I hadn’t heard that last tidbit, but I got no chance to question it because she was talking again. Like mother, like daughter.

My aunt gestured with her mug as she spoke, but nothing sloshed out this time. It was already empty. “Sophie said Meredith collapsed while she was dancing. That poor child ate almost nothing and lived on caffeine. It was really only a matter of time before her body cried ‘enough.’”

“I know, and Sophie may be right.” I let go of the scent sticks and bent the tab on my Coke can back and forth, carefully working it free from its anchor to avoid seeing the pity and skepticism surely lurking behind her cautious sympathy. “The way they died may have nothing to do with anything.” Though I certainly had my doubts. “But, Aunt Val, I think I’m the connection between them.”

“What?”

I made myself look up just in time to see my aunt’s eyes narrow in confusion. But then her forehead actually relaxed, tension lines smoothing as if she’d just figured out what I was talking about, and it came as a relief.

If the return of my “delusions” put her at ease, what on earth had she expected me to say?

Her expression softened, and the familiar, patronizing mask of sympathy stung my pride. “Kaylee, is this about your panic attacks?” She leaned forward and whispered that last part, as if she were afraid someone would overhear.

Anger zinged through me like tiny bolts of lightning, and I made myself set down my half-empty drink can before I crushed it. “It’s not a joke, Aunt Val. And I’m not crazy. I knew Meredith was going to die before it happened.”

For an instant—less than a single breath—my aunt looked terrified. Like she’d just seen her own ghost. Then she shook her head—literally shaking off her fear of my relapse—and donned a stoic, determined mask. I’d been right all along. She wasn’t going to listen. Ever.

“Kaylee, don’t do this again,” she begged, a frown etching deep lines around her mouth as she stood and carried her empty mug into the kitchen. I followed her, watching in mounting irritation as she lifted the teakettle from the stove.

“I know you’re upset about Meredith, but this won’t bring her back. This isn’t the way to deal with your grief.”

“This has nothing to do with grief,” I insisted through gritted teeth, dropping my half-full can into the recycling bin.

It landed with a thud, followed by the fizz and gurgle of the contents emptying into the plastic tub.

I read frustration in my aunt’s narrowed gaze. Desperation in the death grip she had on the teakettle. She probably wished she could knock me out as easily as she had Sophie. And some part of me knew that talking to her would do no more good than trying to warn Meredith had. But another, more stubborn part of me refused to give up. I was done with secrets and sym patheticlooks. And I was definitely done with hospitals and those little white pills. I was not going to let anyone else call me crazy. Not ever again.

Aunt Val must have seen my determination, because she set the teakettle back on the stove, then planted both palms flat on the countertop, eyeing me from across the bar. “Think about Sophie. She’s already traumatized. What do you think a selfish, attention-seeking story like this would do to her?”

My jaw tightened, and tears burned behind my eyes. “Screw Sophie!” My fists slammed into the bar, and the blow rever berated up my arms like a bruising shock wave of anger.

My aunt flinched, and I felt a momentary surge of satisfaction. Then I stepped deliberately back from the bar, my hands propped on my hips. “I’m sorry,” I said, well aware that I didn’t sound very sorry. “But this isn’t about her. I’m trying to tell you I have a serious problem, and you’re not even listening!”

Aunt Val closed her eyes and took a deep breath, like she was practicing yoga. Or searching for patience. “We all know you have problems, Kaylee,” she said when her eyes opened, and her quiet, composed tone infuriated me. “Calm down and—”

“I knew, Aunt Val.” I planted both hands on the countertop again and stared at the granite. Then I looked up and made myself say the rest of it. “And I knew about the girl at Taboo too.”

My aunt’s eyes narrowed drastically, showcasing two sets of crow’s feet, and her voice dropped dramatically. “How could you, unless you were there?”

I shrugged and crossed my arms over my chest. “I snuck in.” I wasn’t about to rat on Emma or her sister. “Ground me if you want, but that won’t change anything. I was there, and I saw Heidi Anderson. And I knew she was going to die. Just like I knew about Meredith.”

Aunt Val’s eyes closed again, and she turned to stare out the window over the sink, gripping the countertop with white-knuckled hands. Then she exhaled deeply and turned back to me. “Okay, this other girl aside…” Though we both knew she’d readdress the clubbing issue later. “If you knew Meredith was going to die, why didn’t you tell someone?”

A fresh pang of guilt shuddered through me like a psychological aftershock, and I sank onto one of the cushioned bar stools facing her, my arms crossed on the countertop. “I tried.” Tears filled my eyes, blurring my aunt’s face, and I swiped at them with my sleeve before they could fall. “But when I opened my mouth, all I could do was scream. And it happened so fast! By the time I could talk again, she was dead.” I looked up, searching her face for some sign of understanding. Or belief. But there was nothing I recognized in her expression, and that scared me almost as badly as listening to Meredith die.