Only it’s not the Vivian who could exist today. It’s the one I knew fifteen years ago, unchanged. The Vivian who haunted me in my youth, prompting me to bury her in my paintings time and time again. Same white dress. Same preternatural poise. Held in her fist is a bouquet of forget-me-nots, which she holds out formally, like a silent-film suitor.

My right hand flies first to my chest, feeling the frightened thrum of my heart. Then it drops to my left arm, seeking out the bracelet around my wrist. I give it a sharp tug.

“I know you’re not real,” I whisper.

I pull harder, the bracelet digging into my skin. The bird charms clatter together—a muted, clicking sound almost drowned out by my panicked whispers.

“You have no power over me.”

More tugging. More clicking.

“I’m stronger than everyone realizes.”

The bracelet breaks. I hear a snap of the clasp, followed by the sensation of the chain slithering off my wrist. I fumble for it, catching it in my palm, squeezing my fingers around it. At the window, lightning flashes again. A burst of blinding light that quickly fizzles into darkness. All I see outside are a smattering of trees and a sliver of lake in the distance. No one is at the window.

The sight should bring relief. But with the bracelet now a curl of chain in my fist, it brings only more fear.

That Vivian will come again. If not tonight, then soon.

I’m stronger than everyone realizes, I think, repeating it in my head like a mantra. I’m stronger than everyone realizes. I’m strong. I’m—

By the time I fall asleep—my heart hammering, body rigid, hand tight around my abused bracelet—the chant has mutated into something else. Less reassuring. More panicked. The words pinging against my skull.

I’m not going crazy. I’m not going crazy. I’m not going crazy.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO

In the morning, instead of reveille blaring from the speakers on the mess hall roof, I was yanked from sleep by “The Star-Spangled Banner,” in honor of Independence Day. Vivian slept right through it. When I climbed to her bunk to wake her, she swatted my hand and said, “Go the fuck away.”

I did, pretending not to feel hurt as I headed to the latrine to shower and brush my teeth. After that, it was on to the mess hall, where kitchen workers dished out a Fourth of July special: pancakes topped with stripes of blueberries, strawberries, and whipped cream. I was told they were called Freedom Flapjacks. I called them ridiculous.

Vivian didn’t show up for breakfast, not even fashionably late. Her absence freed Natalie to get a second helping of pancakes, which she consumed with abandon, strawberry sauce staining the corner of her mouth like stage blood.

Allison, on the other hand, didn’t budge from her routine. She put down her fork after taking three bites and said, “I’m so full. Why am I such a pig?”

“You can eat more,” I urged. “I won’t tell Viv.”

She gave me a hard stare. “What makes you think Vivian has anything to do with what I eat?”

“I just thought—”

“That I’m like you and do everything she tells me to?”

I looked down at my plate, more ashamed than offended. I had downed two-thirds of the pancakes without a second thought. Yet I knew that if Vivian had been there, I would have consumed only as much as she did. One bite or one hundred, it didn’t matter.

“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t do it on purpose. It’s just that—”

Allison reached across the table and patted my hand. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. Vivian’s very persuasive.”

“And a bitch,” Natalie added as she slid one of Allison’s untouched pancakes onto her own plate. “We get it.”

“I mean, we’re friends,” Allison explained. “Best friends. The three of us. But there are times when she can be—”

“A bitch,” Natalie said, more emphatically that time. “Viv knows that. Hell, she’d say it herself if she were here.”

My mind flashed back to the previous day. Her witnessing my disastrous attempt to kiss Theo. The smirk playing across her lips afterward. She had yet to bring it up, which worried me. I had expected some mention during the campfire or right before bed. Instead, there had been nothing, and it made me think she was saving it for a later game of Two Truths and a Lie, when it could inflict the most emotional damage.

“Why do you put up with it?” I said.

Allison shrugged. “Why do you?”

“Because I like her.”

But it was more than that. She was the older girl who took me under her wing and shared her secrets. Plus, she was cool. And tough. And smarter than I thought she let on. To me, that was something worth clinging to.

“We like her, too,” Natalie said. “And Viv’s been through a lot, you know.”

“But she’s sometimes so mean to the two of you.”

“That’s just her way. We’re used to it. We’ve known her for years.”

“All our lives,” Natalie chimed in. “We knew who she was and what she was like even before we became friends. You know, same school, same neighborhood.”

Allison nodded. “We know how to handle her.”

“What she means,” Natalie said, “is that when Vivian gets in a mood, it’s best to stay out of her way until it passes.”