“I’m sorry. I have to—”

“Please, Colin, believe me. I would never—”

He stands as she’s midsentence, turning woodenly and walking as fast as he can back to the dorm.

Chapter 9 HER

SHE WATCHES COLIN WALK AWAY AND CAN almost feel the frenzy of his reaction. The air seems to cool with every step he puts between them, but the imprint of his palm burns against hers. The conversation went both better and much worse than she expected. Better, because she was actually able to explain. Worse, because he left the way he did, looking as if he thought she was making it all up.

Standing, Lucy wraps herself in Colin’s hoodie. She closes her eyes as she takes in his scent on the cotton. What else can she do but wait? She can’t blame him for his panic and for the fear she saw so plainly on his face. The only way she can earn his trust is to let him see that all she wants is to be near him. She has time. She may even have forever.

With one final look, she begins the long walk back to her shed.

She sits by the statue of Saint Osanna the next morning with her arms wrapped around her legs pulled tight to her chest. She’s grown used to the statue’s strangeness; it’s the only thing that feels as out of place in this living world as she does. The earliest risers shuffle past in the chilly air, talking, laughing, eating. Barely awake or focused. One with bright, flushed cheeks, one with wild red hair, and one with smooth, ebony skin. Despite this, Lucy is struck by how little there is to differentiate them. The space around each student feels dull and hollow.

Lucy thinks Colin must hate this weather, so drizzly and wet. Would he ride in this, hopping his bike from log to log, defying gravity on such simple engineering even in the rain? She wants to watch him like that—lost in something he loves.

Just as the sun finally reaches the tops of the buildings, Colin appears. He steps around the corner headed to work the morning shift in Ethan Hall, long legs, long strides, wild hair still too long. He pushes it off his brow and glances at his watch before starting to jog. Lucy ducks back into the shadows, pulling the hood of his hoodie up and over her head. Unlike every other student at Saint Osanna’s, the space near Colin seems so full; the air is heavy with him. It distorts as if heated, swirling inward, wanting to be as close to him as she does.

“Good morning,” she says into the cold, hoping it will pass along the message.

Chapter 10 HIM

HAVE I TOLD YOU LATELY HOW AWESOME you are, Dot?” Jay asks, his mouth full and his second plate of French toast in front of him. They’re sitting at the secret table in the kitchen, watching Dot and the other cooks prepare breakfast for hundreds of students about to pour in through the doors. Back here, they can eat in peace and steal extra bacon.

But this morning, Colin picks at his breakfast.

“If I’m so awesome, then why do I always have to take your dishes to the sink?” she asks over her shoulder.

Jay immediately changes the subject: “You going out after work?”

Dot steps up behind Colin, setting a carton of orange juice on the table before turning back to the giant range and flipping about seventeen pieces of French toast in ten seconds. “Yep. I’m going to the poker tournament in Spokane. I pulled a royal flush right out of the gate last time. First deal of the night.” She smiles and does a little dance as she begins slicing oranges.

“Dot, I’m not sure I like you driving all the way down there,” Jay says.

“Oh please,” she scoffs. “My eyesight is better than yours, kid. I’ve seen some of the girls you date.” She makes exaggerated air quotes around the word “date.”

“You wouldn’t rather hang out with us than a bunch of old ladies? I’m hurt, Dot. If I were ten years older . . .” Jay trails off, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“Jay, you are so creepy.” Colin doesn’t need any help feeling nauseous this morning. He got zero sleep. He barely wants to look up, for fear of seeing something new that confirms he’s lost his mind.

He’s a disaster.

Dot fills Jay’s plate again and wipes her hands on her DON’T FRY BACON NAKED apron. “You know I’d go nuts if I never got away from this place.”

Everyone grows silent, and Colin can feel them both watching him, waiting for his reaction to Dot’s casual words. Colin: the orphan who has no idea what comes next and will probably never leave this tiny town.

To change the subject, he asks the first thing that comes to mind—“Dot, you ever see a Walker?”—and immediately regrets it.

She stops chopping, knife hovering in the air. Colin can hear the rhythm of footsteps through the kitchen wall as students stomp their way into the dining hall. Finally, she shrugs. “I sure hope not, but sometimes . . . I’m not so sure.”

It takes a few seconds for her words to make it from Colin’s ears to the part of his brain that makes sense of them. “You think they exist, though?”

She turns and points the spatula at him. “Is this about your mom again? You know I loved her like a daughter.”

Jay grows silent, his interest in his French toast suddenly renewed. He knows practically everything there is to know about Colin. He definitely knows the story surrounding how his family died, and more than that, he knows how much Colin hates to talk about it.

“I just want to know,” Colin mumbles.

Turning back around, she flips more French toast in lingering silence before saying, “Sometimes I think they’re with us and maybe we don’t want to see.”

Jay laughs as if Dot is joking. But Colin doesn’t.

“I’m a crazy old lady about most things, but I think I’m right about this.”

“What do you mean?” Colin begins tearing the edge of a campus newspaper into narrow strips, trying to look like this is just casual conversation. Like he’s not hanging on her every word. “You believe the stories?”

“I don’t know. We’ve all heard about the army man on the bench and the girl disappearing in the woods.” She squints, considering. “Newspapers love to talk about how this place is different. Built on land where kids were buried. The fire that first week the school opened. We all know people have seen things, and more than a few. Some a bit clearer than others,” she adds quietly. “Who even knows what’s real anymore?”

Colin pokes at his food. “So you think they’re all over, then? Ghosts and spirits and stuff? Not only here at Saint O’s?”

“Maybe not ‘all over,’ but I bet there’s always a few around. Least, that’s what people say.” Colin wonders if he’s imagining the way she looks out the window, off into the direction of the lake.

“If you haven’t seen them, how do you know?” Jay asks, joining in. “Some of the stuff I’ve heard—it’s pretty crazy. You’d have to be nu—” He stops, glancing quickly in Colin’s direction before stuffing his mouth full of French toast again.

“If you think this world isn’t full of things you don’t understand, Jay, you’re too dumb to use a fork unsupervised.” Dot’s quiet laugh softens her words.

Colin feels sort of wobbly all of a sudden, like his insides have liquefied. He’s not sure which scenario would be worse: that he’s lost his mind, or that the stories he’s dismissed his entire life could be true. That Lucy could be dead.

“Why are they here, do you think?” he asks, quieter now.

She pauses, looking over her shoulder and raising an eyebrow. “You’re taking this pretty seriously, kiddo.” Turning back, she doesn’t answer right away and begins chopping a large pile of dried cranberries. The sharp, fresh scent fills the space. “Who knows? Maybe to watch over us,” she says, shrugging a shoulder. “Or to meet us so that we’ll know someone when we’re gone.” She drops the entire pile into the mixer. “Or maybe they’re just stuck here. Maybe they need closure.”

“Closure like they want revenge?” Colin asks.

“Well, if they’re bad, I reckon it’s pretty easy to tell. I’ve always figured anyone from the other side is undiluted—good or bad. Life is all gray. Dying has to be pretty black or white.”