“She’s dead,” Moet says. It’s around twelve o’clock during lunch break the next day. A pale-haired girl sits across the booth from a rugged-looking teen with dark features.

            Quinn doesn’t speak, but just stares ahead blankly.

            “Quinn, Dakota’s dead.” Moet repeats.

            His eyes shut and he presses his lips together. He nods, signaling to Moet that he heard her. Watching him at that moment made the lump in the back of Moet’s throat appear again. It surprised her; she thought she cried herself dry the night before. Quinn finally opens his eyes and tries to give Moet one of his famous half-smiles but it comes out all wobbly an it morphs into that face that people make when they want to cry but they try to hold it in.

            “The night before she left, I cheated on her.” Quinn says in a raspy voice. “It was after our big fight where I saw her with that guy, Dylan. He was all over her and she didn’t give a fuck, she just let him kiss her, grab at her, whatever.” Quinn sighs and buries his face in his hands. He starts speaking in a soft and slow voice. “I don’t even know why I did it. I didn’t feel better afterwards. I felt worse. And then I come out, and I see Dakota standing outside the door just staring at me like she couldn’t believe I would do such a thing to her. And then I see the bruises on her arms and how the bottom of her dress is ripped and I just don’t know what to do… Before I can say anything, she walks away from me and goes into her room.” He uncovers his face with his hands and Moet can see the anguish and unshed tears in them. “I didn’t know that’d be the last time I’d see her.”

            “We hardly do.” Moet replies. She feels the cold air-conditioning on the thin rivulets of tears rolling down her cheeks. She doesn’t have the energy to wipe them off.

            They sit there, bonding over their shared grief for a while before Moet breaks the silence.

            “Quinn.”

            “Yeah?”

            “I have to find her body. I want you to help me find her.”

            Quinn thinks for a moment. “How would we even start?”

            Right then, a thought strikes Moet. “What was that guy’s name? The one you said was with Dakota?”

            “Dylan?” Quinn recalls.

            “Dylan…” Moet repeats. That name sounded so familiar. She could’ve sworn she’s heard it before. “His name sounds really familiar.”

            Quinn sighs. “It’s a common name, it’s probably nothing.”

            “No… I swear, I remember someone mentioning that name and it was really important…” Come on, think, Moet, think. Right when Moet thinks she’s caught onto the edge of a memory, a sudden familiar anxiety washes over her and tightens her chest. Panicking, her eyes snap open and she frantically looks for some way to cope with this horrid sensation gripping her body. She spies Quinn’s pile of unorganized silverware sitting next to his bare plate. Her fingers hastily slide the set over to her side and start shifting them around, organizing them by size, by cleanliness, by purpose, anything until her hands stop shaking. Suddenly feeling embarrassed, Moet ducks her head down and an intense urge to cry overwhelms her.

            “What was that?” Quinn asks.

            “I have OCD… It acts up every now and then.” Moet admits. She starts nervously fidgeting with her fingers.

            “Oh… are you okay?”

            “What? Yeah, I’m fine.” Moet lies.

            “Alright…” Pointing to Moet’s plate, Quinn asks, “Are you gonna finish your burger?”

            Moet glances at the burger she’d taken two tiny bites out of. She’s started eating again but it was still hard to go against that evil girl controlling her mind who wants to live.

And the only way for her to live is for Moet to die.

This is enough for today, though, Moet thinks. The burger is an oily, meaty mess. “No, you can have the rest if you want.”

            “Thanks,” he says gratefully and sinks his teeth into the rest of Moet’s lunch.

            As she watches him eat, she notices how Quinn grimaces as he swallows. Maybe he has an evil person of his own controlling his mind. He finally finishes the burger and stacks the two empty plates on top of each other. Looking up, Quinn catches Moet’s gaze and she sees an infinite sadness that could only come from the loss of a loved one in his eyes.

            Maybe everyone has one.

            Leighton’s confused.

            He doesn’t think he’s ever been more confused in his life. Shaking the thoughts off, he grabs a bowl of kettle corn (because his teenage body unreasonably demands food consumption every hour) and plops down on the living room couch.

            Deeply invested in the process of channel surfing, Leighton barely notices when the doorbell rings. By the third ring, he reluctantly gets up and walks over to open the door. Surprised, he stutters, “H-Hi.”

            “I, um, need to talk to you about something.” Moet’s eyes are fixed on the ground as usual. Her long, pale hair covers her face. Leighton’s hand itches to tuck her corn-silk hair behind her ear and tilt her chin up. “Can I come in?”

            “Yes, of course.” Leighton stands aside, allowing Moet to come through the doorway into the home. The two walk over to the couch and sit down. Right before Leighton’s about to ask Moet’s reason for visiting, she climbs into his lap like a child and wraps her arms around his waist. Leighton, startled at first, quickly moves to wrap his arms around her small body as she buries her face against the wool of his sweater. Soon after, he starts feeling the wetness of her tears soak through the shoulder of his top. “What’s wrong?” He asks softly.

            Moet just shakes her head and continues silently crying. Kissing the top of her head, Leighton takes in the sweet, cozy smell of his love. They sit for a while, not speaking, until Moet finally stops crying and turns her head so only her cheek touches Leighton’s sweater.

            “She’s dead, Leighton.” Moet whispers. He hears the heartbreak in her voice.

            “Who?” He asks, even though he’s already figured it out.

            “Dakota. My sister.” Moet takes a deep breath and exhales. “Do you love me?”

            Startled, Leighton utters, “What?”

            “I want to tell you something, but I’m scared you’ll think I’m crazy and run away. I need to know if you love me so you won’t.” Her big brown-green eyes stare up at Leighton’s gray pair.

            He thinks for a moment. He hears Charlotte’s, You don’t even know what love is, do you? ring through his mind and makes a decision. “Yes. I do.” Maybe he didn’t know what it meant in the beginning, but he does now. And now that he knows what it means, he could surely say that he loved Moet. He loved her very, very much.”

            Moet’s eyes soften and already he knows that her answer is the same as his. But just as quickly as they softened, the glimmer of happiness disappears and the same overbearing grief as before replaces it. “I don’t know if I’ve been hallucinating or not, but I’ve been seeing her ghost.”

            Biting back the automatic retort “ghosts don’t exist,” he calmly nods and gestures for her to go on.

            “Dakota used to have this music box that I loved when I was a little kid, and a few days after she ran away, I turned it on. An hour later, I saw her climb through the window. I thought she was real the whole time.” She pauses and tries to keep her unshed tears hidden. “She started visiting me every night and she’d talk to me and I’d talk to her. It was surreal. But just a few days ago, she told me that she was dead. And I know it’s stupid to trust a hallucination, but when she said that, I just knew it was true. Something shifted in my brain and it all made sense. Why she kept avoiding telling me where she lived, why she only came at night when my parents were asleep… The only thing that didn’t made sense was her. How could she be in front of me if she was dead? Yesterday, when you walked to my front door and I was fainting. You walked right through her, Leighton. And you didn’t even know it.” Blinking, she stares back up at me. “Please tell me I’m not crazy.”

            Against all his better judgment, he tells her, “You’re not crazy.”

            Moet closes her eyes and nods like she believes it. “Thank you.” Her head rests in its place against Leighton’s shoulder. And she falls asleep.