Maybe never.

I glanced at Rae, but pictured Liz instead, perched on the edge of the bed, wriggling her toes, purple and orange giraffes dancing.

Dead Liz.

Ghost Liz.

That was ridiculous, of course. Even if I could dream up a reason why Lyle House would want to kill kids, what about their families? These weren't street kids and runaways. They had parents who would notice if they vanished. Notice and care.

Are you so sure? What about Rae's parents? So attentive, always calling and coming by to see her? And Simon and Derek's dad? The Invisible Man?

I rolled onto my side and wrapped my pillow around my ears, as if that could stifle the voice.

Then I remembered what Simon had said earlier. Astral projecting. There was a race of supernaturals who could leave their bodies and teleport. Could necromancers see those tele-porting spirits, too? I bet they could —that spirit would be the part that left the body, at death or during this astral projecting.

So that's what Liz was. A .. . what did he call it? Shaman. She was astral-projecting here and I was seeing her. That could explain why I could see and hear her, but not the ghosts. It might also explain the poltergeist. Liz was doing that projecting stuff without realizing it, and throwing things around.

That had to be the answer. It had to be.

"Here," Derek whispered, pressing an empty Mason jar into my hand. He'd pulled me aside after class and we were now standing at the base of the boy's staircase. "Take this up to your room and hide it."

"It's a . . . jar."

He grunted, exasperated that I was so dense I failed to see the critical importance of hiding an empty Mason jar in my room.

"It's for your urine."

"My what?"

He rolled his eyes, a growl-like sound sliding through his teeth as he leaned down, closer to my ear. "Urine. Pee. Whatever. For the testing."

I lifted the jar to eye level. "I think they'll give me something smaller."

This time he definitely growled. A quick glance around. Then he reached for my arm before stopping short and waving me onto the steps. He took them two at a time and was on the landing in a flash, then glowered back at me, as if I was dawdling.

"You took your meds today, right?" he whispered.

I nodded.

"Then use this jar to save it."

"Save . . . ?"

"Your urine. If you give them some of today's tomorrow, it'll seem like you're still taking your meds."

"You want me to . . . dole it out? Into specimen jars?"

"Got a better idea?"

"Urn, no, but . . ." I lifted the jar and stared into it.

"Oh, for God's sake. Save your piss. Don't save your piss. It's all the same to me."

Simon peeked around the corner, brows lifted. "I was going to ask what you guys were doing, but hearing that, I think I'll pass."

Derek shooed me down the stairs. I tucked the jar into my knapsack. I'd really rather not use it, but if I squirmed at the thought of stockpiling urine, it would only prove I was the flighty girlie girl he expected.

I DID USE THE JAR, as gross as it was. I'd already provided my "sample" for that day, so the next time I had to go, I did it in the upstairs bathroom, in the jar, hiding it behind the cleaning stuff under the sink. Cleaning the bathroom was one of our chores, so I hoped that meant the nurses never went under there.

We didn't do much work in class that day. We tried, but Ms. Wang wasn't cooperating. It was Friday and she saw the weekend looming, so she just set us up with our assignments, then played solitaire on her laptop.

Rae spent most of the morning in therapy, first with Dr. Gill, then in a special session with Dr. Davidoff, while Tori went for hers with Dr. Gill. That meant when Ms. Wang let us out early for lunch, I was left to pass the time with Simon and Derek, which was just fine by me. There was still so much I wanted to know. Asking wasn't nearly so easy, especially since it wasn't stuff we could discuss in the media room.

Going outside would have been the obvious choice, but Miss Van Dop was working in the garden. So Simon offered to help me finish the laundry. Derek said he'd sneak down later.

"So this is where our resident ghost lurks," Simon said, circling the laundry room.

"I think so but —"

He held up a hand, then lowered himself to the floor and started sorting the last basket. "You don't need to tell me there might not be a ghost here, and I'm not going to make you try to contact it. When Derek comes down, he might. Don't let him push you around."

"I don't push her anywhere." Derek's voice preceded him around the corner.

"If I tell someone to do something and they do it?" Derek said, rounding the corner. "That's not my problem. All she has to do is say no. Her tongue works, doesn't it?"

Great. The guy can manage to make me feel stupid even when he's telling me I don't have to let him make me feel stupid.

"So if they decide to transfer you, what are you going to do about it?"

Simon balled up a shirt. "For God's sake, Derek, they're not —"

"They're thinking about it. She needs a plan."

"Does she?" Simon pitched the shirt into the colored pile. "What about you, bro? If word comes down that you're next to go, do you have a plan?"

They exchanged a look. I couldn't see Simon's face, but Derek's jaw set.

I stood and gathered a load for the washer. "If they do, I don't see that I have a lot of options. I can't exactly refuse."

"So you'll just give in? Go along like a good girl?"

"Ease up, bro."

Derek ignored him, scooped up the laundry I'd missed, and dropped it into the washer, moving beside me as he did. "They won't let you talk to Liz, will they?"

"Huh —what?"

"Tori asked this morning. I heard. Talbot told her no and said she'd told you the same thing when you asked last night." He grabbed the soap box from my hands, lifted the measuring cup from the shelf, and waggled it. "This helps."

"They said I can call Liz on the weekend."

"Still, seems a little odd. You barely knew the girl, and you're the first one wanting to call her?"

"It's called being considerate. Maybe you've heard of it?"

He batted my hand from the dials. "Darks, cold. Or you'll end up with the dye bleeding." A glance back at me. "See? I'm considerate."

"Sure, when it's mostly your stuff in there."

Behind us, Simon snorted a laugh.

"As for Liz," I continued, "I just wanted to be sure she was okay."

"Why wouldn't she be?"

He'd scoff at my stupidity, thinking Liz was dead, murdered. Oddly enough, that's exactly what I wanted. Reassurance that my head was stuffed too full of movie plots.

I got as far as the part about waking to see Liz on the bed, chattering away.

"So . . ." Derek cut in. "Liz returned from the great beyond to show you her really cool socks?"

I told them about her "dream" and her attic appearance.

When I finished, Simon sat there, staring, a shirt dangling from his hands. "That sure sounds like a ghost."

"Just because she's a ghost doesn't mean she was murdered," Derek said. "She could have had a completely unrelated accident on the way to the hospital. If that happened, they wouldn't want to tell us right away."

"Or maybe she's not dead at all," I said. "Could she be astral projecting? Shamans do that, right? It might also explain how she was moving stuff around. It wasn't a poltergeist spirit —it was her spirit or however it works. You said our powers kick in around puberty, right? If we don't know what we are when that happens, this is just the kind of place we'd end up. A home for teens with weird problems."