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Upstairs, Jane’s buttercup yellow bedroom was like everything else in the house: smooth as hair and couch cushions and the way people talked. Nothing out of place. Everything in the kind of frozen perfection you saw in house magazines.

The only thing that didn’t fit was Hannah.

The rogue backpack went into the closet, on top of the rows of penny loafers and Mary Janes; then Jane changed out of her school uniform into a Lanz flannel nightgown. There was no reason to put real clothes on. She was going nowhere.

She took her stack of books to her white desk. She had English homework to do. Algebra. French.

She glanced over at her bedside table. Arabian Nights waited for her.

She couldn’t think of a better way to spend her punishment, but homework came first. Had to. Otherwise she would feel too guilty.

Two hours later she was on her bed with Nights in her lap when the door opened and Hannah’s head poked in. Her curly red hair was another deviation. The rest of them were blonds. “I brought food.”

Jane sat up, worried for her younger sister. “You’ll get in trouble.”

“No, I won’t.” Hannah slipped in, a little basket with a gingham napkin, a sandwich, an apple, and a cookie in her hand. “Richard gave this to me so I’d have a snack tonight.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not hungry. Here.”

“Thanks, Han.” Jane took the basket as Hannah sat on the foot of the bed.

“So what didja do?”

Jane shook her head and bit into the roast beef sandwich. “I got upset with Mom.”

“’Cuz you couldn’t have your party?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well…I gots something to cheer you up.” Hannah slid a folded piece of construction paper onto the duvet. “Happy birthday!”

Jane looked at the card and blinked fast a couple of times. “Thanks…Han.”

“Don’t be sad, I’m here. Look at your card! I made it for you.”

On the front, drawn in her sister’s messy hand, were two stick figures. One had straight blond hair and the word Jane written under it. The other had curly red hair and the name Hannah at its feet. They were holding hands and had big smiles on their circle faces.

Just as Jane went to open the card, a pair of headlights swept the front of the house and started coming up the driveway.

“Papa’s home,” Jane hissed. “You better get out of here.”

Hannah didn’t seem as concerned as she’d usually be, probably because she didn’t feel good. Or maybe she was distracted by…well, whatever Hannah got distracted by. She was mostly in her daydreams, which was probably why she was happy all the time.

“Go, Han, seriously.”

“Okay. But I’m really sorry thats your party got quitted.” Hannah shuffled over to the door.

“Hey, Han? I like my card.”

“You didn’t look inside.”

“Don’t have to. I like it because you made it for me.”

Hannah’s face split into one of her daisy smiles, the kind that reminded Jane of sunny days. “It’s about you and me.”

As the door shut, Jane heard her parents’ voices drift up from the foyer. In a rush she ate Hannah’s snack, shoved the basket into the folds of the drapes next to the bed, and went to the stack of her schoolbooks. She took Dickens’s The Pickwick Papers back with her to the bed. She figured if she was working on school stuff when her father came in, it would buy her some brownie points.

Her parents came upstairs an hour later and she tensed, expecting her father to knock. He didn’t.

Which was weird. He was, in his controlling way, as reliable as a clock, and there was a strange comfort in his predictability, even though she didn’t like dealing with him.

She put Pickwick aside, turned the light out, and tucked her legs under her frilly duvet. Beneath the canopy of her bed she couldn’t sleep, and eventually she heard the grandfather clock at the head of the stairs chime twelve times.

Midnight.

Slipping from bed, she went to the closet, got out the rogue knapsack, and unzipped it. The Ouija board fell out, flipping open and landing faceup on the floor. She grabbed it with a wince, as if it might have broken or something, then