there is something wrong with our friendship, if she should have asked those questions. I once read a quote by William Shakespeare about friendship: "A friend should bear his friend's infirmities." If I told Raven the wrong thing-something she didn't want to hear-would our friendship end?

"Okay, so we have to stop and put some gas in because it's low." She swings the keys around her finger.

"I think I might stay home," I tell her. "I'm feeling kind of sick."

She points a finger at me. "No way. You have to come be my fashion advisor." She eyes my clothes over. "Or at least keep me company."

I surrender and get in the car. "Can we at least stop and pick up a new cell phone? Mine is somewhere at the bottom of the lake."

"Sure." She backs down the driveway, but slams on the brakes as a U-Haul drives up the road, followed by a red Jeep Wrangler. The U-Haul parks in the driveway of the house across the street and two doors down, and the Jeep parks out front. It's one of the larger houses on the street, two stories with an upper deck and rose bushes blooming in the yard.

"It looks like someone is finally moving into Old Man Carey's home," she says with inquiring eyes.

A man and woman climb out of the U-Haul. The woman is wearing a black pencil skirt, a white cashmere sweater, a pair of stilettos, and her blonde hair is done up in a high bun. The man looks very businesslike, in a collar shirt and slacks, and blonde hair slicked to the side.

"Oh my G.o.d, they so don't fit in." Raven laughs and backs down the driveway. "Which instantly makes me like them."

We're pulling onto the street when the long legs of the driver stretch out of the Jeep. His blonde hair shines in the sun and his ash eyes glow with intensity. Dark jeans hang on his hips, fancy leather shoes cover his feet, and a tight-fitting Henley shows off his rock-solid abs.

"That's the guy from the cemetery," I say aloud.

"What guy from the cemetery?" Raven watches him like he's something delicious as he struts across the lawn. She fans herself. "Good G.o.d, he's hot."

"We should get going." I shift the car into drive for her. "I promised Ian I'd be back by dinnertime."

We're parked in the middle of the street and it's obvious we're staring at the new neighbors. The guy from the cemetery stops in the middle of the yard and watches us with an amused glint in his eyes.

"Oh! You mean he's the grave robber." Raven slams her hand on the steering wheel animatedly. "We so have to go over there."

"Don't even think about," I hiss, but she's already turning the steering wheel. "You just said it yourself-he's a grave robber."

Her eyes sparkle mischievously. I slouch in the chair as she drives toward his house.

"What's your problem?" she asks. "Don't you want to find out who he is? And why he was digging up a grave in the middle of the night. I mean maybe you misunderstood what was going on and now he could explain it to you."

I shake my head and shield my face with my hand. "Why? So you can date him?"

"Or maybe you could?" She parks in front of the Jeep and turns down the radio. "You really need to get over this fear of men, Em."

"It's not a fear of men, but a general fear of people. And can we just go? Please," I beg. "We're not going to make it back in time if we don't get going."

"You are so weird sometimes." She rolls down the window and waves him over. "Lighten up."

He swaggers over with a predator's smile. Each movement states self-a.s.surance and c.o.c.kiness. He bends down and rests his arms on the door.

"Hi there," Raven purrs in a seductive tone. "We noticed someone is finally moving into Old Man Carey's house and we thought we'd come over and introduce ourselves."

"Old Man Carey's?" He c.o.c.ks his head, amused, but beneath the surface, pain emits. "I a.s.sume you're talking about my grandfather."

"Oh, he was your grandfather." Raven presses her hand to her heart. "I was so sorry to hear that he died."

"You knew him?" The stranger asks warily.

"Oh yeah, I used to bring him soup all the time when he was sick." She traces her fingernails up his arm. "I was very heartbroken when he died."

"I bet you were." His dark eyes focus on me and my adrenaline surges. "Did you get your notebook back, Ember?"

I'm shocked. I thought he would deny he knew me, considering the circ.u.mstances under which we met.

"I did." I straighten up in the seat. "Thank you for dropping it off at my house."

"I could tell it was important to you." His gaze penetrates under my skin. "Did you get my message?"

"You mean the poem," I correct. "Yeah, I got it."

"But did you get it get it?" His voice floats out hauntingly like the night I first saw him.

"I'm not sure." There is a need to touch him, a fire in my veins burning to connect with him. It's intense, like standing at the edge of a cliff preparing to base jump, but I'm not sure if the parachute will open.

"Read it closer." His eyes smolder. "I think you'll get it eventually."

Raven clears her throat. "Um, sorry to break up your little moment, but we gotta get going."

I forgot she was there. "Yeah, we should get going."

He pats the car door and backs away. "Perhaps I'll see you around later tonight." He winks at me. "At the cemetery maybe."

My stomach flutters with fear and exhilaration. "Yeah, maybe."

Raven rolls the car forward and he starts to walk away.

"Wait," I shout and he pauses. "You never told me your name."

Raven c.o.c.ks a reprimanding eyebrow at me. "Don't you mean us?"

"Cameron." He flashes me a s.e.xy grin. "Cameron Logan." He waves and turns back to his house.

Raven rolls up her window and turns the car around. "Okay, what the heck was that about?"

I bite on my thumbnail to hide my smile. "What was what about?" I ask innocently.

"You never talk to guys like that." She floors the car to the end of our street and then speeds onto the highway. "And how did he know your name? And where you live?"

"They were on my journal." I shrug.

"Still, it's really creepy." She flips down the visor. "And what poem were you guys talking about?"

I roll down the window and let the breeze cool off my overly warm skin. "The one he wrote in my journal."

"You mean that creepy one on the wall?" She frowns. "The one that sounds like it was written by a serial killer?"

"That's what you say about all poems," I remind her. "And his was just deep."

"Whatever, Em. In my opinion the guy was a total creep."

"Why? Because he knew my name and writes poetry?"

She rolls her eyes and laughs. "I'm not jealous of you."