Ghosts of July (Shamans of the Divide, Book 1)

Chapter Twelve

Getting ready with Camille was almost a party in itself. We played her Korean pop playlist almost as loud as it would go just in case the Tillmans had any notion of going to bed early.

It was a silly obsession, but I loved it and I was learning more Korean than any textbook could have taught me.

Camille finally decided on wearing a pair of ultra-short pink shorts with a lemon yellow top that hung just above her belly button. It was a perfect look for her and her long, lean body.

I'd faltered back and forth between a comfy pair of denim Capri pants I loved (which Camille called "golf pants") and a maxi skirt with a tank top (she'd called that the "new mom in Hollywood" look). Just as I was about to throw my hands up in frustration and tell her I was staying home for the night, she persuaded me to try on a little strappy sundress with a purple and orange tribal print. It hung to the middle of my thighs and was a lot shorter than what I normally wore.

"Live a little," she persisted. "You can dress like a house mouse when you get to college."

I tried it on with my strappy brown sandals and smiled a little. It was soft and flowing enough that I didn't feel like it was a second skin, but it was also really much more stylish and girly than anything I ever wore. I pulled my hair out of the permanent messy bun I kept it in and let Camille attack me with her micro mist hairspray her cousins in Seoul sent her. In no time I'd gone from slob to wavy haired mystery girl most of our classmates probably wouldn't recognize.

As we puckered and pouted or way through makeup in the mirror, I caught her up on Renn. Sort of. I kept out the ghost thing and made it sound more like I'd just klutzed my way onto his radar. It made the past few days seem much shallower than I'd thought they were. It'd been intense on my end, but maybe it was all because I'd been so scared.

Part of me wanted to confide in her about Ernie and the dead girls, but I still wasn't convinced anyone would believe me.

 Renn believed me, but that hadn't worked out so well.

A little past nine, I was buckling myself into Camille's Prius and chatting nervously about how much I hoped I didn't run into Annabelle again.

"Lila's cool," Camille had reiterated the fact more than once as we drove. "She won't let any drama ruin her party."

I didn't feel reassured. The local kids were a tight crowd that obviously didn't like to welcome outsiders.

It was a ten minute drive to Lila's neighborhood and when we finally pulled into her driveway, I could hear bass thumping from the stereo inside. There weren't many cars parked in the cul de sac and I worried we were too early.

"It's summer," Camille said, getting out of the car. "Most everyone is gone anyway. This is probably it."

That wasn't reassuring.

Lila's house was big by Shades standards. I think I'd heard her dad was a dean at the local community college and the house fit the bill. Two story colonial with the obligatory four white columns out front. Pruned hedges that were cared for, but slightly wilted and brown along the bottom. I guessed they only paid for a gardener every other week.

Falling in step behind Camille, I walked through the front door and hid out of view the best I could until Camille found us a safe landing spot where we could try to look like we fit in.

Lila eventually found us, not long after I'd introduced myself to the chips and onion dip. I loved onion dip, even the nasty cheap stuff at the grocery store that comes in the dented plastic tub.  I'd put it on everything if I never had to speak to another human being ever again.