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“You came,” I say.

“Of course we came,” Trina says. No one seems to know what expression they should be wearing—Trina’s smile teeters, strangely fragile; Mel stares at the ground; and Anthony keeps nodding a little, as if he can’t bring himself to stop. Mel’s refusalto meet my eye hurts more than I want to admit. I force myself to look away from her, to pretend it doesn’t sting. She’s here. That means something, doesn’t it?

Not what I wish it could. But something.

Kyle waves awkwardly. I haven’t seen him much since Becca, since we aren’t in the same year, and I’m surprised at how much older he looks—fifteen now, but I’ll probably always think of him as younger. His features are still delicate, almost like a doll’s, his near-white hair making him look otherworldly. But that delicacy has sharper edges now, the suggestion of the man he is growing into beginning to appear in the shadows of his eyes and the line of his jaw. I remember something about him getting suspended, being on the brink of flunking out, getting into fights, but I haven’t updated my mental image of him since he was the awkward kid who worshipped his older sister and wanted nothing more than to be cool enough to hang out with her friends.

The only one who looks perfectly comfortable is a girl I’ve never seen before, standing next to Mel. Her complexion is stark, her skin fair, and her rich mahogany hair hangs loose and straight past her shoulders. A crow’s feather is tattooed on the inside of her wrist. Recognition sparks. She’s the girl I dreamed about.

“That’s everyone, then?” Mel says. “Um, this is Miranda, by the way. She’s a friend.” The faintest hesitation before the last word. Girlfriend, then? I try to ignore the spark of jealousy that thought ignites. I thought I was over that. And it should be the last thing on my mind.

I must have seen Miranda around before. But why my mind picked her to dream about, I have no idea.

“We’re odd again,” Trina notes.

I do a head count and realize she’s right. A jolt of panic goes up my spine. Things are going wrong already.

What did I think goingrightwould look like?

“It’ll be okay,” Anthony says. “We’ll figure it out.”

“What exactly are we expecting to happen here, anyway?” Jeremy asks. Anthony wasn’t sure I would show up, was he? So he brought his best friend. Hisnewbest friend, since I got fired from the position. Or quit, depending on your perspective.

Jeremy isn’t a bad guy. Clueless sometimes. Too much of a jock for my tastes. Has a tendency to talk about three times faster than he thinks, but it’s not like I’ve never put my foot in my mouth.

“The road shows up. We walk down it. That’s the idea, anyway,” I say. “Everyone brought a key?”

A chorus of affirmatives and nods go around the group.

“So we just walk thirteen steps, right?” Trina asks. Her voice speeds up when she’s nervous, rising in pitch. She’s nervous now, practically shaking. We all are, probably. Even Jeremy, who’s flexing his fingers like he wishes he had a lacrosse stick to hold on to. Jock version of a security blanket, I guess.

Vanessa shakes her head. “I th-think it’s more complicated,” she says, looking at me. “Anyway, if this really happens at m-m-midnight, and th-there’s no r-reason to think itdoes, w-we’ll know soon e-e-e—”

“Enough,” Jeremy finishes for her.

“Don’t do that,” Anthony reminds him.

“It’s okay,” Vanessa replies with a little shrug that suggests that it isn’t okay so much as so common she doesn’t see the pointin calling it out every time. Judging by Jeremy’s expression, he knows the feeling, and he turns a bit red. With his hearing aids, he can understand most conversation—though it’s easier if he’s looking at you, to supplement with expression and lip-reading—but that doesn’t stop people from trying the whole loud-and-slow-like-you’re-stupid approach. Which just makes things worse, since it distorts the sound and makes lip-reading difficult—on top of being condescending and assholish.

“Right. Sorry,” Jeremy says. “My bad.”

“Two minutes to go,” Kyle says. “I guess this is everybody that’s going to show.”

“Two minutes until we all feel really stupid,” Mel mutters. She’s studiously not looking at me, and I notice the sway to her stance for the first time. Questions bubble up, but I don’t voice them. What matters is that we’re here. All of us. For Becca.

Whatever happens.

“Guys?” Kyle’s voice wavers. “I think something’s happening.”

Together, we turn. And the road arrives.

VIDEO EVIDENCE

Retrieved from the cell phone of Kyle Jeffries

Recorded April 19, 2017, 12:01 a.m.

The phone swings around. The image is out of focus; the field is a dark blur, streaks of black and gray, grainy and disorienting, refusing to resolve into a clear picture. There is a sound like wind across the microphone, or maybe Kyle’s finger scraping against the phone’s case.