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“You’re wrong. I know you
think
I have a
perfect
life. But—”
    â€œNo, I don’t,” Justine cut in.
    â€œHuh?” Her reply surprised me.
    â€œNo, I don’t, Martha,” she repeated. And then her voice became strange. Kind of tight. And cold. “Your life isn’t as perfect as you think,” she said.
    I took a deep breath. “What do you mean?” I demanded, almost shyly.
    Silence.
    â€œJustine—what did you mean by that?”
    â€œI’ve got to go,” she whispered. “My dad is shouting at me to get off the phone.”
    â€œBut wait—” I insisted.
    I heard a click, and the line went dead.
    I tossed the phone onto the bed. Crossed my arms in front of me. Tapped my bare foot on the rug.
    â€œYour life isn’t as perfect as you think.”
    What did she mean by that remark?
    Something about Aaron? Something about Aaron and Justine?
    Or was it something much worse?

chapter 7
    â€œC ome on, Rooney. Come here.” I patted my lap.
    I was stretched out on the couch in the den in torn jeans and an old sweatshirt, and I felt like holding Rooney and petting her. But of course she wouldn’t come near me.
    Why do cats always have to act like cats?
    It was Sunday evening, and I was feeling pretty lonely. Mom and Dad were visiting friends across town. I finished my homework early. There was no school the next day, anyway. Some kind of teachers’ meetings.
    I called Laura to see if she wanted to hang out or something. Not home. Adriana wasn’t home either.
    So now I was stretched out in the den, half-watching wet snow drizzle down outside the window, half-watching a skiing show on ESPN on the TV across the room.
    â€œRooney—come here!”
    The cat turned and strutted away with her tail in the air.
    I settled back against the couch arm. And gazed up at the TV screen.
    And saw a cabin. A wooden cabin surrounded by snow. Snow tumbling off the sloping roof.
    â€œOh!”
    I sat up.
    My head was spinning. I felt dizzy.
    A flash. A flash of memory.
    The cabin. The snow. I was starting to remember.
    I jumped to my feet. My heart was pounding. I suddenly felt cold all over. As if I were in that snow. As if I were standing outside that snow-covered wooden cabin.
    I shut my eyes, struggling to concentrate. Struggling to pull more memory back.
    I had a picture in my mind. The scene on the TV had brought back a picture. But I needed more than a picture. I needed to remember
more.
    Keeping the snowy cabin in my mind, trying not to lose the strange feeling, I hurried upstairs to my room. I dropped down at my desk. Shut my eyes again.
    And tried to drift into the scene. Tried to slidemyself into the snow. Tried to see everything. To remember …
    Whoa. Two cabins. I saw two cabins side by side.
    Snow piled up against the cabin walls. Drifts sloping up to the curtained windows. The windows glowing golden, reflecting the bright sunlight.
    The snow glowing too. Everything so bright and clear and cold.
    Where am I? I wondered. Do I know these two cabins? Have I been there?
    Is this real memory? A piece of memory coming back?
    Or is it imagination?
    I tried not to think. I just wanted to see.
    And I did start to see. I saw some colorful figures, a bright blur in the shimmering, silvery snow.
    So hard to see in the bright glare. As if the white light had formed a curtain, a curtain hiding their faces from me.
    I concentrated harder.
    I stared at the colors moving over the snow. The colors formed themselves into people.
    I saw four girls.
    â€œHey—!” I cried out as I recognized the girl in front.
    Me. I recognized me. Recognized my long blond hair poking down from my blue wool ski cap. Recognized my blue-and-white ski suit.
    Concentrate. Concentrate.
    I forced myself deeper into the scene. Deeper into the memory.
    And my three friends moved through the curtain of light, moved through the snow, into clear view. Adriana, Justine,