The more the night went on, the more these strangers wanted to talk to me about Kayla. They told me stories, some good, some bad. They shared their opinions. It was like - now that she was gone - it was finally safe for them to be honest about her.

One of Kayla's self-professed best friends (there were so many I lost count) started a dreamy-eyed monologue on Kayla and Donovan's relationship. That was the last thing I wanted to hear about, but for some m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic reason, I couldn't tell her to stop.

"Kayla and Donovan seemed like polar opposites," she said, swaying in place. "He was deep where she was shallow. She was all parties and the popular crowd while he was all art and gamers. She could've had anyone at school. But I never once wondered what she saw in him. I knew what it was."

I leaned forward, nearly falling off the counter. "What?"

"He was different, kind, special."

I wondered why she spoke of him in the past tense. Like he wasn't still all those things.

"And those eyes. When their intensity was focused on you, you felt like the center of the universe." She suddenly snapped out of it, embarra.s.sment shining on her face. "But he totally killed her. We all know that."

She wandered off and I wondered how much of her insistence on Donovan's guilt was merely bitterness that he never wanted her like he wanted Kayla.

"So are you, like, dating Kane Woodward?" Keith, the burly boy who'd come in with Faye, asked.

"No, we're just friends," I answered loudly, hoping to dispel that myth in case Faye was within hearing distance.

"But you're going out tomorrow night," Keith said.

"Yeah, I guess." I didn't want to get into the nuances of it with him.

"Hey." He leaned in closer. "Did you ever, like, see the ghost of Kayla here?"

I fought to prevent a reaction from showing on my face. The answer caught in my throat and I had to force out the word, "Nope."

I had no desire to tell the truth to people I barely knew. They might call me crazy, say I was making it up for attention. I didn't need a reputation at school after only two weeks.

I'd only even mentioned the possibility of a ghost to Alexa, and she wasn't talking to anyone. In fact, she'd told me an hour ago she was going to look at my book collection, and I hadn't seen her since, so she'd obviously snuck out.

I didn't really blame her.

I finally realized that if I stayed in the corner and listened to stories about Kayla all night, I'd be driven loony by midnight. I excused myself from Keith and walked into the living room. But I didn't know who to talk to. They were all chatting about people I didn't know or making inside jokes I didn't get. I wished I could really talk to someone.

Suddenly, all the loud simultaneous conversations ground to a halt and a chorus of whispers rose from the silence. I followed the collective line of sight to the front door, where Donovan stood half in, half out, like he was making the decision to stay or run at the last second. I held my breath, silently chanting: stay, stay, stay.

He crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him. His eyes made a quick sweep of the room, perhaps thinking back to the way Kayla's family had their furniture arranged, or maybe remembering moments he spent with Kayla here, cuddled on the couch, laughing ...

"Why is he here?"

I looked sharply at Kane, shocked by the intensity of the venom with which he spoke. "I invited him," I said.

Donovan saw me and I swore his eyes lit up. He wore jeans and a pale blue polo - the only time I'd seen him wear something other than black. And he'd gotten a haircut. His eyes weren't hidden anymore.

I wasn't the only one who noticed. A few girls were giving him sly looks over their shoulders, and not in a negative way.

Did he do all this ... for me? I wondered.

I was shocked enough that he'd shown up. But he'd freshened his look. He even seemed to be carrying himself differently, not staring down at the floor, but instead looking right at me as he threaded his way through the crowded living room.

I cleared my throat, trying desperately to think of something cool to say, but my mind was racing and my heart was pumping wildly. He'd almost reached me when Kane stepped between us.

"Returning to the scene of the crime?" Kane asked.

Donovan's face darkened and his fists clenched. My vague worry about a fight at the party had just turned into a real possibility. I pushed myself between them and put my hands on Donovan's shoulders, forcing him to look into my eyes.

"Go upstairs," I whispered.

I turned to Kane next, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him into the downstairs bathroom.

"What is wrong with you?" I said, closing the door behind us.

He raked his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry. I don't want to make a scene at your party. That guy ... he just gets to me. Why did you even invite him, anyway?"

I faltered. "Are you ... jealous? You know tomorrow night isn't a date." I wanted to make sure that was very clear.

"No. Just protective. I don't trust him. I don't want anything to happen to you."

I paused. "You don't really think he killed Kayla, do you?"

"Only he knows what happened. He was the one who was here that day. And he gave a statement to the police, but never spoke a word of it to anyone else. So what does that tell you?"

"That if he did it, the police would have arrested him."

"Maybe he did do it, but they couldn't prove it," Kane countered.

"Or maybe he didn't and you guys are torturing him for nothing." My jaw tightened. I shouldn't have felt so defensive. I barely knew Donovan. But after our talks, I'd grown to feel protective of him. If other people wanted to torment him over Kayla's death they could ... but not in my house.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore." Kane stepped closer and put a gentle hand on my arm. "Let's not let Donovan O'Mara ruin your party."

I stiffened. "He's not the one who nearly did."

I left Kane behind and made a quick loop through the kitchen and living room, looking for Donovan, but he wasn't there. Hopefully he'd gone upstairs like I asked and hadn't left. I frowned at the crowd in the living room. There were at least thirty kids in there, plus more in the kitchen. Shockingly, Faye hadn't kept her word.

The front door opened as more kids readied themselves to come in. I darted up to it and slammed and locked it closed.

Faye stomped over. "What are you doing?"

"You said no more than twenty people. No one else is coming in."

Faye rolled her eyes. "Loosen up, Jade. I let you bring in Robot Girl and Killer Boy."

Righteous anger burned through my veins. Who did she think she was? This was my house and my party. And though Faye had deluded herself into thinking she ruled the school, she certainly didn't rule me. I didn't know what kind of girl she was used to, but I cared more about my dignity than popularity. I swelled up with confidence and spoke firmly, "Faye, I'm going upstairs for a minute. When I come back, there'd better be ten less people in this house. If there aren't, the whole party ends."

I went straight up the stairs and didn't look back, but enjoyed imagining the shocked expression on Faye's face. I felt exhilarated after standing up for myself. But when I reached the landing, my elation evaporated. I never could cross the top step without thinking of Kayla.

My thoughts muddled again, I turned down the hallway. For some reason, I'd expected Donovan to be waiting in my room. But instead he was standing outside Colby's closed door. The old Donovan was back - shoulders hunched, sad aura pulsing from him.

And as I stepped up to him, I realized why.

"This was her room, wasn't it?" I said gently.

"Yeah," he said, staring at Colby's door. "She had framed black-and-white photos all over the walls. There was always a stack of fashion magazines three feet high on the floor next to her bed." He looked at me quickly, then away again. "I imagine it's different now."

"Yeah, take all that away and replace it with Star Wars."

Donovan gave me a curious look.

"It's my little brother's room," I explained. What I didn't say out loud was that now I knew why Kayla's ghost appeared most often in there. Colby's room had been hers.

Donovan turned away from the door and faced me. "Sorry about downstairs."

"You're not the one who needs to apologize," I said. "And the party was kind of sucking, anyway. The only reason people even came was because this was Kayla's house." I groaned. "I can't escape her."

My hand flew to my mouth. Fantastic. Here he was mourning and I'd basically bad-mouthed and complained about the girl he was missing so much. Normally, I'd have more tact, but I felt so comfortable with Donovan that the truth kept slipping out before I could stop it.

I was about to apologize, but Donovan gazed into my eyes and said, "I know how that feels. When people see me, they don't think, 'There's Donovan O'Mara.' They think, 'There's the guy who may have killed Kayla Sloane.'"

"I'm sorry," I said. "About your losing her."

He shook his head. "I'd already lost her."

I scrunched my forehead in confusion and he added, "The day she died, I came here to break up with her."

The front door slammed so forcefully, the house shook. Raised yet m.u.f.fled voices drifted upstairs. Then the door opened and shut again.

I clenched my jaw. "I have to go deal with this before they wake my brother up." I gripped the banister tightly as I descended the stairs, mostly out of anger that my time with Donovan was interrupted.

When I reached the bottom, a girl with a horrified look on her face shouted, "I'm leaving, too," as she tore out the front door, slamming it behind her.

What was going on? I'd asked Faye to thin the crowd, not rile them up. I turned the corner into the living room and stopped short.

Less than twenty people remained now, but they were all clumped around the coffee table. The recessed lights in the ceiling had been turned off and the room was instead lit by candlelight.

"What's happening?" I pushed myself through the crowd and gasped.

A Ouija board was centered on the coffee table. Faye sat cross-legged on the rug beside it. She placed the pointer on the board, then looked up at me, grinning wickedly.

"We're going to contact the ghost of Kayla Sloane."

The air held a mixture of almost-nauseous foreboding and palpable excitement. A few kids backed away, shaking their heads. But even more stepped forward, eyes wide with antic.i.p.ation.

"No, you don't mess with those things," a guy said, pointing at the Ouija board like it was on fire. "My grandmother told me stories. Those things can open doorways."

"It's made from Hasbro," Faye snapped. "Grow a pair."

The crowd erupted into debate.

"What if it works?"

"Those things aren't real."

"Who brought all this stuff?"

"Who cares who brought it? Let's do it!"

"This isn't cool."

"We shouldn't do this."

"It's just for fun."

Eventually all eyes turned to me. It was my house. I was the deciding factor.

The board was plastic. The top was just stickered on in a factory somewhere, not carved by a witch. I'd played with a Ouija board in a barn back home once with Nicole and Elizabeth. Nothing had happened.

But things were different here. My house was haunted. I knew that. These kids didn't. Maybe nothing would happen. Kayla had been quiet all night.

But she wasn't gone.

And I wanted her gone.

Maybe we'd play with the board and nothing would happen. Or maybe - I felt a spark of hope - this could be the way to end it all. Kayla had trouble letting go of her life. That was obvious. Maybe all she needed was to communicate with her friends one last time. Have the good-bye she was never allowed before. This could be the answer I'd been looking for.

"Let's do it," I said with finality.

A gasp came from close behind me. I turned to see Kane, his eyes reflecting deep disappointment.

"This isn't right," he said, backing away.

I reached out for him, but the crowd closed the circle around me and all I saw was a glimpse of his back as he went out the door.

"So who wants to be on the pointer with me?" Faye asked.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"I'll do it," Donovan said, stepping forward and surprising everyone. He eased himself down on the rug on the opposite side of the coffee table.

"We should have one more," Faye said, looking right at me.

"Fine." I sat cross-legged on the end corner and took a closer look at the board. It was in shades of brown, the alphabet in the center, a row of numbers beneath that, and the words "YES" and "NO" in the upper corners.

"Okay," Faye said, reveling in being in charge. "Put your hands on the planchette."

Donovan and I complied. He looked intense, his mouth drawn tight. Faye shushed the room into silence and then said, "Are any spirits here with us tonight?"

Everyone, whether standing or sitting, was stiff, with eyes wide. The light from the candles flickered and distorted their faces.