I'M STARING AT JAX'S SLEUTH OUTFIT, as he calls it, and it's nothing short of ridiculous. It is nothing like him, and he just didn't get the memo. The black hoodie with the oversized neon band logo on the front hangs very loosely on his frame, and the baggy cargo pants practically swallow his legs. The whole ensemble screams "wannabe detective", not someone who's supposed to blend in. He looks pretty much like a kid who raided the costume shop. I just can't understand why he doesn't see the most obvious flaw in this.

His disguise is going to make him stand out like a traffic light.

I can't help but smirk. Jax notices, glancing up from where he's fiddling with a magnifying glass he's going to bring with him.

"What?" he asks.

"You look...ridiculous," I say, crossing my arms.

He shrugs, taking in his appearance. His mouth twitches slightly as he tries to suppress a smile. "The disguise has to be believable, right? And you said we needed to blend in."

He definitely doesn't think.

I roll my eyes, pushing away from the wall. "You don't blend in with a neon green hoodie, Jax. That outfit's not fooling anyone. You look like a detective who just found the 'lost and found' section at the thrift store."

"Ouch, that's so mean," he replies, but he doesn't seem too convinced about his outfit.

I sigh. "We're sneaking into a once-locked, now-creepy classroom, not a Halloween party."

"But it's such a nice hoodie," he says, admiring himself in the mirror of his room.

It's not a very nice hoodie.

"People are going to ask why you're wearing that and that's literally what we don't want."

He laughs, but I can see he's not fully sold on the idea of ditching the outfit. For a few seconds, he stops and observes me. My face burns under his gaze and I remind myself what I just said. Did I say something hurtful?

Instead, he smiles again. "It's nice to see you make bad jokes again."

I blink. For a moment, the teasing disappears from my mind as I try to process what he just said. I know he's right. It's a mystery to me too. I have no idea when I lost myself. It's something I can't explain. When did I turn into a shell?

He's just as affected by it as I am.

Jax's smile fades slightly, replaced by something softer, something genuine. "Seriously, Avra. It's good to see you like this. I missed...you."

It's ironic he's telling me this. As if he didn't distance himself over the past year. The few months after Amelia made him so angry and upset that I couldn't be in a fifty-mile radius of him without being scared he was going to lash out at me. I didn't judge him for it, of course. We all cope in different ways. I froze when he needed space, too afraid to do or say the wrong thing. But even now, I can't ignore the sting of our words back then. I don't judge him on it though, he was going to much worse things that I ever have been.

Like then, I freeze again. I don't know how to respond. Should I thank him? Apologize? Tell him he's not entirely wrong, but that he can't say much considering what he did?

Instead, I deflect. "I think you're stalling so you don't have to admit your outfit's a disaster."

Jax snorts. "You're changing the topic, but I'll let it slide because you're right. I'm stalling." He pulls off the hoodie and tosses it onto his bed, rummaging in his wardrobe for something else.

"Ahhh," I scream, covering my eyes and turning around. "A warning would be nice!"

Jax laughs. "Relax, Avra. I've got a shirt on underneath."

I peek through my fingers, still turned away, and sure enough, he's standing there, rolling his eyes at me while wearing a plain black t-shirt. His grin is equal parts amused and exasperated.

"Drama queen," he mutters, pulling a clean jacket off a hanger.

I lower my hands but keep my arms crossed, fixing him with a pointed glare. "You can't just strip without warning. Common courtesy, Jax."

"Oh, right, because I'm the one who's always been overly polite," he teases, shrugging on the jacket. "Better?"

I nod, glancing at the clock. We've spent an hour this morning planning what we're going to do, and 45 minutes of that time were spent on Jax choosing his outfit for the day. I look at my clothes from yesterday and grimace. I probably stink. I didn't exactly plan to stay at Jax's house for the night anyway.

I need to take Amelia's clothes.

The thought hits me like a gust of wind, unsteady and disorienting. Amelia's clothes. I don't want to spend longer than I need to in her room, which is why I raced to Jax's in the morning. Rummaging through her things feels wrong, and idea of walking around in Jax's oversized shirts is even worse.

Jax catches me looking at my clothes and puts down his "sleuth kit." He glances at me, noticing my hesitation. "Damn, I forgot! Do you want to wear the neon hoodie?"

"Absolutely not."

"I was kidding. You could ask my mom, or...Amelia's stuff is still in the room. If you'd like, of course. I don't think she'd mind. I mean, she's not..." he trails off. He clears his throat awkwardly and avoids my gaze, fiddling with the magnifying glass again.

I force a small smile, trying to ease the tension. "It's fine, Jax. I'll just grab something quickly."

He nods. He looks he wants to say something else, but I don't give him the chance to say it, whatever it is. Instead, I turn and head for Amelia's room.

The first thing I notice about her closet is how neatly everything is arranged. Amelia's sweaters are folded perfectly on one shelf, her dresses hung in a careful row. It's colorful, much like her life before everything.

I pick out a simple black hoodie and a pair of jeans, my hands trembling slightly as I handle the fabric.

It feels intrusive, wrong. But Jax is right—Amelia wouldn't have minded.

Or at least, that's what I tell myself.

Before I can dwell on it any longer, I grab the clothes and close the closet door, eager to leave. My eyes dart around the room one last time, landing on a small Polaroid taped to her mirror.

It's the three of us.

Amelia is in the middle, her arms around me and Jax, her smile as bright as ever. We're all laughing at something I can't remember, our faces flushed from the summer heat.

The sight of it makes my throat tighten.

"Avra?"

Jax's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. He's standing in the doorway.

I clear my throat, clutching the clothes to my chest. "Got what I need," I say quickly, brushing past him before he can ask anything else. The hoodie is soft and smells of Amelia's perfume, and for a moment, it feels like she's still here.

I hate it.

I change into the clothes, and I let my eyes scan me head to toe in front of the mirror in Jax's room. I'm sure Amelia wouldn't be caught dead looking so ordinary. She would be wearing a colorful hoodie, not a black one. If she wore the black hoodie, she would pair it with colorful bottoms.

I'm not Amelia.

I can't be Amelia.

But why can't I be Amelia?

The thought lingers, sharp and unwelcome. I tear my gaze from the mirror, shaking my head as if that will dislodge it. I'm not Amelia, and I shouldn't have to be. Still, the idea wraps around me, tightening with every breath I take in her clothes.

Jax watches me from the corner of his room, quiet for once. He doesn't comment, doesn't crack a joke, just observes. It's unnerving how he always seems to know when something's wrong, even if I'm not saying it.

"Let's go," he says, and I follow him like a sheep following the herder.

°。°。°。°。°。

My fingers shake on their own accord, along with my legs. Throughout the class, I feel the clock spinning, light shifting phases, the voices turning into static around me. I'm finding it so hard to concentrate. Maybe when there are a million things battling their way into the little space in your brain, it does that. I wouldn't know. I'm not an expert or anything.

I stare at the jeans again. They're comfortable in places, but the belt I'd put on is starting to dig into my waist. If this isn't enough to shatter my body and mind, my chest aches.

"Psst. You're the Hall Monitor, right?" the girl beside me asks, just as the teacher turns her head away from us and to the board amongst the rustling of paper.

I nod, wondering who she is. I'm not looking at her until I deem it absolutely necessary.

"Where did you get those jeans? They're like vintage. Super expensive!"

"I don't remember," I mutter, shifting my attention to my notebook.

The girl doesn't take the hint, leaning in a little closer. "They look great on you. Seriously, they're like... perfectly worn-in. Are they from that thrift place downtown?"

I shake my head, still not meeting her gaze. My throat tightens as her words sink in. Amelia's jeans. Of course, they'd be perfect. Of course, someone would notice.

"Hey," she presses, her voice quieter but no less insistent. "Are you okay?"

I nod, scribbling meaningless swirls in the corner of my notebook. "Yeah. Thanks."

I'm super happy when the teacher screams at us to be quiet. It's the best sound in the world.

The room seems to shift around me as I stare at my printed report card in front of me. Horrible stuff, a few Bs, two Cs, an almost fail. I'll need to repeat that class. I can do that. I think back to my mom, who spent an insane amount of time in rehab, community college and then, back again to rehab. She might've worked a few jobs in between but it was never enough. At least, I should be grateful to my dad in that regard. He left us a house.

I need to break the cycle.

I can't do this to myself, just like my mom.

I can be Amelia.

Instead of watching the clock, I force my ears to listen to the teacher. She's talking about the next quiz. Normally, I would study a week before to get an above average grade. This time, I need to be better.

For myself.

I grip my pen tightly, my fingers pressing into the grooves of the plastic, and start writing down every word the teacher says. My handwriting is messy, the lines uneven, but it doesn't matter. What matters is the focus—turning my attention away from Amelia's jeans, the girl's questions, my report card, and the thoughts I can't let go of.

This is for me, I remind myself.

The teacher's voice becomes clearer, less like a muffled echo now. I jot down every point about the quiz, even the things I would've ignored before. When she mentions chapters we haven't touched yet, I underline them. By the time the bell rings, I've filled half a page.

"Don't forget to review Chapter Twelve for tomorrow," the teacher calls out as everyone scrambles to pack their things.

Chapter Twelve. Got it.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and make a beeline for the door, avoiding the girl who asked about my jeans and the clusters of students chatting in the hall.

I find Jax waiting at my locker, ready for the mission, his kit in his hand. He's scrolling through his phone, but he looks up the moment I approach. It's almost like he can sense I'm there.

"Hey, Hall Monitor," he teases, faint smirk on his lips. "Let's go for your power trip."

"Funny." I push past him and open my locker, shoving my notebook inside.

His smirk falters. "What's wrong?"

"I'm finding the human race quite irritating at the moment."

"What did I do?"

I shake my head. "I wasn't talking about you."

"Wow, so you don't consider me a part of the human race?" Jax says, holding his palm up to his chest. He's too dramatic, I swear.

"Actually, I don't."

"Come on. We're still doing the thing, right?"

I nod, closing my locker with a soft clang. "Yeah. Let's go."

Moment of truth. Let's see what the hell is wrong with this school.

The walk to the old classroom is quiet, the hum of the lights louder now that I'm actually focusing on it. I can still hear the noisy corridor, which is where I'm supposed to be right now. Jax stays close to me, but he doesn't say much.

Maybe he knows I need the quiet.

When we reach the door, Jax pauses, glancing at me. "Ready?"

I nod, even though I'm not sure I am.

He pushes the door open, and we step inside.

The room is just as eerie as I remember—dimly lit, with desks pushed to the sides and a thick layer of dust coating everything. The air feels heavier here, like it's carrying the weight of all the things we're not supposed to find.

Jax pulls out his magnifying glass with a flourish, and I can't help but roll my eyes.

"That is so extra," I say with a sigh.

"Every detective needs their tools."

I'm not listening to him. In fact, I couldn't hear his words clearly at all. Because, as it happens, the painting that was stationed here just a day before is magically gone. The emptiness is filled with dust, the area looking untouched. For a moment, I tell myself to calm down. My mind's already spiraling thoughts come to an inconsequential halt as I approach the same place I stood in yesterday, staring at Amelia's face.

It's not there.

I pinch myself. I take deep breaths. I force myself to get myself out of my sleep, but nothing changes. Nothing is there. The space where the painting had been looms like a black hole, an endless void of impossibility. But I'm staring at the possibility myself. It's not there. My heart pounds in my chest as I take slow, deliberate steps toward it, half-hoping I'll discover that I'm mistaken. Maybe, it's just out of the view, hidden in the shadows or shifted slightly off-center. But there's nothing. Just a blank stretch of wall and floor covered in dust, looking like no one disturbed it.

Jax notices my reaction immediately. "What is it?" he asks, his voice cutting through my thoughts.

I glance back at him, my breath shallow, my eyes burning. "The painting," I manage to say. "It was here yesterday."

Jax frowns. "Like where you're standing right now?"

I point to the wall. "Jax, I saw it here yesterday. I don't know why..."

He doesn't have any reason to believe me anymore. Frankly, I don't believe myself anymore. I can be so sure that I saw it yesterday, but the dust here and the fact that everything looks undisturbed says enough.

I made it up.

My mind made it up.

I just messed with Jax for no reason.

Jax looks at me, his brow furrowed in concern, but he doesn't say anything right away. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, as I stare at the empty space on the wall, willing the painting to reappear.

Finally, he speaks. "Avra, you're not the kind of person who just...makes things up."

I laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. "Aren't I? I mean, look at this, Jax. There's no sign of a painting ever being here. The dust—everything's undisturbed. It's like it never existed."

He steps closer, his gaze sweeping the room like he's searching for something I missed. "Okay, let's think this through. You saw it yesterday, right? Amelia's face. You're absolutely sure about that."

I hesitate, the memory of the painting vivid in my mind. "I'm sure." My voice wavers. "At least...I was."

Jax nods, crouching to inspect the floor near the wall. "Alright, if it was here yesterday and it's gone now, someone had to move it. Dust or no dust, things don't just disappear."

I let out a shaky breath, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. "Maybe it was a dream. Maybe I just imagined it. I inhaled too much dust. I just made it up."

Jax shakes his head firmly, unrelenting. "No, Avra. You don't just 'make things up.' You're too logical for that. And you don't look like someone who dreamed this—you look like someone who knows what they saw."

I turn away from him, my arms wrapping tighter around myself. "Then explain it, Jax. Explain how a painting can be here one day, and gone the next, leaving no trace. Explain how the dust doesn't even look disturbed." My voice cracks at the end, betraying the confusion and frustration bubbling inside me.

He exhales slowly, his fingers ruffling through his hair as he thinks. "There's got to be an explanation. Maybe someone cleaned the area after moving it. Maybe they're trying to cover their tracks."

I spin back toward him, my voice rising. "Cover their tracks? Why? Why would anyone care about hiding some random painting? What does that even mean?"

Jax steps closer, his voice calming. "I don't know. But you're not crazy, and I'm not letting you gaslight yourself into thinking you are."

The words hit me harder than I expect. My throat tightens, and for a moment, I can't meet his eyes. The weight of his trust feels heavy, almost unbearable.

"You really believe me?" I whisper.

"I believe you," he says without hesitation. "And I believe something weird is going on in this school. We'll figure it out, Avra. Together. I could get into the idea of ghosts even, but I will never think you're making this up."

Before I can overthink it, I cross the space between us and throw my arms around him.

"Whoa," Jax says, his arms freezing in the air for a second before he catches on and wraps them around me. His hug is warm and solid, and he doesn't even make a joke about it—just holds me steady like he knows it's exactly what I need.

"Thanks," I mumble into his shoulder, my voice muffled.

"For what?" His voice is softer now.

"For being here," I say, pulling back just enough to look at him. "For not thinking I'm crazy."

I let myself calm down for a moment. I wonder if this happened to Amelia too. It's a possibility, for sure. I just can't tell. What did Amelia do?

I want my thoughts to be filled with Jax, this moment, the warmth, his belief in me, but I can't. I can only think about Amelia.