Warning: Objects in Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear

Stolen Glances of 1586 Whisper Drive

"The old Rhodes place?" Fran frowns. "Ugh. That place creeps me out."

"Not really," I say. "It's not creepy."

"Girl. It's right outside your window. You see the thing every night." Fran rolls her eyes and leans back, putting her thin arms behind her head. "Like, doesn't it make weird noises? They say that it makes weird noises."

"It makes weird noises," I agree. "It's just . . . not creepy."

"Haunted, then. Whatever." Fran snorts. "It would be like Alexander, to have a haunted house."

I snort at that. Alexander, Virginia: the loveliest place on earth. Alexander's a beat-up, quiet, small town with old money and new dirt. We have no McDonalds, no Walmart, none of that. Pretty much all we have are old people who complain too loudly and dirt roads leading to houses in disarray and churches in disarray and schools in disarray. And somehow, I still love it. It's also the town I've been in since before I could remember, and so, I know first-hand-Alexander would be the place to have a haunted house.

Except it's not haunted. 1586 Whisper Drive is not haunted. I've been defending that giant piece of brick since I was small and will continue to do so, for no reason I can think of other than it'll help me sleep at night.

I say, "It's always after the fire, though-the dream is-and I'm sitting on the sidewalk outside the house. The paramedics are there, too, and they keep telling me that it's all right, but I can't help but feel like-in the dream-that there was something I'd lost when the house burned down. And I can't breathe because of it. That's how important it is. And then, I start screaming, and everything changes to silver-and there's this hand that reaches out to me and this male voice, telling me everything's okay now, so I shut up. And then, I take the hand, and I fall."

"Dang," Fran says. "That's some pretty serious crap. And, what, you weren't going to mention this to me?"

I shrug. "It's just a dream, Fran." The bus rolls to a stop when we get onto another street, and the doors slide open.

"Yeah, but it's a reoccurring dream. Those almost always mean something important." Her face lights up. "Ohmigosh, it's totally Cam's hand. Isn't it? Oh, my gosh!"

I try to say something, but my words don't work at first. Cameron Banks used to be the third part of our trio. The three of us were more or less inseparable, until freshman year of high school, when I decided I was more or less in love with him, and when he decided he was more or less done with us. I mean, I get it. You hit jock status, you're the star junior varsity wide receiver, and you want to have the spot of varsity wide receiver in the palm of your hand, so you start training more than anything else and you turn out gorgeous and everyone who didn't know you before starts paying attention . . . and your two best friends start to seem plain. The choice is simple. You give up the only two people who really know you and love you for glory and fame and all that.

Never mind. I don't get it.

Anyway, ever since Fran found out I liked him, she's been planning our wedding. She's seriously picked out invitations already. I can't bring myself to tell her how much I dislike him now.

"I don't think so," I say, glancing out the window again. We jerk forward as the bus starts moving. "The voice is different, somehow. More . . . I don't know, colder? Creepy? Maybe? I really don't-"

And then I stop.

"Don't?" Fran encourages. She waits a few seconds, then waves a hand in front of my face. "Hello, hellooou, earth to Alice? Come in, Alice. Don't go down the rabbit hole just yet. Not without me, at least."