“Sure,” I said. “All good.”

“You know what sets you apart from most girls in LA?” Reed asked.

I glanced up at him. I hadn’t realized that anything set me apart from anyone — except maybe my craziness.

“You don’t always make it about yourself,” he said. “You think more than you speak.”

Was it supposed to be the kind of compliment that sends you reeling? Because it did. My stomach felt like a pinwheel spinning in my body.

“Well,” I said, “maybe I’m thinking about myself the whole time.”

“Maybe.” Reed laughed quietly. “But I doubt it. You’re an outsider, like me.”

“I thought you were born in Los Angeles,” I said.

“I was. But I still don’t fit in. I don’t care about cars, or clothes, or money. I only care about the quality of my work.” He shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many girls lose interest in a guy when he doesn’t drive an expensive car.”

“I don’t get the car thing,” I said. “Who cares what somebody drives? I mean, say a person has the fanciest car in the world. What if he’s a jerk? I’d rather be in a falling-apart minivan with somebody cool.”

Then I wondered if my little speech made it too obvious that “somebody cool” in my eyes was … well, Reed. I felt a warm flush creep up my cheeks and clamped my mouth shut.

But Reed only grinned at me. “I completely agree,” he said. “Hey, how’s Langhorn treating you? Make a lot of friends yet?”

I shrugged. “More like friend. But she’s pretty nice. And then there’s one guy who … I mean, I don’t know if you’d consider us friends. We’re more like allies.”

“Sounds like a very meaningful relationship,” Reed said, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“The bizarre thing is that it kind of is,” I said. “I didn’t realize that you can appreciate someone’s company without actually getting along with them … at all.”

He laughed softly. “I’m not sure I follow.”

I’m not sure I do, either. “Anyway, let’s talk about something else.”

“Like what?”

I searched for a topic. “Um … movies?”

“Movies,” he said. “That’s something you never hear about in Hollywood.”

I gave his arm a little swat. “So what are your favorites?”

“That’s a tough question,” he said. “I’m a fan of the old classics, of course — like everybody else. All of the Lord of the Rings films, obviously … The Dinner Party … Little Miss Sunshine … Wall-E …”

“Seriously?” I said. “Little Miss Sunshine and Wall-E? That’s so cute.”

“Cute, huh?” He grinned and reddened slightly. “I also love Kill Bill, does that buy me any street cred?”

“Sure,” I said. “It takes you from a two out of ten to a three and a half.”

“What movies do you like?”

“I’m more of a book person,” I said. “I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I’ve never seen the Lord of the Rings movies…. I read The Hobbit, though.”

“Willa,” he said, in mock disapproval. “This is a problem. We have to remedy this at some point in the near future.”

Watching movies with Reed? Um, yes, please.

“My favorite movie of all time is The Princess Bride,” I said. “Mom used to let me watch it when I was home sick from school.”

“Sophisticated cinema, there,” Reed teased, and I blushed, feeling like a little kid. A few seconds later, he stopped walking and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m in a weird mood today.”

“Weird moods are fine by me,” I said. “Weirdness in general is kind of my specialty.”

He smiled, and his eyes met mine. “You’re not weird. You’re … nice.”

You’re nice. The words were so simple, but they sent a shiver of happiness up my spine.

Back at the house, we stood on the front porch.

“Everyone wants you to fit into their mold, don’t they?” he asked. “But you don’t fit. Who cares? I never fit any molds, either.”

I held my breath.

“Willa, I —” He hesitated. “What if I told you — No, I shouldn’t.”

I wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him and yell SAY IT, but I didn’t.

“Willa …” His voice trailed off.

I didn’t need any more words — it was enough to hear him say my name like that. It seemed as if we were in a little bubble with our own air. My heart felt like it was being pulled out of my chest, toward Reed.

We took a step closer to each other. His hands moved gently up to my face.

And then we were kissing.

It happened so fast that it took me a second to understand what was going on, which cost me about two seconds of enjoying the kiss, which let me tell you was a very sad loss of two seconds.

The kiss went on and on … like we were under a spell, neither of us willing to break it by stepping away. His lips were as warm and irresistible as the rest of him.

After a minute, we pulled apart and stared at each other, stunned.

“I — I can’t believe that just happened,” Reed said.

Boldness flared up in me like a torch. “I can,” I said.

He stepped back. His voice trembled. “No, Willa, you don’t understand. Jonathan’s your stepfather. And he’s my boss. He can never find out.”

“He doesn’t have to find out,” I said, relishing the defiant sound of my own voice. “Why should he?”

He wrapped his gentle fingers around mine, his eyes cast down. “I’m not going to ask you to lie for me.”

His thumb made a circle on my palm and left me breathless.

“You don’t have to ask me,” I whispered.

He reached up and touched my hair, smoothing it gently against my cheek. “Have a good weekend,” he said quietly.

The look in his eyes said he wished he could say more.

But we both knew he wouldn’t.

Monday at lunch, I was still half lost in thoughts of Reed and our kiss. The past week had been so blissfully ghost-free that I’d hardly even thought about the murders. An unprecedented sense of normalcy was slipping over me. I was even getting night after night of uninterrupted sleep. It was a little eerie.

“Earth to Willa,” Marnie said, interrupting my reverie. “I said, do you have plans Friday night?”

“Who, me?” I asked. “I never have plans.”

Marnie laughed, filling the air with music. “My dad got me tickets to the premiere of the new Kurt Conrath movie. Want to come? But there’s a catch — you have to help me kidnap Kurt and take him home and lock him in my closet forever and ever amen.”

“Um,” I said. “Okay. I’ll need to ask Mom, but … What should I wear?”

“All black,” she said. “Ski mask. You don’t happen to have a kidnap van, do you?”

I tried to laugh, but even joking about kidnapping stirred up unwelcome thoughts of the visions.

“Wear something trendy,” Marnie said. “A dress.”

I had no desire to be part of a huge, chaotic Hollywood function, but the alternative was sitting at home daydreaming about Reed and still waiting, slightly on edge, for more ghostly messages.

“I have a dress,” I said. “But I don’t think it’s trendy.”

“Don’t,” she said, pointing a finger at me. “Do not show up in a dress you wore to some auntie’s wedding, please.”

Oh. “Then I don’t have anything.”

“No worries. Just come home with me Friday.” She patted my head. “Mama Marnie’ll fix you right up.”

After school on Friday, I found myself feeling almost enthusiastic as I rode with Marnie to Hancock Park, where the streets were lined with old-school mansions. Her house was light brown with a pointy roof and colorful flowers everywhere. It looked like Hansel and Gretel’s cottage — if Hansel and Gretel had been millionaires.