"Art school," she breathed. "Isn't that just fascinating. Tell me, Chloe. What do you study there? Ghost photography? Ghost writing?"

I choked on a chunk of meat.

"Oh." Tori turned doe eyes on Simon. "Didn't Chloe tell you why she's here? She sees dead people."

Peter lifted his head from his game. "Really? Cool."

When I looked up, Derek's fork was stopped halfway to his mouth, green eyes piercing the curtain of hair as he stared at me, his lip curled, as if to say What kind of freak thinks she sees ghosts?

"It's not like that. I —I—I—"

"There she goes." Tori sighed. "Liz, slap her back. See if you can restart her."

Simon glared at her. "Stop being such a bitch, Tori."

She froze, mouth open, a still shot of humiliated horror. Derek returned to his lunch.

"I didn't mean it that way," Tori said, words tumbling out. "Like Peter said, it's kinda cool. If she does see ghosts, maybe she could help Liz with her, you know, poltergeist."

"Tori!" Liz shrieked, dropping her fork.

"Here we go," Derek grumbled.

Liz's eyes filled as she screeched back her chair. Tori retreated into stumbling apologies again. Simon grabbed Liz's glass before she knocked it flying. Peter hunched over his game. Derek took advantage of the chaos to scoop up the last of the casserole.

The kitchen door flew open and Mrs. Talbot appeared, but her words were beat back by the cacophony.

Rae appeared in the other doorway holding a basket of dirty laundry.

"Last call," she mouthed. "Any more?"

No one else noticed, much less heard her. I glanced around, and realized with all the commotion no one would notice if I left. So I did.

They knew. Everyone knew.

I was a freak. A crazy girl who saw ghosts. I belonged here.

Lunch churned in my stomach. I hurried up the stairs, thinking of my bed with its thin mattress that smelled of chemical vanilla, suddenly so inviting. Pull the blinds down, curl up under the covers with my iPod, and try to forget —

"Can I help you, Chloe?"

Two steps from the top, I stopped and turned to see Miss Van Dop below.

"I —I was just going to lie down for a minute. My head hurts and—"

"Then come and get some Tylenol."

"I —I'm kind of tired. I don't have classes, so I thought—"

"Come down, Chloe."

She waited until I was almost there then said, "At Lyle House, bedrooms are for sleeping."

“ I—"

"I know you're probably tired and feeling overwhelmed, but you need activity and interaction, not isolation. Rae's getting a head start on the laundry before afternoon classes. If you've finished lunch, you can go help her."

I braced myself as I opened the basement door, expecting a descent down creaky wooden steps into a dark, damp basement, the kind of place I hated. Instead, I saw gleaming stairs, the passage brightly lit, the walls painted pale green with a flowery border. For the first time that day, I was glad of the too-bright cheeriness.

The laundry room had a tile floor, an old recliner, a washer and dryer, and a bunch of cupboards and shelves. Zero "old basement" creep factor.

The washing machine was running, but there was no sign of Rae.

I looked across the room, toward a closed door. As I walked to it, I picked up an acrid smell.

Smoke?

If Rae was smoking down here, I wasn't going to be the one to catch her. I turned to go back upstairs, and saw Rae squeezed between two towers of shelves.

Her lips formed a silent oath as she shook her hand, putting out a match. I looked for a cigarette. There wasn't one —just the smoldering match.

I heard Liz's voice again: She has this "thing" for fire.

My reaction must have shown because Rae jumped forward, getting between me and the door, hands flying up.

"No, no, it's not like that. I wasn't going to do anything. I don't —" She slowed, seeing she had my attention. "I don't start fires. They wouldn't let me stay here if I did. Ask anyone. I just like fire."

"Oh."

She noticed me staring at the matchbook and pocketed it.

"I, uh, noticed you didn't get lunch," I said. "Can I bring you something?"

Her face brightened. "Thanks. But I'll grab an apple before class. I use any excuse to avoid eating with Queen Victoria. You saw what she's like. With me, it's food. If I take a big helping or seconds or dessert, she gets her jabs in."

I must have looked confused, because she waved a hand down her body.

"Yes, I could stand to lose a few pounds, but I don't need her as my personal dietitian." She moved to a pile of unsorted laundry. "My advice? Steer clear of her. She's like these monsters I saw in an old sci-fi film, vampires from space, only they didn't drink blood, they sucked out all your energy."

"Lifeforce. Tobe Hooper. Psychic vampires."

She grinned, showing a crooked canine. "Psychic vampires. I'll have to remember that one."

Earlier I'd thought I didn't belong here because I didn't feel crazy. I bet none of them did either. Maybe mental illness was like stuttering. I'd spent my life trying to convince people that just because I stammered didn't mean there was anything else wrong with me. I just had a problem that I was working hard to overcome.

Like seeing people who weren't there.

Like being attracted to fire.

It didn't mean you were schizo or anything.

The sooner I got over myself, the better off I'd be at Lyle House. The sooner I'd gel better . . . and get out.

I looked at the piles of laundry. "Can I help?"

She showed me how —another thing I'd never done. Even at camp, someone did it for us.

After a few minutes of working together, she said, "Does it make sense to you?"

"What?"

"Putting a girl in a place like this because she likes fire."

"Well, if that's all. . ."

"There's more, but it's small stuff, related to the fire thing. Nothing dangerous. I don't hurt myself or anyone else."

She returned to her sorting.

"Do you like manga?" she asked after a minute. "Anime?"

"Anime's cool. I'm not really into it, but 1 like Japanese movies, animated or not."

"Well, I'm into it. I watch the shows, read the books, chat on the boards, and all that. But this girl I know, she's completely into it. She spends most of her allowance on the books and DVDs. She can recite dialogue from them." She caught my gaze. "So would you say she belongs here?"

"No. Most kids are that way about something, right? With me, it's movies. Like knowing who directed a sci-fi movie made before I was born."

"But no one would say that makes you crazy. Just crazy about movies. Fascinated by them. Just like —" she took the matchbook from her pocket and waggled it "—me and fire."

The door at the top of the stairs clicked.

"Girls?" Mrs. Talbot called. "Are you still down there?"

Her footsteps tapped down before we could answer. As her shadow rounded the corner, I snatched the matchbook from Rae's outstretched hand and hid it under the shirt I'd been folding.

"Rae?" Mrs. Talbot said. "Your classes are starting. Chloe —"

"I'll finish here, then come up."

Mrs. Talbot left. I passed Rae back her matchbook and she mouthed her thanks, then followed the nurse up the stairs. And I was left alone in the basement.