“You’re right,” I said softly. “I’m not sure I can wrap my brain around the idea that someone else might die before then.”

To distract myself from that very real possibility, I reached up and drew invisible patterns in the air with one finger. Joshua watched me for a minute and then reached up as well, to try to clasp my hand. Even though our hands passed through each other midair, it was the thought that counted; with Joshua, it always counted.

I angled my head toward his on our shared pillow. “You know the only thing that makes all this bearable?”

“That you love me?” he guessed.

“Bingo.” I smiled faintly and dropped my hand to trace the outline of his jaw.

“Do you need me to tell you that the feeling is mutual?” he asked. When I shook my head, he beamed at me. Then his smile faded into a grimace.

“Damn,” he murmured, raking his fingers through his messy, post-baseball-practice hair. “I forgot to tell you—I’ve got a game tomorrow night. I won’t be there to help you with my grandma.”

The thought of speaking to Ruth in person, without Joshua as a buffer, made me go cold. Still, I shrugged and gave him a blasé wave. “It’ll be okay—Ruth and I can handle the planning that night by ourselves. And on Saturday . . . well, you’d better not miss Saturday.”

“I wouldn’t, not ever. But you know what’s weird? I’m actually a little sad that you have to miss Friday.”

“Me, too,” I said, and I meant it. I’d attended each of his spring ball games, albeit invisibly: I’d never felt ready to introduce myself to Joshua’s friends. Kind of ironic, considering the fact that just a few days ago, I’d introduced myself to one of them with a literal bang.

“Maybe if I’m not there,” I joked, “you’ll play even better. You know, since my freaked-outedness won’t be subliminally freaking you out.”

Recently, college scouts had started attending the Wilburton High baseball games to watch Joshua and his friend David O’Reilly play. Since the scouts arrived, I’d spent every game in near agony, both hopeful and fearful that Joshua would finally earn his scholarship to some faraway college. Each pitch, each hit, had me clawing at my wooden seat. Now, I didn’t know if either of us would survive this weekend to see another game.

Unaware of my real fears, Joshua laughed. “Maybe you do affect how I play. But it’s not like I can see you up there in the bleachers.”

His reference to my invisibility problem brought up another, far less pleasant thought. I curled up into a seated position next to him, tucking my legs beneath me on the bed.

“Speaking of Friday,” I said, abruptly changing the subject, “I think I’ve decided that I am going to go, tomorrow morning.”

Joshua’s eyebrows drew together with worry. “You shouldn’t have to go by yourself, Amelia. I can skip school tomorrow. Go with you.”

I shook my head firmly. “No, you can’t. Besides, you’d get some pretty weird looks, standing all by yourself at the funeral of a woman you didn’t even know.”

Joshua’s expression darkened further as he shifted to sit up beside me. “So, you’re really going to stay invisible for the whole thing?”

“It’s Serena’s funeral, Joshua. You read the newspaper: my mother will definitely be there. I can’t let her see me, especially not on a day like that.”

Two days ago, Jillian had found Serena’s obituary in the Latimer County News-Tribune. Other than the few details I’d learned from the TV news report, I discovered some unexpected items in the obituary as well.

The first thing out of place was Serena’s burial site: it would be the same cemetery where I’d been buried, instead of her family plot in the neighboring town of Hartshorne. Next, the obituary listed only one person as Serena Taylor’s next of kin. Not her mother, father, or little brother Aaron, but one Elizabeth Louise Ashley. My mother.

“If you want to go by yourself,” Joshua said, drawing me out of my confused thoughts, “then I won’t stop you.”

Although he spoke the words, I could tell that Joshua didn’t like the idea of me being alone at the funeral of my ex–best friend/murderer. Truth be told, I didn’t much like it either. But I couldn’t miss the funeral—just as I suspected that Serena hadn’t missed mine.

Suddenly, Joshua’s face brightened with a new idea. “You could wear a disguise,” he suggested. “So that your mom won’t recognize you.”

I released a small snort of disbelief. “What, like wear oversized glasses with a fake mustache attached?”

Joshua grinned a little. “Could I get a picture of that, please? But seriously: Jillian obviously loves to dress you up like a paper doll, so we could at least see what she comes up with.”

I was about to reject the idea completely, when I hesitated. At worst, I could turn invisible at the cemetery gates if I didn’t feel sufficiently disguised.

“All right,” I said, looking up at Joshua. “I’ll give it a shot.”

He blinked back, clearly surprised that I’d actually agreed. Then he pulled out his cell phone. After a quick text and its reply, he slipped the phone back into his pocket.

“Jillian’s in her room—she says you should just go on up so that you two can look through some clothes.”

I swept away a few leaves that had fallen onto my jeans from the plants above us and then peeled myself off of the daybed. “Don’t you think it’s a little ridiculous,” I asked him as I rose, “that the two of you text each other, when you’re less than a hundred feet apart?”

Joshua grinned good-naturedly and settled back on the daybed with his previously discarded Physics book.

“How would we have known how far apart we were, unless we texted first?”

I shook my head, moving toward the entrance of the gazebo. “I’m not sure I’ll ever understand this century.”

I heard Joshua chuckle as I let the heavy outer drapes of the gazebo fall shut behind me. I trudged through the dark backyard into the house, dragging my feet a little. Once I entered the house I turned myself invisible, just in case Jeremiah or Rebecca had decided to stay up later than their children, and made my way to Jillian’s bedroom. I knocked on her door, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu—I’d gone to her room to get dressed up only a few days ago. But considering what had happened since then, it felt like something I’d done in another lifetime.

The door opened and, instead of Jillian, a dress greeted me. It swung slightly on its hanger, which Jillian held in front of her like an offering. The dress was surprisingly understated: cleanly cut black silk, almost retro with a wide neckline and three-quarter-length sleeves.

“Perfect,” I said quietly, running my fingers across its fabric. “Very . . . funereal.”

Still hiding behind the dress, Jillian produced a black, floppy-brimmed hat in her other hand. “This, and some oversized sunglasses, ought to hide your face.”

Finally, the dress swished aside and Jillian came into view. Without letting me cross her threshold yet, she scrutinized my face as if I had a smudge of dirt on it.

“What?” I asked, wiping self-consciously at my cheeks. “What is it?”

Jillian tilted her head to one side, still giving me that thoughtful look. “Have you always worn your hair down? I mean—did you wear it like that, when you were alive?”

I tugged at the ends of my long brown hair and frowned. “Yeah, I did.”

Jillian nodded decisively. “Then tomorrow, you’re a ponytail girl. Sleek and sophisticated—none of your usual bohemian crap.”

“Thanks, Jill,” I drawled. “You’re a big help.”

“Don’t mention it,” she muttered, entirely missing my sarcasm as she continued to study me. “A little makeup wouldn’t hurt you, either. Mascara, blush, maybe some red lipstick—you’ll look like a totally different person. I’ll leave everything out on my bed for you tomorrow morning. I’d help you get ready before I go to school, but . . .”