Bethany Cutkomp, Fiction, Trampset.
eye. “Dude’s already ghosted me once.” “He ghosted you? Aw, Chris, I didn’t know you — ” “No, not like that. He vanished out of thin air. I’m dead serious.” Nora’s hand froze, contour brush tickling my temple. Next thing I knew, we’d lugged our backpacks to the public library to scour scholarly