"O-o-okay, Liz. I s-s-see —"

"No, you don't!"

She slammed her hands down. The bottles jetted into the air, smashing against the ceiling with such force the plastic exploded. Hair gel rained down.

"Do you see?"

"Y-y-yes."

Her hands flew up again, like a conductor hitting the crescendo. A picture leaped from the wall. It smashed onto the hardwood floor, glass spraying. Another fell. Then a third. A sliver of glass shot into my knee. A button of blood welled up and streamed down my leg.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the picture above my bed quaver. It sprang from its moorings.

"No!" Liz cried.

I dove. Liz hit my side, shoving me out of the picture's path. It struck her shoulder. She twisted. We both rolled from the bed, hitting the floor hard.

I lay on my side, catching my breath.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped. "I didn't mean — Do you see what happens? I can't control it. I get mad and everything . . ."

"You think it's a poltergeist."

She nodded, her lip quivering.

I had no idea what was going on. Not a poltergeist though —that was nuts—but if she thought it was, then maybe if she thought I'd told it to stop, it really would stop.

"Okay," I said. "Get the candle and we'll—"

The door shot open. Mrs. Talbot's bathrobed form stood silhouetted in the doorway. She flipped on the light. I drew back, blinking.

"Oh my God," she breathed, barely above a whisper. "Elizabeth. What have you done?"

I jumped to my feet. "It wasn't her. I —I—I—"

For once, I wasn't stammering. I just couldn't think of more words. Her gaze swept across the room, taking in the glass littering the floor, the hair gel dripping from the ceiling, the exploded makeup painting the wall, and I knew there was no reasonable explanation.

Her gaze fell to my leg and she let out a squeak. "It's okay," I said, drawing my leg up and swiping the blood. "It's nothing. I cut myself. Shaving. Earlier."

She picked her way past me, eyes fixed on the glass-carpeted floor.

"No," Liz whispered. "Please no. I didn't mean it."

"It's okay, hon. We're going to get you help."

Miss Van Dop strode in, carrying a needle. She sedated Liz as Mrs. Talbot tried to calm her, telling her they were only transferring her to a better hospital, one more suitable, one that could help her get well faster.

When Liz was unconscious, they shooed me from the room. As I backed into the hall, a hand walloped me in the back, slamming me into the wall. I turned to see Tori looming over me.

"What did you do to her?" she snarled.

"Nothing." To my shock, the word came out clear, defiant even. I pulled myself up straight. "I'm not the one who told her I could help."

"Help?"

"By contacting her poltergeist."

Her eyes went wide, with that same horrified expression as when Simon told her to stop acting like a bitch. She turned away and stumbled into her room.

THE PARAMEDICS CAME FOR LIZ. I watched her go, asleep on the stretcher, just like I'd been taken from school. Deluxe transportation for crazy kids.

Miss Van Dop insisted I take half a sleeping pill. I gave In, but when she tried to follow it with an extra dose of my antihallucination medicine, I hid that pill under my tongue.

I hadn't seen or heard anything since lunchtime. While that might have been the meds kicking in, I couldn't help hoping Rae's wild theory was right —that my "break with reality" was only a temporary mental vacation, brought on by stress and hormones. With any luck, I was already making the return trip to sanity.

I had to test that theory. So I'd save the pill and, if I saw anything, I'd take it.

I offered to help clean the room, but Mrs. Talbot took me downstairs for a glass of milk, then settled me on the sofa. I drifted off, waking when she came to trundle me back to bed, and was asleep again before I could pull up the covers.

I awoke to the fruity smell of Liz's hair gel. I floated there, dreaming I was trapped in a vat of cotton candy, the sweet smell making my stomach churn as I fought through the sticky strands. Finally I broke free, eyes flying open, gulping air.

"Chloe?"

I blinked. It sounded like Liz's voice, timid and wavering.

"Are you awake, Chloe?"

I rolled onto my side. Liz sat on the edge of her bed, wearing her Minnie Mouse nightshirt and gray socks covered with purple and orange giraffes.

She wiggled her toes. "Funky, huh? My little brother got them for me last Christmas."

I pushed up, blinking harder. The cotton candy from the sleeping pill still encircled my brain, sticky and thick, and 1 couldn't seem to focus. Sunlight streamed through the Venetian blind, making the giraffes on Liz's socks dance as she waggled her toes.

"I had the weirdest dream last night," she said, gaze fixed on her feet.

You and me both, I thought.

"I dreamed they took me away and I woke up in this hospital. Only I wasn't in a bed but on a table. A cold, metal table. And there was this woman there, like a nurse, wearing one of those masks. She was bending over me. When I opened my eyes, she jumped."

Her gaze shot my way, and she managed a tiny smile. "Kinda like you do sometimes. Like I startled her. She calls this guy over, and I ask where I am, but they just keep talking. They're mad because I wasn't supposed to wake up and now they don't know what to do. I try to sit, but I'm tied down."

Liz bunched her nightshirt in her hands, kneading it. "All of a sudden I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move, couldn't yell, and then . . ." She shuddered, arms wrapping around herself. "I woke up here."

I sat up. "I'm going to help you, Liz. Okay?"

She scuttled back on the bed, pulling her knees up. She opened her mouth, but she was shaking too badly to form words. I stood, the wood floor icy beneath my feet, and crossed over to sit beside her.

"Do you want me to try talking to your poltergeist?"

She nodded, chin drumming against her chest. "Tell it to stop. Tell it I don't need its help. I can look after myself."

I reached out to lay my hand on her arm. I saw my fingers make contact, but they kept moving. Kept going. Through her arm.

As I stared in horror, Liz looked down. She saw my hand pass through her. And she started to scream.

I TUMBLED OFF HER BED, hitting the floor so hard pain jolted through my spine. When I scrambled up, Liz's bed was empty, the comforter wrinkled only where I'd been sitting.

I took a slow look around the bedroom. Liz was gone.

Gone? She'd never been here. They'd taken her away last night. I hadn't dreamed that part —hair gel still freckled the ceiling.

I pressed my palms to my eyes and backed up until I hit my bed, sitting down on it and inhaling deeply. After a moment, I opened my eyes. Sticky strands of sleep were still woven around my brain.

I'd been dreaming.

No, not dreaming. Not imagining things. Hallucinating.

Dr. Gill was right. I had schizophrenia.

But what if it wasn't? What if Rae was right, and I was seeing ghosts?

I shook my head sharply. No, that was crazy talk. That would mean Liz was dead. That was nuts. I was hallucinating, and I had to accept it.

I reached under my mattress, pulled out the pill I'd stuffed there the night before, and swallowed it dry, gagging in protest.

I had to take my meds. Take them and get better or I'd be shipped off to a real mental hospital, like Liz.

Only Rae joined me for breakfast. Tori was still in her room, and the nurses seemed content to leave her there.