He stopped short. “Why would you do that?”
I confessed my plan, that I’d been trying to contact Jillian psionically in the hopes that she was trying to develop remote vision again. “I thought maybe the fog was blocking her ability to see though me. So I raised it. Then I lost control.” I sighed. “But I know now that was a stupid idea. Jillian could only piggyback on our dad’s mobile eye. She was never able to move beyond that. Besides, I can’t spend twenty-four hours a day staring at a sign that says Lilybrook, Wisconsin.”
Tristan was still staring at me, incredulous. “How could you put yourself in danger that way?”
“I wasn’t in any danger,” I said. “Your mom’s dream will happen if I leave town to look for my brother and sister. There was nothing in that dream that said I can’t look for them from within Lilybrook.”
“That’s not—” With an exasperated sigh, he scrubbed his hand in his hair. “You raised the fog that high, then pulled it in that low, on purpose. You played with the fog and I wasn’t even with you. That’s exactly why my mom’s dream will happen if you leave Lilybrook.”
The shame burning through my blood was replaced by hot anger, and I yanked my arm from his hand. “I was trying to connect with my sister, who is missing, and scared, and heartbroken. You can’t be mad at me for that. And you didn’t have a premonition about me fainting, so you couldn’t have stopped it from happening anyway.”
He exhaled, his whole body deflating. “You’re right. I promised you that I would keep you safe. I failed you in Twelve Lakes, I’m failing you by not finding Jillian and Logan, and I failed you again yesterday.”
It was usually me who shivered, but this time it was Tristan.
I took his hand and gave it a kiss. “You’re not failing me. I don’t blame you for any of that.”
“Well, you should. I blame myself.”
We reached his car, and he opened the door for me and helped me inside.
We drove back to his house in silence.
Dennis and Deirdre wanted to keep me home from school the next day, but I convinced them to let me go after I’d promised not to play with the fog anymore. I had to triple-promise Tristan. “Please be careful with the fog,” he said. “Please. What if I don’t get a premonition again? Even if I do, I’ll be too far away to stop it from happening.” He raked his hands through his hair. So worried. So anxious.
I took both his hands in mine. “Tristan. I know you want to keep me safe, but you also need to trust me. I will be careful.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his lips. “Please don’t worry about me.”
Not at all comforted by my promise or by my kiss, he cupped my face in his hands and brushed his lips on my forehead, then reluctantly left for school.
Twenty minutes later, bundled up in coats and mittens, Ember and I shuffled through a layer of snow on our way to Lilybrook High. Determined to prove to Tristan that he didn’t need to protect me as much as he thought he did, I concentrated on keeping the fog balanced. But as always, Jillian and Logan were in the forefront of my mind.
A blackbird descended from the trees, and while Ember stopped to feed it, I gave Aaron Jacobs a call. “Any progress?” I asked, keeping my tone chipper and optimistic. One negative word from me would discourage him.
“Their l-last known location was in Braddock, Tennessee,” he mumbled, tripping over his words. “S-so I started there, and I’m moving outward.”
“That’s a good plan, Aaron,” I said. “Tristan said you were super-smart, and wow, you are.”
“But I haven’t found anything.”
“You just have to keep looking,” I said. “Don’t let Kellan intimidate you. You can do it.”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “D-does your sister...I mean, do you think she’d like...”
“She likes guys like you, Aaron,” I said. Jillian had had lots of boyfriends—silly, pretty, empty-headed boyfriends. But the only boy she’d ever loved was Gavin, and she loved him because he was sensitive, sweet and super-smart. Just like Aaron.
He said nothing for another long moment. Then: “I’ll find them.”
“I know you will. Bye, Aaron.”
Ember finished feeding the bird, and we continued to school. She’d been quiet around me lately, and I thought I knew why. I’d been so preoccupied with finding my siblings that I’d neglected our friendship. And Ember was the only friend I had.
“How’s your song coming along?” I asked. “I’d love to hear it.”
“My song?”
“You said your band had to write an original song for Battle of the Bands.”
“Oh.” She looked off into the trees. “I don’t know if we’re doing Battle of the Bands anymore. The keyboardist and the drummer quit. I can’t find anyone to replace them.”
“Did they quit because of me?” I asked as my blood started to burn. “Because I live in your house?”
“No,” she said, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.
* * *
The warning bell rang as Ember and I climbed the front steps to the school. She rushed inside, but I stalled before entering the building. I filled my lungs with the cold February air and balanced the fog. The last time I was here, I’d lost control of the visions, then the fog, and passed out. I had to be extra careful to keep the fog balanced from now on. I had to show Tristan that he didn’t need to protect me so much. I took another deep breath, nudging the fog a little higher, then a little lower.
“Are you okay?” a sweet voice said beside me: Melanie, her black hair tumbling from under her black beret.
“Yeah,” I said, a bit surprised that she’d asked. “Thanks.”
“I heard you fainted in the hall the other day,” she said with genuine concern in her voice. “I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t happening again.”
“I’m fine,” I said, now really surprised. “Thanks, Melanie.”
Melanie Brunswick truly was kind. And sweet. I could understand why Tristan had loved her.
She would make a good friend.
I gave her a smile, a real smile.
She started to smile back, but then she cleared her throat and looked down at her Doc Martens. “I feel bad for everything you’re going through, Tessa. I really do,” she said. “But... my dad...and Tristan...” Her gaze flitted to my hand—to my promise ring. “I’ve lost so much. I’m sorry, but I can never be friends with you.”
She rushed into the building without looking back.
* * *
In art class that morning, Mr. Vargas returned everyone’s fruit bowl paintings we’d made last week. Except for mine. All I got was a slip of paper that read, See me after school.
I shoved the note into my pocket. What had I done wrong? I’d liked my painting, how I’d divided the canvas into six squares and painted just a part of each fruit. But maybe he’d wanted us to paint the fruit as he’d presented it. Realistic, not abstract.
After last period I went to the art studio. Mr. Vargas was bent over the counter, cleaning paintbrushes in the sink and wearing a ratty cardigan splattered, as all of his clothes were, with dried paint. “No one realizes how expensive these brushes are,” he mumbled