Since it's hot, I head over to the indoor mall of South Coast Plaza as opposed to the outdoor mall of Fashion Island, even though the locals would probably do the opposite. But I'm not a local. I'm an Oregonian. Which means I'm used to my pre-spring weather being much more, well, pre-spring like. You know, gobs of rain, overcast skies, and plenty of mud. Like a real spring. Not this hot, weird, unnatural, summer hybrid that tries to pass as spring. And from what I hear, it's only going to get worse. Which makes me miss home even more. Normally, I go out of my way to avoid places like this—a place so overrun with light and noise and all of that crowd-generated energy that always overwhelms me and sets me on edge. And without Damen by my side, standing in as my psychic shield, I'm back to relying on my iPod again.

Though I refuse to wear my hoodie and sunglasses to block out the noise like I used to. I'm done with looking like a freak. Instead, I narrow my focus to what's right before me, and block out all the peripherals like Damen taught me to do. I insert my earbuds and crank up the volume, allowing the noise to bar everything but the swirling rainbow of auras and the few disembodied spirits floating about (which, despite my narrowed focus, really are right in front of me). And when I head into Victoria's Secret, aiming straight for the naughty nighties section, I'm so focused, so intent on my mission, I fail to see Stacia and Honor just off to the side.

"O. Migawd!" Stacia sings, approaching me with such purpose you'd think I was a bin labeled: Gucci—half off! "You cannot be serious." She points at the negligee I hold in my hand, her perfectly manicured nail motioning toward the slit that starts from both the top and bottom and meets at a crystal-encrusted circle somewhere in the middle.

And even though I was merely curious, and not even thinking about buying it, seeing her face all scrunched up like that and hearing the mocking thoughts in her head makes me feel totally foolish. I drop it back on the rack and fidget with my earbud, pretending as though I didn't hear a thing as I move toward the matching cotton sets, which are way more my style and speed. But just as I begin browsing through several hot-pink-and-orange-striped camis, I realize they're probably nowhere near Damen's speed. He'd probably prefer something a little more racy. Something with a lot more lace and a lot less cotton. Something that could actually be considered sexy. And without even looking, I know Stacia and her faithful lapdog have followed.

"Aw, look, Honor. Freak can't decide between skanky or sweet." Stacia shakes her head and smirks at me.

"Trust me, when in doubt, always go with skanky. It's pretty much a sure thing. Besides, from what I recall about Damen, he's not so big on sweet." I freeze, my stomach clenching with unreasonable jealousy as my throat squeezes tight. But only for a moment before I force myself to resume breathing and browsing, refusing to let her think, even for a second, that her words might've gotten to me. Besides, I know all about what happened between them, and I'm happy to report that it was neither skanky nor sweet. Mostly because it wasn't anything at all. Damen merely pretended to like her so he could get to me. And yet, just the thought of him even pretending still makes me queasy.

"Come on, let's go. She can't hear you," Honor says, scratching her arm and glancing between Stacia and me, then checking her phone for the hundredth time to see if Craig answered her text. But Stacia remains rooted, enjoying herself far too much to give up so easily.

"Oh, she can hear me just fine," she says, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Don't let the iPod and earbuds fool you. She can hear everything we say and everything we think. Because Ever's not just a freak, she's also a witch."

I turn away and head for the other side of the store, browsing a rack of push-up bras and corsets, telling myself: Ignore her, ignore her Just focus on shopping and she'll go away. But Stacia's not going anywhere. Instead, she grabs hold of my arm and pulls me right to her, saying, "Come on, don't be shy. Show her. Show Honor what a freak you are!" Her eyes stare into mine, sending a flood of disturbing dark energy coursing right through me as she squeezes my arm so tight her thumb and index finger practically meet. And I know she's trying to bait me, incite me, aware of exactly what I'm capable of after that time when I lost control in the hallway at school.

Only that time she didn't do it on purpose—she had no idea what I could do. Honor starts to fidget, standing beside her and whining, "Come on, Stacia. Let's go. This is boring."

But Stacia ignores her and grips my arm harder, her nails pressing into my flesh as she whispers, "Go on, tell her. Tell her what you see!"

I close my eyes, my stomach swirling as my head fills with images similar to the ones I saw before: Stacia scratching and clawing her way to the top of the popularity pyramid, stomping much harder than necessary on all those beneath her. Including Honor, especially Honor, who's so afraid of being unpopular she does nothing to stop it... I could tell her what a horrible friend Stacia really is, expose her for the awful person I know her to be... I could pry Stacia's hand from my arm and fling her across the room so hard she'd fly straight through the plate glass window before crashing into the mall directory... Only I can't. The last time I let loose at school, when I told Stacia all the awful things I know about her, it was a colossal mistake—one I don't have the luxury of making again. There's so much more to hide now, much bigger secrets at stake—secrets that belong not only to me but to Damen as well. Stacia laughs as I fight to stay calm and not overreact. Reminding myself that while appearing weak is okay, giving in to weakness is definitely not. It's absolutely imperative to appear normal, clueless, and allow her the illusion that she's so much stronger than me. Honor checks her watch, rolling her eyes, wanting to leave. And just as I'm about to pull away, and maybe even accidentally backhand Stacia while I'm at it, I see something so awful, so repulsive, I knock an entire rack of lingerie to the floor in an attempt to break free. Bras, thongs, hangers, and fixtures—all of it crashing to the ground in one big heap. With me as the cherry on top.