I was lying across my bed, sweltering in the heat and wishing it would snow, just once, in July, when my cell phone chimed. I flipped it open, accidentally knocking my copy of Wuthering Heights to the floor. “Jenny, why aren’t you here yet?”
Jenny’s infectious laugh tickled my ears. “Sorry, Mom had to work late. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Do I need to bring anything besides the hair dye?”
“Yeah, old clothes. That hair dye gets on everything. I’m wearing my oldest tank top and some ratty white shorts I found in Mom’s throw-away pile.”
We said our good-byes and I made my way to the bathroom, my flip flops making sucking sounds on the hardwood floor. I grabbed my hairbrush and ran it through my long brown hair one final time. Pink was going to be so hot, especially for a twelve-year-old.
I was replacing the brush when a soft thump startled me. I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror, and told it not to read any more spooky books when Mom and Dad were out for the evening. Then I went in search of Freckles, our obnoxious cat, to see what kind of mess he’d made this time.
Freckles was crouched at the top of the stairs, his yellow eyes round as saucers. He hissed when he saw me, then slunk off toward my parents’ room. Guilty! I started down the stairs when the unmistakable creak of the attic door stopped me in my tracks.