Abby ducks her head at that, feeling her teeth with her tongue, all the parts where the enamel's gone smooth and oddly flat in juxtaposition with the sharper gaps between them. What Clarisse said sounds like Joel's raspy voice in her ear, Why don't you say your little speech, because he expected her to be satisfied in his death and she wasn't. She couldn't work out why not. She can't work out how to tell Clarisse it feels like she's having a nightmare.

Taking advantage of her silence, Clarisse yanks out of her grip like Abby knew she would. She's stronger. Really, if she wanted to go, she could. And, glancing up — her pulse quickens at the look on her face because it isn't anything she's seen before. It's beyond. She doesn't know what's going to happen, she's just crouched there staring up at Clarisse with her heartbeat clanging against the inside of her chest, a warning klaxon. She gets a sudden crawling sensation on her skin that doesn't fit right, not when she's looking at her best friend, but then sense floods back into Clarisse's face. She drops her arm.

Abby is still staring.

"Okay." Her voice sounds like it's on the other side of the tent. She can see the indents of her fingers on Clarisse's arm as she's hugging herself, white half-moons where her nails dug in.

"I'll wait with you."