The Souvenir Game
Date: 2021-10-18T13:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fiction; General; Thrillers; YA
Description: Sixteen-year-old Spencer and his friends are collectively known as the Wyatt Five, a tight-knit group of wealthy, spoiled teenagers. Their summer days are devoted to lazily lounging at a mansion or spending their parents' money. Their nights are often filled with parties where sex, drugs, and alcohol are readily available. Yet the Wyatt Five pride themselves on not imitating the life of their impulsive friends or getting into serious trouble. Fueled by boredom, they create The Souvenir Game. Each must visit Englewood Park, the poverty-stricken section of town, sneak into a house and grab a low

the

SOUVENIR

GAME

––––––––

Christopher  Renna

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 Christopher Renna

Cover design copyright © 2021

Cover Art: Christopher Renna

Editing by Angela Houston. ahjoyediting.com

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

United States of America.

Paperback ISBN 978-0-578-99270-9

Also available as an e-book.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

The Souvenir Game

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

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Also By Christopher Renna

for

Wilemia Shaw

&

Tina Crumpacker

"I will not follow where the path may lead, but I will go where there is no path, and I will leave a trail." - Muriel Strode

CHAPTER ONE

My spoiled, wealthy friends and I had created the Souvenir Game one sweltering July afternoon because we were bored.

Sweltering—my grandmother often used the term as she fanned her face and sipped her honeysuckle vodka lemonade by the pool at my grandparents' two-million-dollar weekend house. "Spencer," she'd say, "how can you possibly relax in this sweltering heat? Cool off in the pool." Because I didn't suffer the sweltering heat my grandmother loathed, I'd reply, "I'm fine, Nana. I'll swim later."

She'd flick her fingers at me, as though she didn't understand her teenage grandson's carefree attitude. "Suit yourself."

Then I'd return to working on my tan while reading the book I'd set aside to entertain her complaint about the sweltering heat.

So . . . on a sweltering July afternoon, five privileged sixteen-year-old teenagers desperate for fun had devised the Souvenir Game. We'd been hanging out at Bailey's house, munching on hors d'oeuvres leftover from his parents' annual July Fourth soiree the night before. Maya and Willow scrutinized clips from their poolside TikTok filming. Aiden smoked a cigarette as he lounged on the indigo chaise he and Bailey had relocated from the family room to the patio. And I used a cocktail fork to squish my ninth thumb-sized chocolate cake.

I was fascinated by the idea that someone had filled teeny, tiny molds with cake and then inserted a juicy raspberry into each. I would have quit my job on the spot.

Bailey groaned in his typical exaggerated manner. He pushed his chair back from the glass-top table littered with elaborate bite-sized edibles. "You guys, I'm so bored. We need something fun to do."

"Browse the boutiques?" Maya suggested as she twisted to the side, modeling the pastel-blue, pinstriped Victoria Beckham blouse she'd purchased a few days ago. A couple of hours earlier, she'd modeled it for us with various poses, a strut, and a pivot in the foyer of Bailey's house.

"I don't need to buy anything." He rolled his eyes. "Do you?"

She shrugged as if his answer didn't qualify as a justified reason for not buying new clothes. "Whatever. Frozen coffee?"

Willow said, "We could drive to the coast. Soak up some sun." She leaned back on one elbow and fiddled with her phone.

"Willow, sweetheart," Bailey said. "We're lounging by the pool and not a single one of us has gotten into the water."

"I don't wanna get my hair wet."

"Then why the hell would we drive to the beach?"

She cast her eyes skyward and then giggled. "Oh. Good point."

"Precisely."

Aiden peered over the edge of his favorite round, black Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses. "We could partake in the last of your parents' alcohol." Exhaling smoke, he tapped cigarette ashes onto the earth-toned travertine tiles and then added, "If there is any."

"You're already nursing a hangover due to peer pressure." Bailey swiped at the dark blond locks draping his eyes. When the strands of hair fell back, he poured a glass of water onto his head and then slicked his hair back. "What about you, Spencer? Any ideas?"

I squished one last teeny cake with exhausted fascination and then leaned back in my chair. "Well . . . we could . . . "

Everyone fixed their eyes on me, anticipating an exciting proposal.

"Go bowling."

Everyone laughed. Then Maya and Willow returned their attention to their filming. Aiden slid his sunglasses back into position and curled up on the chaise as if he intended to nap.

Across the table from me, Bailey chuckled. "Honestly, Spencer. Where do you come up with that redneck shit?"

"I read about it in a book."

"Figures." He rested his chin in his palm. "I wonder what it's like to live a life where bowling is something really exciting to do when you're bored?"

Because I thought Bailey had asked a rhetorical question, I simply shrugged and gulped the remainder of my blood orange juice.

He lifted a small, white porcelain bowl from the caviar platter and then launched bits of chopped egg whites at me. "I'm serious. What do you think?"

"About bowling?"

"Any of that mind-numbing stuff. I mean, look at us. We're bored to death with nothing to do, but those people can run to the bowling alley or a park or something, and they, like, have fun doing it."

I wiped the shards of egg whites from my bare, muscular chest. "I guess I could give it a shot. Aiden will tag along without actually bowling. But the girls won't step foot into a bowling alley."

Bailey covered his eyes and released a hearty laugh. "I don't want to go bowling. Are you kidding?"

"Hey. You said it. Not me."

"I was wondering about it. Wondering."

"Are you trying to make a point about something?"

"No. The wheels of my curious mind are spinning."

I rolled my eyes. "Uh-oh."

Bailey had a knack for convincing us to commit to his wild ideas of—in his words—fun and frolic.

Sighing, he tilted his head back. "We live on the green side of the fence, and they live on the weedy side."

If Bailey had attempted to share some sort of philosophical insight with me, he'd failed, or I'd failed at understanding it.

"We're wealthy," I said, "and they're not."

"Well, yeah. But that's stating the obvious. I was referring to the fundamental differences." He locked his hazel eyes on mine. "Take our suggestions, for instance. Drive to a family beach house. Go shopping and spend hundreds of dollars on stuff we don't really need. Drink expensive alcohol and champagne. Those were our ideas for killing boredom. They, like, go bowling and stuff."

I grinned. "Hey, I was the one who suggested it."

"Bowling would be too much of a commitment."

I laughed at his ridiculous reasoning. "You're too much."

"Why, thank you." He flashed the smile that melted dozens of hearts at Wyatt High and then called out, "Hey, you guys. Come over here. I have an idea."

In that instant, my main concern was the sweltering heat of the sun scorching my shoulders. I envisioned reddened skin in immediate need of cold, soothing lotion. I couldn't muster the imagination required to guess at Bailey's spur-of-the-moment idea.

Maya plopped down in the chair next to me and swept her shaggy, recently lightened hair from her shoulders. "If you're being serious, it better be a good one."

Aiden approached the table as if dragging himself against his will. "Fun and frolic, eh?" He slouched in the chair, his legs spread wide and his cigarette propped between his lips. Evidently, his James Dean phase hadn't yet waned in favor of a new style and attitude that he'd wear like a new jacket for a couple of months. Although, we had to give him credit for going all out. He'd gotten the pompadour, perfected the brooding attitude, and purchased a set of bongos that he thumped a rhythm on occasionally. We expected him to demand that his parents buy him a Porsche Spyder, even though he already owned a Mercedes.

"Yeah, it better be good," Willow said, setting her hands on her bikini-clad hips and tilting her head practically to her shoulder.

Bailey grimaced. "Not a good look. Form and posture, princess." He gestured to a chair. "Grace us with the proximity of your beauty."

Flattery often motivated Willow to comply. Sitting, she regarded my plate of destroyed cakes as if I'd mutilated a horde of insects.

Clearing his throat, Bailey tapped the table. "I hereby declare the assembly of the Wyatt Five in session."

The Wyatt Five. Friends since preschool. Families who frequently mingled. Although we were seated comfortably at the top of our social circle, the five of us never allowed an addition to infiltrate our cozy clique, thus expanding into the Wyatt Six.

"Who's up for an adventure?" Bailey asked in a jovial tone that almost sounded sincere.

Dubious of his definition of adventure, I replied, "Another one of your adventures. It's not something we'll get into trouble for, is it?"

"We've never gotten into serious trouble."

"That's true," Maya said. "But I'm with Spencer. I don't wanna get into any sort of trouble. It's so exhausting."

"No trouble. I swear."

Willow slipped a bright pink T-shirt over her head. "What's your idea of a new adventure, then?"

"Let's leave the pompous luxury of our wealthy neighborhood and drive to the poor section of town."

Aiden twisted his face in confusion. "Where the hell is that?"

"And how far is it?" Maya asked.

Bailey gingerly shook his head as if disappointed by their lack of knowledge. "First, we need to buy tickets for a flight. Then we should pack an overnight bag."

I laughed.

"It's on the other side of town, idiots." Bailey popped a chunk of cucumber stuffed with crab and mango into his mouth. "This is an opportunity to observe something outside our comfort zone."

Intriguing. Yet I was only marginally interested in the prospect of sightseeing in the low-income section of town. It wouldn't be like exploring the grounds of Villa d'Este in Italy or even the ruins of Pompeii, which had been only mildly intriguing in person.

I sat upright and stretched my torso as though I'd remained in a fixed position for far too long. "Your bright idea of fun and frolic is to drive around a neighborhood we've never been to before?"

Standing, Bailey said, "All right. Everyone, on your feet."

The obedient friends that we were, we rose in solidarity.

Glancing to the side, I smiled at Maya and shrugged.

"I can't believe you murdered all those little cakes," she said.

I wrapped my arms around her. "I swear. None of them suffered a horrible, agonizing death."

From behind, Aiden rested his square jaw on my shoulder. "Thank you for sparing the criminally decadent." He nestled his face against the crook of my neck and inhaled deeply. "You smell good."

Maya laughed.

I playfully wrapped a strand of his pompadour around my finger, tugging him away from my skin. "It's all natural, baby."

He rubbed his hands on my buzzed head and then flicked my ear. "Let's go explore outside our comfort zone."

I collected my iPhone and keys from the tabletop disorder. "I suppose everyone's going to pile into my Jeep."

Aiden snatched my keys. "I'll drive."

A phone chimed.

Plucking his cell from between the large platters of hors d'oeuvres, Bailey announced, "It's time for Cashmere's medicine."

We followed him into the kitchen as he called out to his twelve-year-old Pomeranian. The housekeeper, Janice, greeted us with a quick smile and then continued with a kitchen chore as if we hadn't entered the room at all. Always friendly but never too involved.

"Cashmere!" he called again.

Within seconds, the little clickity-click of her feet on the white marble-tiled floor approached. She paused in the arched doorway and eyed each of us like she wasn't sure which one of us was Bailey. When he cooed her name, she scampered right to him.

Willow leaned against the black marble island. "When was the last time she had a seizure?"

Cradling the furball to his chest, he replied, "Three months." He kissed the side of her salon-pampered head. "We're getting it all under control, aren't we?"

Bailey's family had gotten Cashmere when he was four years old. She'd immediately latched on to him, and he'd babied her ever since.

He set her onto the island in front of me. The small pink bow on top of her head was a bright contrast to her charcoal-colored fur. She sat perfectly still, focused on me as she panted with her little tongue hanging out to the side.

While Bailey prepared the spoonful of peanut butter and pills, I searched online for the quickest route to Englewood Park—one eye glued to Cashmere in case she decided to prance to the edge of the island. An emergency trip to the animal hospital would not qualify as fun and frolic.

Maya and Willow further scrutinized the clips from their poolside TikTok session.

Stationed at the refrigerator, Aiden's head disappeared inside the freezer. Likely a miracle hangover remedy he'd read about online.

Janice continued to work as if we weren't in the kitchen.

*   *   *

As Aiden chauffeured our way from Camden Heights to Englewood Park, we listened to Willow's playlist of 1980s female artists. Pat Benatar, Stevie Nicks, Sade, Madonna, Janet Jackson, and Whitney Houston. Some songs were familiar. Most I didn't recognize at all. Seated behind me, Willow sang along—surprisingly well—to each track. I had to admit, those songs were a hell of a lot more musical than most of the crap we were subjected to in 2019.

Huddled together in the back seat, Maya and Bailey discussed a friend of ours who'd been banished to her grandparents' house for the summer because of her penchant for boys and alcohol.

Still shirtless, and in the passenger seat, I took advantage of the sun's light to snap a few selfies showcasing my green eyes and chiseled torso. If you got it, flaunt it. And I did. In person. On social media. I tried not to be obsessive about it, but my Instagram said otherwise.

I'd just posted a photo when Aiden directed the Jeep to an exit off the highway. I checked the map on my phone. We'd arrived at our destination: Englewood Park. The low-income area of town where people had more fun things to do than sit around eating leftover fancy hors d'oeuvres while complaining about how bored they were with their fortunate lives.

Willow stopped the music.

Peering out her window, Maya checked and then double-checked that the door was locked.

Bailey chuckled. "Relax, Maya. We're not going to get carjacked or anything."

At the stop sign, I studied the vacant lot outside my window. The grass was nearly nonexistent. Brown and withered, flattened by the heat, and littered with discarded items not properly disposed of in trash cans. A row of run-down houses across the street appeared weighed down by whatever hardships had transpired during the passing of time. At that moment, I wondered why we were there.

I glanced at Bailey. "Is this your idea of a cultural experience?"

"Not originally. But now that we're here . . ."

"What?"

"This is an example of how privileged we are."

"Duh," Maya said. "We didn't have to come here to know that."

Bailey sighed. "How often do you think about the people who live in this type of neighborhood?"

"Hmm. Well, I don't know. I guess maybe—"

"You don't." He wrapped his arm around her and kissed the side of her head. "None of us do."

As we passed a decades-old, red-brick apartment building, I said, "Reminding us of the large gap between our lives and theirs is not fun and frolic."

He tapped a fingertip on my shoulder. "You're right. I'll think of something while Aiden drives us through the neighborhood."

We drove alongside a public bus for several blocks. The buildings appeared old and dirty, some even hazardous. I wondered how many people had no other option but to live in such conditions. And as we neared a residential area of small, one-story houses, I felt uneasy cruising the streets in a fifty-thousand-dollar Jeep Grand Cherokee that my parents had purchased for me with no concern about the price.

"Pull over," Bailey ordered. "I just thought of something."

Aiden parked along the curb, not far from where three elementary-aged boys kicked a ball on the sidewalk.

Climbing over Willow's legs, Bailey said, "Excuse me, ladies." He opened the door and hopped out.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Hold on. I'll be right back," he replied, the thrill of excitement glossing his words.

We watched him jog to the closest chain-link gate, unlatch the pull, and then stroll into someone's yard.

"Oh, great," Willow muttered. "He's going to get shot."

I surveyed the area, searching for anybody who might witness his stunt. Thankfully, I didn't see any observant adults. But the three kids down the block had stopped kicking the ball around to watch Bailey.

Aiden glanced at the gleaming, silver Cartier watch on his left wrist, a behavior fueled by anxiety. A nervous tic. The battery to the watch had died months earlier, but he'd continued wearing it as part of his James Dean ensemble.

Several seconds later, Bailey strutted toward the Jeep, appearing more guilty than innocent. He carried some monstrosity under his arm. Once he reached the back door, he practically dove into the back seat.

The rest of us appraised his stolen artifact. It was an ugly, gnome-fairy-troll-creature garden statue. Long, droopy ears. A large bulbous nose. And a protruding tummy that jutted over two stubby legs.

"Stop staring," he said to Aiden. "Drive."

Before we reached the end of the block, Maya said, "You'd risk going to jail for that disgusting thing?"

He snickered. "When we get back to my house, I'll explain what this has to do with our next adventure."

Facing forward, I released a heavy exhale. "The things that go through your head, Bailey. I knew you didn't have a spontaneous spark of inspiration. You wanted to come down here to pull off your stunt."

"Sure did. And this is gonna be great. You'll see."

*   *   *

At the door, Cashmere broke into a fit of barking and growling the instant she saw Bailey's new possession. When he set it onto the floor for her to inspect, she sniffed it once and then scurried out of sight.

Upstairs in his room, we plopped down on the floor in a semi-circle with the gnome situated in the center like some ugly monster we'd trapped and were about to poke with sticks.

Aiden hugged his knee to his chin and stared at the monster. "Were there any other creatures suspended in animation?"

"Sure. But this one caught my eye," Bailey replied. "I mean, look at him. Wouldn't he stand out to you too?"

"It's freaky-looking," Willow said. "Wasn't there like a pretty fairy girl or something?"

Bailey shrugged. "I didn't really pay attention to all of them."

"How many were there?" I asked.

"I don't know. A lot. Like, a dozen. But anyway, I didn't have much time. I grabbed him and then hauled ass."

Aiden sprawled out onto his stomach, nearly nose to nose with the troll-thing. "And this inspired your next idea for fun and frolic?"

"Yes." Bailey petted the statue's head like it was a newly acquired pet. "Have any of you seen anything like this in our neighborhood?"

Maya snorted. "No. It's hideous."

"Exactly. So I was thinking . . . wouldn't it be interesting if we each scoured Englewood Park for a souvenir? You know, something we'd never find in our own neighborhood. Or even inside our own home. What do you think?"

I narrowed my eyes. "We've done some interesting things in the name of fun and frolic. But this is kinda crazy. You want us to go on a scavenger hunt?"

"Well, yeah. Basically."

"So it's not really an adventure," I said. "It's a game."

"It could be an adventure," he retorted.

Maya leaned back on her elbows. "Will there be a winner?"

"No. Of course not. We're always winners."

"But it's a game," Willow said.

Aiden snapped a selfie of himself cheek to cheek with the troll. "The Wyatt Five's Souvenir Game."

I lifted my shoulders in an unenthused shrug. "Okay. I guess so. Let's play the Souvenir Game."

Bailey repeated "the Souvenir Game" with zest and a wide smile.

Once we all agreed, we determined the rules.

1. The item had to be from a home located in Englewood Park.

2. We had to steal the object. No bartering. No purchasing.

3. No risk of personal bodily harm.

4. We each had to perform our hunt solo.

5. Our deadline was July 13th, the following Saturday.

CHAPTER TWO

Early the next morning, my mother reminded me that I had agreed to drive my eight-year-old sister, Aubrey, to our grandparents' weekend house. I would have preferred to hang out with my friends. And I could have also benefitted from brainstorming my Souvenir Game plan. But I enjoyed spending time with my grandparents, so I didn't mind driving thirty minutes out of the city to visit them on a Saturday.

My grandfather, Martin Newhouse, had acquired his wealth from investing in Silicon Valley opportunities and the early emergence of internet companies. He and my grandmother, Prue, had lived in New York City, where she'd worked for a publisher. Once they'd become multimillionaires, they relocated back to Massachusetts. Since then, my grandfather's investment ventures continued to earn serious dough. They'd retired early and spent most of their time partaking in the typical activities many people associated with wealth. Golfing. Sailing. Traveling. Throwing fancy parties. Attending prestigious events.

I'd inherited my Nana's love of books. And she still had all her publisher connections, which was great because she received a lot of advance reader copies.

I wasn't sure what my grandfather had passed on to me. Most family members likened my intellect to his. I guess that was possible. Until I'd conceded the majority's opinion, I assumed I'd only inherit a sizable chunk of his money after he passed away.

When I was very young, I couldn't pronounce grandpa. Instead, I'd called him Grumpy. Apparently, everyone thought it was adorable—and an astute observation of character by an infant—so no one ever corrected me or encouraged me to graduate from Grumpy to Grandpa. Now that I was older, I'd advanced from Grumpy to Grumps.

On Briar Drive, the tall Eastern white pines acting as a long privacy wall ended at my grandparents' driveway. As I steered my Jeep toward the house, I spotted our grandfather dressed in dark gray slacks and a white polo, spraying the porch hedges with a garden hose.

"There's Grumps," I said, glancing in the rearview mirror.

Aubrey lifted her head, smiled enthusiastically, and powered down the window. "We're here, Grandpa! Where's Nana?"

"Hey, sweetheart," he called out. "Nana's inside."

She reached for her seat belt.

"Wait," I ordered. "Not until I stop the car."

She scrunched her face into an irritated pout. "But we're here."

"Safety," I said. "What if I drove right into the house?"

Following a hint of a giggle, she replied, "If you run over Grandpa and Nana, I'll beat you up."

"I said the house, not Nana and Grumps."

Aubrey unbuckled her seat belt the instant the Jeep came to a stop. She swung the door open and jumped out full of energy before I turned the engine off.

Grumps lifted Aubrey and hugged her close. "How's my favorite little girl been?"

"Good."

"Yeah? And what about your brother? Was he a good driver?"

"Uh, huh."

He kissed her cheek, then set her on the ground. "Nana's waiting for you. Run on inside and say hello."

Aubrey dashed out of sight.

I embraced him with my customary slap on the back. "Why are you doing yard work? The sprinklers not working?"

"The heat's been drying them out. Trying to keep 'em green."

"It's going to be hot today," I said. "I'll water everything later."

"It's fine. I wanted to get these wet in the morning." He pointed to my Jeep. "Let's get your bags unloaded and inside."

As soon as I walked through the front door, Nana greeted me in the foyer with a hug and kiss on the cheek. "You look like you've grown a bit since we last saw you."

"Since three weeks ago?"

At arm's length, she looked me over. "Yes. I think you have."

Grumps patted my shoulder. "I think it's the growing muscles, not the height."

I sheepishly smiled. "You guys make it sound like you haven't seen me in a really long time."

Clutching my hand, she led me to the living room. "Aubrey already ran to the kitchen for juice. Come sit and tell us what's been going on with you. Plus, I have a couple books for you to read."

*   *   *

Visiting my grandparents was usually an uneventful affair, in the sense that there was nothing to do but relax and enjoy our time together. They rarely piled expectations upon us unless it was a family holiday gathering or a dinner party by invitation. Good manners and a friendly, respectful disposition were mandatory at those events. On this Saturday, however, the only expected activities involved eating, talking, reading, and hanging out by the pool.

After lunch, I had retreated to my bedroom—the guest room I'd always slept in, so it was my room—and stationed myself on the upholstered window seat overlooking the backyard. I'd fully intended to occupy my time with my book du jour, Wayward Son by Rainbow Rowell. Thanks to Nana, I'd boasted to my fellow book lovers that I had the sequel to Carry On three months before release. And I was excited to become immersed in the world of Simon, Baz, and Penny. Yet the Souvenir Game slipped into my mind like a buoyant object making an unexpected appearance on the surface of clear blue water.

Bailey and his crazy ideas of fun and frolic. Although, technically, I guess we'd all agreed that the game wasn't the true definition of fun and frolic that we'd grown accustomed. So I perched myself in the window, wondering what the hell I had to gain from participating. And what object could I possibly steal from someone's house that would be interesting enough to garner the others' appreciation? I sure as hell didn't plan on stealing something that everyone wouldn't be somewhat fascinated by.

What I realized is that I had to be smart about my souvenir search-and-snatch. I had no intention of waltzing into somebody's yard like Bailey had done. He was lucky no one had confronted him or shot him in the back as he ran away with the ugly-ass troll.

Aubrey and I wouldn't return home until late in the afternoon the next day. Early Monday morning, I'd drive to Englewood Park. That's what professional criminals did. They staked out their targets. And that's exactly what I needed to do. I'd drive to the neighborhood we'd visited, and I'd discreetly observe until I determined which house was my target.

*   *   *

A couple of hours later, I'd changed into a pair of shorts and flip-flops, then set out to bask in the sun by the pool. When I stepped outside, Aubrey was splashing around with purple-and-pink polka-dotted floaties on each arm. Nana reclined on a lounger, keeping a watchful eye on my sister while sipping a drink, which I assumed was lemonade spiked with a dash of alcohol—never an alcoholic, just adding a bite.

"Hello, sweetheart." She patted the arm of the lounger closest to her. "I see you brought a book. What is it?"

I presented the cover as I sat.

"Advance copy?"

"Yes."

"I have an ARC for you in the house. The Nickel Boys by Colson Whitehead. Have you heard of it?"

"I don't think so."

"It's about the abuse of boys in a reform school during the 1960s. You read it, and then we'll discuss it."

I reclined on the chair and closed my eyes. "Okay."

After a moment of silence, Nana asked, "How are your parents doing?"

Mentally, I cringed. My parents were in the midst of a tense back-and-forth with my grandparents about their upcoming trip to France. As a romantic gesture, my father had arranged a week-long trip with my mother to Paris. Children excluded. My older sister, Meghan, would be in Florida with her college friends during my parents' trip. No surprise there. She'd immediately retreated to California with friends a few days after her finals at Wellesley. Meghan lived freely according to her own rules—and my parents' money. And they always relented and tolerated her behavior. They doted on Meghan like she was some prized possession, so it was obvious to me that she was their favorite. And it annoyed the hell out of me.

During my parents' trip there were two options for Aubrey and me. We could spend the week with our grandparents. Or sixteen-year-old me, nearly seventeen, could stay home and take care of my eight-year-old sister. Naturally, I'd chosen not to babysit. Grumps and Nana didn't mind us staying with them for a week. It was the strict exclusion of the two of us in Paris that exasperated my grandparents.

"They're fine," I replied. "Dad works a lot, as usual. And Mom's keeping herself busy."

"Mm-hm." She sipped her drink and returned the glass to the side table with a clink. "That's good."

I never wanted to get involved with the politics of the adults in my family. I pitied any unfortunate soul caught in the middle of heated Newhouse matters. Therefore, I avoided it at all costs.

I flipped open Wayward Son and then glanced at Nana. "Why aren't you reading anything?"

She gestured to Aubrey. "I'm watching your sister have fun."

*   *   *

Grumps was grilling his signature gourmet burgers on the grill when I received a text from Maya.

Today 7:04 PM

I have no idea what kind of souvenir to get. I'm gonna suck at this game. No fun. No frolic.

Today 7:04 PM

Wish I could help you out. Trying to figure out my strategy. About to eat dinner. Chat later.

Today 7:06 PM

Ok. It's so boring here without u. Bailey's on a date. Me and Aiden are hanging at Logan's. Aiden is failing miserably flirting with a hot guy from Cambridge.

Today 7:06 PM

We're seriously about to eat. Be supportive of Aiden. He has no clue. Laterzz.

Today 7:07 PM

U better call me xxoo

I'd held the phone under the patio table to text, but Grumps witnessed my forbidden dinnertime activity. He narrowed his eyes at me and displayed a curt smile. "Spencer. You know the rules."

"Yeah, I know. Just a quick text with Maya. Sorry, Grumps."

He motioned to the kitchen with a stainless-steel spatula. "Take it inside, please. And bring out the vegetables for the grill."

Obeying orders, I sauntered inside where Nana was gathering plates and silverware. I set my phone onto the marble island. "Grumps wants the vegetables for the grill."

She slid an enormous, porcelain platter of assorted veggies to me. Zucchini, onions, carrots, broccoli, and potato wedges. Seasoned. Colorful. Normally, I would have carried the platter outside without a vegetable-themed thought swimming around my head. But the absence of corn on the cob somehow struck me as strange.

"Hey, Nana. I have an odd question for you."

"If you need an answer, then no question is odd."

Touché. "If you had the chance to take a souvenir from a low-income household, what would you take?"

"That is an odd question."

"A character in a book is contemplating the possibilities."

"Hmm." She scrunched her face in thought and then walked to a cabinet for four glasses. "I know. Probably one of those handmade window decal things."

"A what?"

"You know, those little molds that kids fill with colored gel or dye and then it's baked to set. Like a little piece of stained-glass art for the window."

I wasn't sure I knew what she was referring to. "Yeah, that's a good choice."

She set the glasses and a pitcher of tea onto a tray. "What about you? What would you take?"

Shrugging, I replied, "I haven't decided."

"Well, I wouldn't take something they needed."

Touché, again.

*   *   *

Shortly after dinner, I returned to the windowsill with Wayward Son in my hands and my cell phone at my side. For a few minutes, I watched the last of the sunlight disappear behind the trees. Once my eyes failed to detect the hints of red and pink in the sky, I got more comfortable and opened my book. Then Maya texted.

Today, 8:53 PM

Seriously. Call me. U promised.

Initially, Maya rambled on and on about Logan Conrad's intimate get-together, which meant it was a last-minute gathering of select friends who were lucky enough to receive the invite. Any impromptu party at Logan's was always the result of his parents leaving for the night or the weekend. A rally of teenage debauchery usually ensued. Alcohol. Drugs. Sex. Loud music. Laugher. Vomit. Tears. The same ol' same ol' tired scene.

Apparently, Maya and Aiden were at Logan's because they had nothing else planned for the night. Bailey had gone out with an ex, Tessa. "Meaning he wanted to get laid," I said. Maya agreed. Then she provided a play-by-play of Aiden's flirtation with Parker, the hot guy from Cambridge. "They went off somewhere. And now I'm sitting on the sofa like a loser with an empty cocktail glass and some strange girl passed out next to me."

I laughed. "At least she didn't throw up on your shoes."

"Not yet."

"Where's Willow?"

"The Latin side of her family is having some Latin celebration, which means she's in a house with, like, fifty relatives and tequila."

"Tequila is more of a Mexican thing," I pointed out. "Not Puerto Rican."

"Well, it's also a hot-mess-alcoholic-thing with our friends. So . . . whatever."

I heard the distinct sound of a female groaning.

"Oh no. I think this girl's really gonna throw up. Ew. Gross. Ew. Aiden's probably having hot as hell sex right now, and I'm trapped with a bitch who can't handle her alcohol."

"I doubt Aiden is having hot as hell sex. He hasn't made it that far on his same-sex journey, yet."

"Oh, please! He's gotta cross the line at some point. And I bet he crossed it with the hottie Parker-guy, like, fifteen minutes ago."

"Then they're probably almost done."

"Ha. Ha. But seriously, I hope so. Hold on. I'm going outside."

I patiently listened to muffled trance music and Maya's mumbling to people as she maneuvered her way through a crowd of our friends to the Conrads' obnoxiously large patio. Once it was fairly quiet again, Maya said, "This freakin' souvenir game is going to stress me out."

"Why? Just grab something and run."

"Have you seen me run? My top speed on the treadmill is three."

"I meant, just do it and get it over with," I emphasized. "No need to stress yourself out about it. Over and done with. Then Bailey will be bored again until he thinks of some other form of fun and frolic."

"You're just gonna grab something and run?"

"I'm working out a plan."

"A plan? Of course, you're probably drawing blueprints and shit. I'm too busy to plan a whole robbery on the down-low."

"Grab something interesting, and you'll be okay."

"Fine," she nearly shouted into the phone. She, then, commenced to inform me of everyone who was at the party and everything I had missed. Alcohol. Drugs. Sex. Loud Music. Laughter. Vomit. And tears. When Aiden finally appeared with hottie Parker at his side, she squealed with glee and told me she'd call me the following day. Call ended.

*   *  *

Aubrey and I returned home close to four o'clock, and our parents greeted us in a mildly frenzied state because they were getting dressed for a dinner party. After kissing me on the cheek, our mother retreated to the master bedroom with Aubrey to apply makeup and search for jewelry to compliment her La Femme champagne-colored, lace gown.

I dropped our overnight bags onto the foyer floor and watched my father insert the cufflinks into his white dress shirt.

"How was your visit?" he asked.

"Fine. Didn't do much. Just hung around the house."

"I'm glad you had a good time." Obviously uninterested in talking about his parents, he gestured to his chest. "How's my tie look?"

I stepped closer and straightened the knot. "Looks good." Leaning against the stair railing, I asked, "You and Mom don't expect me to watch Aubrey, do you?"

"No. Do you have plans?"

"Maybe meet up with some friends."

He crossed the foyer and collected his wallet and phone from the dark-walnut entryway table. "Your mother called that one girl . . . um, what's her name?"

Of course he didn't remember the name of the girl who'd babysat my sister at least one hundred times. Hoping I was incorrect, I replied, "Rebecca?"

"Yeah, her. She's going to babysit."

Four years earlier, Rebecca assumed the role of my sister's go-to babysitter, always available and always preferred by Aubrey. At the time she was seventeen and attended my current high school. After graduating, she'd gone off to college somewhere, but she often babysat Aubrey during breaks and the summer.

When I was thirteen, I'd fallen victim to social media pressures to always look the best. I'd followed a strict diet and worked out six days a week. And it had paid off. Within a year, I'd decreased my body fat to 7 percent and bulked up enough that I increased my social media followers by thousands and captured the attention of those around me. And Rebecca was no different.

I supposed it was nearly every straight boy's fantasy to be seduced at fifteen years old by the older babysitter. Back then it was an opportunity too good to pass up. Every time she'd babysit, she'd sneak to my room after putting Aubrey to bed for the night. But now, nearly two years later, I was more annoyed by Rebecca than interested in her. I'd had experience dating girls at school and a dwindling obsession with being known for my body first before anything else. So I'd decided to pretty much avoid her at all costs in spite of the fact that she'd reacted to each previous rebuff with a bitchy attitude.

Soon after arriving, Rebecca flashed her sly smiles and admiring glances. She talked in a flirty manner that Aubrey never caught on to. I made myself scarce, only going downstairs when necessary. I'd hoped to avoid Rebecca altogether by spending time with Bailey, Aiden, Maya, or Willow. Unfortunately, none of them were free for the night. So instead of seeking out another friend, I decided to drive to Englewood Park to develop my Souvenir Game strategy of swift and evasive action.

*   *   *

I parked along the curb, close to where the five of us had parked when we'd ventured to the neighborhood two days earlier. Because the road was a dead-end street, the area appeared somewhat secluded. It was also far enough from the businesses on the main road that a steady flow of foot traffic was unlikely. However, there wasn't much I could do to successfully blend into the surroundings. The slowly setting sun and my shiny, clean Jeep attracted the eye of every passerby on foot and in a few vehicles.

Every few minutes, I scanned the area. Then I'd return my attention to social media and a text chat with Aiden, who was surprisingly coy about his experience with the hottie from Cambridge. But I didn't push the subject. I knew he'd be more forthcoming with details when the five of us were together again.

Not long after eight o'clock, a beat-up, faded blue Toyota Corolla sped by and then parked at the small house at the end of the block. A dark-haired woman who appeared to be in her late twenties got out of the car, slammed the door, fumbled with her purse, and then dropped her keys onto the ground. She raised a hand in dismay and uttered something I couldn't hear but assumed was a four-letter word. She swiped the keys from the yard, then marched toward the house in either a pissed-off mood or a rush to get inside. Maybe both.

I chose her house as my target.

I'd return in the morning to make sure there weren't any other cars in the driveway. Perhaps she had a husband who'd chase me down the street while he fired a gun at my ass. To be on the safe side, I'd spend the next couple of days watching the house before making my move.

A loud bang on my Jeep caused me to drop my phone and nearly jump right out of my clothes.

While my heart hammered like it might burst through my chest, I peered out my window.

An overweight man in his forties, wearing a dirty, stained T-shirt, glared at me. "Yo, kid. What the hell are ya doing? Ya fucking lost or something?"

I doubted he wanted to be friends, but I smiled anyway. "Oh, hey. I had to make a phone call. A damn cop was riding my ass, and I didn't want to get a ticket for driving and using my phone."

He furrowed his brow.

I retrieved my phone from the floorboard.

"You're not looking?" he asked.

"Looking for what?"

"To purchase recreational."

For a moment, I stared at him like an idiot. Then I understood that he was referring to drugs. "Oh. No. I'm not looking for anything."

He eyed me as if debating whether to continue a conversation or kick my ass for being in the wrong neighborhood. Then he raised his shoulders in a shrug of disinterest and stepped away from my Jeep.

In the rearview mirror, I watched him stroll to the end of the block and then turn left out of sight.

He'd been a bit sketchy and a little scary, but although he'd seemed harmless enough in the end, I didn't want to see him again during my next trip to the area.

I looked at the woman's run-down house. She hadn't even turned on any lights inside yet.

I steered a U-turn at the dead end and glanced at her damaged and sagging porch as I passed. My target: 729 Carpenter Street.

CHAPTER THREE

Our housekeeper of six years, Monica, worked ten-hour shifts Monday through Friday. Eight to six o'clock. Although I never understood why, she habitually arrived around seven thirty. Normally, I didn't make a summer-morning appearance in the kitchen until nine, at the earliest, so Monica was surprised—maybe even shocked—to see me seated at the island with a bowl of vanilla hemp granola the moment she entered the kitchen.

"Good morning, Spencer. You're up early. Is there some event or appointment I don't know about?"

"No. Don't worry. There's nothing special going on today. It's just a typical day at the Newhouse compound."

She smiled as she passed me on her way to the utility pantry.

"I have a favor to ask you."

Her shoe squeaked on the marble tile as she stopped dead in her tracks. "A favor? You need to ask me a favor?"

"Yes," I said, rising from the stool with my empty bowl. "It might seem like a big favor. But I promise it'll be a short-lived experience."

She studied me for a long moment. Rightfully so, because I'd been known to get involved with the occasional troublesome predicament. She'd been the passive witness to several strong-worded reprimands by my father.

"If this is something you want me to do behind your parents' backs, then I'm going to decline before you even ask."

I rinsed my bowl and set it in the sink. Turning with a wide smile, I said, "Nothing like that. They'll probably never even know you did this for me. And if they find out, it's no big deal. I'm sure they wouldn't even care."

She sat at the island and set her clasped hands onto its shimmering, polished surface. "All right. What is it?"

"I need to borrow your car."

"What? Why? What on earth for? What happened to your Jeep?"

"Nothing happened to it. In fact, if you need to go anywhere while I'm gone, you can drive it. I just need to use a car that doesn't attract attention."

"Oh. And my old clunker won't attract unwanted attention?"

Monica's Ford Fusion was at least ten years old. It wouldn't stand out among the other cars in Englewood Park. My Jeep, on the other hand, was like a neon sign in the middle of nowhere on a pitch-black night. Look at me, look at me, look at me.

"No offense. I just need to drive something less flashy than the Jeep. I won't be gone long. I promise nothing will happen to your car. I'll even bring it back with a full tank of gas. So can I borrow your car, please?"

"You're not going to do anything illegal, are you?"

Only if I get caught. "Illegal? No. Of course not."

She stood, as though against her better judgment. "Fine. You can borrow my car. But the tank's already full."

"Then I'll give you a fifty for the next time you need to fill it."

She disappeared around the corner to the laundry room where she kept her purse and other personal items. When she returned with a set of keys, she said, "How long will you be?"

"I'm leaving in five minutes. And I'll be back within two hours." I placed my Jeep's fob and a fifty-dollar bill next to the sink. Accepting her keys, I then hurried out of the kitchen. "Thank you."

*   *   *

The beat-up blue Corolla was the only car parked in the driveway. Like the previous night, I hoped the lone vehicle meant the woman was single. No husband. No boyfriend. No roommate. Just a single woman living in a crappy home all by herself.

I'd watched the house for nearly twenty minutes when she finally made an appearance on the porch. She rushed to her car, flung open the door, then tossed her purse and another item onto the driver's seat. Twisting, she darted back to the house. A couple of minutes later, she walked outside with a cigarette in one hand and a can of soda in the other. After locking the front door, she hurried to her car.

She'd appeared frazzled, as if she'd overslept. Although I didn't get a good look at her, she seemed attractive in a casually unkempt way. I also noticed that she'd worn the same outfit as the night before. So she either needed to do her laundry or it was the required uniform for her job. Convenience store. Grocery store. Those were my guesses.

It was ten minutes to nine o'clock. Based on her mad dash to the car, I assumed she needed to be at work on the hour. Hopefully, if she worked an eight-hour shift, she wouldn't return home until after five. Later in the afternoon, I'd do a quick drive-by to see if she was home or if another car had appeared on the scene. If not, then I knew daytime was my best opportunity to sneak around the property in search of a souvenir.

*   *   *

Soon after returning home and thanking Monica for the use of her clunker of a car, Aiden and Maya arrived with two cardboard trays of coffee beverages. We ceremoniously retreated outside to the patio and perched ourselves on the edge of the pool, dangling our feet in the cool, sparkling water.

I playfully nudged my shoulder against Aiden. "You going to tell me about your hottie from Cambridge? Or are you going to give us the play-by-play after Bailey and Willow get here?"

"Everyone wants the dirty details, huh?"

"Of course we do." I sipped my iced almond milk mocha latte and smirked at him. "You've been working up to the moment for months. So yeah, we want to hear the dirty details."

"Wait for Bailey and Willow," Maya said. "They're gonna ask all about it. So let's talk about the game before Bailey gets here."

"I already got my souvenir," Aiden replied.

Maya and I regarded him with surprise.

"You did? How? When?" Maya asked.

"Yesterday," he said. "Didn't take long. I doubt anyone even saw me snooping around."

"The hottie and the souvenir." I set my mocha aside. "You had a productive weekend."

He stood, dripping water onto my arm, and turned toward the row of patio chairs. His smile had weakened, replaced by the brooding attitude. "I have my souvenir, so I won't be stressing out like Maya."

"Hello? I'm a girl," she snapped, flinging her shaggy, golden locks from her shoulder. "I'm supposed to find a souvenir in a neighborhood I've only been to once, all by myself. That's not the ideal situation for any girl."

"A valid point." Aiden slumped onto a lounger and gazed up at the blue sky. He pulled off his T-shirt and then reclined, closing his eyes. "If you end up being too scared to go, then I'll help you. But neither one of you can tell Bailey."

It was difficult to decipher if Aiden was perfecting his melancholy James Dean demeanor or if he was certifiably depressed about something. I'd expected him to be more ecstatic about his weekend conquest. Plus, he'd already snagged a souvenir. He should have been happier than he appeared. At that moment, he obviously wanted to enjoy the sunlight on his already tanned skin in silence. So I jettisoned the urge to question him, opting to wait for Bailey and Willow to grace us with their presence.

Minutes later, Willow arrived, perky and bright-faced as if she'd driven straight to my house after getting a one-hundred-dollar facial. By the time she'd kissed and hugged each of us, Bailey walked out onto the patio. He had a broad smile, a bottle of champagne, and a bounce to his step.

"My dear, sweet friends. We're together again," he cheerfully sang as he straddled the lounger and propped the champagne bottle between his wide-spread legs. "I see everyone's high on caffeine."

"I just got here," Willow said, sitting on the chair next to him.

He beckoned to Aiden with his finger. "Come here, baby. Tell us all about it."

Aiden moved the bottle to the ground, cuddled up with Bailey, and rested his head on Bailey's chest. It was a picture-perfect, homoerotic image of two good-looking, muscular guys brought to life.

Attentive, we listened to Aiden recount his experience with Parker, the hottie from Cambridge. We asked curious and intimate questions. When it seemed Aiden had finished speaking, I asked, "So when are you going to see this guy again?"

"I'm not."

Bailey smoothed Aiden's hair and draped his arm across Aiden's back, hugging him close. "Cambridge isn't that far. You guys should go out on a real date."

"Not going to happen."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Yeah," Willow echoed, "why not?"

"Parker got what he wanted, and now he doesn't want anything to do with me."

"Oh, my God!" Maya exclaimed. "That's what Tanner did to me. Remember? Took my virginity and broke up with me the next day."

Of course we remembered. Maya was an emotional wreck for an entire weekend. It took the four of us pointing out every conceivable fault Tanner possessed to finally put a dent in Maya's heartbroken armor. Plus, Bailey had called Tanner and promised to beat the shit out of him at school on Monday. Every day that week, the Wyatt Five roamed the halls of school exceedingly satisfied by the sight of Tanner's ugly black eye. A couple of days the following week as well.

"Guys are pigs," Willow said. "Sorry, Aiden."

"Present company excluded," Bailey replied and kissed the top of Aiden's head.

"Well, duh squared," Willow said as she petted Aiden's arm. "Do you want Bailey and Spencer to go kick his ass?"

Aiden chuckled. "No."

"Rebound sex," Maya asserted in a tone that sounded more like a declaration than a casual utterance. "I know a few girls. I don't think I know any gay guys who are single at the moment."

"Or," Bailey interjected, "we can get you one of those high-priced escorts. That might be fun."

"I'm fine," Aiden said, sitting upright. "Just needed to get it all out in the open. So no more crazy ideas."

Bailey offered the champagne to Aiden. "We were going to toast your pansexual accomplishment with this. But now I guess we can drink it as a Parker-can-go-fuck-himself celebration."

"Thank you." Aiden read the label. "Maybe this weekend."

The Wyatt Five weren't a secretive bunch with each other. It was a natural occurrence for us to press Aiden for details. Thankfully, it proved to be a needed conversation because of his less-than-ideal experience with the loser from Cambridge. And now that it was out of the way, the five of us focused our attention on other topics.

The Souvenir Game was the first thing Maya mentioned.

"I'm not going to get anything special," she stated. "What I see, I'm taking."

Bailey sighed. "Well, put a little more effort into it than that."

"Okay. The first interesting thing I see, I'm taking."

"Well, that's a little more spirited."

"She's nervous," I said, seizing the opportunity to save Maya from appearing like a helpless, scared kitten in Bailey's eyes. Of course he'd listen to her explain her reluctance with an understanding ear. He'd be sympathetic and supportive, no doubt. But he'd heap a healthy dose of ulterior encouragement upon her as well. "A female walking around an area like that," I continued. "We don't want Maya and Willow to risk their safety."

"No, we don't," he responded with a hint of sarcasm. "I wouldn't want our girls to walk into harm's way. So one of us shall act as chaperone during their scavenger hunt."

The modification to rule #4 instantly put Maya at ease. She relaxed more comfortably in the chair. "I can work with that."

"See?" Bailey said. "Problem solved. Now, let's go to Benedicto's for lunch. I'm craving flatbread pizza."

*   *   *

During our meal of pasta dishes and Bailey's flatbread pizza, Aiden agreed to chaperone Maya to Englewood Park. In turn, I volunteered to chaperone Willow. Once again, everybody was officially committed to performing their souvenir duty, which pleased Bailey immensely since he'd conceived the game to begin with.

Up until then, I hadn't been motivated to execute my search-and-snatch mission with a sense of excitement. I was more interested in seeing the items everyone presented on Saturday. By the end of lunch, however, I found myself more intrigued by the idea of successfully sneaking into a stranger's house to steal a piece of their way of life. Not that I planned to pursue further thieving endeavors in the future. Englewood Park would be a one-time experience. But the minutes creeping inside a run-down house in search of a low-income token would be an effective adventure of stepping outside the golden-lined boundaries of my comfort zone.

I recalled Nana's words of wisdom: I wouldn't take something they needed.

Everyone had returned to my house for a couple of hours of lounging by the pool. One by one, my friends departed, eventually leaving only Willow and me on the patio.

"We're kind of a team now," I said. "So when do you want to go to Englewood?"

She shrugged as she rummaged through her bedazzled star-shaped clutch purse. "I don't know. Thursday or Friday?"

"The end of the week? Why don't you just do it tomorrow and get it over with?"

Gripping my knee, she leaned forward, the ample cleavage of her braless breasts peeking out of her two-hundred-dollar blouse. "Look. I have other things to do this week. It's just a game, not a competition. No one's gonna get an effing trophy or anything. So I figure, might as well wait until the end of the week."

"I'm going to get my souvenir tomorrow," I said. "I thought we could get ours at the same time. One trip. Arrive, snatch, leave. Over and done."

"My cousins and I are shopping tomorrow. And then Wednesday's no good."

"Why?"

"I have plans."

"What plans?"

"Plans."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're not interested in a souvenir at all."

She twisted her body and faced me straight-on. "Don't tell any of the others. I'm going out on a date with Sebastian."

I knew why she didn't want the others to yet know about her date with Sebastian. He'd been a close friend of ours for years. So close, in fact, that he'd hounded us since freshman year to be the sixth member of our clique. Despite the fact that his family was considered part of Massachusetts royalty, we never deviated from our vow to not allow an addition to our group. The others would instantly suspect that he pursued Willow as a convenient means of expanding us into the Wyatt Six. Hell, the thought had instantly popped into my mind.

"He's hot," she said. "I wanna see how our date goes before I tell anyone about it, okay? So keep it a secret."

"All right. I won't say anything."

"Thank you." She returned her attention to her purse. "So maybe Thursday we can do the souvenir thing."

*   *   *

Before falling asleep that night, I'd considered waiting until the end of the week to grab my Englewood souvenir. But then I realized that I'd probably be too consumed with helping Willow that I might miss the best opportunity to snatch my token. So I'd backtracked to my original plan of procuring my game piece the next day or Wednesday at the latest.

I awoke early, dressed in a hurry, and darted downstairs. Like the previous morning, Monica was surprised to see me before ten o'clock. When she greeted me, I said "good morning" with a wide smile.

It only took a nanosecond for her to react to my jovial mood with suspicion.

"Uh-oh." She walked around the kitchen gathering items for my sister's breakfast. "I know you're up to something, Spencer Newhouse. You're a little too warm and sunny."

"Warm and sunny?"

"Yes. Your smile and your tone."

"Aren't I always friendly?" I asked as I sat at the island.

She retrieved milk from the refrigerator. "You want my car again. Or you want another favor."

I didn't think I'd be that obvious. Maybe my happy face was a little too exaggerated. "Your car. I promise, this will be the last time."

"Just this morning, huh?"

"Well, tomorrow is a possibility. And if so, it'll be the last time. But I'm pretty sure I only need it today."

"What are you doing with my car, anyway?"

I answered with the lie that instantly sprang to mind. "You know, it's Bailey's birthday next week. So I'm trying to get all the surprises early in the morning. But just in case he's out, I don't want him to spot my Jeep somewhere and ruin things. Which is why I need your car to pull it off without him catching on."

I sensed her contemplating every word I'd said.

She frowned. "I only partially believe you."

"I wouldn't do anything illegal or something that might jeopardize your vehicle. I swear. I only need it for a couple hours. Maybe less. You'll have your car back by ten. And if I get what I need, I won't ask you for your car ever again."

She sighed with a heavy exhale and shook her head. "Fine."

When she returned from the laundry room with her purse, she stood directly in front of me and fixed her eyes on mine. Nearly forty years old, she was old enough to be my mother, and in that instant, she looked at me with a mother's gaze.

"I'm trusting you. But if you get into any kind of trouble, you'll be getting me in trouble too."

"No trouble. I swear."

"Okay. Take my car. Be back by ten."

I quickly hugged her, accepted her keys, and then rushed out of the kitchen. "Thank you."

*   *   *

I cruised to Englewood Park, thinking I was a total badass driving a borrowed car to a house I'd picked as my target, motivated to slip inside long enough to take a souvenir. It wasn't until I'd parked on Carpenter Street that my nerves flared, producing a thin film of sweat on my torso. I powered down my window, but the overwhelming stench of grease from a nearby fast-food restaurant forced me to power the window up and crank the AC.

I was a novice thief who had no clue what he was doing. To calm my anxiety, I checked my social media while keeping an eye on 729 Carpenter. I listened to a train clacking and screeching in the distance. I spied cars drive away from homes and a few people walk off to some unknown destination. Several minutes later, the street was void of morning activity.

Only one vehicle was parked in the woman's driveway. I expected her to soon rush out to the Corolla. But she didn't leave the house fifteen minutes before nine o'clock. Not ten minutes. Nor five minutes.

Perhaps my assumption that she worked a nine o'clock shift was incorrect. If so, I needed to quickly construct an alternate souvenir-snatching strategy, which would require finding a new house to target. But thankfully, the woman finally appeared on her porch dressed in uniform, looking as disheveled as the previous morning. I blew out a long, steady stream of relief as she hurried to her car, flung open the door, slumped behind the steering wheel, and then sped out of the driveway and down the street.

I sat in Monica's clunker, surveying the area for anyone wandering outside their home. A dog walker. A postal worker. A slightly overweight man in a dirty, stained T-shirt who might ask me if I was "looking to buy recreational." But I saw no one.

It's now or never. I breathed in deeply and stepped out of the car. Hoping to appear like I belonged in the neighborhood, I projected a casual coolness that wouldn't rouse suspicion. Confident, I strolled up the woman's cracked and creviced driveway without incident.

Obviously, the locked front door was off-limits. I bypassed the porch, creeping around the rotted edge of the house. A stretch of wildly growing bushes led to the backyard, snaking along the siding of cracked wood planks and chipped paint. Once I reached the backyard, my confidence inflated until I tripped on a rake hidden in the grass.

Tall, untrimmed hedges blocked the windows of the house next door, so I had convenient coverage while I scanned the rear of 729 Carpenter. Still, every few seconds my eyes drifted to the neighbor's yard in case I'd been spotted.

Aside from weeds, overgrown patches of grass, and several small, discarded wood panels, the backyard looked decent compared to my ignorant expectation of a junk yard. The rear of the house appeared just as run-down as the front, including a couple planks of siding hanging at an angle, as if about to fall to the ground. The entrance was located at the far corner of the house—an old and tattered full-screen door that should have been replaced years ago.

Focused on the door, an enthusiastic burst of assertiveness eclipsed my apprehension. The woman was gone. The house was empty. It was my moment. Somewhere inside, a low-income artifact of some sort awaited my discovery.

The screen door creaked open with the twang of its rusted spring coils, sounding as though they might snap right off the frame. I cringed and looked over my shoulder. Although I doubted the noise had attracted attention, the volume of the screeching metal momentarily had me on edge. But I couldn't remain frozen like a statue, because if the neighbor saw me, I'd definitely look like an amateur criminal in the process of breaking in.

When the doorknob turned, I thought oh, wow. It's unlocked.

The door didn't open, however, so I realized I wasn't as lucky as I thought. But when I released the knob, I heard the latch seemingly slide into the lock plate. Holy shit, it was unlocked. The sweltering summer heat had likely caused the door to swell. My good luck had returned. I only needed to budge the door open and then I'd be inside.

I turned the knob as far as it would go, pressed my knee against the door, and nudged it with my shoulder. After a little muscled effort, the door suddenly opened with a popping thud and the rattling of its window. Then I darted into the appliance-free laundry room and froze, listening for the scurry of approaching footsteps. When I didn't hear any noise, I let my guard down, set the door nearly closed, and then waltzed into the kitchen.

A tiny, cracked and pock-marked, light gray Formica table—its surface littered with newspapers and magazines—was situated next to a yellow stove. A tarnished pot sat on a rear burner with the black handle of a utensil sticking out from under its silver lid. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink. Three empty glasses, a flattened potato chip bag, and other various items were scattered on the small, dirty countertop.

My eyes panned the disorderly kitchen for anything souvenir-worthy. I certainly didn't want to investigate the entire house, because I wanted my adventure inside to be as quick as possible. But I wasn't sure what to look for. During a moment of anxious energy, I considered swiping the pot from the stove and making a hasty exit. But I doubted my friends would bestow praise upon me and my souvenir pot, especially if it contained crusty, old food.

There wasn't anything interesting in the cupboards. A small stack of mismatched plates and bowls. Half a dozen glasses. Two coffee mugs and an old, yellow thermos with a warped plastic wrap-around that looked like it had been too close to a flame. The next cabinet held several cans of vegetables, a couple boxes of macaroni and cheese, and a half-empty jar of generic peanut butter.

As I reached for the drawer closest to the sink, the loud clatter of an object hitting the floor nearly sent me jumping to the ceiling. In a ridiculous show of bravado, I spun around in a defensive stance as if ready to brawl.

Staring at me with wide blue eyes, a young boy with a head of unruly, dark brown hair stood in the doorway leading into a hallway. A plastic cup stopped spinning on the floor and rolled to a rest against the tip of his shoe.

I unclenched my hands and slackened my posture. "Uh . . ."

"Who are you?"

"Um."

The boy's gaze of curiosity morphed into a full-fledged glare. "Are you here to see my mother?"

"Uh, no. I'm not here to see your mother."

"Then what the hell are you doing in our house, dumbass?"

CHAPTER FOUR

No doubt, I stood there like a dumbass. I'm sure my expression was a mix of stunned surprise and sheer panic. I'd convinced myself that the woman lived alone. Now I was in the midst of a staring competition with her preteen son, who looked none too pleased to see me in his kitchen. How was I supposed to explain my presence in the house? What was the best thing I could say to put the kid's mind at ease?

"I'm not going to hurt you," I stated in a clichéd attempt at crushing any thought of stranger danger on his part.

He fidgeted with the collar of his obviously secondhand, long-ago bright-white T-shirt and then bent to pick up the plastic cup. His initial alarm had morphed into disdain. "Do you even know my mom?"

"Look," I said, leaning against the counter. "I'm just here looking for something. It's kinda hard to explain."

"Do you work for the children's department?"

"The what?"

"You know, to check up on me and my mom to see if I'm, like, being abused or something."

"Oh, I just wanted—"

"I know you're not supposed to just show up. And my mom didn't tell me that you were coming here."

"I'm not checking up on you or your mom."

"Then why are you here?"

"I need something."

The boy possessed a seriousness that made me feel like I was being interrogated by a police officer. But I didn't have the time or patience for a Q&A conducted by a kid. I needed to be straightforward with my explanation, friendly with my threat for him not to tell anyone about me, and quick with my task and departure. In and out, that had been my original plan. I needed to stick to it.

"I'm looking for a souvenir I can take with me. Then I'll leave. Don't tell anyone I was here. That's it."

"My mom will be pissed if you steal from her. You can't take her beer or other stuff. She'll be really mad."

I yanked a drawer open and immediately spotted an old can opener with rust on the ends of its thin, silver handles. It seemed souvenir-worthy enough. Definitely a utensil neither my friends nor I had in our own kitchens. I didn't need to snoop around the house for something better. It was a low-income tool that satisfied the task at hand.

"I'm taking this," I said, flaunting the can opener and closing the drawer with an unintended slam. "This is all I need. You never saw me. This isn't anything worth calling the cops about." I offered a quick smile and then stepped toward the laundry room.

"How the hell are we supposed to open cans?"

'I wouldn't take something they needed.'

Dammit.

I turned and slapped the can opener onto the counter.

He flinched, either at the sound of metal striking the laminate countertop or my exasperated expression.

"Okay. Fine," I muttered. "What's something I can take that you or your mom won't miss after it's gone?"

"We don't have anything." He set the plastic cup onto the small table and then walked to the refrigerator. When he opened the door, all I glimpsed were cans of beer, a bottle of alcohol, half a loaf of bread, and the plastic pitcher he retrieved from a shelf. "Why do you want something, anyway?"

"I need a souvenir for a game."

His body stiffened as though I'd said something frightening or threatening in some way. "A game. That's stupid. You're playing a really stupid game if you wanna steal our can opener."

"Well, I didn't say it wasn't a stupid game."

I studied his cream-colored flawless skin, slightly rosy cheeks, and perfect eyebrows. He appeared somewhat thin and short for his age, which I guessed to be thirteen. Attitude-wise, he certainly seemed like a boy in puberty.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Eleven," he replied in a tone that bordered on hostility. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen." I crossed the kitchen and peeked inside the small cabinets above the stove. "Well, I'll be seventeen next month."

"I thought you were old, like twenty or something. My mom doesn't hang out with teenagers."

"Twenty isn't old," I said, opening the refrigerator. "And I already told you, I don't know your mom."

The only item in the fridge I hadn't seen when he opened the door was a piece of fried chicken on a paper plate.

"There's hardly anything in here." I glanced at him before looking in the freezer. Only a box of fish sticks and three partially filled plastic ice trays. I returned my gaze to him. "Or the freezer."

He eyed me suspiciously. "I knew you came here to check on us. You're not supposed to do that without telling us first. You're gonna get in trouble. My mom will call your boss and get you fired."

"I'm not checking up on you. So your mom can't get me fired from a job that I don't have." I folded my arms, leaned against the fridge, and crossed my legs at the ankles. "I hope your mom goes grocery shopping today."

"She doesn't get paid until Friday."

"It's Tuesday."

"No shit."

"Does your mom let you talk like that?"

"I can talk any way I want when I'm home by myself," he huffed. "Who's gonna tell on me? You?"

"You're pretty rude, kid."

"Whatever. You're in our house without my mom's permission. So you're pretty rude, teenager."

For a long, drawn-out moment, we stared at each other as if daring the other to speak.

I exhaled, growing wary of being in the house longer than needed. "Is that fried chicken your lunch?"

"Gross! It's old."

"Did you eat breakfast?"

"I'm gonna eat a peanut butter sandwich."

"What about lunch?"

He fixed his blue eyes on mine. "What do you care? You're not my damn dad."

"Just asking, jeez." I poked my head into the hallway. The wood flooring was scratched and dented from years of abuse. Dust swirled in a beam of sunlight shining from the open door of a room. "I need to find my souvenir, then you'll never see me again."

"You're not gonna search around our house."

I faced him and presented my best authoritarian look. "You need the can opener. I need to find something for the game I told you about. Then I'll leave."

He pointed at a broom, a mop, and a dustpan in the corner near the stove. "Take that."

"The broom? Why would I want a broom as a souvenir?"

"So you can stick it up your ass."

Although irritated, I laughed anyway. The kid was rude but funny. "That wouldn't be a very good choice for a souvenir."

"Fine." He walked out of the kitchen, calling from the hall, "I'll be right back."

Seconds later, he returned with a long, narrow, aluminum-looking object that resembled a light saber from the original Star Wars. It seriously looked like an artifact from the 1970s.

"What the hell is that?"

He grimaced like I was an idiot. "A flashlight. It doesn't work."

I accepted the ancient object, then examined it. "Well, maybe the batteries are dead."

"It doesn't work. I tried the last time the power went out."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. So take your stupid souvenir and leave, like you said you would." He got the loaf of bread out of the fridge and tossed it onto the counter. "Or I'll tell my mom to call your boss and get your fired."

"I already told you . . . forget it." The flashlight was too big to fit into the pocket of my jeans, so I gripped it firmly and turned toward the laundry room. "Thanks. And I swear I wasn't here to check on the two of you. So don't tell your mom about me. She'll get really worried and freak out."

"I doubt it." He retrieved the peanut butter jar from the cabinet and a butter knife from a drawer. "I won't say anything, though."

"Good. Thanks." I remained in the doorway of the laundry room, searching my brain for something significant to say before rushing out of the house.

"You have a cell phone?" he asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Take a picture. It'll last longer."

When I didn't turn to leave, he rolled his eyes and then focused his attention on spreading peanut butter onto a slice of bread. He suddenly seemed more cautious about my presence, stealing glances at me out of the corner of his eye while he finished preparing his sandwich.

Setting the knife in the sink, he turned slightly away from me and stiffened his stance. "Are you gonna hurt me now?"

Dumbfounded by the question, I stuttered in response. "What? No. Of course not. Why would . . . I'm not going to hurt you."

He remained stationary.

Was he afraid to move? Was he waiting for me to do something bad to him? Was he waiting for me to leave?

"Did someone hurt you?" I asked.

He released a sloppy, wet exhale as if spitting out air in a gesture of annoyed amusement. "Nobody did nothing. Aren't you leaving?"

He reached for the sandwich cautiously as though calculating the possibility that I might throw him to the floor and smack him around.

Although he was rude, and it was against the rules of the game, I set a twenty-dollar bill onto the counter. Then a second twenty.

"Go get something good to eat," I said.

He eyed the money but didn't move an inch. "I'm not supposed to leave the house when my mom's at work."

"Oh." I held out the twenties to him. "Well, take it. Then you can buy something when you can leave the house."

He snatched the money from my hand and then hurried out of the kitchen, disappearing down the hall. "Thanks. You can leave now."

I surveyed the kitchen and then made my own quick exit outside, along the side of the house, and down the driveway.

Sitting in Monica's car, I inspected the flashlight. Satisfied that I had my souvenir, I tossed it to the passenger seat and then started the engine. As I steered the car toward the dead end, I cast a passing glance at 729 Carpenter. Thanks for the souvenir, kid.

*   *   *

I parked Monica's car in its usual spot and then rounded the house to the front courtyard. I was surprised to see my dad's shiny, black Lexus outside the garage. Before I could process the unexpected sight and the possible reason for it, he walked out the front door.

"What are you doing?" he asked as he strolled past me to his car.

"I had to run out for something," I replied to the back of his head.

We were accustomed to speaking very little or not at all when he had pressing business matters on his mind. During the school year, I rarely saw him for more than a few minutes in the morning. On summer break, it was out of the ordinary to interact with him at all during the day. I'd seen my dad flutter from person to person at dinner parties, like a moth to a flame. At home? Not so much.

He opened the driver's door and then paused to look at me. "Today is going to be a busy one. I probably won't see you until after dinner."

"Oh. Okay."

Behind the wheel, he started the engine and then powered down the window. "I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah, okay. Have a good day, Dad."

He reversed the car, cast a smile in my direction, and then the Lexus was out of sight.

Inside, I contemplated calling out to my mother and asking what she had planned for the day. Her days were always the same: lunch, shopping, tea with friends, maybe a quick outing with Aubrey. There was no reason for me to ask, so I walked to the kitchen instead.

Monica held out her hand to me the moment I entered the room. "You're a little late."

"Yeah. Ten minutes. I'm sorry," I said as I placed the keys in her hand. "I should have called you. But everything's fine. Your car is fine. I got what I needed. Mission accomplished."

"Well, I hope Bailey likes his surprise."

I glanced at the flashlight in my hand. "I think so."

"What is that?"

"A flashlight," I said as I crossed the kitchen to the hall, "from like, fifty years ago or something."

"He's into antiques?"

"Yeah."

Upstairs in my room, I flopped onto my bed and then inspected my souvenir-worthy artifact. The flashlight was a much better token than the can opener. Thanks to the kid, I had something I thought my friends would be somewhat fascinated by. When the five of us got together on Saturday, we'd have a little show-and-tell, then we could move on to a genuine form of fun and frolic rather than a game Bailey had concocted on a whim.

However, my thoughts quickly settled on the boy at the house. The less-than-ideal living circumstances. The meager supply of food in the cabinets and the refrigerator. The boy making his pitiful peanut butter sandwich for breakfast. The moment I thought he had confessed that he'd been abused by somebody.

Perhaps some unknown force had influenced me to select the boy's house. It was Tuesday. The boy said his mother wouldn't buy groceries until she got paid on Friday. That implied four days of peanut butter sandwiches and fish sticks. I was glad I had given him the forty dollars. But he'd said that he wasn't supposed to leave the house while his mother was at work. If he used the cash to buy food later, how would he explain to her where it had come from?

Maybe a quick trip to 729 Carpenter wouldn't be a bad idea.

*   *   *

I felt foolish returning to Englewood Park in my Jeep Grand Cherokee. Vulnerable. Like I was taking a risk. I'd borrowed Monica's car for a reason—to blend in. Now I was returning to the boy's neighborhood in a vehicle that looked like it didn't belong. I might attract the attention of neighbors, but I couldn't risk parking down the street where I couldn't keep an eye on my Jeep.

I didn't have a well-thought-out plan either. What did I hope to accomplish other than taking the kid somewhere to eat lunch?

Parked in front of the house, my eyes swept left along the street and then right in search of curious neighbors. Grateful not to see anyone roaming about, I sat behind the wheel debating if I should step onto the sagging porch and knock on the weather-worn front door.

My phone chimed a text.

Aiden.

Today, 11:43 AM

What are you doing? Get your souvenir yet? Me and Maya are doing her search tomorrow. My parents went to NYC. Bored.

Today, 11:43 AM

I'm about to do my search now. I'll call you later.

Today, 11:44 AM

Not later. Call me when you're done.

Today, 11:44 AM

Fine. Not sure how long it will take. I'll call you after.

Today, 11:44 AM

Good luck.

Because I'd been too consumed with the Souvenir Game, I hadn't paid close attention to the neighborhood. Now I observed the area like I'd never set eyes on it before. Each house was a mirrored run-down image of the next. Most of the yards were surrounded by chain-link fencing. The lawns were thinned patches of grass burned yellow and brown by the sun. The stretch of trees at the dead-end was littered with garbage carried by the wind and discarded household items like a broken lamp and an old, damaged stroller.

The houses in my neighborhood of Camden Heights looked like smaller versions of a Ritz-Carlton beach resort. The yards were long, wide, and so green they almost looked artificial. Driveways stretched and winded from the street. Courtyards with circular bricked paths and fountains were prominently situated not far from the front door. Tall, healthy trees that provided plenty of shade acted as a border between neighboring yards. My house and the lot it sat on could easily occupy this entire block.

If I continued to procrastinate by studying the neighborhood, I'd probably convince myself to return home. After one quick scan of the area for anyone who might confront me, I finally stepped out into the hot sun, locked my Jeep, and then walked toward the porch. I didn't see any reason to sneak around the house like earlier. If seen, I'd only look suspicious. Especially if someone had spotted me before. So I strolled right onto the creaky porch and rang the doorbell. Because I didn't hear it ring out, I knocked. Then knocked again.

Feeling brave, I checked the knob, but the door was locked.

Either the kid hadn't heard the knocking, he was ignoring me, or he lied about not leaving the house and he was gone.

I honestly felt bad for the kid, so there was only one thing for me to do: creep around the side of the house and sneak in through the back door. Again.

There was no need to further scrutinize my surroundings or debate walking through the back door. The intrigue of my previous visit no longer existed. I marched to the backyard without the anxiety that had fueled my quest the first time.

I paused inside the laundry room, straining to hear any noise that might indicate the kid wasn't alone. Then I stepped into the kitchen. If I searched for his whereabouts, I might scare the hell out of him, which I didn't want to do.

In a friendly, disarming tone, I called out, "Hey, kid. It's me again. The guy from earlier."

The boy didn't respond. I thought maybe he wasn't home after all. But then I heard the slow approach of footsteps in the hall.

My body stiffened in anticipation of an adult emerging from the hall and confronting me with a baseball bat or a gun. Once I saw him appear in the doorway, however, I relaxed and smiled.

"Hey," I said. "I came back because I thought maybe we could go eat lunch somewhere."

He stared at me as though totally unimpressed with my friendly invitation. Finally, he asked, "Why the hell did you come back here?"

"Like I said, so we can go eat lunch somewhere."

Obviously suspicious, he regarded me with a pronounced squint. "I'm not supposed to leave the house when my mom's at work."

"Well, yeah, you told me that. But it's lunch."

"So?"

"You have to eat, don't you?"

He crossed his arms as he slouched. But his legs appeared ready to sprint around the corner in a flash. He didn't trust me, and I didn't blame him.

"I know it was weird for me to take something from your house earlier. And I'm a stranger, but I—my name's Spencer, by the way."

"You're still a stranger even if I know your name."

"Uh. Yeah, I know. But I'm a nice guy. So what's your name?"

Evidently bored by my attempt at a proper conversation, he sighed heavily. "Dalton."

"I'm Spencer, and you're Dalton. That means we're not exactly strangers anymore. Maybe not friends, but definitely not complete strangers anymore."

"Where's that flashlight?"

"I told you, it was for a game."

"Oh. So you didn't lie about that."

"No."

During an awkward moment of silence, I glanced into the living room to avoid his stony gaze. A small TV sat on a table in the corner. The multi-brown-colored couch appeared several years old with puffs of cotton-ball stuffing peeking out of several holes in the upholstery. A few silver beer cans and an overflowing ashtray were the only items on a long wooden chest-like box that acted as a coffee table.

I fixed my eyes on him and mirrored his crossed arms. "So do you want to go get something to eat?"

"I'm not going with you."

"You really can't leave the house?"

"No. I'll get in big trouble if my mom finds out."

"Does she come home and check on you?"

"Not really that much."

"Oh. Okay. Well, I don't know what restaurants are around here. I can go get something at, like, McDonald's or whatever. Then I'll bring it back and you can have something to eat besides a peanut butter sandwich."

"Whatever."

I understood that Dalton wasn't going to suddenly share personal information or instantly switch into a friendly, trusting boy. "Do you want a cheeseburger or something?"

"I don't care. This is really embarrassing."

"I'm sorry." I turned and headed to the back door. "Don't make any peanut butter sandwiches or fish sticks while I'm gone."

Three blocks away, I pulled into a McDonald's drive-through. Because Dalton hadn't told me what he wanted, I ordered two cheeseburgers, two ten-piece chicken nugget meals, two baked apple pies, and two large Cokes. I assumed all kids liked to eat cheeseburgers and chicken nuggets. Aubrey did—although, I wasn't sure if she'd ever eaten at McDonald's. My trip for Dalton was my first visit to McDonald's since I was like five years old. It was possible Aubrey had never eaten a burger from Mickey D's.

When I returned to his house, I entered through the back door. Still trying to maintain a level of respectful intrusion, I stayed in the kitchen and called out to him.

Dalton sauntered into the room like he was secretly happy to see me but doing his best not to reveal it.

"I hope you like cheeseburgers or chicken nuggets." I set the bags onto the counter. "I guess you can eat leftovers later."

He shrugged with disinterest. And I wasn't sure if he preferred one over the other or if he was nonchalant because he was discreetly thrilled that I had brought food with me as promised.

Dalton peered into the bags. "Why did you do this?"

"Because I thought you might like something different to eat. You said your mom won't buy groceries until Friday. I know that I wouldn't want peanut butter sandwiches and fish sticks day after day."

"I'm used to it."

"Oh." I gestured to the small table next to the stove. "You want to sit down and eat?"

Finally, his expression hinted at mild friendliness. "Are you gonna eat with me?"

"Sure. If you want. I mean, I'll leave if you want me to."

"Nah. You can stay. But I can't eat all this food."

"You can save some for later, though."

"My mom will go crazy if she sees this food and the bags."

I set out everything on the table and then sat on a wobbly wooden chair. "I haven't had McDonald's in a really long time. But I remember the fries are really good."

Sitting across from me, Dalton seemed reluctant to eat.

Although embarrassed that I sounded like my parents, I said, "Eat while it's still hot."

For minutes, he nibbled on french fries before finally relaxing and eating the nuggets. I shoved several fries into my mouth and smiled at him. When he didn't respond with a smart-ass remark, I relaxed as well, feeling at ease at last.

"Why did you take the flashlight?" he asked.

"You gave it to me."

"I know. I'm talking about the game. What kind of game is it?"

"Uh. Well, like you said earlier, it's a stupid game."

He gulped the Coke. "I guess it doesn't matter."

I glanced around the kitchen while trying to think of something to talk about. How much could I press him for information about himself and his life? Would my questions irritate him and send him fleeing from the room?

"You just stay inside all day?"

"Yeah."

I assumed his mother didn't want anyone to know he was home alone while she was at work. "You don't go outside at all?"

"Sometimes, in the backyard."

"Oh." I chewed on a nugget, not caring for the taste but stopping myself from spitting it into a napkin. "What else do you like to do?"

"Sometimes I watch TV. I like reading books."

"Really? Me too. What kind of books do you like to read?"

"I like R.L. Stine. Have you read his books?"

"I read some of the Goosebumps when I was younger."

"He's amazing. But he has so many books. I'll probably be, like, thirty years old when I finish reading all of them."

I chuckled. "That's a lot of reading."

"I only have some of his books, so sometimes I read them again."

With a nod, I enthusiastically replied, "Great books should always be read more than once."

Dalton proceeded to tell me about Slappy the Dummy, Welcome to Dead House, and The Curse of Camp Cold Lake. As he talked about the world of R.L. Stine, his face brightened and his mood shifted into a more upbeat attitude. Books excited him, and I enjoyed the effort he put into inspiring me to read R.L. Stine.

When we settled into silence again, I sipped my watered-down Coke, wondering if I should hang out a bit longer. "What time does your mom get off work?"

"Like, six o'clock. But she usually doesn't come home until late."

The information jolted me. "How late?"

"Ten. Sometimes later."

So . . . Dalton was often left on his own at dinnertime. I wanted to ask him about it, but I feared my questions would only embarrass him or piss him off.

"So now what?" I asked. "You're going to your room to read?"

"Maybe."

I shoved the two cheeseburgers into a bag. "Well, you can eat these for dinner."

"No. Take it all and throw it away."

"But you can eat them later."

He rubbed the edge of his hand against his mouth. "No. My mom will be mad if she sees this stuff. She'll know someone was here and, like, yell at me."

"Really?"

He responded with a hard-edged tone. "Yeah."

I stuffed all the McDonald's evidence into a plastic bag from under the sink. Then Dalton followed me to the back door.

"Maybe I'll visit again," I said, pushing the screen door open.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"You'll probably get me in trouble."

"But what if I want to tell you about one of the books you told me to read? I mean, that's just a friend visiting a friend, right?"

Dalton slipped the forty dollars out of his jeans pocket. "Here."

"No, you keep it. You can buy something with it."

I got the sense that he might try to force me to take the money, so I stepped outside and turned with a smile. "Thanks for eating lunch with me. Maybe we can do it again."

"I told you my mom will get mad."

I didn't want to say anything that might cause him to slam the door in my face. So I tilted my head with a nod. "Okay. Well, take care. It was nice meeting you, Dalton."

"Uh, yeah. Thanks, Spencer."

"You're welcome."

I watched him walk away in a semi-rush, then I darted through the yard to my Jeep. Sitting behind the wheel, I stared at the house and thought, I bought him lunch. I gave him money. I did a good thing. Now it's time to go.

In case Dalton peeked at me through a window, I raised my hand in goodbye before I pulled away from the curb.

CHAPTER FIVE

Later that night, Bailey, Maya, and Willow arrived at my house as the sun burned the ink-colored horizon with fiery reds and bright hues of orange and golden yellow. We sat around waiting for Aiden because we'd agreed to go as a group to Madison Schiller's eighteenth birthday party. Allegedly, her parents had spent twenty-five thousand dollars on the celebration taking place at their home. No doubt they'd spent thousands more on gifts Madison would flaunt in front of her guests. None of us considered her a close friend. But at our school, wealth and popularity stuck together like duct tape wrapped around a hostage's wrists, so we felt obligated to make an appearance.

As I picked up my phone to call Aiden, he walked outside onto the patio from the kitchen—not looking like the James Dean persona we'd grown accustomed to seeing.

He wore a tight, low-collar light blue T-shirt that prominently displayed the lean, muscular physique he'd kept hidden during his Jimmy Dean phase. He had a thin, black leather choker and two or three long necklaces around his neck. Both of his wrists were adorned with a bracelet or two. He wore rings on several fingers. His blue jeans were trendy and snug. But the most striking change to his appearance was his hair, buzzed on the sides and short on top but long enough to uphold a messy, yet stylish faux-hawk.

"James Dean went bye-bye," Maya said.

"Hey, hotness," Bailey called out. "Get over here, stud."

Aiden approached with an obviously controlled smile. "Hey, guys. Sorry I'm late."

I ran my fingers along his prickly, buzzed hair. "If you steal the limelight from Madison, she'll be pissed."

He chuckled. "It was time for a change."

Willow snorted. "That's not a change. It's a complete makeover."

Bailey pulled Aiden into a one-armed hug. "You look so sexy. If I weren't totally straight, I'd put the moves on you."

"Oh, my God," Maya declared. "He already had a one-night-stand disaster with that Cambridge guy. He doesn't need a repeat."

I fixed my eyes on Aiden's. "Is that the reason for the change? All because of that dumbass from Cambridge?"

Aiden shrugged. "Kinda."

"All right." Bailey kissed the side of Aiden's head. "Let's not give our sexy stud here a hard time. Let's get our asses to the party so we can pretend to have a fabulous time at the Schillers' grotesque display of buying their daughter's love."

I draped my arm around Aiden's shoulders as the five of us strolled through the house and out front. Before getting into Maya's black BMW X5, I seized a moment of relative privacy and said, "You really do look great. But if you want to talk about that night, you know I'm available whenever you need me, right?"

Aiden nodded with a smile and then climbed into the back seat. Once all of us were seated, Bailey drummed his fingers on the dashboard. "Doesn't matter if it's Madison's party, we're going to be the stars tonight."

*   *   *

As expected, Madison's parents contracted a DJ, a catering company with at least eight servers in short-sleeved black shirts and black slacks roaming around with white, gold-rimmed platters, and a photographer documenting the twenty-five-thousand-dollar celebration. Of course, Madison was dolled up like a wealthy, slutty version of a princess in a designer floral dress. She'd quickly greeted us as soon as we'd entered the Schillers' sprawling mansion that made my eight-thousand-square-foot house seem small in comparison.

The five of us stuck together as if tethered by a strand of invisible wire. We were there to make an appearance, not fawn over Madison like one of her plastic minions transfixed by everything she said and did. Nor were we impressed by her parents' expense. The party looked like every party we'd ever attended since birth. Except it was Madison's eighteenth birthday, not a fund-raising dinner party or a neighborly gathering in the gated community. Only the DJ spinning pop songs and remixes was an uncommon addition.

We mingled with friends and feigned interest in others we usually only socialized with in passing. I hadn't seen most of my friends at the party since school. All of us gathered in one setting reminded me that my junior year was less than two months away.

"I think Madison's on her way to being a sloppy mess," Willow said. "I guess her parents don't care or they're stupid."

"Who's serving the alcohol?" I asked.

"Who do you think?"

"Justin," Bailey stated in a bored-to-death breath, "and Corey."

The two soon-to-be seniors could always be counted on to supply the alcohol slipped into sodas and fancy juice concoctions. Justin's older brother, on his way to college, had always been the go-to guy for those seeking marijuana, pills, or the white powder snorted by some because they thought it made them celebrity-level cool. If Justin had assumed his brother's extracurricular business, it wouldn't be much of a surprise.

Close to eighty teenagers meandered through the house and outside on the patio. The two dozen or so adults attending had all congregated in the banquet room downstairs. More than likely, most parents had no clue what their sons and daughters were up to in the thick of the party. Some probably didn't even care.

"When are we leaving?" I asked.

Willow laughed. "I knew you'd ask first."

"Let's eat something," Aiden said, rising from his chair. "Unless you guys want to go to my house. My parents are still in New York. We can have our own little party."

Bailey perked up. "Sounds more fun than this."

"We can't leave yet," I said. "Maybe in an hour. Then it won't seem too rude that we bailed."

Once the five of us agreed to wait an hour before leaving on the sly, we set out in search of food more substantial than the bite-sized morsels passed out by the servers. In the kitchen, we found Madison berating the chef.

She flicked her hand at a platter of food. "What is this crap? My best friend just ate one, and she said it was disgusting."

The man dabbed shiny beads of sweat on his forehead with a cloth napkin. "Steak bruschetta with blue cheese and an onion-tomato jam."

"Gross! It must be the blue cheese. I mean, basically you're serving mold to my guests."

"Ma'am, I assure you that—"

"Ma'am? Oh, my God. I just turned eighteen, not forty!"

"I apologize, Madison. This bruschetta is a hit at every function we serve them."

"Not at this party! It's steak crap on a platter with moldy cheese."

Bailey reached around Madison and snatched a bruschetta from the platter. Chewing, he said, "These are great. There's nothing wrong with them, Madison."

She twisted to the side, whipping her blonde hair through the air as if the tips were daggers. "Shut up. How the hell would you know?"

"I just ate one."

The rest of us gathered at the counter, picking bites of food from pans and trays.

Madison looked on the verge of tears. "Mom."

Turning, I watched Mrs. Schiller enter the kitchen with a mildly concerned look on her face, like a Housewife of Beverly Hills nervous that the party would soon become a televised disaster.

"What's wrong, honey?" she asked.

"Daphne ate one of these, and she, like, threw up in her mouth right in front of her boyfriend. She's mortified."

"Then she shouldn't eat any more of them."

Madison gasped. "No one is gonna eat them." Then she dumped the platter of bruschetta into the closest waste basket.

It was amusing to witness Madison having a petty tantrum, as if she'd soon suffer a nuclear meltdown over blue cheese, destroying all the hors d'oeuvres within reach. But my mind wandered to Englewood Park and Dalton home alone with peanut butter sandwiches and fish sticks. He'd seemed grateful for the McDonald's I'd bought him, and in contrast Madison stood in a designer kitchen, bitching about food that likely cost her parents a few thousand dollars. In the past, I would have been thoroughly entertained by her outburst. Now I was embarrassed and uncomfortable. I even felt guilty about the steak bruschetta that she'd dropped into the trash as if I had participated in the wasting of food simply by observing her tantrum.

I whispered to Maya and Aiden. "It's time to leave."

With Bailey and Willow in tow, I led my friends out of the kitchen, through the obnoxiously large living room, and outside to Maya's car.

"I never really liked her," Willow said as we got into the BMW. "Why did we even come to this party?"

"To make an appearance," Bailey replied. "We did. And now we're leaving." He leaned his upper half outside the passenger window and yelled, "Happy birthday, you blue-cheese-hater!" Settled in his seat again, he said, "From now on, I'm going to call her Blue Cheese."

Aiden laughed. "Blue Cheese Schiller."

*   *   *

A couple of hours had passed at Aiden's house when Maya, Willow, and Bailey left. I'd decided to spend the night to keep Aiden company since he'd been alone for five days at that point. He was an only child, so he had no one to look after him. As he got older, his parents left him on his own often. He never complained, but I knew he was lonely.

The two of us carried three beers apiece outside to the hot tub, stripped down, and lowered ourselves into the steamy, bubbly water.

Within minutes, Aiden lit a cigarette and exhaled into the cooling air. "That party was a waste of time."

I shrugged as I gulped my beer. "It was fine until Madison threw her tantrum in the kitchen. She's such a spoiled bitch."

"That's true."

Glancing at him, I asked, "What about the party at Logan's?"

"You really wanna talk about that?"

"Yeah. Why not? It wasn't a very nice thing that that guy did. And it obviously bothered you. I mean, you changed your whole look just to be different than you were that night."

"It's not like I expected to be instant boyfriends or anything."

"But . . .?"

He took a long drag off his cigarette and then gazed at the sky. "It was the first time I had sex with a guy. Well, you all know that. I had fun, and it was pretty amazing. But I never thought I'd be used like that. I know girls who have been treated like that. It made me feel like I was being used like a girl."

"You're not like a girl."

"I mean, I was totally taken advantage of. He didn't give a shit about me, at all. He just wanted to get off for the night. And stupid me let him do it."

"I'm sorry." Maybe I didn't completely relate to Aiden's shame, but I understood his disappointment. It was similar to my experience with Rebecca: no regard for a person's feelings. She'd never even wanted to be friends with me outside my house. And the guy from Cambridge had regarded Aiden the same. We had meant nothing to them beyond fulfilling a need on demand.

"It's like Rebecca," I said. "The girl who babysits Aubrey."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot about her."

"So I understand."

He let his empty beer bottle fill with water and sink to the bottom of the hot tub. "Don't tell the others that Parker, like, totally hurt my feelings, okay? Especially Bailey. He'll want to give me a big pep talk every time he sees me, for a like a week."

"More like a month," I corrected. "I won't say anything."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

He popped the cap off another bottle. "Thanks."

For a moment, I listened to the churning water as its heat soothed my back and shoulders. Without really thinking first, I blurted, "I have a secret too."

Aiden set his beer onto the tiled edge of the hot tub, splashed water onto his head, and then looked at me. "Really?"

"Between us."

"Okay."

"I got my souvenir this morning."

"Cool. What's the secret?"

"When I went inside the house, there was a boy there."

"What do you mean, a boy?"

"He's eleven. And his name is Dalton."

"Wait. What?"

The water had destroyed Aiden's faux-hawk, but a tangled clump of hair remained upright like feathers on the crown of an exotic bird's head. I flattened it and smiled. "That's better."

"Hello? Dalton."

"Yeah well, I talked to him. Then I went back later so I could get him some food to eat. There was, like, nothing in the house, and I felt bad for him. So I kinda broke the rules of the game."

Aiden seemed to study me, as if unsure how to respond. "Yeah, you broke a rule. That was a nice thing for you to do, though."

I swallowed the last of my beer and then released an airy hiccup of a belch. "Yeah." Opening a second beer, I said, "The way Madison acted tonight, it made me feel sorry for Dalton all over again."

"You're not going to go there again, are you?"

"I don't think so. I got my souvenir. After I chaperone Willow to Englewood Park, I'll probably never be in that area ever again."

We relaxed in silence until our bodies were too hot from the water. Then we jumped into the pool to cool off. Back in the house, Aiden warmed a caramelized red onion, peach, and sausage pizza in the oven. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he set his butt against the edge of the kitchenette table and crossed his arms. "You think Madison would go ballistic because there's peach on the pizza?"

"Are you kidding?" I smirked and gestured to the wide, floor-to- ceiling window overlooking the pool. "She'd probably smash that glass because peaches don't belong on pizza. Ever!"

*   *   *

It wasn't until Thursday afternoon that Willow finally texted me about going to Englewood Park with her.

Today, 3:47 PM

We should go at like ten or something.

Today, 3:47 PM

Seriously? People will be home.

Today, 3:51 PM

I'm gonna grab something from a yard like Bailey did.

Today, 3:52 PM

That's it. Just grab a troll and run?

Today, 3:58 PM

Basically. Fast and easy.

Today, 3:58 PM

Tomorrow morning? Less chance of being caught.

Today, 4:04 PM

I don't wanna go tomorrow. Tonight. No one will see us in the dark.

Today, 4:05 PM

Fine. What time?

Today, 4:09 PM

I'll text before I come over.

Today, 4:10 PM

Okay. Laterzz

Not long after nine o'clock I steered my Jeep toward the Englewood Park exit. The road at the stop sign appeared too familiar to me even in the moonlight. I'd only been to the area four times, yet it seemed like fourteen.

The Jeep suddenly went silent when Willow stopped Sade mid-song. "I don't want this to take forever," she said. "Just drive to where the houses are, then I'll look for my souvenir."

"You can't get a troll just like Bailey did."

"I know. Maybe someone will have those plastic flamingos. If it's not too ugly, I might actually keep it."

I chuckled. "I'm sure your parents will absolutely love having that in the front yard."

She swatted my shoulder. "No, idiot. I'll put it somewhere in my room."

"Your room is close to pink overkill. The flamingo might push you into dangerous territory."

She pointed at the traffic light. "Green."

I headed straight toward Dalton's house, but two blocks away she told me to turn right onto the strip of businesses. We passed by a nail salon, a barber, and a restaurant before either one of us said a word.

"Stop at the convenience store," she said. "I wanna get something to drink."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

I cast a sarcastic glance in her direction. When she'd arrived at my house earlier, she appeared as she always did: made up, stylish, and reeking of sex appeal and money. "You look like J. Lo walking off the set of a movie or music video or something."

"Thank you."

"I'm not complimenting you. I'm warning you. Seriously, you're totally going to stand out. People are going to wonder what the hell you're doing in this neighborhood."

"No, they won't."

"Yes, they will." I steered toward the curb. "And my Jeep. Hello? We're totally going to attract attention."

She smiled as though pleased with my assessment.

"The wrong kind of attention," I stressed. "Look at those guys on the corner. If they harass you, I can't take them all on."

She waved her hand dismissively as she peeked inside her Gucci purse. "You're fit and muscular. You can protect me."

I cut the engine. "I'm muscular for health and vanity. I could take on someone at school. These guys learned how to fight on the streets."

"Stop being so dramatic." She got out of the car and then leaned inside. "I hope they have VitaminWater. Do you want anything?"

"Want me to go in with you?"

"No, drama queen. Now, do you want anything or not?"

"I'm fine."

She shut the door, pivoted, swiped the hair from her shoulders, then sashayed toward the store's entrance.

As predicted, the guys on the corner watched Willow with interest. A couple guys whistled, and one man called out, "Hey, sexy mama."

The obnoxiously loud, buzzing bass and pounding beat of a hip-hop song vibrated my Jeep as a dark blue Mustang approached from behind. As the car drove alongside me, I peeked out my window. A rugged-looking man in his late twenties practically sneered at me from the passenger seat. I quickly averted my eyes back to the store.

It's not like I expected anyone to drag me out my car to beat and rob me. I didn't anticipate trouble of any kind. However, the possibility rotated in my mind like the Wheel of Fortune wheel. What if . . .? What if . . .? What if . . .?

When Willow finally reappeared and got into the Jeep, I breathed a sigh of relief. Starting the engine, I asked, "Can we go find your damn souvenir so we can go home?"

"Yeah, let's hurry. Sebastian's waiting at my house."

"What? Did he just get there? Or did you leave him there?"

"I left him there."

"You didn't tell him about—"

"No. He doesn't know what we're doing."

I turned off the main street and into a residential area. Willow peered out the window, studying each house we passed. I scanned darkened yards on my side of the street, but nothing interesting caught my eye. Not that I could see much in the dark. Plus, it was Willow's search, not mine. Hopefully, she'd soon spot a pink flamingo.

We crossed the next intersecting road and drove toward the tree line. The end of the block was a dead-end, just like Dalton's one street over. As I navigated a U-turn, Willow sat upright.

"I see my souvenir!"

"Where?" I asked, slowing the Jeep to a crawl.

She pointed, but I saw nothing behind the chain-link fence that might have captured her interest. The house was dark, though. So I was thrilled that she'd picked a target that appeared empty. Or at the least, the residents were already in bed for the night.

I shifted into park. "I don't see it. But if it's what you want, run and get it so we can get the hell out of here."

"It's a glittery flower thingy. You know, on a stick and it spins."

"Like a pinwheel?"

"Yeah. That's it. A pinwheel."

I surveyed the other houses. "I don't see anyone. So this should be easy. Just act normal. Be quiet. Grab it. Then we're gone."

"You need to relax."

"I am relaxed. I just want to get this over with."

Willow set her purse onto the floorboard, opened the door, and then hopped out to the street. "Only a minute or two, then we'll be on our way."

"Be careful."

She blew me a kiss and then pranced to the chain-link gate.

Eyeing the area, I didn't see any potential witnesses, yet a few houses had lights on inside. A porch light illuminated the exterior of a home in the middle of the block.

I heard a short, muffled shriek followed by the quick thumps of Willow's platform heels. Gripping the steering wheel firmly, I whipped my head to the side and saw Willow in the yard, racing to the gate. Then a dog released a series of vicious barks.

"Oh, shit."

Willow slammed the gate shut, fell onto her butt with an "oomph," and then flung her arm to the sidewalk, smashing the flower pinwheel she'd stolen. Her wide, terrified eyes met mine as I jumped out of the Jeep and sprinted to her side.

The dog—a large, bulky boxer that resembled a steroid-abusing beast—lunged for the gate, barking like he craved flesh and blood.

"Shut up," I shout-whispered at the mutt. "Shut the hell up."

The dog seized the gate with his teeth, growling and tugging at the chain link.

Rising too quickly, Willow stumbled in a clumsy, slightly comical ragdoll fashion. "Oh, crap. My dress is caught."

Inspecting the scene, I realized she was right. The bottom of her dress had snagged on the gate. Near her feet, the glass pinwheel had shattered into a dozen shimmering pieces. As she yanked on her dress, the material tore with an amplified rip that seemed to pierce the night.

Hopping on its hind legs, the dog snapped frantically at the top of the gate, inches from our heads.

I jerked, twisted, and heaved on the ensnared material of her dress.

Two houses down, a porch light tuned on. A lamp inside Willow's targeted house brightened a front window. It was our cue to panic.

"Sorry," I said to Willow as I wrenched her dress from the gate, tearing a gash in the material that ran several inches up her leg.

Apparently, she wasn't prepared for her release from entrapment. She staggered backward, knocking a small metal mailbox off its post to the concrete with a clatter.

"Screw it." She swiped the mailbox from the ground. "Let's go."

We rushed to my Jeep and jumped inside. I shifted into drive, the tires screaming a quick squeal as I stepped on the accelerator.

Laughing, Willow admired the mailbox on her lap. "That was a close call. But I got my damn souvenir. Woot, woot."

At the corner, I looked left then right as if I expected someone to charge at us with guns blazing, then I turned right. A block later, I turned right again onto Dalton's street. "Let's park here for a minute so it doesn't look like we're racing away from our crime. Then we'll just casually drive away like normal."

Willow sucked in air. "Uh . . ."

"What?" I glanced out the windshield. In front of Dalton's house, a police car sat parked at the curb. Then behind me, a second police car appeared with flashing lights.

"We're going to jail," Willow muttered.

"That can't be for us."

"Should I throw the mailbox out the window?"

"What? Hell no. Are you kidding?"

Her eyes followed the passing police car. I stared straight ahead as if even glancing at the cop would trigger our immediate arrest.

"Keep driving," she said. "We can't park here. Let's go home."

Agreeing, I headed toward the dead-end. The closer to Dalton's house we got, the more slowly I drove. The second policeman hadn't gotten out of his car, but a policewoman stood in the front yard like a referee who'd stopped a boxing match between Dalton's mother and a tall, muscular man.

"Get the hell outta here!" Dalton's mom screamed.

The man crossed his arms, evidently unimpressed by her demand. "She's high," he yelled. "She's drugged outta her fucking mind."

Dalton's mother lunged forward and pounded her fist against his massive chest.

"Hey, hey, hey." The policewoman pointed to a spot several feet away. "Get back over there. No fighting. Let's get this under control before someone gets hauled down to the station."

"He needs to leave. I'm not putting up with—"

I maneuvered the U-turn. When the second policeman met my eyes, I increased my speed to the end of the block.

Willow placed the mailbox onto the floorboard and then plucked her phone out of her purse. "I'm texting Sebastian that we're on our way back."

I nodded.

While Willow's mind had beaten us back to our neighborhood of Camden Heights, my thoughts lingered in Englewood Park.

What happened at Dalton's house? Was he okay? Was he safe?

I'd intended to drive by, silently offering an abundance of positive energy to Dalton. But when I'd seen the police and his mother and the man, something inside me twisted and knotted. I knew curiosity and concern would plague me until I checked that he was okay.

CHAPTER SIX

Willow and I didn't talk much on the way to my house. She'd made a few comments about her souvenir, but the thrill of stealing her token had vanished. She was more interested in the topic of Sebastian. Although, I was convinced that she was dampening her enthusiasm to throw me off how much she liked him. She and Sebastian were "hanging out." She didn't know if they'd actually "date like a real couple." Maybe she'd announce her involvement with Sebastian at Saturday's show-and-tell presentation.

I didn't probe her with questions or press for further details.

Thoughts of Dalton swirled around my head like birds at a park in search of specks of food. Every time Willow spoke, I focused on her words, but the thoughts of Dalton screeched in my mind like a seagull squawking in the distance. I couldn't discard his face or his house or his circumstances as if they hadn't had an effect on me.

I'd wanted to forget about Dalton. He should have been a one-time experience that I'd look back on as a good deed. Now I gravitated to him. Something unknown within me wouldn't let Dalton fade away. I needed to make sure he was fine.

When we arrived at my house, I walked Willow to her car.

"Thanks for going." She set the mailbox onto the passenger seat.

"No problem at all." I playfully exaggerated my smile. "It was my pleasure to chaperone your quest to steal personal property."

She clutched her torn dress. "This will be interesting to explain."

"As long as no one thinks I attacked you."

"No one would think that." She quickly hugged me and then got into her car. "I don't know if anything's going on tomorrow. I think Sebastian and I are going out. But I'll let you know."

"You're going to tell everyone about him on Saturday?"

She exhaled as if annoyed but smiled anyway. "Yeah. Probably."

"Okay." I closed the driver's door. "Tell Sebastian I said hello."

"Nighty night."

"Good night."

After Willow's car disappeared, I remained outside in the muggy air, reluctant to go inside the only house I'd ever lived in. I visualized a comforting, cool breeze to make staying outside more tolerable, but it never materialized. I pulled my T-shirt off and whipped it over my head like a ceiling fan. It didn't offer much relief from the heat, but it kept me from rushing inside to the air-conditioning. After a few minutes, I sat on the ledge of the courtyard fountain and draped the shirt over my knee.

I seriously considered driving to Dalton's house. But what could I do? Sit in my Jeep and spy? Even if I possessed the nerve to knock on the front door, how would I explain my uninvited appearance to Dalton's mother?

"Hello, my name's Spencer. I broke into your house two days ago. I stole a really old flashlight of yours, and then I came back later to feed your son because there wasn't much food in the house. And tonight, when I saw you in the yard with the man and the police, I thought I should check on Dalton. Plus, I heard the man say you were a big druggie. So here I am. How's Dalton doing?"

Yeah, right.

My eyes followed the sandstone-paved walkway to the custom-made oak wood front door. I glanced at the strategically placed yard lights shining up the length of the house. Then I stared at my bedroom window with its handcrafted shutters. My room was twice the size of the kitchen at Dalton's house. Although I didn't see my parents much, I knew they were inside. Aubrey was likely sleeping in her pink princess canopy bed. The kitchen was stocked with enough food to last weeks. I had three or four hundred dollars cash in my pocket, three credit cards courtesy of my parents, and a personal bank account with a few thousand dollars to spend however I wanted.

Then I thought of everything that I knew existed in Dalton's world. Our lives were black and white, night and day, rich and poor. Even if I couldn't do much to help with Dalton's living situation with an alleged druggie mother, I could at least be his friend.

*   *   *

The chime of my phone's text notification awakened me. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling for a minute. Rolling onto my side, I tossed the comforter aside and then reached for my phone. The home screen burst to life with a string of notifications. At the top of the list: a text message from Bailey.

Today, 9:47 AM

Dude. We still working out today?

Today, 9:47 AM

Totally forgot you wanted to. Later?

Today, 9:48 AM

You promised to train me. Is your lazy ass still in bed? Stop jerking off and get dressed.

I peed, washed my face with scalding water, then slipped basketball shorts on before searching the closet for my favorite gray Prada flip flops. When I couldn't find them in the heap of clothes on the floor, I put on a pair of sneakers.

Today, 9:51 AM

Not still in bed. We'll go to the gym later. Something I need to do this morning.

Today, 9:52 AM

You better not flake out on me.

Today, 9:54 AM

I'm not going to flake. Call you in a few hours.

Today, 9:57 AM

[IMAGE: Close-up of Bailey's face, flipping me off with his middle finger pressed to his puckered lips.]

That's promise #2. Countdown to phone call starts now.

I threw on a tank top and then rushed downstairs to the kitchen with my gym bag. As I blended all the ingredients for my morning protein shake, my mother entered the room with Aubrey on her heels.

"Good morning," she said. "Your father and I have a dinner party to attend this evening."

"Surprise, surprise." I poured my shake into a glass. "I guess that means Rebecca is babysitting Aubrey tonight."

Busily typing on her cell, my mother cast a glance at me and then returned her attention to the phone. "I was hoping you'd take Aubrey to your grandparents."

"What? No." Sitting at the island, I gulped my shake and watched my sister walk outside to the patio. "I don't want to drive to Grumps and Nana's this weekend. You're already passing us off to them when you go to Paris."

She stopped clicking her manicured nails on her cell's screen and clutched the phone to her hip. Her other hand swept long blonde hair from her face to behind her ear. "Don't be difficult, Spencer. Your father has business at tonight's dinner. And Aubrey loves spending time with her grandparents. There's no reason why you can't take your sister to their house tonight."

"Yes, there is. I have a life. I have things to do this weekend."

"So you're refusing to take your sister?"

I swallowed the last of my protein shake, then set the glass in the sink. "I don't want to take her and end up spending the weekend there. Rebecca can watch her." Rinsing the glass out, I looked at my mother. "Your night won't be ruined 'cause Aubrey is home with a babysitter."

As usual, she sighed as if she'd generously spared me an argument. Sitting at the kitchen table, she adjusted the diamond bracelet on her wrist. Without looking at me, she muttered, "I don't know when you became so spoiled."

"Spoiled? Because I don't want to play chauffeur?"

"I asked a simple request of you, and you reacted like I expected you to drive Aubrey halfway across the country."

"Mom, you don't get it. You should have asked me days ago. I told you, I have things to do. Why do you expect me to cancel my plans 'cause you don't want to call a babysitter or just stay home with your daughter?"

"Fine. I'll call Rebecca."

"See? Problem easily solved."

She rose to her feet. "Where did you go last night?"

"I was with Willow."

"And that birthday party the other night?"

"That was Madison Schiller's party. You knew that."

"Then you spent the night at Aiden's."

"Yeah."

"Lately, you've accused your father and me of not being around much. When the truth is, you haven't been around much."

I lightly chewed the inside of my cheek. Annoyed, I contemplated whether what she'd said was a revelation I needed to acknowledge as truth or if she was pulling a reverse-psychology tactic with me.

"Fine. I haven't been around much. I have a social life. You need to admit that you and Dad don't spend enough time with your children."

She crossed the kitchen to me. "I'm sorry that the trip to Paris has you feeling rejected. It's a romantic trip for your father and me. A chance for us to get away without worrying about business affairs and commitments." Opening the stainless-steel refrigerator, she continued, "If you really want to go, we can arrange it. But do you want to babysit Aubrey while we're there?"

"No."

"We didn't think so which is why we planned the trip for just the two of us." She twisted the cap off a bottled fresh green juice. "See? We didn't think you'd truly enjoy yourself if you were looking after your sister most of the time."

I didn't know how to respond. I certainly didn't want to say "thank you." Nor did I want to argue. It was best if I released the resentment I'd held on to for the past few weeks. But I wasn't ready to.

"Okay." I swiped my keys from the counter and the gym bag from the floor. "I gotta go. Bailey and I are going to work out later"

Fixing her eyes on her phone, she said, "Your sister has a playdate this afternoon. So I'll see you before your father and I go out."

"All right." I walked away feeling equally foolish and vindicated by our conversation.

*   *   *

When I knocked on Dalton's front door, it rattled on its hinges—unlike days earlier when it was locked. So I twisted the knob, and the door easily opened with a squeak of its wood. The stench of cigarette smoke hung in the air as if someone had smoked an entire pack that very morning. I crinkled my nose and stepped one foot inside.

"Hey, Dalton," I called out. "Are you home?"

His quick footsteps pounded down the hall, and then he paused in the archway leading into the living room. Dressed in a blue T-shirt and jeans, he smiled briefly then stepped back and turned his face slightly to the side. "Hey. What are you doing here? My mom's gonna be so pissed."

His angled posture didn't hide the puffy redness of his right cheek.

"I wanted to see how you're doing."

He narrowed his eyes and leaned against the archway.

Might as well be upfront and honest. "I drove by last night. I saw the cops outside with your mom and that guy."

"Really?"

"I'm sure you were home. So I mean, it's kinda weird mentioning it, but you know I'm not making it up."

"I know." Crossing his arms, he faintly moved his bare feet about, rocking on his soles.

"What happened? Is everything okay?"

"Why?"

I stepped farther into the living room, close to the sofa but still far enough away from Dalton to not make him uneasy. Glancing at the coffee table, I noticed several utility bill statements stacked next to the overflowing ashtray. "I like you. I thought maybe we kinda started to become friends. So I wanted to check up on you."

"I don't need anyone checking up on me."

"Maybe you don't. But I wanted to." I tucked my hands into the pockets of my shorts, then took a deep breath. "What happened to your cheek?"

He tilted his head and brushed his cheek along his shoulder. "It's fine. Nothing major."

"How did it happen?"

"Accident."

"An accident? Last night? Did your mom hit you?"

He scoffed. "No."

"That guy? Is he your dad?"

Dalton chuckled with a sarcastic twisting of his face. "That guy's not my dad. I don't know my dad."

"Oh. Sorry."

"My mom said my dad's a big-time loser anyway." He inched his way farther into the living room. "She and the guy had a fight. He accidentally hit me with his elbow."

"A physical fight?"

"Not really. They were screaming and pushing each other around."

"What was it about?"

He released an exhale that clearly indicated he was annoyed. "Oh, my God. Why are you asking me all these questions?"

Uncomfortable, I shrugged. "I was worried about you."

"No one ever worries about me. So I don't know—"

The front door squeaked open.

Turning, I faced Dalton's mother.

"Who the hell is this guy?" She stepped inside with a brown paper grocery bag in one arm and her purse hanging from the forearm of the other. After tapping the door closed with her foot, she anchored her sight on me like she had the power to slice me in half with her eyes.

Dalton mumbled, "Uh, this—"

"My name is Spencer." I hoped my name and a warm smile might provide some sort of reassurance. "I'm a friend of Dalton's. We met days ago."

"Is that so?" She marched past me to the kitchen, not casting the slightest glance at me. "He never mentioned you to me."

Dalton fidgeted with the thigh of his jeans firmly in his grasp. The look of worry on his face was striking. I wondered if I'd successfully controlled the same expression from appearing on mine.

She unloaded groceries from the bag: a box of cereal, a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of grape jelly. The last item she pulled out of the bag was a six-pack of beer. Then she slipped a pack of cigarettes from her purse.

"You gonna explain to me who the hell you are or not?" She lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then released a cloud of smoke. Flicking her hand toward the front of the house, she asked, "Is that your Jeep out front?"

"Um. Yeah, that's mine."

"That's a pretty nice, expensive car for a—how old are you?"

"I'll be seventeen in a few weeks."

"Your mommy and daddy bought that for you?"

I stood frozen next to the sofa, afraid that any movement would be like trying to awkwardly navigate through a wall of Jell-O. "Yeah, my parents bought it."

"A rich kid." She rolled her eyes as she puffed on the cigarette. "I knew it. Got it written all over you."

"What?"

With the cigarette propped between her lips, she carried the milk and beer to the refrigerator. "Your tank top and shorts weren't bought at a fuckin' Walmart. Flawless skin. Bet you go to the dermatologist. Perfect white teeth courtesy of a dentist. Muscles from a gym and a stylish buzz cut from a salon. And an expensive Jeep and one of them four-hundred-dollar Apple watches. I can smell the money seeping outta your pores."

I had no clue how to respond. Praise her keen observation skills? Downplay my family's money? Apologize for being in her house and then leave without further discussion?

"Well, it's not my money."

She released a sarcastic chuckle. "Whatever."

"He's a nice guy," Dalton said.

"Why didn't you tell me that you made a new friend? There some sort of secret going on here? What kind of stories have you told him?"

"I didn't tell him any stories."

She ran her hands through her frizzy hair. The white, threadbare T-shirt she wore hung loosely on her thin frame. Her face exhibited the weathered experience of a woman at least ten years older. Still, she was attractive, and I imagined that she'd been the pretty girl who guys had chased after when she was younger.

"I stopped by to invite Dalton out to lunch," I lied. "But he told me that he's not supposed to leave the house when you're not here."

"Glad he's following the rules." She folded her arms against her chest and looked at Dalton. "You wanna go with your new friend?"

He stared at her as though he feared saying the wrong thing. Then he glanced at me for a moment before saying, "Yeah."

She shrugged as if she'd offered him a much better alternative that he'd rejected. "I gotta go out anyway. So you better go put your damn shoes on."

I hadn't planned on taking Dalton out to lunch. I'd only wanted to check on him to satisfy my curiosity and growing concern. Now I had a kid to feed and a possible disruption to my plans with Bailey.

His mother's carefree, agreeable nature amazed me in a startled but not quite unsettling way. Despite what I had told Dalton days earlier, I was still a stranger to him to a certain degree. Maybe she'd accepted the explanation that her son had a new friend. Yet I was definitely a stranger to her.

Returning to the living room, Dalton looked at me tentatively, like "should we go now?"

His mother regarded me with a scrutinizing glare that suggested she was past caring whether I took Dalton or not and simply wanted me gone.

I spontaneously shifted into a more upbeat attitude. "Okay, Dalton. Let's go somewhere for lunch." Before walking out, I turned toward his mother. "I'll have him back in a couple hours."

She slumped onto the couch, inhaled the cigarette, then coughed as she mumbled, "Yeah, fine. Told you, I have things to do today."

Once we stepped outside, closing the door was like erecting a wall that separated Dalton's life in the house from a world where he could truly be himself. Although he gazed at me as if unsure how to proceed, his steps were energized, and his face brightened like the sun peeking through gloomy clouds. Leaving with me must have seemed like an adventure in the making.

"Wow, nice!" Dalton exclaimed. "What kind of Jeep is that?"

"Grand Cherokee High Altitude."

Standing on the curb, his eyes drifted down the length of its body. "It sparkles."

"The color's diamond black crystal, so it kinda shimmers."

"Cool."

I unlocked the Jeep with my fob as Dalton reached for the front passenger door. "You need to sit in the back seat."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously. You're eleven. I don't want to get pulled over by a cop because you're in the front seat."

Based on Dalton's facial expression, I expected a smart-ass remark or a minor argument, but he climbed into the back seat without another word. When I glanced in the rearview mirror, his smile was wide and his eyes were alight, which instantly caused my body to tingle with a surge of unexpected excitement.

"What are you in the mood for?" I asked. "I'm not taking you to McDonald's."

He shrugged as if he didn't care. "I dunno."

"Okay." I headed toward the exit leading to the highway. "We'll go somewhere in my neighborhood."

The drive to Camden Heights was mostly quiet. Honestly, I didn't know what to talk about. I remembered being a kid and not interested in conversation with adults I hardly knew. They'd always asked the same questions. How's your summer been? Looking forward to the new school year? Do you know what you want to be when you grow up? It was as if everyone had memorized the same script because it was polite to engage children rather than ignore them.

Thankfully, Dalton occupied a majority of the trip by telling me about a book he was nearly finished reading, The Savages by Matt Whyman. A story about a family of cannibals.

"Wait. What?" I'd exclaimed.

"It's not a gory horror novel," he'd replied as though I should have known better. "It's a teen novel."

After listening to his partial summary, I said, "Hey, after we eat, there's a bookstore down the street we can go to."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, if you want to. Sound good?"

"Uh, huh."

"Great. Lunch, and then books."

I parked in a small lot behind Camden Cuisine, an American-style diner with smooth, glossy booths, stylish modern decor, and inflated prices. It was the only place I was confident had a few items on the menu that Dalton would eat. I'd contemplated a Chinese restaurant and an Italian trattoria but decided against it in case Dalton was the fussy type about food. One thing I'd learned from my younger sister: kids could be very particular and bitchy about their food choices.

Immediately after being seated, I ordered a spiced cappuccino and, following an apparent mental debate, Dalton settled on a chocolate-pistachio milkshake. Once the waitress left to fill our beverage orders, I clasped my hands on the table and smiled in an attempt to weaken the awkward silence.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Dalton was a step ahead of me.

"Are you really rich?"

"By association," I replied. "Like I told your mom, my parents are rich. Not me."

"Must be nice." He propped the menu open and scanned the lunch items. "I can't believe my mom let me come with you. I bet it's because you're rich. She'll probably ask you for money."

That was a possibility I'd never anticipated. "You think so?"

"Uh, huh. She was all stressed out about the electric bill, like a few days ago. We got a final notice again. So she's been in a bad mood."

"Well, she got paid today, right?"

He shook his head and snickered as he continued eyeing the menu. "She always spends money on other stuff." Setting the menu closed on the table, he said, "She'll call the electric company and cry about it, like last time."

"And that works?"

"Sometimes. But the bill's, like, four months late. I don't think it'll work this time."

Uncomfortable, I desperately wanted to change the subject. Yet the openness that Dalton exhibited fueled my curiosity for more details about his life. How much was he truly willing to share with me?

The waitress returned with our drinks, then we ordered our food.

"Um . . . so . . . has the electricity ever been shut off before?"

"Yeah." He scooped milkshake running down the side of the glass with his finger. "Do you live in this neighborhood?"

"Well, sorta. A couple miles down the road."

"Can I see what your house looks like?"

Caught off guard by his request, my first instinct was to discourage it, but then I thought, what's the harm?

"I guess we can drive by."

"Cool."

I sipped my cappuccino and then set my arms on the table. "Does your mom ever—"

"Are we still going to the bookstore?"

"Yeah. Of course. I said we would."

It was obvious he wanted to direct the conversation. I thought if I offered information about myself, then maybe he'd be more open about himself. But I had to be smart about it.

"Do you like your milkshake?"

He nodded. "It's really good."

"My little sister, Aubrey, likes that one too. And the caramel apple crunch."

I proceeded to tell him a little about my parents, my sisters, and then Grumps and Nana. In turn, he revealed that he hadn't seen his dad since he was four years old. His wasn't sure where his father lived or even if he was still alive. The men his mother dated never stuck around long. Her last long-term relationship had been over a year ago.

"What about that guy, last night?"

"Him?" He scoffed. "Sometimes he comes to the house. Maybe he won't come around anymore since my mom called the cops."

"And he hit you by accident?"

"Yeah. He didn't punch me or anything."

When the waitress delivered the food, our discussion transitioned to school, our favorite and least favorite subjects, and then books and movies. At that point, I didn't know what I was doing or what kind of relationship I might be developing with Dalton. Although he'd been somewhat forthcoming about his life, I didn't think I should push him too much. Mainly, I didn't want to experience a rude public outburst by a kid threatened by my questions. So I continued to let him steer the conversation how he wished.

We walked to the bookstore two blocks down the street. After perusing the aisles, I told him to select a few books he wanted. He chose three R.L. Stine novels, and I grabbed the Matt Whyman book that he'd suggested I read. At the register, when I slipped my debit card onto the counter, Dalton offered the forty dollars I'd given him days earlier.

"No. You keep it."

"It's for my books."

"I'm buying them. You keep that for when you need it."

Briefly, he blankly stared at me, but then he pocketed the cash in one swift movement.

Strolling out of the store, he clutched the R.L. Stines like prized possessions he was afraid might slip from his grasp and disappear. He smiled broadly and thanked me.

"You're welcome."

Steps away from my Jeep, a hand slapped onto my right shoulder and a familiar voice said, "Hey, mofo. What the hell are you doing?"

I glanced to the side at Bailey.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I'd doubted Dalton and I would run into somebody I knew, but I wasn't surprised by Bailey's out-of-the-blue appearance. Residents of Camden Heights were inclined to stick to the upscale neighborhood. Fancy restaurants, trendy clothing boutiques, yoga studios, and contemporary bohemian coffeehouses. Why would anyone want to venture far from their comfort zone?

Bailey's eyes shifted from me to Dalton and then back to me. "I hope you were going to call me soon, like you said you would."

"We're still going to work out." I directed the fob at the Jeep. "I'm taking Dalton home first."

"Dalton, huh?" Bailey offered his hand. "Hi. I'm Bailey."

Clutching his books to his side, Dalton shook hands. "Hello."

Bailey looked at me. "Is he some cousin I never met?"

"No," I said, opening the back door. Once Dalton was seated and buckled in, I returned my attention to Bailey. "We went to lunch then bought some books. I need to get him home, but I'll text you when I'm on my way to the gym."

"Okay. I need to get my ass in shape. You and Aiden are totally outshining me. It's embarrassing."

Tilting my head, I smirked. "Well, when you're lazy, you get soft."

"Whatever." He followed me to the driver's door. "I got a text from Logan. He said he saw Willow and Sebastian all over each other at Tessa's house last night."

"Last night? I chaperoned Willow's search last night."

"Maybe it was after your adventure. The point is, if they're an item, Sebastian isn't going to worm his way into our group."

"Call her," I said. "Or wait until we're all together tomorrow for show-and-tell."

His jaw twitched as if chewing on a thought. Then he gestured to the back seat with his head. "Are you babysitting or something?"

"I won't even babysit Aubrey." I checked the time on my phone. "I'll meet you at three o'clock, okay?"

Bailey headed toward his Lotus Elise across the parking lot. "Three o'clock!"

I tossed The Savages to the passenger seat and then sat behind the wheel. As I adjusted the AC, Dalton exclaimed, "Holy shit!"

His sudden shriek of surprise jolted me upright. "What?"

"Is that his car?"

Glancing out the window, I watched Bailey slowly approach in his yellow Lotus. "Yeah. He doesn't drive it all the time, though. It's a two-seater. And I think it looks like a flattened robotic wasp."

"It's awesome."

Bailey braked next to us. A grin stretched across his lips. "Three o'clock, mofo."

I powered down my window, leaned outside, and discreetly raised my middle finger. "I'll be there, dumbass."

He mimicked the robust cackle of a madman, grinned, then sped out of the parking lot.

Twisting to the side, I faced Dalton. "Guess my Jeep isn't so cool anymore, huh?"

"It's still cool. But his car's awesome."

The Wyatt Five had always been a tight-knit group of equals. Yet four of us walked in Bailey's shadow. We had no leader, but at some point Bailey had essentially assumed the role. None of us objected. He was such a natural at it that we didn't mind. Although, there were occasional moments when his captain-like persona bothered me. Like the moment in his Lotus, proclaiming a three o'clock obligation.

I had cruised out of Camden Heights toward the highway when I remembered that I'd agreed to show Dalton my house. In the back seat, he was preoccupied with flipping through his treasured novels.

"Hey. I forgot to drive by my house. Sorry."

He glanced up from a hardcover. "That's okay. Maybe next time. Well, I mean, if there is a next time."

I flipped the turn signal and looked for cars headed to the same exit ramp. "There could be a next time," I replied, thinking there was no way I could not check on him from time to time. He seemed to need a friend, someone who cared about his well-being. As far as I knew, I was the only person he interacted with aside from his mother and the men she invited into her home.

As I merged onto the highway, The Savages slid across the seat to the passenger door, stopping with a thud. "Maybe next week we can get together, and I'll tell you what I thought of Matt Whyman's book."

His face brightened. "Okay."

Of course, I expected Dalton's mother to be home when I pulled up to the curb. She wasn't, and her absence surprised me.

"Um. I thought your mom would be home."

He unbuckled the seat belt and leaned close to the front seats. "I knew she wouldn't be. It's her day off. She probably won't come home until later."

"Later this afternoon? Or later tonight?"

"Tonight, probably."

"But what if I brought you home late? Or not all?"

"It's fine." He opened the back door and hopped out. "Thanks for the books. And lunch too."

"You're welcome." I powered down the passenger window. "So we'll talk about The Savages next week, right?"

"Yeah, sure."

I clicked open the console and searched for a scrap of paper. Then I jotted my number onto a receipt. "If you need anything, call me."

He tucked the receipt into his pocket.

We stared at each other as though neither one of us knew we were supposed to say goodbye.

"You're going to be late for the gym."

Smiling, I nodded. "Yeah, Bailey will pout if I'm not on time."

"See you later," he said and then sauntered to his front door.

I waited until he was inside the house before driving away. During the trip back to Camden Heights, a single thought kept popping into my head, despite how many times I'd brushed it aside. He's going to be alone until late tonight because she doesn't care.

*   *   *

As Bailey and I changed into our workout gear, he talked about maybe getting back together with Tessa. During our sophomore year, they'd dated for three or four months, but their relationship had never seemed too serious. He'd gone out with a few girls since then, so the fact that he considered dating Tessa again surprised me. Yet he didn't seem too excited by the idea either. Since I'd let him do most of the talking, the questions I could have asked slipped my mind by the time we walked onto the gym floor.

I wanted to focus on chest, so we each grabbed our dumbbells and sat side by side on two benches. I demonstrated the proper method of raising the weights, which Bailey was mildly insulted by since he wasn't a clueless amateur in the gym. Once he lifted to my satisfaction, I leaned back and gripped my forty-fives.

Grunting, he lowered his thirties to the floor and exhaled. "So who was that kid?"

"You mean, Dalton?"

He rolled his eyes. "How many kids do you hang out with?"

If I continued to check on Dalton and hang out with him from time to time, I couldn't keep it a secret from Bailey and the others. As frequently as the five of us were together, at some point, I'd have to explain Dalton's recurring presence in my life. There was no point in telling a lie because eventually I'd have to confess that I hadn't told the truth. When I was around six years old, I'd accidentally broken an expensive crystal vase at my grandparents'. I'd blamed it on the cat they had at the time. Questioned a second time by Grumps and Nana, one of them had said "it's a lot easier to just tell the truth the first time than admitting you had lied to someone all along." Something to that effect. And I'd always remembered it, so it must have been Grumps who'd said it—he was a lot more intimidating.

But I wasn't ready to tell the whole truth about Dalton. "Just a kid who needs a friend."

Bailey jutted his elbows out to the side, expanded his chest, and then pushed his weights toward the ceiling. "Really? What did you do, pick him up off the street?"

"No. I met him when I was searching for my target in Englewood."

"Wait a minute. You decided to make him some sort of charity project or something?"

"Basically, yeah. But that's also kinda rude."

Standing, he wiped sweat from his face with his tank top, admired his abs in the wall-length mirror, and then adjusted his crotch before sitting again. "Now what?"

"Press-ups." I crouched and lowered my dumbbells to the floor.

"No, idiot. Now what, with the kid?"

"I'm going to be his friend."

"Doesn't he have friends his own age?"

"I'm not sure. It's summer. Maybe during the school year."

He squinted at me with a knitted brow, sucking in a breath between clenched teeth as he lifted his dumbbell. "Can't we use cables? I'm not a fan of these weights."

"You just need to get over that initial hump of lifting again."

We settled back into our workout routine, discussing various topics unrelated to the Souvenir Game. Bailey's birthday the next week. My parents' upcoming trip to Paris. Briefly, Sebastian's name rolled off Bailey's tongue with the repeat of "he's not worming his way into our group." Then we agreed to meet later that night at Jayden's BBQ party to celebrate nothing other than the fact that it happened to be another summer Friday.

I'd appreciated Bailey's lack of genuine interest in Dalton. Still, while we'd talked, Dalton flickered in the shadows of my mind. When would his mother return home? Was he going to eat a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich for dinner? How many pages had he already read in his new R.L. Stine book?

After we showered and dressed, I followed Bailey to his car before heading in the opposite direction to my Jeep.

"Let's meet at my house," he said.

"What time?"

"Hmm. I don't know. Seven?"

"That's fine." I stepped away as he revved up his engine.

"Hey," he called out.

Turning, I slung my gym bag over my shoulder. "What?"

"Don't bring the kid." Then he sped out of the lot, disappearing around the corner in the direction of his house.

*   *   *

Home again, I went straight to my room, dropped my gym bag to the floor, and then leaped onto my bed. I stayed on my stomach, intending to close my eyes for a couple minutes of relaxation. A little over an hour later, I awoke.

Rubbing my eyes as I descended the stairs, Aubrey suddenly ran into the foyer and stopped at the bottom step.

"Hey!" she yelled, her brunette curls dancing as she slammed her hands onto her hips.

Normally I would have muttered "hey" as I continued my journey to the kitchen. Instead, I smiled and playfully shouted back, "Hey to you too, Aubrey Newhouse."

"Mom's going to a party, and Becca is coming to babysit me."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot."

"Because you don't wanna take me to Nana and Grandpa's."

"Maybe next weekend."

She balled her hand into a fist, shook it close to her nose, stuck out her tongue, and then darted to the living room.

As I walked into the kitchen, Monica greeted me with a smile and then peeked into the oven.

"The lasagna is done. It should still be warm when you eat. If you wait too long, you'll have to reheat it. Salad and chocolate mousse are in the fridge."

"Okay." I glanced at my watch. A few minutes till six o'clock. "So you're outta here, huh?"

"Yes. Finally, the weekend."

"Well, enjoy your two days off."

Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she said, "Thank you. I will. Have a nice weekend." She crossed the kitchen toward the laundry room. "Sorry. I'm in a bit of a rush. See you Monday."

Even though I was going to Jayden's it's-another-summer-Friday BBQ, I scooped a large portion of lasagna onto a plate. Monica made the best cheesy, garlicy, spinach, sausage, extra sauce lasagna. Plus, if I was going to immediately down a couple beers at Jayden's, I might as well have food in my stomach when I walked through the door.

Mom entered the kitchen with eager steps. She gazed at me rinsing my plate, then scanned the room. "Oh. I guess Monica left already."

"Yeah. It's past six." I set the plate into the dishwasher. "She has a life outside of this house."

Crossing the room to the wine closet, she tsked. "Are you hinting that you want to continue our conversation from earlier?"

"No." I sat at the island and glanced at my phone. "I was simply reminding you that she doesn't work for us twenty-four hours a day."

She read the label on a bottle of wine before returning it to a shelf. "Rebecca will be here at seven. Can you tell her that—"

"I'm supposed to be at Bailey's at seven."

"Oh. Okay. What are your plans for this evening?"

"There's a BBQ at Jayden's."

"And you're coming home tonight, right?"

"That's the plan."

"Your father and I will be home around eleven."

I sent a text to Bailey that I'd be at his house in fifteen minutes. "I need to get dressed and then go. I'll text if I sleep over at Bailey's or Aiden's."

Setting a wine bottle onto the counter, she faced me with a rigid gaze. "Be careful. No drinking and driving."

"I know." I kissed her on the cheek, and it suddenly occurred to me that I had to lean down because I was still taller than her even in her designer heels. For some reason, it diminished her authoritarian nature and softened my teenage disposition, which she probably referred to as an attitude problem.

I almost apologized for our tense conversation that morning. In a way, I thought she might have expected me to say "I'm sorry." The words vibrated on the tip of my tongue, but I said, "Have a good time at your party, Mom."

"You too, honey."

Then I rushed upstairs to change clothes.

*   *   *

Jayden Leonard was going to be a senior during the new school year. He was a popular jock who played soccer in the fall and baseball in the spring. A skilled athlete, he participated in high school sports because the spotlight shone brightly on his boy-next-door good looks and his well-known last name, courtesy of his father's housing development business. His parents bragged that their son was going to be a star college athlete. Unbeknownst to them, Jayden had no intention of fulfilling their dream. It was an inside joke among Jayden's friends that his parents fawned over him like he was the king of the household. And he took advantage of his parents' unwavering devotion.

Basically, there were no rules or restrictions for Jayden or any of his friends. Therefore, his parents never disappeared and turned a blind eye to the activities in their home. They actively participated as if they were one of the cool kids. So it was expected that an amusing—if not downright embarrassing—scene would occur.

As Maya drove to Jayden's house, she, Bailey, and I shared our best guesses as to what we might witness at the party.

"Under the influence of too much alcohol," Bailey said in the tone of a television drama narrator, "the lady of the house will perform the impromptu striptease we all knew was bound to happen."

We laughed hysterically.

Mrs. Leonard was a reasonably attractive woman, but I certainly didn't want to see her tossing clothes left and right until she was naked.

Following a loud snort, Maya said, "She'll save that for Jayden's graduation party."

I nearly choked at the visual of Mrs. Leonard drunkenly stripping with a graduate's cap atop her bleached blonde hair.

Maya followed the winding road that led directly to the Leonards' house perched upon a hill at the far end of our neighborhood, high above the surrounding homes.

She reached their long driveway. "I vote for Mr. Leonard throwing up on someone's shoes."

"I vote from something funny," I said. "Like, stupid dance moves from the eighties or nineties. You know a whole dance routine would be hilarious."

Bailey laughed. "Mrs. Leonard slapping her ass while her husband doe some kind of robotic dance."

Once Maya parked the car and our laughter died down, she said, "Um. I don't think they slapped their own asses in the eighties."

We broke into laughter again.

In Jayden's house, the air was thick with the scent of teen debauchery and smoke from the grill, wafting from the patio through a sliding glass door that evidently no one had the sense to close. The scene in the living room was what I'd expected. Kids meandered about with beers or plastic cups of alcoholic drinks. Cell phones captured moments to be shared on social media or possibly used as blackmail later. The music wasn't too loud, though. And none of our dozens of friends appeared to be out of control . . . yet.

Aiden sat on a chaise lounge tucked in a corner, talking to Lance Helmick, a soon-to-be senior who had the reputation of hooking up with both sexes. It was a well-known and well-established fact in our large social circle even though Lance always denied his intimate interactions with males. Surprisingly, no one ever gave him a hard time about it. I, however, didn't think Lance was the guy Aiden should be flirting with after his experience with the loser from Cambridge.

I pointed the two out to the Maya and Bailey, then the three of us marched in his direction.

The instant Aiden smiled at us I recognized the just-a-little-too-intoxicated glint in his eyes. Lance withdrew his hand from Aiden's knee, but his shoulder remained nestled up to Aiden's.

"Hey, guys." Aiden raised his beer to us. "About damn time you got here."

"Looks like we got here just in time," I said.

"Where's Willow?" Bailey asked.

"She's around," Aiden replied. "She can't be far."

"Let's go find her," I said.

"I'll be right here, waiting."

I glanced at Maya, who rolled her eyes and then called Willow.

Bailey appeared irritated and anxious.

I leaned down, cupped the back of Aiden's neck, and whispered in his ear. "This is not a good idea. You don't need a repeat of your last experience with a guy."

He regarded me with annoyance, but then sighed and rose to his feet. I gripped his hand and led him away from the corner, leaving Lance sitting there with confusion painted on his face.

"Are you drunk?" Bailey asked Aiden.

"What? No! Jeez, gimme a break, man."

"You're close to drunk," I said.

Aiden yanked his hand from mine. "You guys need a beer."

Following Maya outside to the patio, we spotted Willow near the pool with Sebastian.

"Great," Bailey mumbled. "This is going to be a winner of a night."

In the Wyatt Five, we regarded each other as family. There was no bestie or BFF or clichéd title of friendship between us—although, regarding each other as family more than friends was a bit of a cliché. To outsiders, our actions likely appeared as overprotective, like when we dragged Aiden away from Lance. Now with Willow, our main concern was ensuring that Sebastian didn't have an ulterior motive for pursuing her. And as we approached, Sebastian's body visibly stiffened in anticipation of our collective judgment.

Maya and Willow talked quietly to the side while Sebastian braved a period of back-and-forth with the rest of us. He confided that he'd had a thing for Willow since seventh grade. Totally believable because we'd witnessed his awestruck glances and clamoring for her attention since the fifth grade when his family had moved to town. Sebastian also confessed that because we were going into our junior year, he didn't want another year or two to pass without having the nerve to ask her out before we all headed off to college.

I listened to Sebastian with my hands tucked into the pockets of my jeans, like yeah, okay. You finally got the balls to ask her out.

Bailey listened with his arms crossed and a suspicious look on his face, seemingly analyzing every word Sebastian said.

Engrossed by his phone more than Sebastian's disclosure, Aiden texted and scrolled through social media posts.

Our gracious host, Jayden, appeared with two beers, handing them off to Bailey and me. I gulped the beer and then wiped my mouth with the edge of my hand. Setting the bottle onto a table between two pool loungers, I said, "Thanks. I needed that."

"Nobody at my party should be empty-handed." He swigged his beer, then gestured to Sebastian with his bottle. "What's up with the serious conversation?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's obvious there's something serious going on here."

I shrugged. "Sebastian finally got the balls to ask Willow out."

Jayden chuckled. "Yo, Basher. You better be prepared for some intense scrutiny from her dad."

Bailey nodded. "That's for damn sure."

It was true. Mr. Vargas was the stereotypical overprotective Latino father. Plus, Willow had three older brothers who never hesitated to scare off a boy they didn't approve of or like. I never wanted to be on the receiving end of a confrontation with two in particular, Luis and Thiago. They were muscled, intimidating young men in their early twenties. The third, Diego—also pretty muscular and intimidating in his own right—had graduated a month earlier and would soon be on his way to college. Therefore, I expected Mr. Vargas to ramp up his vigilant fatherly duties since his sons wouldn't be around to keep a watchful eye on his only daughter.

Glancing around for Diego, I agreed with Jayden's warning. "Yeah, Basher. Her dad can be a lion."

"You guys act like I've never met her dad before. Stop trying to scare me."

Smiling wide, Willow clung to Sebastian's arm and leaned against him. "Stop giving him a hard time. We're here to have fun, not have a serious discussion about my family."

"Not your whole family," Bailey said. "Just the men."

Stomping feet pounded behind me, and before I could react, two arms wrapped tightly around me and plunged us into the pool. Totally submerged, my first instinct was to shove the person off me, and then I propelled myself upward. Not even looking for who had thrown me into the pool, I swam to the side and hoisted myself out.

The water cascaded off me, rapidly forming a sizable puddle at my feet. Shaking the water from my head, I plucked my phone from the pocket of my jeans and threw it to a lounge chair. After I whipped my shirt off and tossed it aside, I turned toward the pool.

Lance bobbed in the water, grinning from ear to ear.

"Fuck you!" I shouted at him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

It seemed like fifty pairs of eyes were focused on us. Dozens of cell phones recording the scene wouldn't have surprised me.

Mr. Leonard appeared at my side, laughed, and then heaved Lance out of the pool. "C'mon, boys. Let's not make a big mess out here."

"He pushed me in," I snapped as I wiggled a finger in my ear to dislodge the water. "Talk to him, not me."

Jayden pulled me aside. "C'mon. You can change into some of my clothes and throw yours in the dryer."

In Jayden's bathroom, I stripped off my clothes and dropped them onto a towel with my shoes. As I dried my body, he appeared with clothing and a pair of sneakers.

"What size shoe do you wear?" he asked.

"Ten and a half."

"Well, this is your lucky night." He set the clothes and shoes onto the vanity between the double sinks. "Same size."

I retrieved the cash and my Jeep's fob from my jeans. "Thanks."

He gathered my clothes in the towel. "I don't think they'll take too long to dry."

"They're soaked." I slipped on a pair of briefs, which I never wore because I hated how my crotch felt uncomfortably constrained, forcing me to constantly adjust myself. But given the circumstances, I wasn't in the position to complain. "Good thing your dad pulled him out of the pool. I would have punched him."

"Yeah, he can be a real ass sometimes. What's his deal tonight?"

I didn't want to get into the specifics of Lance's probable retaliation against me for dragging Aiden away from him. "I don't care what his problem is. I'm not dealing with it."

With a nod of agreement, Jayden pivoted. "See you downstairs."

"Thanks again," I called out.

"Yep!"

Poolside again, I rejoined my friends and downed my beer. Lance was nowhere in sight, which I was grateful for because I was still pissed about the ambush. Thankfully, my iPhone 8 proved to be waterproof as advertised. I didn't hold out hope for the fob to my Jeep, but I'd find out the following day once it had completely dried.

Willow remained fused at Sebastian's side. Bailey lounged with a beer in hand, talking with whoever graced his presence, including Tessa. At some point, Maya walked away to make the rounds. And in the lounger next to me, Aiden sipped on an alcoholic mix.

I leaned close to him. "You're going to be a sloppy drunk if you keep it up."

He gazed at me with glassy eyes. "I am not."

"You didn't drive here, did you?"

"I came with Willow."

"Good."

I surveyed the scene, unimpressed as I watched our friends around the pool laughing and chatting, swaying to the music, and drinking their beverages. Reclining on the lounger, I yawned. I thought of my nap earlier and realized that I wasn't tired. I was bored. I was bored with the recurring, obnoxious routine of my life. The wealth of my family and my friends' families. Another summer party to attend just to be seen and admired. Living in the Camden Heights bubble when there was so much more going on down the street or on the other side of town. At that very moment, I was over it.

"I'm ready to go," I stated.

Bailey turned his head and eyed me with a squint. "Really?"

"Yeah."

Sitting upright, Aiden muttered, "You haven't been here that long."

"So? My clothes are probably dry enough. I'm going to change, and if Maya isn't ready to go, then I'm walking home."

"Walking?" Bailey scoffed. "Seriously?"

"It's only a mile. Maybe less."

Bailey looked completely lost as if he had no clue how to respond to my unexpected departure. "If you're really ready, then we can—"

"You don't have to." I glanced at Aiden. "What about you?"

"I don't know."

"I don't think you should stay. But if Bailey's going to be here to watch over you, then—"

"I don't need someone watching over me."

"You definitely don't need someone like Lance to screw you over. You know what happens with him. Someone will find out, and then everyone will know."

"Fine." Aiden stood, wobbling off-balance. "Let's go."

While I changed clothes in the laundry room, I called Maya and told her that Aiden and I were leaving. She suggested waiting half an hour, but I didn't want to stick around for thirty more minutes, which would likely turn into sixty. After failing to convince me to stay, she said she'd see us the following afternoon at the Souvenir Game reveal.

I tossed Jayden's clothes on top of the washing machine and then crouched to tie my shoes. "They're staying."

Aiden seemed to register what I'd said, but he also appeared dazed. Then he darted to the laundry sink and threw up.

I rubbed his upper back as the stench of hot, sour alcohol engulfed us like a nuclear mushroom cloud. Once he seemed fine and ready to leave, I rinsed out the sink and then directed him through the house and out the front door without saying a word to anyone.

The walk to my house was more slow-paced than I would have preferred. I had no choice but to follow Aiden's rate of speed, which was the sluggish stride I expected for a leisurely, drunken stroll in the moonlight.

We didn't talk much during the trip, which I didn't mind. Then, a couple of blocks from my house, Aiden suddenly stopped and threw up on the Carlsons' paved driveway. I swiftly removed my shirt and used it to clean his chin.

"You better not throw up in my bed," I said.

He managed a smile before saying, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"No. I mean, earlier with Lance. Sorry I was so pissy with you."

"Don't worry about it." Running my fingertips along the buzzed hair at the back of his head, I hoped he felt much better after expelling alcohol from his system for the second time. "I'll take care of you."

"I know."

When we arrived at my house, we headed straight upstairs to my room. I helped him undress, placed a waste basket on his side of my bed, and then turned out the lights. A few minutes later, I heard him lightly snoring. Certain that he'd sleep through the night, I stripped down to my boxers, set a small lamp on the windowsill, and then sat on the floor with The Savages.

While I read about Sasha, Ivan, Anjelica, and Titus, I wondered if Dalton was in his bedroom reading one of the R.L. Stine books. Not only was I intrigued by him, but I was also interested in his life.

A great contrast existed between our lives. Yet there was one thing we shared in common: neglect. The neglect by his mother far exceeded my perceived neglect by my parents. I looked it up in the dictionary. Neglect: fail to take care of properly. That didn’t quite fit for my situation, so I read the secondary definition. Not pay proper attention to. Now that I could definitely relate to.

What Dalton needed, I realized, was someone to take care of him properly. As a friend, I could provide that sort of attention.

CHAPTER EIGHT

When I awoke in the morning, my eyes were assaulted by the sunlight. I immediately squeezed them shut and flung my arms over my face. Then the faint but nauseating whiff of alcohol reminded me that Aiden lay beside me. I bolted upright with the expectation of seeing vomit on the bed instead of in the waste basket, but thankfully I saw no gross chunks. Turning onto my side, I nudged Aiden's arm.

"Wake up."

He responded with a groan.

"Seriously. It's morning. And you need a shower. You reek."

Eyeing me with a squint, he sighed.

"And brush your teeth too."

Obviously groggy and possibly still somewhat intoxicated, he ran a hand through his hair. "Do I really smell that bad?"

"Uh. Yeah, you do."

Aiden swung his feet to the floor, and then glanced at me over his shoulder. "I don't even remember getting undressed."

Standing, I chuckled. "Not surprised. You were kinda wasted." I stretched my arms to the ceiling. "Take a shower. I'm going to throw on some clothes and go downstairs for coffee."

In the kitchen, I ambled along from cabinet to sink to island as if hungover. Yet I hadn't consumed more than three beers at Jayden's party. Noting the hour, I acknowledged that eight o'clock was too early for me to be awake and that I'd likely need a nap later. Then I thought of the Souvenir Game get-together in the afternoon. The probability of a nap was slim, therefore, I was irritated before I even tasted my first cup of French-pressed coffee. But it wasn't because of the lack of sleep or the lack of caffeine. It was the Souvenir Game.

Now that the day of show-and-tell had arrived, I wasn't interested or excited by a presentation of low-income tokens. The more I thought about the premise of the game, my experience with Dalton, and my antique flashlight, the more embarrassed and remorseful I became. If I expressed regret to my friends, they might understand and even agree. We had always been supportive of each other, no matter the circumstances. Then again, my declaration that the Souvenir Game had been a stupid idea after all might not inspire the understanding I'd hoped to achieve.

Then I realized what I needed to do to successfully make my point.

*   *   *

The door rattled a little too loudly as I knocked. Although anxious, I waited at least thirty seconds before rapping my knuckles more softly on the wood. Inhaling deeply, I glanced at the Corolla in the driveway and then twisted the knob. The door creaked open a crack. As I was about to call out "hello," Dalton's face appeared in the gap.

His lips stretched into a smile, which immediately put me at ease.

"Hey," I said. "How are you doing?"

"Fine." He pulled the door open wide. "What are you doing here?"

"Just stopping by. I thought we could talk about books. And I said I'd show you my house. So if your mother doesn't mind, you and I—"

"She's not here."

"Her car is in the driveway."

"Yeah. She left last night and hasn't come back yet."

"Oh." I leaned against the doorjamb. "I guess that means you can't go anywhere, huh?"

He snatched a shoe from the floor near the couch, then scanned the room in search of the other. "I can leave a note."

Stepping inside, I narrowed my eyes at him. "But I thought you weren't supposed to leave when she wasn't home."

"You took me to lunch and bought me books, so she thinks you're a good guy."

"Just based off those two things?"

"Yeah. She didn't have to pay for it." He tugged on the hem of his T-shirt, too small and too tight for his frame. "Are you really going to show me where you live?"

"Yeah." I followed him to the kitchen, where he opened drawers until he found paper and pen. "If you want, I'll show you where Bailey lives too."

"Yeah, okay."

"Good. When we get there, I need you to do me a favor."

*   *   *

Driving to Camden Heights, I explained the concept of the Souvenir Game to Dalton. He seemed vaguely intrigued as I listed the five rules. It was at that very moment that I thought, oh hey, five rules for the Wyatt Five. No doubt a coincidence, but still I found it interesting.

Dalton's eyes widened with amazement as we passed through the tall, bricked archway leading into my neighborhood. He moved closer to the window and admired each house we passed.

"These are huge! Do you live in a mansion?"

"I guess you could call it that." Heat rose to my cheeks. I avoided looking in the rearview mirror in case he saw my embarrassment. "I mean, my house isn't the biggest one in the neighborhood."

"Neither is mine."

I chuckled. "That's something else we have in common, then."

He relaxed in the back seat. "Yeah."

"We're almost at Bailey's house."

"Can we eat there?"

"If we don't, then we'll eat something at my house."

"Okay."

I cast a quick glance over my shoulder, offering an encouraging smile. "Are you sure you're fine going inside when we get there?"

With a casual air, revealing not a hint of nervous energy, Dalton replied, "Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry."

As planned, I was the last to arrive. I parked next to Aiden's Mercedes and then sent a text to Bailey. Here.

Confident the others waited for me in Bailey's bedroom, I ushered Dalton from the Jeep to the arched, double front doors with speakeasy windows protected by black, wrought-iron grilles. He tilted his head back to look at the oversize glass pendant fixture high above us. Then he touched one of the matching sconces flanking the front door.

"How rich are Bailey's parents?"

"It doesn't matter." I opened the door and then handed the antique flashlight to him. "Remember what I told you?"

"Jeez. Yeah, I remember. I'm eleven, not five friggin' years old."

I stifled a laugh. "Keep the attitude too."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really." Directing him to the stairs, I cupped his shoulder. "If Bailey gets pissed, we won't stay long. We'll go to my house."

"You already told me that."

"Just reminding you."

Although it was Saturday afternoon, I seriously doubted Bailey's parents would be home. The housekeeper didn't work on the weekend unless some event required her attention—like Bailey's birthday party the following Saturday. I strolled upstairs like I normally did, with Dalton at my side. However, on the top step, I paused at the unexpected sight of Sebastian. He sat on a bench of gold upholstery at the far end of the hall. Leaning forward with elbows on his knees, he feverishly typed on his cell. When he finally noticed us, he jumped to his feet and headed our direction. With bright eyes, upturned lips, and wavy brown locks in need of a trim, he appeared genuinely happy but surprised to see me.

"Hey, Basher."

"I thought you were already here." He looked from me to Dalton—a crack of confusion stretching across his forehead—then back to me. "I was just on my way downstairs."

"Going to hang out until Willow's ready to leave?"

"Well, Bailey pushed me out of his room and shut the door in my face. So yeah, I'm going to wait downstairs." Directing his attention to Dalton, he said, "I'm Sebastian. Are you going to wait with me?"

With restrained bite, Dalton replied, "I'm not waiting downstairs. And my name's Dalton."

Sebastian scrunched his face in bewilderment then waved his hand at the object Dalton held. "You got a flashlight, and Willow had a beat-up mailbox. What are you guys doing?"

"It's a secret," I replied.

"And Dalton gets to be part of it?"

"That's a secret too."

He raised his hands in surrender. "Fine. I'm going downstairs."

Once I saw Sebastian descend the stairs, I motioned for Dalton to follow me into Bailey's bedroom. I swung the door open and stepped inside with a wide smile. "We're here."

The four of them were seated on the floor with various items of stolen property.

Cashmere hopped up and down on the bed, barking as she wagged her tail excitably.

Maya: expressionless.

Aiden: cool, something good is about to happen.

Willow: undeniable confusion.

Bailey: amused surprise quickly softened by a smile.

I didn't think any of them were legitimately shocked, but they were definitely caught off guard. And I was enjoying it.

"Almost on time," I said, crossing the room with Dalton in tow.

Still expressionless, Maya gazed at me with her bright blue eyes. "Who's this?"

I knelt on the floor between her and Aiden. "He's my souvenir."

"What?!"

Bailey chuckled. "This is the kid from yesterday."

"Yeah." I motioned for Dalton to step closer. "You already met Bailey. And this is Maya. Willow. And Aiden."

Twisting around, Maya exclaimed, "Hey, wait an effing minute! You took a kid as a souvenir?"

"So it is true," Dalton said. "You guys are playing a stupid game of stealing crap from poor people."

Bailey rose to his feet. Smiling, he sat on the edge of his bed and set Cashmere on his lap. "Spencer didn't steal a kid. He's just screwing with us."

Scanning the room, Dalton said, "Of course he didn't kidnap me. Are you guys stupid? I came here to get my own souvenirs."

Willow rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"I'm not going to steal like you guys did. You're going to give me a souvenir."

"I don't have anything," Maya said.

Aiden removed a long silver chain adorned with a silver ring and black crucifix from his neck. "You can have this. It cost over two hundred and fifty dollars."

"Okay," Bailey muttered as if to say fine, I'll play along. "That's one souvenir. What's next?"

"I like your dog," Dalton said, approaching the bed.

"You're not taking my fucking dog, kid!"

"I said I liked your dog, not that I wanted your dog." He dropped Aiden's silver chain over his head and then admired the silver ring and crucifix. "This is nice. Thanks."

Aiden stretched out on his back. "You're welcome."

Despite Aiden's casual attitude, the atmosphere in the room had shifted from carefree to edgy. I needed to lift the fog of rising tension.

"All right," I said. "I brought Dalton because we made a mockery of the people who live in Englewood Park."

"Maybe you did." Bailey cradled Cashmere to his chest and kissed the pup's head. "This was a game, not a life-altering experience."

Dalton paced himself along a wall of gallery-framed photographs. "Why do you have all these pictures of naked people?"

"They're original prints by famous photographers," Bailey snapped. "It's called art," he said as if challenging Dalton to disagree.

"I want one."

"No!"

Before Bailey had a full-fledged meltdown, I said, "Dalton's not collecting souvenirs. I brought him here because I wanted you guys to experience what I did."

On her feet now, Maya asked, "Oh, yeah? What's that?"

"A connection."

"What connection?"

Aiden propped himself up on his elbows. "The people who live in Englewood are just like us. Except we have money and they don't."

I agreed. "If we really wanted to step outside our comfort zone, we should have gone there to make a friend instead of stealing."

There was a loud thud against the bedroom door.

Bailey charged across the room and flung the door open.

Apparently, Sebastian had taken a tumble while eavesdropping on our conversation. He stood; the unmistakable look of embarrassment etched onto his face.

"Um, hey," he muttered. "Sorry."

Dalton laughed. "Busted."

"What the hell are you doing?" Bailey asked, then he turned toward Willow. "Your new boyfriend is a fucking sneak."

She reacted as though offended. "He is not."

"Princess, he was listening at the door." Bailey faced Sebastian. "I hope you enjoyed your little stunt."

"I was not listening to you guys."

"What? You forgot how to walk and fell against the door?"

Placing her mailbox onto Bailey's desk, Willow bitterly declared, "Well, this was a waste of time." She snatched her purse from the bed. "You know, Spencer was right. This whole thing was stupid. There wasn't any fun and frolic. I ran off with an effing mailbox."

"So what?" Bailey blurted. "Didn't you feel an adrenaline rush?"

"I fell on my ass, almost got attacked by a dog, then I ripped my dress. All for this." She flicked her hand against the metal mailbox. "Ouch . . . dammit!"

"But you did it," he said. "Something you never would have done."

"Yeah. Because I have money to pay for what I want. Why the hell would I ever steal anything?" She scanned the room in an exaggerated show of searching for something she didn't see. "Where's your effing souvenir?"

Bailey gestured to the troll situated in the corner.

"That doesn't count. You got that when we were all together. You were supposed to get something on your own." She joined Sebastian at the door. "We all got something. I mean, Spencer kidnapped an effing kid, for goodness' sake."

"I wasn't kidnapped," Dalton repeated.

"Everyone calm down," I said.

Maya slumped onto the bed and then curled up next to Cashmere. "Let's just forget this whole thing. Over and done. Let's go get some coffee or something."

"We're leaving," Willow said as she clutched Sebastian's hand.

My plan to inspire a positive revelation among my friends had run completely off course. In truth, I'd allowed it to by simply standing by and watching the scene taking place. At that moment, it was the biggest upset our group had experienced since elementary school.

"You can't leave yet," Bailey said.

"Yes, we can." She directed Sebastian out to the hall. "I'll see you guys later."

Maya shrugged. "Oh, well."

I glanced at Dalton, who continued to study the photographs on the wall.

Aiden, still stretched out on the floor, smiled as though thoroughly entertained.

When I looked at Bailey, his eyes were focused on me.

"Good job," he said.

"What did I do?"

"Bringing Dalton here and starting this whole cultural experience bullshit."

"No. Willow told you she thought the Souvenir Game was a waste of time and stupid. I didn't convince her of that."

"No. You and your charity case friend influenced her to say that."

"One, that's so rude. He's not a charity-case. And two, we didn't influence nothing."

Dalton flipped through a photographer's exhibition booklet. "Can I have this?"

"What? No." Bailey stomped across the room and snatched the booklet. "This isn't something you can easily replace. I'd have to search for it and pay a lot of money for it."

"You're rich."

"I'm not letting you have it."

I softly swatted Dalton's shoulder. "If you really want a book of photography, we can buy one at the bookstore."

"Yeah," Maya chimed in. "Let's go shopping."

"That's a good idea" Bailey said. "All of you should leave."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yeah, really. The Souvenir Game crashed and burned during the final stretch. Willow left with her sneaky, wormy boyfriend. So what are we gonna do now? Take turns babysitting Dalton?"

Trying to reason with Bailey was a lost cause when he was worked up. He'd always been impatient, but now I realized that it was more about his loss of control. The appearance of Dalton and the departure of Willow had jolted his senses as he conducted the Souvenir Game.

I sighed in frustration. "I didn't come here to screw up everything. I just wanted all of us to realize that we were focused on a souvenir and ignoring the people who live there."

"I don't need an explanation or an apology," he said. "Just go."

An apology? Honestly, I didn't believe I had done anything wrong. Maybe I hadn't thought the whole scenario out clearly, but I never imagined my stunt would create this much drama.

Maya held up a yellow wall phone. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

No one was home when we arrived at my house. I gave Dalton a quick tour and then we sat in the kitchen with Aiden and Maya while we ate Monica's lasagna. After eating, I announced that it was time to take Dalton home. Although Maya wanted to shop and Dalton wanted to jump into the pool, I convinced everyone that we could do those things the next time we were together. For the time being, because we'd planned to be at Bailey's for most of the afternoon, Maya and Aiden had nothing else to do. So the four of us jumped into my Jeep and headed to Englewood Park.

The drive was quiet for the most part. Maya tried to engage Dalton in conversation about friends in his neighborhood, but he'd replied that he didn't have any. His mother had actually warned him not to hang out with the teenagers who lived around the block because they were involved with drugs. Since she was allegedly a drinker and a druggie, her words of caution struck me as odd. But then again, perhaps she didn't want her son to turn out like she had.

Aiden asked easygoing questions about Dalton's favorite subjects at school and his taste in music, movies, and books. Quick. To the point. Pleasant.

During the moments Maya and Aiden remained silent, Dalton mainly talked about how nice my house was and how he wanted to go swimming.

"It's summer," he said. "There's no pool in my neighborhood."

"I told you that we'd swim the next time."

"Yeah, I know."

"Then you'll have to be patient," I said as I pulled up to the curb in front of his house.

His mother's car was still parked in the driveway. Before I had the chance to wonder if she'd returned home yet, she walked out the front door and stationed herself at the bottom of the steps.

Dalton removed Aiden's necklace. "You can have this back."

"No. Keep it. I gave it to you."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Dalton hopped out. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Hey," I said. "Maybe we can swim at my house in a couple days. Tuesday, maybe."

"Yeah, that would be awesome." He bounded toward his mother, who offered a half-assed wave in our direction.

As I shifted into drive, Dalton rushed back to the Jeep.

I powered down the passenger window. Seated in the passenger seat, Maya appeared mortified that she might have to speak to Dalton's mother.

"My mom wants to talk to you about something."

"Oh. Okay." I shifted into park and then jumped out.

Halfway to the porch, she met me in the yard.

Shielding the sunlight from her eyes, she muttered a lukewarm "hi" at me and then turned toward Dalton. "Hey, sweetie. Go inside while I talk to your friend," she said with a smile, but none of the words were coated with sugar.

After Dalton walked into the house, she repeated "hi" as though we'd run into each other on the street. "I hope you guys had fun."

"Yeah. I hope it was okay that he went with me. He said if he left a note, it would be fine."

"Oh yeah, yeah. Sure."

Her nervous, twitchy energy filled me with building anxiety.

"Hey, so I really need to ask you a favor."

Caught off guard, I replied as casually as possible. "What is it?"

"Well, this is kinda embarrassing. But I really don't . . . I mean, I didn't know who to ask, really." She chuckled. "What the hell. You know? Can't not give it a shot. It's really—oh, shit. You know what? I don't think I ever told you my name. Did Dalton tell you?"

"Actually, no. I never even thought to ask. Sorry."

"Oh, no. It's cool. Don't worry. But hey, my name's Stacey." She offered her hand. "Spencer. Stacey. Both start with an s. Small world, huh?" Then she chuckled as she crossed her arms and teetered on her feet. Her gaze drifted to the ground, then back to me.

I tried not to focus on the lipstick on her teeth or the heavy makeup covering a cluster of pimples on her cheek.

"Look." She stepped closer as if about to share a secret with me. "I need to borrow two hundred dollars. And yeah, I know we just met. I wouldn't ask, but if I don't pay the electric bill, they're gonna turn off the power. Monday. And you know, I can't leave Dalton home without any lights or anything. That's not good for a kid, you know. So if I pay two hundred first thing Monday morning, they said they wouldn't turn off the electricity."

There it was. Just as Dalton had predicted.

"They're really going to turn it off on Monday?"

"Yeah, yeah. Totally sucks, man. I mean, seriously, so I'm late on the bill. Jeez, give a woman a chance, you know?"

"I'd like to help but—"

She moved closer. "Okay, okay. You really don't have the money? I mean, I don't know who else to ask. I mean, Monday's only like two days away. I can't have no power. You know Dalton now. So you know he likes to read books, right?" She smiled wide. "That damn kid. He loves reading those books. But hey, no electricity, there won't be any reading at night, huh? Shit. Maybe we should move and start over."

She peeked over my shoulder and then looked into my eyes. "Is that your girlfriend?"

"No. She's just a friend."

"She's pretty. You guys would make a good-looking couple."

I forced a chuckle. "She's just a really good friend. No girlfriend."

"Oh, that's cool."

The sudden silence while she peered into my eyes was awkward.

Then she finally said, "You'd be doing me a really big favor—and Dalton too. You'd be doing us a really big favor."

I didn't think I should give her the money. But I had cash in my wallet and two hundred dollars wouldn't break me. So I agreed.

"I'll loan you the money."

She hugged me, then quickly stepped back as if touching me might change my mind. "Oh, thank you so much."

I jogged to the Jeep and grabbed my wallet from the console.

"What's going on?" Aiden asked.

"I'll tell you in a minute."

When I returned to the patchy, dried grass, Stacey stepped toward the porch, so I followed. "Thank you so much. You're a lifesaver."

At the front door, I slipped the bills from my wallet and handed them to her. "You're welcome. I'm glad I can help out."

"You're so sweet." Resting her hand on the doorknob, her nervous energy seemed to fade before my eyes. "I'm glad you and Dalton are friends. He needs friends. You could be a good influence on him."

"He's a good kid. We've had fun hanging out."

"He ain't giving you a hard time or some shit, right? Sometimes he can be a real pain in the ass."

"No. No, he's fine."

"Good." She opened the door and stepped inside. "Well, I'll let you get back to your friends. And thanks again, Spencer. I owe you big."

"You're welcome."

She clutched the money to her chest and then walked inside.

Back in the Jeep, Maya immediately asked, "Did you just give that woman money?"

"Yeah. For their electric bill. If she doesn't pay, it's going to be shut off on Monday."

"What about the next bill?" She shifted in the seat to face me. "You gonna pay that one too?"

I scoffed. "No. I'm not a sugar daddy."

Aiden stretched in the back seat with a grunt and a heavy sigh. "You better make sure she knows that, then."

"She asked a favor, and it's not a big deal. I'm not going to make a habit out of it."

On the way back to Camden Heights, the three of us agreed to let Bailey reach out to us first. He never sulked for long, so we anticipated that the day's incident would be no different. I silently wondered, however, if Dalton, Sebastian, and Willow had pushed him a little too far. Maybe I had too. I wouldn't take responsibility for Willow and Sebastian, but I accepted my role in the Souvenir Game's crash and burn.

CHAPTER NINE

A rare family occurrence: my parents sat across from Aubrey and me during dinner. Each had a glass of red wine and a plate filled with food delivered from a local restaurant. Aubrey entertained us with a summary of the playdate with her best friend earlier in the day. When she was done, she concentrated on tearing apart her stuffed chicken valentino instead of eating it.

My mother sipped her wine and then said, "Your sister's coming home next week."

The announcement surprised me. I expected Meghan to spend the entire summer with friends and possibly pay us a visit the week before school.

"Really?" I leaned back in my chair. "For how long?"

"A couple weeks. Then she's going to New York City for a week. Then she'll be here until she goes back to school."

Apparently, I appeared less than thrilled by the idea because my dad said, "You don't look too happy about it."

"What? Oh, no. It's fine. It's just . . . I didn't think we were going to see her this summer."

"Of course we are," my mother replied. "She'll be going to your grandparents' with you and Aubrey."

The week-long trip to my grandparents' house. I had momentarily forgotten about it. Now Meghan was going with us. Yay.

I ran a hand across my buzzed hair. "That's nice."

Chewing a sautéed shitake mushroom, my dad asked, "What did you do today?"

"Hung out with Maya, Aiden, and everyone."

"No surprise there." He raised a wineglass to his lips. "Lounging by the pool?"

"No pool." I stretched my torso and said, "Actually, I introduced everyone to this kid I met."

"Someone new in town?"

My mother's gaze strayed from me to my father. "Is there a new family in the neighborhood?"

I instantly regretted mentioning it. For a moment, I'd thought that my interest in Dalton's well-being might impress them. Yet I couldn't confess that I'd sneaked into a house and unexpectedly found myself face-to-face with a young boy. Therefore, my only option was to lie.

"I met him at the park," I said. "He doesn't really have friends or a good family life. So I decided to be his friend."

My father straightened his posture and set his elbows on the table. "You just met him, and he already confided these things to you?"

"Yeah, basically. He's eleven years old."

"Camden Park?" my mother asked.

"I thought it would be nice for everyone to know someone who doesn't have a great, privileged life like we do."

"Wait," she said. "He isn't from a family in our neighborhood?"

"No. He lives in Englewood Park."

The creases of confusion on their faces might have appeared less pronounced had I said Dalton lived on Mars. It immediately became apparent that I shouldn't mention his druggie mother or the lack of food in the house or paying their electric bill.

"He doesn't have brothers or sisters, and his dad isn't in the picture. He likes reading books, so we kinda bonded over that."

"Oh." My mother relaxed, seemingly satisfied by the last bit of info. "You've developed a friendship because of a common interest."

Thankfully, my phone chimed a text. End of conversation, thanks to Bailey.

Today, 7:42 PM

Maybe I overreacted a little bit. Let's work out tomorrow.

Today, 7:43 PM

It's fine. Gym sounds good.

"I need to call Bailey about his birthday party," I said, excusing myself from the table. After rinsing my plate, I darted upstairs to my room.

I'd planned to finish reading The Savages—which was pretty damn good—but the day taunted me. I'd upset Bailey and indirectly caused an abrupt end to the Souvenir Game. I'd given Willow a motive to walk away from our group in a huff. Two hundred dollars had gone to Stacey, which might have been a mistake. And I'd lied to my parents about Dalton. It had not been one of my better days. To cap it all off, my ex-girlfriend, Faryn, who I hadn't talked to in several weeks, texted me about going to a party at Logan's house.

The possibility of hooking up with Faryn nearly prompted me to change clothes, hop into my Jeep, and head to Logan's. But the likelihood of drama persuaded me to stay home.

So I ignored her text.

Sprawled out on my bed, I hoped the final pages of a story about a family of cannibals would help me forget about the day.

*   *   *

The next afternoon, I scanned the crowded parking lot behind the gym for Bailey's Lotus. When I didn't see the bright yellow, squashed wasp of a vehicle, I scrolled through Instagram. A minute later, Bailey tapped on my window.

"Hey, dickhead. Time to work out." He folded his arms, appearing grumpier than his usual sunny, energized self. "Chop, chop."

I offered a smile. "Good to see you too."

"I'm tired, man. I was out late with Tessa."

Hopping out of the Jeep, I replied, "Oh, so you're back together."

"Just hanging," he said with a smirk.

His mother's silver Lexus LX—which Bailey always referred to as its official color: atomic silver—was parked several cars down. "I was looking for your Lotus."

"Didn't feel like driving it."

I only allowed a few seconds of silence before I asked, "You're not still upset about yesterday?"

"Would have been cool if I was in on your plan. But I guess I'm over it now. Let's forget about it."

Our work out and the trip afterward to a café for a protein shake played out as usual. We talked about various topics. We teased each other about girls and lifting weights. But Bailey never asked about Dalton or mentioned the Souvenir Game. He was fixated on the remote possibility that Sebastian wanted to be a member of the Wyatt Five, which he was dead set against.

Neither one of us had heard from Willow. I wasn't surprised. She'd always been a headstrong girl. The five of us were each on the verge of turning seventeen. College was just around the corner. I'd always believed that the Wyatt Five would one day become less of a clique and more of an occasional get-together. Therefore, I thought Willow's sudden departure the previous day and her relationship with Sebastian were her first steps away from our group.

On the curb in front of our vehicles, I kicked the toe of my sneaker against the concrete. "I told Dalton he could swim at my house on Tuesday. Just hanging out. You can come by if you want."

"You're really going to be a big brother or something to this kid?"

Big brother? I'd never thought about it like that. "Yeah. I feel like it's the right thing to do."

"Hanging with a kid, though. Like, what the hell is there to do?"

Faux sarcasm colored my response. "Swim."

"Okay. Maybe I'll show up."

I slapped my hand onto his shoulder. "You don't have brothers or sisters. But you'll see, it won't be so bad."

*   *   *

For the next day and a half, I found myself thinking of Dalton more than I thought I would. How was he doing? Did he eat a good dinner? Was Stacey returning home late at night without any concern for her son's well-being while she was gone? Did she and the muscle man slap each other around again until the police arrived on the scene? Did the muscle man—or some other guy—accidentally elbow Dalton in the face again?

There was no landline at Dalton's house, so I couldn't call him. And unless he used his mother's cell, I didn't know how he'd call me.

If I drove across town nearly every day to check on him, would I be a caring, involved friend? Or would I be considered an unwelcome nuisance overstepping undeclared boundaries?

Once the new school year started, I wouldn't be able visit him as frequently. Would Dalton then think that I no longer cared as much?

Maybe Dalton's living situation wasn't as dreadful as I believed. Perhaps my privileged life was such a great contrast to his that I'd exaggerated his circumstances in my mind.

The thoughts buzzed in my head like an insect had taken refuge in my ear. A constant humming. Or like a pain in my arm I didn't think about while busy but throbbed the moment I had nothing else to focus on.

What I hadn't anticipated was my interaction with Dalton pushing me to question my own life. Were my parents really as aloof as I had presumed or did I simply crave more than they were able to give me? I knew when my father worked late at the office and when my mother organized a function at Aubrey's school. I knew when my father attended a business dinner and when my mother participated in a community project. I'd never worried that they'd return home late or not at all because of alcohol or drugs. I'd never gone without food or electricity. I'd never stressed about the things that Dalton accepted as a normal part of his life. Considering my life, why would I?

*   *   *

I arrived at Dalton's house shortly before noon on Tuesday. There was no car in the driveway, so I knew Stacey was at work. As he collected a change of clothes, he explained that she worked Sunday through Thursday. When he'd mentioned swimming at my house, she'd given her permission with "yeah, yeah. Sure. You better behave or that rich kid won't wanna be your friend anymore."

The undertone of sadness in his delivery was difficult to decipher. I wasn't sure if it was his mother's attitude or if he believed her warning.

"Oh, please," I replied. "You were a smart-ass the first day I met you, and I still wanted to be your friend."

He allowed a brief laugh.

"Besides, you're actually pretty well behaved, in my opinion."

Placing a book within a bundle of clothes, he said, "I'm ready."

Pulling into my driveway, I spotted a black BMW X5 near the garage.

"Maya's here," I said. "I think Aiden and Bailey will show up. I don't know about Willow, though."

He simply nodded and mumbled, "uh, huh."

"That's okay, right?"

"Yeah."

Once inside, we walked directly to the patio.

Monica had prepared turkey sandwiches, seasoned french fries, a fruit salad, and fresh-squeezed lemonade. The table had already been set, where Maya and Aiden sat side by side, like flowers soaking up the rays of the sun.

After I introduced Dalton again, he asked, "Can we swim before we eat?"

"If you want."

Hesitating, he whispered, "Are you gonna go in with me?"

I hadn't planned on swimming right away, but I replied, "Yeah. I'll jump in with you."

Kicking off my sneakers, I removed my tank top and tossed it to a lounger. Although dressed in basketball shorts, I opted not to rush to my room to change.

"You can just put your shoes and shirt on one of the chairs," I said.

Dalton peeked at Maya and then looked at me. "Um. You're, like, all muscular with abs and everything, and I'm puny."

Guessing he was shy about being shirtless in the company of a pretty, sixteen-year-old girl, I smiled. "When I was eleven, I was puny too. And when you're sixteen, you might look just like me. So don't worry about it. It's fine."

For a moment, I thought he'd refuse to remove his shirt. But he set his shoes and T-shirt on a lounger and then rejoined me at the pool.

I charged forward and cannonballed into the water. Resurfacing, I spotted Dalton sitting on the edge with his legs submerged.

"Get in," I said. "The water's pretty warm, actually."

"How deep is it?"

"It's not deep unless you swim to the far end. It's eight feet over there."

He pushed himself from the ledge, and his body stiffened as he stood in water up to his chest.

"See? Feels good in here, right?"

Wiping water from his face, he nodded.

"Do you know how to swim?"

He glanced over his shoulder at Maya and Aiden and then looked at me. "Not really."

I tried to remember what I'd first learned when I was six years old. "Do you know how to float on your back?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" I moved farther away from him. "Come over here, and I'll teach you."

He waded to me and crossed his arms.

Situating myself at his side, I placed one hand on his upper back. "Relax. I'll help you float."

Soon, Maya and Aiden joined us. Then the three of us alternated the task of teaching Dalton how to swim. At first he was embarrassed, but then he appeared to enjoy himself. He'd floated on his back, and he'd even swam underwater briefly.

"You guys suck at swimming lessons," Bailey called out.

Turning, I greeted him with a smile. "Think you can do better?"

"A hell of a lot better."

"Then get in, coach."

He yanked his shirt off, slipped out of his shoes, and then plunged into the pool. As he splashed toward us, he ordered, "Move aside, losers. I'm taking over."

Face-to-face with Dalton, he claimed, "When I'm done with you, you'll be swimming laps faster than Spencer."

I offered Dalton an encouraging wink. Once he seemed at ease with Bailey, I perched on the side of the pool. After several minutes, the two of them were making good progress, so I lay out on the lounger to dry in the sun.

On the chair next to me, Maya said, "Thank God, Bailey's not in a bad mood anymore."

"You know how he is. All worked up one minute, back to his usual self the next."

Aiden shook the water off his head and onto Maya and me, then plopped down on a lounger. "I'm going to eat soon, with or without you."

"In a few minutes," I said, watching Dalton attempt the front crawl without kicking his feet wildly like a panicked beginner.

During lunch, my friends engaged Dalton in conversation more than I'd expected, which was a pleasant surprise. He'd eaten lunch as if starving—once I swore that the fresh spinach and cranberry tasted good on a turkey sandwich. After he'd read some of his R.L. Stine book, he jumped back into the pool.

Willow arrived after we'd eaten. Initially, she didn't say much. She sat at the table as if offering silent moral support, but then eventually talked more. Of course, Bailey mentioned Sebastian, then the two of them dove right into a semi-heated discussion. Rather than getting dragged into the back-and-forth, I returned to the pool to teach Dalton how to swim underwater. I did such a great job of ignoring the scene on the patio that I didn't notice the appearance of my mother and sister at the table. They were both dressed in pretty, summer dresses, so I was certain they'd attended a little girl tea party or something similar.

As I came up for air, I heard my mother's voice.

"Hello," she said, crouched at the edge of the pool. "You must be Dalton. I'm Spencer's mother."

Timid, he softly replied, "Hi."

"I hope you're having a good time."

"Yeah."

Adjusting an earring, she looked at me. "What do you boys have planned for the rest of the day?"

"We're going to the bookstore, and then we'll probably eat dinner somewhere before I take him home."

Her gaze lingered like she was contemplating saying something but thought better of it. After all, I hadn't told her that I was bringing Dalton to the house. "I'll leave you boys to your fun." She turned toward Dalton. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too."

The moment Aubrey and my mother entered the house, Bailey said, "Please tell Sebastian not to ask about joining our group. I don't want to deal with it."

"I told you," Willow replied. "He knows that. So stop repeating yourself. And stop being a drama queen."

"I just wanted to remind you one more time."

Exasperated, Willow nearly shouted, "Okay."

Aiden burst out laughing.

Splashing water in Dalton's direction, I said, "I'm going to go see if their argument is over." Then I pointed to the deep end of the pool. "Don't swim over there."

He smiled sheepishly. "I won't."

At the table, I dried off, then draped the towel over my shoulders. "Is everything okay here?"

"Yeah, it's fine," Bailey said. "Willow's officially dating Sebastian now. We probably won't see her as much."

Clearly not in the mood to respond directly, she rolled her eyes and then smiled at me. "Is your friend having a good time?"

"Yeah. He even got all of us to give him some swimming lessons."

"Maya told me." She refilled her glass of lemonade. "Exactly how did you meet him, anyway?"

As I recounted my first meeting with Dalton, Bailey anchored his sight on the pool, as if transfixed by the sparkling blue water. Upon hearing the first reference to the Souvenir Game, he relocated to a lounger. Wounded pride, I guessed.

*   *   *

Seated at a booth in Camden Cuisine, Dalton tasted his first caramel apple crunch milkshake. Nodding in approval, he widened his eyes with delight.

"I finished reading The Savages," I said.

"It was good, huh?"

"Yeah. It was witty and fun and entertaining."

"Told you."

I ordered a grilled portobello with avocado aioli, and Dalton chose the barbeque burger on a toasted tomato bun.

"Did you know there's a sequel?"

Excited, he leaned forward. "Really?"

"Yeah. American Savage. I'll get two copies so we can read them at the same time."

For a few moments, he stared at me. Then he asked, "Why are you so nice to me?"

"What? Because I like you."

He seemed to ponder my response, and then he lowered his eyes to the table. "I'm glad you're my friend."

Tilting my head so I could make eye contact, I said, "I'm glad you're my friend too."

*   *   *

A few minutes past seven thirty, I turned onto Dalton's block. In front of his house, four cars were parked along the curb. Stacey's Corolla was in the driveway with a black Range Rover. I braked in the middle of the street. Looking in the rearview mirror, I asked him, "Did you know your mom was having company tonight?"

Staring out the window, he seemed less than thrilled, but the hint of a smile appeared. "No. It's fine, though. She does that sometimes."

"Oh."

He grabbed the backpack I'd given him for his clothes and book. "I had fun swimming. Thanks."

"Do you want me to walk you to the door?"

He twisted his face as if my question was absurd. "No. It's okay. You can go."

"Are you sure?"

With a sharpness to his tone, he replied, "Yeah, I'm sure."

When he reached the front door, he glanced over his shoulder and then flicked a hand at me. His expression read I said you can go.

I steered the Jeep into a U-turn and headed to the end of the block. Once I reached the main street of businesses, I decided to stop at the convenience store for something to drink.

Stop being stupid. I'm not going to be robbed just because I'm in Englewood Park. I'm not going to be carjacked. I'm not going to be beaten or shot. I'm fine. Drama queen.

The interior of the store was bright with fluorescent lighting and the air was weighed down by the stench of greasy food. On my way to the beverage coolers, I maneuvered past a small cluster of people at the hot buffet. A few sets of eyes seemed to follow me, but I managed to convince myself that I was being self-conscious. I was just a guy walking into the store so I could buy a cold drink. There was nothing special about me.

I was certain the old man at the register scrutinized my appearance. Paranoid. But I paid and made my exit without incident.

Back outside in the humid air, I turned toward my Jeep parked at the curb. At the end of block, I saw Dalton step onto the sidewalk. He abruptly stopped. I stared at him in complete disbelief. Stunned, he adjusted the backpack on his shoulder like he'd accidentally walked into a glass door. He looked at me as though I was the last person he wanted to see.

CHAPTER TEN

He remained stationed at the end of the block like he'd locked eyes with Medusa. As I approached, he dropped the backpack to the ground as if he didn't have the strength to carry it any longer.

Within reach, I allowed a smug grin. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"I just left you at your house, where I thought you stayed. And now, here you are."

"Yeah, I know."

"Is there a reason you didn't want to stay home?"

Sighing out of the corner of his mouth, he mumbled, "I guess so."

The look on his face reminded me of Aubrey. The pouty I-can't-believe-you're-trying-to-talk-to-me look.

"You guess? So what's the reason?"

"The door was locked, and there was music playing. There's like a party going on. So I left. It's no big deal."

"Where were you going?"

"I don't know. Somewhere to sit and read. Like a Burger King or something."

"For how long?"

He shrugged.

"It's going to be dark soon. You shouldn't be out walking at night."

"I'm not a baby."

"You're a kid in a rough neighborhood."

"You're a kid too."

"You're eleven, and I'm seventeen."

He chuckled sarcastically. "You're sixteen."

"Okay. Fine. Seventeen on August first."

Obviously uncomfortable, he knelt and unzipped a pocket on the backpack. "I still have that forty dollars. So I'm gonna go get, like, a snack or something and read."

"I'll go with you."

"Why? Aren't you supposed to be going home?"

"I don't have to."

He mocked, "It's gonna be dark soon."

I cupped his shoulder as I directed him to my Jeep. "Don't be mad, Dalton. I'm your friend, remember? And I don't think you should be wandering around at night."

Slouched in the back seat, he tossed the backpack aside.

Behind the wheel, I selected POI on the Jeep's GPS. "We can go somewhere better than Burger King to sit and read."

"Where? A library?"

I twisted to face him. "Okay. Your smart-ass attitude isn't funny all the time." Starting the engine, I said, "There's a Starbucks five miles from here. It's much better for hanging out and reading."

Driving a couple of miles without speaking, I glanced at him in the rearview mirror every couple of blocks. He appeared agitated, keeping his eyes glued to the window as I drove.

"You don't need to be embarrassed. Or mad," I said. "If you didn't want to stay home, you could have told me. It's okay."

"No, it's not."

"Why not?"

"Because it is embarrassing." He wiped at an eye. "I can't even go home because my mom's having a party with drugs and stuff."

I hesitated to respond, but I couldn't ignore his words. "Are you sure it's a party with drugs?"

"Yes. She drinks and does drugs, okay?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Oh, God. Please. You've seen her. Sometimes she's a bitch too."

"That's not nice."

"She is. She yells a lot. I can't stand her sometimes."

The conversation had taken a drastic turn I hadn't expected, and I felt immediately uncomfortable. I didn't know if I should let him say everything he wanted or if I should try to console him. How do I help him recover from this moment?

"And now you know," he cried. "This is so embarrassing."

I parked in the Starbucks lot, unbuckled my seat belt, and then turned toward him. Reaching to touch his knee, I said, "It's okay. Don't be embarrassed. I'm glad you told me."

Whenever Aubrey was upset and cried, I depended on my mother to swoop in and take control of the situation. In the Starbucks parking lot, I was at a complete loss. As a young boy, my father used to say, "Toughen up, Spencer. Wipe your tears and face your fears." I knew that was not the appropriate response to a young boy crying about his neglectful, drug-addicted mother.

I climbed over the console to the back seat. Hesitant and wary, I wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "It's going to be okay, Dalton."

Wiping his eyes, he nodded and leaned against me.

We remained seated together a few minutes while Dalton steadily calmed down and I scanned the darkened parking lot, watching a few people and cars come and go.

"Let's go inside. We can talk some more if you want. Or we'll just read. And then I'll take you home, okay?"

"Uh, huh."

"Good. I need some caffeine."

We sat in Starbucks for over two hours. He'd kept his eyes focused on his book, and I'd looked up things on my phone to read, stealing glances at him from time to time. When he'd finished reading, he told me the party was probably over because his mom had to work in the morning.

Back at his house, only the two cars in the driveway remained. As promised, I offered to walk him inside.

"No. It's okay," he replied. "The party's over."

Yet I didn't feel comfortable leaving without making sure he was safe in his bedroom. "Let me take you inside, okay? I'd just feel better about it. We can go in through the back if you want."

"Fine, but we don't need to go in the back."

There was no loud music blaring in the living room. Unlocked, the front door opened with ease. A heavy, motley cloud of cigarette and marijuana smoke lingered in the air. Beer cans and empty glasses were scattered about. A small mirror with residual white powder sat on the table. Neither his mother nor the owner of the Range Rover were in sight.

Inside, I registered the faint melody of a song at the back of the house. "I hear music."

"That's coming from her bedroom."

I assumed that meant she was in her room with a man. The thought made me more uncomfortable than the condition of the living room.

"You can go," he said.

Maybe ignorantly paranoid, I wanted to be certain that a sketchy stranger wasn't hiding in his bedroom, waiting for the opportunity to assault Dalton in some horrible manner.

I pointed a finger to the hall. "I'm going to walk you to your room."

Incredulous, he asked, "Are you serious?"

Attempting to lighten the mood, I steered him down the hall. "It is my duty to see you to your room before I go."

Passing by his mother's bedroom, I heard the rhythmic squeaking of bed springs, and I wanted to die on the spot. It took all my self-control not to react even the slightest degree. Just keep walking. Just keep walking.

He stopped outside his bedroom door. "You can go now."

"I want to check your room."

"What?"

"Yeah. Just open the door."

Clearly irritated, he huffed. "Fine."

His room was practically bare. There was a mattress on the floor in the corner with a threadbare blanket and a single pillow. A lamp sat on an overturned milk crate. Short stacks of books lined the wall under the window. Clothes were littered here and there. And although dark, that's all I saw. No dresser. No chair. No desk or table. No toys or posters. I didn't even see a stray crayon on the floor.

Again, I powered my self-control and didn't react.

"All right. Good night. I'll see you soon, okay?"

He nodded and then tossed his backpack to the mattress.

I added, "Maybe we'll swim again soon."

"Okay."

Without even thinking, I gently touched the top of his head.

Unexpectedly, he hugged me tight. "Thanks, Spencer."

Caught off guard, I paused before wrapping my arms around him. "You're welcome. Now get into bed and get some sleep."

I took a few steps down the hall and then froze at the creak of an opening door. A man dressed only in tighty-whities strolled out of Stacey's bedroom. He was the muscular man I saw in the yard the night the cops had visited the house.

He clutched his clothes in one hand and shoes in the other. Turning toward me, he visibly jolted. "Who the hell are you?"

I looked at him, no doubt wide-eyed. "I'm a friend of Dalton's. I just brought him home."

The man had a build of solid muscle and a wrathful expression that could cut glass. A single train of thought ping-ponged in my head. This man looks like he beefed up while in prison. He could totally kick my ass.

His demeanor softened, but his expression remained hard-edged. "Yeah, yeah. That's right. Her son's new friend. She mentioned it."

"I was just heading out."

Dropping his shoes, he leaned against the wall and searched his jeans. He pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from the pocket. "You and the kid have a good time?"

"Uh, yeah. It was a long day."

"I bet. That kid can be a real shithead."

"Not with me, he hasn't been."

He gestured his head toward her bedroom door. "You wanna take a crack at her? You earned it. She's totally out."

Holy shit. "What? No."

"Seriously, she'd never know. Go bust your nut, man."

"No, I'm good. Thanks."

"Suit yourself." He lit a cigarette and then wobbled as he slipped a leg into his jeans. "You better get going, then."

"Cool. Okay." Passing him, I muttered, "Good night."

"Yeah. See you later, kid."

I sauntered to the front door as casually as possible, not wanting to let the guy know that he'd pretty much freaked me out. Once I was outside, I hurried to my Jeep and jumped in. Should I wait until the man leaves? I didn't know if he'd ever been abusive toward Dalton. Although Dalton had confessed the man had hit him accidentally, maybe there were things he still hadn't shared with me.

A few minutes later, the front door opened, and the fully dressed man walked outside, smoking his cigarette.

Without contemplation, I drove away from 729 Carpenter Street and the man eyeing me as he walked to his shiny, black Range Rover.

*   *   *

Not long after I sat at the island in the kitchen, my father entered. He yawned as he tightened the belt of his navy-blue robe.

At the refrigerator, he glanced over his shoulder. "Did you just get home?"

"Yeah. Five minutes ago."

"Hanging with the gang?"

"No. I took Dalton home."

"That's right. Your mother mentioned he was here." He sat across from me and opened a sparkling water. "What's his deal?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said he didn't have a father. And your mom said he was shy and that he looked malnourished."

"He does not." Elbow to table and palm to temple, I glared at my dad. "He's eleven. He's still growing. I looked just like him at his age. Puny and scrawny."

"Don't they mean the same thing?"

"Actually, I don't think they do."

Rising from the stool, he sighed. "It's nice that you've taken this kid under your wing. But you better know what you're getting into."

"Meaning?"

"If he comes from an unhappy home, there are a lot of issues that come with that. Are you prepared to deal with them? You can't ignore them or suddenly decide that he's taking up too much of your time."

"I'm not like that."

Making direct eye contact, he leaned forward. "Sometimes you're too wrapped up in yourself."

"Whatever, Dad."

"All I'm saying is that when things get rough, you can't just walk away from your new friend."

"I won't do that." I swallowed the last of my pomegranate juice and then set the glass in the sink. "Thanks for the pep talk, Dad."

To say that I'd been insulted was an understatement. Accusing me of being too wrapped up in myself? My parents were too wrapped up in themselves more than I could ever be. My father's business above all else. My mother's social commitments above family. I should have pointed that out to my father, but instead I marched out of the kitchen and straight to my bedroom.

I had returned to Dalton's house and bought him McDonalds. That wasn't too wrapped up in myself. I'd taken him to the bookstore and to my house to swim. I wasn't too wrapped up in myself to do those things. I'd escorted him inside his house and to his room so I could make sure there wasn't potential danger lurking inside. That wasn't me being too wrapped up in myself.

I tossed my clothes to the floor and then slid under the comforter. Lying in bed, I enjoyed the draft of cool air on my skin from the vent overhead. It relaxed me, and soon my father's words and my internal reaction faded. However, a whole new set of thoughts bombarded my mind.

The more I'd interacted with Dalton, the more his living situation seemed far worse than I'd imagined. Each new detail had horrified me more than the last. Home alone most of the time. Lack of proper food. A boozing and drugging mother who appeared more concerned with herself than her son. Physical abuse, even if accidental. According to Dalton, verbal and emotional abuse existed. The threat of utilities being shut off. The party with alcohol and drugs. The man who'd offered me an unconscious Stacey as a quick lay.

What the hell would I learn or witness next?

I wondered if it was possible to be Dalton's friend without crossing the fine line from observer to proactive protector. Could I confront his mother or the muscle man if needed? Would there come a time when I'd need to call the proper authorities? Would I even have the courage to make that phone call?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Wednesday passed as usual. I'd worked out at the gym with Bailey. I'd gone out for coffee with Aiden. And I'd joined Willow and Sebastian at Benedicto's for a delicious Italian dinner.

When I awoke Thursday morning, my thoughts immediately clung to Dalton. What had he done the previous day? Had he eaten? Did his mother come home right after work? If she did, was there another party at the house?

I resisted the urge to drive to Englewood Park because my dad's words haunted me. Was I prepared to deal with the issues that might come with being Dalton's friend?

Later that day, after working out with Bailey, Aiden, and Logan, I met Maya at a trendy coffeehouse down the street from the gym. I sipped my frozen coffee and nibbled on a chunk of cinnamon scone as she told me about her older brother's engagement.

"I bet she's pregnant," she said.

Laughing, I knitted my brow. "Are you serious?"

"Actually, I have no idea. But he's only twenty-four. God, getting married in your early twenties? No thank you."

I lifted my coffee in a toast. "I second that. Getting married young is a really bad idea."

"What do you think is a good age to get married?"

Because I had asked myself the same question many times, I had an immediate response. "Twenty-eight or older."

"Hmm. That sounds more reasonable."

"I think it's dumb to get married too young. Neither person knows who they really are yet. Could you imagine only dating and having sex with just one person? Plus, all of life's experiences as a single person. Miss out on all of that because of getting married at, like, only twenty years old? No way."

"I definitely want a career first."

"See? Your own identity." Leaning closer, I teased, "And you just want your brother's fiancé to be pregnant so you can be an aunt."

Eyes bright and smile wide, she nodded. "It's gonna be so much fun shopping for a little girl. Or even a little boy."

She literally squealed with glee, and I laughed.

"You and shopping," I said. "Always shopping."

She fidgeted with the straw in her glass of dragon fruit tea. "So what's going on with you and that kid?"

I shrugged. "He's fine. I haven't seen him since Tuesday."

"Oh."

Sighing, I admitted, "I'm not sure it's a good idea for me to be too attached to him. Or vice versa."

"Why?"

"His life is pretty messed up. It might be better if I take a couple steps back."

"Messed up how?"

I wasn't ready to share a horror story about Dalton's life. Listing detail after detail would only invite a shroud of gloominess to sit with us. "His dad's not around, and his mom works a lot. They don't have much money. I mean, you saw me give her two hundred dollars."

She seemed to study me before speaking, which was a contrast to her usual method of talking without thinking first. "At the Souvenir Game thing on Saturday, you said it was better that we become friends with someone from Englewood Park than steal from them."

"I am his friend."

"Then why are you gonna be less of a friend now?"

I chewed the inside of my cheek.

"And when we were swimming at your house, I thought we were all gonna be his friend."

Feeling guilty about neglecting Dalton for two days, I couldn't string the words together to respond.

"Remember the comfort zone? Who said that? Aiden?"

I shifted in my chair. "I don't remember who said it first."

"You know what? I think Bailey said it. But anyways, you like, stepped outta your comfort zone. And Dalton stepped outta his too, right? You know, like, when he went to your house, and you guys hung out and stuff."

I agreed.

"Now he's all alone again. You know, in his messed-up comfort zone in Englewood Park."

I poked my finger into the center of my scone, breaking it into two crumbly pieces. "Thanks for making me feel like an asshole."

She shrugged. "You're welcome."

After leaving the coffeehouse and saying goodbye to Maya, I sat in my Jeep, contemplating an impromptu trip to Dalton's house. On the one hand, I thought I should check on him. On the other, I was anxious about what else I might learn. If his homelife was as dangerous and unhealthy as I feared, I couldn't turn a blind eye to his plight.

Zoned out behind the wheel, I wrestled with my reluctance. Words of advice and warning echoed in my mind. Maya, Aiden, my parents. But Nana's words resonated the loudest. I wouldn't take something they needed.

By essentially ignoring Dalton for two days, I'd taken something from him that he needed. My friendship. Finally, I understood that a relationship with Dalton required a strong commitment on my part. He needed someone to be a dependable and stabilizing force in his life.

First, I needed to determine exactly what that looked like.

*   *   *

After dinner, I lounged in bed with two ARCs courtesy of Nana. The Nickel Boys by Colson Whitehead and The Family Upstairs by Lisa Jewell. Because of everything going on with Dalton, I wasn't ready to read a story about abused boys in a reform school. So I settled on The Family Upstairs, a thriller about a possible cult, four missing children, and an abandoned baby. Twenty-five years later, the mystery unfolds. I was in.

Down to my boxers with a bag of nacho chips and a large bottle of alkaline water at my side, I turned the page to chapter two when my cell rang with a 508 phone number I didn't recognize. My first instinct was to ignore it, but I dog-eared my book and then picked up my cell.

"Hello."

"Spencer? It's Dalton."

Although I knew it was him the instant he'd said my name, I was still surprised to be talking to him. "Hey. What's up?"

He sniffled. "Um. I need your help."

"What do you mean? What happened? Are you at home?"

"I'm at the neighbor's house." The muffled voice of a woman in the background spoke to him. "I am," he said to her.

"What's going on?"

"I think I need stitches. I cut my finger, and it won't stop bleeding. And I didn't know what to do. My mom isn't answering her phone."

"Shit." I jumped out of bed and snatched my jeans from the floor. "The neighbor can't take you to the emergency room?"

"They don't want to because I'm not their kid."

Seriously? A bleeding kid in need of medical care and the response is sorry, kid. You're on your own. "Is your finger wrapped up? Are you applying pressure?"

He cried. "Yeah."

"Okay. I'll be at your house as soon as I can."

My heart drummed with a panicked thump. I swiped my keys from the desk and then darted out of my room. As I descended the stairs too quickly, I took a deep breath. Calm down. Stop overreacting. The kid just needs stitches. Stop being so dramatic.

In the foyer, I nearly collided into my mother as she walked out of the living room.

"Good Lord!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing?"

"I need to take Dalton to the emergency room."

"Excuse me?"

"He cut his finger. Pretty bad. And his mother's not home, so I'm taking him to the emergency room."

"Where is she?"

"Mom, I don't know." At the door, I faced her. "I don't have time to talk. I need to get to his house."

"Spencer, why are you the one—Okay. Just be careful. You don't need to get into an accident on the way there."

"I won't," I replied and then rushed outside to my Jeep.

Of course Dalton wasn't going to pass out in the neighbor's yard. Nor was he going to bleed to death before I arrived at his house. Still, I drove as quickly as I could without the risk of being pulled over. When I arrived at his house, his mother's car was nowhere in sight. Dalton hopped to his feet the moment he saw my Jeep.

I met him in the yard. "Is it still bleeding?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Reaching out to the blood-soaked towel wrapped around his hand, I tried to put his mind at ease. "Stitches are no big deal. You'll be fine." I peeked at his finger, still oozing blood. "Yeah, it's bleeding."

His watery eyes met mine. "Uh, huh."

Leading him to the Jeep, I asked, "Do you even know where your mom is?"

He simply shook his head as I opened the back passenger door.

"There's an emergency clinic a couple miles from here. And since you're bleeding, they'll see you right away. So you should be stitched up and home in no time."

On our way to the clinic, I glimpsed his tear-stained face in the rearview mirror. "How did you cut yourself?"

"I opened a can of juice and the lid cut my finger."

"You opened a can of juice?"

"Yeah, you know. It's frozen. Then you mix it with water."

I had no clue what he was referring to. "When you open a can, you gotta be careful."

"I was trying to do it before it got dark."

Gripping the steering wheel more firmly, I sighed. "Before it got dark in the house?"

"Uh, huh."

"Your mother didn't pay the electric bill, did she?"

"No."

I refrained from spewing a long string of profanity. Obviously, his mother had spent the two hundred dollars on something other than the electric bill. More than likely, she'd funded the party Tuesday night with the cash I'd given her. I wondered what she'd contributed to the binger. Alcohol? Drugs? Both?

"When did the power get shut off?"

"Yesterday," he replied.

At the emergency clinic, I claimed Dalton was my cousin. To make the registration process even easier, I said I'd pay the bill in full.

In the examination room, the doctor confirmed that Dalton needed stitches. After cleaning the wound, the doctor inserted a needle into the bloody, open gash to numb Dalton's finger. Clenching his teeth, Dalton grabbed my forearm with a vice-like grip. Six stitches later, we were sent on our way with a tube of antibiotic ointment and a prescription for pain medication. At the front desk, I paid nearly three hundred dollars, and then we were outside in the muggy July evening air.

By the time we'd filled the prescription at Walgreens and returned to Dalton's house, it was nearly eleven thirty. To my complete shock, Stacey's Corolla was parked in the driveway.

I grabbed the Walgreens bag of snacks, beverages, medication, batteries, and round tap lights from the passenger seat. "You need to take one of the pills when we get inside." Walking to the porch, I tapped his shoulder. "You won't be able to swim with those stitches."

He groaned. "Yeah, I know."

The instant the front door opened, Stacey jumped from the couch with an animated gasp and exclaimed, "What the fuck!"

A flashlight fell from the coffee table, sending a bright elongated strip of light across the floor. In the darkness, Stacey's form was illuminated by the light shining through the opened front door.

She inhaled her cigarette. "Jesus. You scared me. And why the hell aren't you in bed? You didn't leave me no note about going anywhere."

"I needed to get stitches." Dalton raised his bandaged finger as if providing proof of his declaration. "I called, but you didn't answer."

Sitting again, she set the cigarette in the ashtray. "That was you? I didn't know the number, so I didn't answer." Picking the flashlight up, she mumbled, "Sorry."

"I took him to the emergency clinic."

"Oh. That was really nice of you."

I handed the Walgreens bag to Dalton. "Take this to your room. Then you gotta take your pill."

Once I heard him enter his bedroom, I narrowed my eyes at her. "You didn't pay the bill with the money I gave you."

She furrowed her brow as though she had no idea what I was talking about. Then recollection seemed to soften her expression. "Oh yeah, yeah. I did. But they said they wanted the full amount before they turned the power back on."

"Bullshit."

"I swear, man. That's what they said. So we'll go a week without the power, then I'll have it turned back on."

"You want Dalton to stay in a house for over a week without any electricity?"

Standing, she wobbled on her feet. "Hey. You know, I don't like your fucking attitude. Who the hell do you think you are judging me? You don't know what kinda shit I'm going through and how much I work my ass off to make sure Dalton has food and a place to live. I work my fucking ass off."

Food? There's hardly any food in the house. "Without electricity."

"Oh, screw you, man. Fucking rich kid trying to give me a guilt trip. What's your fucking problem?"

"Where's the bill?"

"Huh?"

"Where's the damn electric bill? Give it to me so I can pay it."

The instant she realized that I intended to take care of the bill, her temper weakened. She gestured to the stack of papers on the coffee table. "It's there. They're all there."

I perused the statements and slipped the electric bill from the pile.

"That's really nice of you," she said, plopping onto the couch. "I got extra money coming in a couple weeks. I'll pay you back."

Of course I didn't believe her. I called out to Dalton, "Take your pill." Facing her, I said, "You didn't even know he wasn't here."

"I thought he was in bed."

Dalton emerged from the hall with an illuminated tap light in his hand. "Do I really have to take a pill?"

"Does your finger hurt?"

"Yeah, like hell."

"It's going to hurt for a while. So yes, you need to take a pill."

Following him to the kitchen, I said, "It might make you sleepy."

He set the tap light onto the counter and then opened the pill bottle. "Just one, right?"

Next to the sink was the opened juice can and a small pool of partially dried blood. The kitchen smelled of dirty water.

Moments later, Stacey appeared next to Dalton and took his hand. "Oh, honey. I always tell you to be careful when you make that juice."

Jerking his hand away, he snapped, "It was an accident."

Angered by his tone, she snapped in return. "It's late. Time for bed. I gotta work in the morning."

"Tomorrow's Friday."

"Oh, fuck." She laughed. "I keep thinking tomorrow is Thursday. But I don't have to work, after all. Thank God."

I rubbed his shoulder. "I'll come by tomorrow. Maybe before noon. We can go do something, okay?"

He gulped water and then swallowed the pill. "Yeah, okay. Thanks for taking me to the emergency room."

"You're welcome." Before stepping away, I ruffled his hair. "See you tomorrow."

As I opened the front door, Stacey rushed from the kitchen to the porch. Outside, she said, "Um, so you're really gonna pay that?"

I glanced at the crumpled electric bill in my fist. "I said I would."

"Oh, cool. Thanks so much. And hey, like I said, I'll pay you back soon. No shit. In a couple weeks."

"I don't want to talk about it. I'll pay the bill, and hopefully they'll turn the power back on tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah. Probably. Thanks. I'm so glad Dalton has—"

"I gotta go." I hurried to my Jeep and jumped inside.

The drive home was littered with thoughts of Dalton's living situation and Stacey's lack of motherly concern. I couldn't hold it against her that she didn't answer the phone when he'd called. I nearly ignored his phone call to me. But she didn't even know he wasn't home. Then, her lazy reaction to Dalton's trip to the clinic; I doubt she felt an iota of shame. For me, watching the scene was unsettling, embarrassing, and bizarre. I wanted to forget about it, but it kept replaying in my mind. I needed a distraction, so I looked forward to jumping into bed and continuing The Family Upstairs.

As soon as I walked into the house, my mother entered the foyer. She hadn't even dressed for bed yet. Aside from her lack of nighttime attire, her late-hour appearance surprised me.

"How's Dalton?"

"Fine. He needed six stitches."

With a gentle gaze, she locked her eyes on mine. "He called you because there was no one else for him to reach out to?"

"His mother didn't answer her phone."

"Oh." Breathing in deeply, she crossed her arms and studied me for a moment. "Why is it your responsibility to take care of him?"

I'd readied myself to argue my case for being Dalton's friend, but I didn't have the desire. "Mom. He needed someone, and it was me. Just leave it at that instead of making this into some big deal." I climbed the stairs. "I'm going to read in bed for a while."

She locked the front door and then headed toward the living room.

Nearly at the top step, I decided our interaction shouldn't end on a sour note. "Good night, Mom."

"Good night, sweetheart."

I darted up the last few steps and then to my room.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I smoothed the pages of the electric bill. Four hundred seventy-eight dollars and sixty-three cents! Initially, I was pissed that I was about to pay the full amount, since I seriously doubted that Stacey had put the two hundred dollars I gave her toward the bill. But Dalton couldn't live in a house without electricity, and I had the money. It was no great shock when the auto-pay service quoted the full amount. So I paid the past due balance and then tossed my phone next to the still-open bag of nacho chips.

Sooner than later, a serious conversation with Stacey needed to occur. No doubt, it would be an awkward discussion. After all, I was sixteen years old, and she was the full-grown adult. Although willing to help Dalton any way I could, I was not going to be Stacey's source of cash on hand.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The next morning, I was still pissed off about Stacey's lack of concern for Dalton's injury and all the money I'd spent. I quickly realized that if I seized control of the situation, I'd feel better about my permanent role in Dalton's life. To not be taken advantage of, I needed to stand my ground and lay down the law with her. Hopefully she'd understand that my generosity was not a guaranteed handout. But if she didn't like what I had to say, I anticipated the possibility that she'd kick me out of her house and demand that I never see Dalton again.

I sat at the kitchen island, eating my usual bowl of vanilla hemp granola. Thinking about my pending conversation with Stacey, I was at a loss as to how to navigate the discussion. The only person I'd truly feel comfortable confiding in was Nana. She would never judge me harshly or talk more than listen. I knew she'd give me the advice I needed to hear.

Once I finished eating breakfast, I strolled outside to a patio chair to call her.

Gracious and accommodating as ever, Nana listened to my story about Dalton, from day one till last night. There was a long pause following my last spoken word.

"Nana? Are you there?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm here. Give me a moment."

All my life, Nana had never suffered a loss for words. Nervous energy coiled in the pit of my stomach.

Finally. "First, let me say that I'm very proud of you. Not so long ago, you would have steered clear of any involvement with a young boy in need. It was a selfless gesture for you to look after Dalton's well-being."

"Dad told me I'm too wrapped up in myself."

"Well, he's correct."

"Really? You think that too?"

"I've thought that. However, you seemed to have cast that crutch aside so you could help this boy."

I exhaled heavily.

"You're sighing. Are you slouching as well?"

Straightening my posture, I replied, "No. So what should I do?"

"I'm going to be up-front with you, Spencer. You're setting yourself up to be this woman's enabler. The more you give, the more she will expect it. You need to draw the line now, not later. The longer you wait, the harder it will be for you to pull yourself out of the situation."

"Yeah, that makes sense."

"Don't drag your feet."

"How do you think I should handle Dalton?"

"Continue to be his friend. It sounds like he needs one. But if the time comes for children's services to step in, you can't hesitate to make that phone call."

I cringed at the possibility. "I know."

*   *   *

When I arrived at Dalton's house, the driveway was empty. I assumed Stacey was gone for the day, and maybe the night since it was her day off. And if she received a weekly paycheck, then she was probably out spending money on something other than food and utility bills. But the truth be told, her absence provided a wave of relief. I was anxious about the conversation I wanted to have with her, and I still hadn’t worked out exactly what I wanted to say.

I asked Dalton if he was okay with me inviting my friends to spend the day with us. Because he didn’t mind, I reached out to everyone but only Aiden was immediately available. The three of us met at a restaurant in Camden Heights for lunch, and then we went to the movie theater to watch Spider-Man: Far from Home. Afterward, we made a trip to The Frozen Parlor for ice cream.

"I need to stop by Russo's," I said as we walked outside.

"What's that?" Dalton asked.

"It's a framing shop. I gotta pick up my birthday gift for Bailey."

"Of course, photography." Aiden nudged me in the ribs. "I got him some DSquared clothes."

"Like what?"

"Swim briefs, shorts, shirts." He pointed at the olive-green T-shirt he wore. "I got this and a cool deconstructed jacket."

"Nice." I aimed my fob at the Jeep. "I managed to find a set of rare Herb Ritts prints. At least, I was told they're pretty rare."

"Of what?"

"Kate Moss and a Great Dane. They're really nice shots, actually."

Dalton appeared bored by our conversation.

Glancing at the time on my phone, I said, "It was good day, right?"

He agreed with a nod.

"I ate too much," Aiden said.

"Me too," I replied. "I feel fat."

Dalton chuckled. "You're not fat. You're stuffed from eating."

"Which makes me feel fat." I opened the back door. "It's almost six o'clock. After I run into Russo's, I gotta get you home."

Disappointed, he mumbled, "Yeah, I guess."

We dropped Aiden off at his house and then headed to Englewood Park. On the way, Dalton complained that his finger hurt. Sounding like a parent, I reminded him that he needed to take his painkillers.

"It totally sucks," he said, "that I can't go swimming."

"It gives you something to look forward to."

"Since it's Bailey's birthday, guess I won't see you this weekend."

"Maybe we can hang out Sunday."

He muttered. "Uh, huh."

"It's just one day. Plus, we won't be able to see each other every day. Especially after school starts."

He remained silent during the remainder of the trip. When we arrived at his house, he groaned. "Oh, great. My mom's home."

A frothy, acidic soup of anxiety simmered in my stomach, slowly rising and building tension in my chest. Never comfortable with confrontation, I feared a verbal showdown with Stacey. My churning stomach reminded me of how nervous I’d been the time I had to tell my parents how badly I’d performed on an exam at school. The suspense of waiting for their reaction was the worst.

Dalton and I sauntered to the front door with measured steps, as if postponing something neither of us wanted to face.

Inside, a news anchor talked on the television.

"The power's back on," I said.

Stacey's bare feet thumped down the hall. The moment she saw us in the living room, she froze as though looking at two strangers. Her posture slackened. "Oh, hey. You're home."

"Hi, Mom."

She padded to the couch and slouched onto the cushion. Lighting a cigarette, she asked, "Did you guys have a good time?"

"Yeah. We saw the new Spider-Man movie."

"Cool." Eyes glued to the TV, she said, "Did you guys eat dinner? I brought some leftover Chinese home. I hardly ate it. There's a couple egg rolls and some fried rice."

I tapped Dalton on the shoulder. "You need to take your pill."

"Fine." He strolled to the hall then to his bedroom.

"So the electricity got turned back on."

She flicked ashes into an empty beer can. "Oh yeah, I know. It was annoying as hell being in the dark all the time."

"Even though you didn't pay the two hundred dollars I gave you, I paid the whole amount."

"What?" Standing, she asked, "You wanna beer?"

I followed her to the kitchen. "I paid the full amount. But I can't keep spending money like that. I mean, I offered to pay the electric bill, so—"

"Oh, yeah. Thank you. And hey, I told you, I'll pay you back." She inched closer, working her jaw like she was chewing a tiny piece of gum. In a hushed tone, she said, "I got some money coming."

"Great. I'm sure that will help out a lot."

"Yeah, no shit, man." She offered me a can of beer. When I shook my head, she opened the tab and swallowed half the beer like she was dying of thirst. "Yeah, so I'll have a good chunk of cash soon. I can totally pay you back."

"Don't say you will if you really won't."

"No, no. For real. Seriously. I'm gonna get . . . " She stepped up to me, practically nose to nose. "My uncle . . . he's always had money . . . and yeah, so he's like . . . " Blinking like she had something caught in her eye, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Okay, okay. Here's the deal. My uncle has money. And he's on his way out. When that happens, I'll finally have enough money for a new start."

"On his way out? A new start?"

"Dead. And yeah, a new start. Look at the shithole we're living in."

"You're going to move into a new house?"

"Shh. I haven't told Dalton yet." She waved her hand at the living room and then returned to the couch. "Don't say anything to anyone."

Down the hall, the toilet flushed, then the bathroom door creaked open. A moment later, Dalton entered the living room with a smile. "I took my pill."

Next to the couch, I scrutinized Stacey's wide-eyed expression. Setting my sight on Dalton, I said, "Good. Maybe in a few days you can stop taking them."

Stacey had caught me off guard with her secret about moving to a new house. Not sure what to believe, I still needed to focus on Dalton. "Well, you know tomorrow's kinda hectic. So we can do something on Sunday, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." He followed me to the front door. "Thanks for taking me to the movie."

"No problem. It was pretty good, don't you think?"

"Uh, huh."

On the porch, I whispered, "You still have the money I gave you?"

"Yeah."

"If you don't want your mom's leftover Chinese, you should order a pizza or something."

"Maybe."

He wrapped his arms around me, and I didn't hesitate to tighten my grip in return. "Good night, Dalton. I'll see you soon."

"Night."

A new start?

Clinging to a financial godsend from a soon-to-be deceased uncle seemed like an improper wish for rescue. Ten thousand dollars . . .  twenty-five thousand . . . fifty thousand . . . how much did she plan to gain? Would it truly be enough to launch Stacey's life onto a positive and healthy path?

Based on what I'd witnessed, I expected Stacey to spend the money on alcohol and drugs. If her uncle's check was a generous amount, I seriously doubted she could resist spending a chunk of cash on illegal substances. I'd seen Stacey put her needs before Dalton's. Of course she'd carry out that same routine. Bad habits were difficult to break.

Where did she intend to move? A house in a better neighborhood? A town halfway across the state?

Now that I'd grown attached to Dalton, I didn't want to see him go. Yet a part of me hoped that Stacey would provide a better, healthier life for him. In the end, that was more important than my intention to see him on a regular basis. Even if they moved out of town, it didn't mean that he and I couldn't continue our friendship.

*   *   *

Sweat dripped onto my chest and the belt of the treadmill as I finished my last sprint. Blood pumping and breathing heavily, I decreased the speed to a brisk walk. Wiping the sweat from my eyes, I admired my reflection in the mirror across the gym. I was proud of the physique I'd acquired though dedication and hard work. As an embarrassed, puny teen, my motivation had been influenced by vanity. Now I simply wanted to be fit and healthy.

The gym wasn't busy for a late Saturday morning. I enjoyed the chance to work out without any friends distracting me or extending the time at the gym longer than necessary. Even sitting alone at the nearby smoothie shop with my post-workout shake was nice.

While I sipped on my Power Protein and scrolled through the feed on my Instagram, I realized that I was perfectly fine with the Wyatt Five becoming less of a clique. I loved my friends, but it was okay for me to stray from the group's orbit. We didn't need to further nurture the artificial umbilical cord we'd constructed.

Getting involved with Dalton had strengthened my independence. I could survive outside the Wyatt Five as an individual free of my dear friends' expectations.

Willow had already made her move.

It was time for me to make mine.

*   *   *

The common denominator for the five of us was a three-week period in 2002 when we were born. Starting with Bailey and ending with Willow, we entered the world within days of each other. Our mothers had established friendships, frequently meeting for playdates and the occasional mommy-needs-a-break retreat. Although the demands of life had eventually weakened our parents' friendships, the bond between the five of us had only solidified over the years.

When I arrived at Bailey's house, several cars were already parked on a bricked visitor's lot near the far end of the house. Near the garage, I pulled up next to Willow's and Aiden's vehicles. After sending a quick text to Maya asking her whereabouts, I unloaded the framed photographs from the back of my Jeep.

A familiar but unexpected voice asked, "Did you wrap those gifts yourself?"

Turning, I scoffed at my ex-girlfriend, Faryn. "Are you kidding? If the shop didn't wrap these, I would have brought them in a paper bag."

I hadn't seen or heard from Faryn since the night I'd ignored her text. So to see her mere feet away, smiling and teasing me, was not what I'd envisioned when I imagined a string of scenarios that might transpire at Bailey's birthday party.

She gently touched my arm and playfully rolled her pale blue eyes. "Please, like you'd give Bailey a gift in a grocery bag."

Faryn and I had dated at the beginning of our sophomore year. Our relationship lasted five months. She'd latched onto me like we were an engaged couple taking our time selecting the perfect wedding date. The near-constant attached-at-the-hip wore me down. It's the reason I determined that marrying young was a big no-no for me. But I'd ended our relationship for two reasons. One, she and her closest girlfriends had compared notes about their boyfriends' finer attributes. Looks, body, personality, sex, et cetera. And once word got around about their list, I was not happy or flattered by it. Second, at the school's winter dance, I'd found her huddled in a dark corner with some friends spooning small amounts of "snow" up her nose. I didn't care how cool some of my friends thought drugs were, I wasn't putting any toxic crap into my body. And the fact that she did—on the sly, no less—made her a lot less attractive to me.

As a gesture of kindness, I waited until after Christmas to break it off with her.

"I got him a gift card." She ran her hands through her dark brown hair, causing her shirt to rise and expose a bit of tanned midriff. "Two hundred fifty dollars at Diesel."

"His favorite jeans," I replied. "Must have been on the list."

She groaned. "Oh, God. Are you still upset about that? Seriously, you shouldn't be. I mean, you were number one or two in almost every category."

"Number four in one category," I reminded her. "Since you're out here talking to me, you and Tanner must've broken up, I guess."

Touching my arm again, she teased, "Are you jealous?"

I forced a laugh. "Yeah, right! He's an asshole because of what he did to Maya."

She shrugged as if I referred to Tanner yanking on Maya's hair in the third grade. But she knew what I was referring to. Practically everyone knew what Tanner had done the day after. "That was a long time ago."

"No. It was only ten months ago."

"Whatever. It's too hot out here." Tugging on my shirt, she stepped toward the house. "Let's go inside."

Reluctantly, I followed her to the front door. Within moments of us walking inside, Bailey rushed to greet us.

Curiosity colored his expression. "Hey, guys."

I cocked my head to the side and widened the gap between Faryn and me. "We ran into each other outside."

A quick scan of the faces in the background and I spotted Aiden leaning against the wall near the dining room.

"Oh." Bailey's interest zeroed in on the wrapped items in my arms. Excitedly, he said, "I know what that is. Let's take it to my room."

"Now?"

"Yeah. We'll find the perfect spot on my wall."

"Okay." I headed toward the staircase without a parting glance in Faryn's direction. "Will this be the first gift you open?"

He lifted his arm, presenting a cool duo-toned Gucci watch. "My parents gave me this."

"Very nice."

At the top of the stairs, he raised his eyebrows. "So what's up with you and Faryn? Backtracking?"

"Nothing's up. And backtracking? You said you might start dating Tessa again. You're backtracking, not me." I set the wrapped frames onto his bed. "I'm looking to the future, not the past. Why is she here?"

"I invited her. She was asking about you. So I thought you might like to spend more time with a girl than a little boy."

Annoyed but not wanting to start the party on a sour note, I said, "Nice gesture. But I was done with her when it ended."

He ripped the shiny, navy-blue paper from the first frame. Inhaling deeply as if shocked, he pulled me to his side with a one-armed hug. "Oh, they're fucking beautiful, Spencer. Thank you." After tearing the paper from the second frame, he planted a kiss on the side of my head. "You're the best. Thank you."

"I'm sure I don't need to give you any info about the photos."

"Kate Moss by Herb Ritts."

"Don't forget the Great Dane."

"Yeah, the dog looks good too."

I lifted a frame and stepped toward the wall. "The guy at Russo's and I thought the oversize gallery matte would look great. But now they look a little too big for your private exhibition."

"They do look great. But I'll have to figure out where to hang them tomorrow." He gripped the belt loop of my jeans. "Let's go celebrate my birthday."

I'd breathed the oxygen of the Wyatt Five for so long that I'd restricted the strength of relationships with people I liked and cared about. As the night progressed, I found myself chatting with friends outside the Wyatt Five orbit. For me, the first step in claiming my independence was a minor breakthrough in the grand scheme of things. I wasn't sure why I'd felt uneasy, as if I'd betray my best friends simply by hanging out with someone other than our tight-knit group. It was the natural course of action closing in on the inevitable separation when the five of us ventured off to college.

Still, at the end of the night, I was the last friend to leave.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A hike through Borderland State Park wasn't what Dalton expected when I picked him up early Sunday afternoon. He didn't appear too excited by the spontaneous excursion through the woods. Yet once I explained that it would be nice to get out of the city for a while, he agreed with more enthusiasm.

I had an ulterior motive for driving Dalton thirty minutes away from home. In town, there were distractions. And I didn't feel comfortable asking about his home life or his relationship with his mother if strangers could overhear our conversation.

After walking a trail in the sweltering ninety-degree heat, we settled on a concrete bench near the Ames Mansion, a stone estate that reminded me of the homes in the English countryside. Vibrant green ivy stretched high along the boxy, castle-like structure. Although the mansion was closed to the public, tourists and hikers meandered about.

Biting into a granola bar, Dalton said, "That mansion is bigger than your house."

"Yeah. I think it's over twelve thousand square feet."

"I can't believe people lived in there."

"It was built by a husband and wife. Actually, I think she designed it. He was a botanist. And she was an artist and inventor."

"Cool."

I gave him a bottled water from my backpack. "Did you like hiking the trail?"

"Yeah, except for the mosquitos."

Agreeing, I replied, "I didn't even think about bringing bug spray."

We ate our granola bars in silence, then I asked, "How are things at home?"

"Fine."

"Good. And your mom?"

"What about her?"

"How's she doing?"

"Fine. Why are you asking me about her?"

I allowed a moment of silence to linger as I debated whether to be coy or up-front. I chose the latter. "Does she drink alcohol and do other things all the time? Or is just sometimes?"

Sighing, he fidgeted with the water bottle, crinkling the plastic as he stared off into the distance. "She does it a lot."

"I'm sorry."

He swigged the last of his water.

"Is that why children's services check up on you?"

"They haven't stopped by the house in a long time."

The tidbit of information surprised me. I assumed the authorities would visit until satisfied that all was fine in the household. "The day we met, you asked if I was checking up on you, so I thought that—"

"Do we have to talk about this now?"

"No." Crouching, I unzipped my backpack. "We won't talk about it now. But you can talk to me about any of that stuff, okay? It's good to have someone to talk to."

"Uh, huh."

I shoved the granola wrappers into a side pocket. "Let's go. We can stop by the bookstore first, then eat dinner somewhere before I take you home."

He walked a few steps ahead of me. Since I'd obviously made him uncomfortable, I let him take the lead for a while, and I followed.

*   *   *

The remainder of our time together resumed its usual pleasant vibe. Grateful to see his smiling face untainted by my probing questions, Dalton and I returned to his house soon after eating dinner. I could have dropped him off and pulled away from the curb with a wave but walking him into the house provided me with a sense of peace. If there was no party or angry mother to contend with, then I wouldn't worry about him during the time we didn't see each other.

The instant we walked through the door, I saw Stacey sitting on the couch and twirling her unkempt hair with one finger.

"Oh, hey. There you are." She rose to her feet. The smile on her face was broad and cheerful. "I got really good news."

"Oh, yeah?" Dalton said, doubtful. "What good news?"

She moved swiftly to him and grasped his shoulders. "You and I can finally get the hell outta here."

"What? Outta where? The house?"

"Hell yeah, this shithole house." She glanced at me quickly before returning to the couch. "Mommy's gonna get a lot of money in a few days. Then we're outta here. New life. New start. New everything."

Dalton set the bookstore bag onto a wooden chair in the corner.

"Your uncle?" I asked.

"What?" She lit a cigarette then exhaled. "Yeah, yeah. My uncle. Just like I told you."

Dalton faced his mother. "What are you talking about?"

"My uncle," she muttered as she walked to the kitchen. "My uncle died, and I get a big check that he's been keeping from me for years."

"Where's our new house?"

"I don't know yet." She grabbed a beer from the fridge and opened the tab. "We'll go see my mom in Rochester. Then we'll figure out—"

"No!" Dalton stomped his foot. "You mean move far away?"

She chuckled. "Yeah. I don't wanna stay here. We're done with this fucking town, Dalton. We're leaving and never looking back."

He anchored his sight on me and then burst into tears. "No. I don't wanna move away. What about Spencer? What about my friends at school?"

"You'll make new friends. And Spencer can visit or whatever."

"I don't wanna move," he cried.

Her smile might have melted, but her voice took on an icy tone. "Really? This is how you're gonna act? A tantrum?"

Dalton stormed to the front door, flung it open, and then shouted "I fucking hate you" before running outside.

She spit out a sigh and slumped onto the couch. "What a fucking brat." Setting her cigarette in the ashtray, she flicked a finger at me. "I'm counting on you."

"Me? For what?"

"Get him on the right track so I don't have to deal with this kinda bullshit when it's time to move."

Why it was my responsibility to make Dalton see the silver lining, I didn't understand. But I obeyed her demand anyway.

Outside, Dalton was nowhere to be seen. I rushed to the curb and spotted him walking frantically near the end of the block. "Dalton!" I called out, but he ignored me.

I sprinted down the sidewalk, turned the corner, and then caught up to him before he reached the next street.

"Hey," I said, touching his shoulder. "It's going to be okay."

"No, it won't."

Forcing him to stop walking, I replied, "You don't know. Maybe everything will be better just like she said."

"Ha. Yeah, right! If she makes me move, I'll hate her forever."

"Don't say that." Tapping my shoe against the concrete steps of a closed business, I said, "Maybe this really is your mom's chance to make things better."

"By moving?"

"I don't know how your mom got caught up in the bad crap she's involved in. But maybe she really wants a fresh start. You should find out exactly what her plan is before you throw a fit."

Lowering his chin, he said, "What if I never see you again?"

"You will. Maybe we'll see each other more than you think."

"What if she wants to move far away?"

"Have you ever been on a plane before?"

"No."

"I guess your first flight will be to come visit me, then." Massaging his shoulders, I directed him back toward his street. "Find out what your mom's plan is, then we'll figure out the rest, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

On the way back to his house, I dreaded the conversation that was about to take place between Dalton and his mother. Of course I wanted to be supportive of her plan for a fresh start and his wish to not move far away, but my friendship with Dalton had its limits. I wasn't a family member. I was powerless.

The moment we walked inside, it was clear that Stacey hadn't set aside her anger. She crossed her arms and leaned back. "Still gonna give me a hard fucking time? Or are you done with your tantrum?"

Without uttering a word, Dalton removed the bookstore bag from the chair and then sat.

"Sometimes I need to make big decisions that you won't like. But it's the best thing for both of us. You'll see."

"Where are we moving?"

Tilting her head back, she rubbed a hand across her face. "I told you, we're gonna go see my mom. As soon as I get the money, we're outta here. Maybe in a few days."

"A few days?" he whined.

"Yeah, Dalton. In a few days!" she shouted as she stood. "I don't have time for an argument or another tantrum."

"But—"

"I mean it!" She marched down the hall. "I'm tired. I gotta go to work in the morning. Say good night to your friend."

The slam of her bedroom door caused me to flinch.

He looked at me with defeat in his eyes and then snapped, "I told you I'm never gonna see you again."

I moved to his chair and knelt. "And I told you, we'll see each other more than you think we will."

"I don't even know my grandma."

"You've never met her?"

"A long time ago."

In an attempt to lighten the mood, I smiled and slapped my hand onto his knee. "I'm sure she'll be really happy to see you guys again."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm trying to—"

"You should go home now."

My heart panged with rejection. "I can stay for—"

"Go home." He jumped to his feet and then marched down the hall. When he slammed his bedroom door, I flinched just as I had a minute earlier.

Standing, I shoved my hands into my pockets. I waited, expecting Dalton to return to the living room. When he didn't, I strolled out the front door.

I wondered if Dalton would have been better off never having met me. He wouldn't be angry about possibly not seeing me again. Maybe he would have looked forward to a fresh start somewhere new. The prospect of moving away from Englewood Park might have excited him.

*   *   *

I awoke and immediately sensed a change in the air. Although I was bummed about Dalton moving away, I also thought Stacey might be serious about her plans for the money she'd receive from her dead uncle. Dalton's life might be headed toward a better life. That was good. I just had to trust that Stacey was doing the right thing. But I didn't know her well enough to determine how sincere she was about her plans.

Stacey and Dalton's pending departure within the week wasn't the shift in the atmosphere I'd detected, however. There was a charge in the air like that of an approaching thunderstorm. And that disturbance became abundantly clear when I descended the stairs and saw four large Louis Vuitton suitcases in the foyer.

I heard Meghan's voice before I reached the bottom step.

"—so nice there, Mom. We should get a house in Naples, so we can go during the winter."

"A second house in Florida?"

"Yeah. Charlotte McGregor's family has a house not far from the beach. We could be neighbors."

Of course Meghan was already trying to convince our mother that our parents needed to buy a second million-dollar home. A house that she and her pretentious, fashionable friends could retreat to whenever she wanted, of course.

Meghan walked out of the kitchen, shrieking with glee when she lay eyes on me. "Hey, sleepyhead!" Embracing me, she added, "Your buzzed head looks great."

"Thanks." Although our personalities have always clashed, it was nice to see her for the first time in months. "You just get here?"

"Charlotte and I spent the night in Boston, then drove home first thing this morning."

Tan skin and sun-lightened hair, Meghan looked great as usual. It would have been a shock if she were dressed casually and makeup-free. In contrast to her stylish outfit of designer jeans and blouse, I wore basketball shorts and a frayed Camden Athletics T-shirt. I hadn't even brushed my teeth or washed my face yet.

My mother caressed Meghan's shoulder. "We're going to meet your father for lunch," she said to me. "Would you like to join us?"

"I think I'm going to go see Dalton."

"But your sister's finally back home."

I traced my fingers along the prickly ends of my hair. "Dalton and his mom might be moving soon."

"And what? You volunteered to help?"

"Moving far away," I clarified. "He's not happy about it at all. So I thought I should spend some time with him."

"Dalton who?" Meghan asked.

"Your brother's befriended a troubled boy."

Meghan wrinkled her nose in confusion as though our mother had spoken in code. "At school? Like a gang member or something?"

The question sounded so ridiculous that I failed to suppress a loud, sarcastic snicker. "Seriously? Gang members at Wyatt High? And no, he's an eleven-year-old boy I met a few weeks ago."

Evidently still confused, she cast a sideways glance at our mother. "I'm going to unpack."

The moody glint in my mother's eyes signaled that she wasn't done speaking to me. So I stayed rooted to my spot like a chess pawn as Meghan rolled a piece of luggage to the stairs and then dragged it up the steps with a thump on each wooden tread.

"Can't you see your friend later?"

"No. They're probably leaving in a few days."

"Where?"

"I have no idea."

She clasped her hands at the waist and sighed. "Well, you're having dinner with your family tonight."

"All right."

"I'm serious. No excuses."

"I said all right."

"Soften your tone."

"Sorry," I muttered as I sidestepped her to walk to the kitchen. "I will be home for dinner. No excuses."

The sudden reappearance of Meghan wasn't something I wanted to deal with the same week that Stacey planned to move Dalton to a new town against his will. My sister and I were not mortal enemies, but we sometimes took great pains to tolerate each other. Especially for our parents' sakes. If she or I pushed the wrong button, then the other would assume defensive mode. And I didn't want to deal with that drama in addition to possibly playing referee between Dalton and his mother.

Now that Meghan was home, my mother apparently considered quality family time of importance. When I had essentially complained about the lack thereof, I guess it hadn't qualified as a legitimate complaint. However, I didn't have the energy to moan and groan about it. Maybe it was my pride that kept me from telling my mother how wounded I felt at that moment. But I also had other pressing matters on my mind.

Where did Stacey plan on moving to? And when? Would Dalton and I maintain a friendship after they fled Englewood Park? How long would I constantly worry about his well-being after they were gone?

Meeting Dalton had affected my life in a far-reaching way, so I knew I wouldn't easily forget him over time. But how much of an impact had I impressed upon his life? In the end, would it be easy for him to forget about me?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Weeks earlier I had thrived blissfully unaware of the mechanics of life occurring outside my selfish comfort zone. Unless something directly and instantly affected me, I wouldn't have contemplated and analyzed much of what loomed on the fringes of my existence. Now that I'd paid attention to something other than myself and my four best friends, I experienced sensory overload. I was being stretched like emotional taffy, thinning and drooping before the break.

The dramatics between Meghan and me.

Maya's birthday on Wednesday.

The expectations thrust upon me by my mother, now that Meghan had graced us with her presence.

Stacey's intention to escape her troubled life in Englewood Park.

Her demand that I influence Dalton to be on board with her plan.

Dalton's reliance on me for emotional support.

Maybe I was so far up my own ass that I hadn't recognized that I'd firmly stepped outside my comfort zone into the real world.

No matter how much I tried to concentrate on the scenery during the drive to Englewood, my thoughts blurred every color and angle I saw. I cursed myself for stressing minor issues as if they were major problems I had to wrestle and pin to the mat. But my life was neither complicated nor turbulent, the inconveniences of my life paled in comparison to the change Dalton would soon experience.

When I saw that Stacey's car wasn't in the driveway, a part of me feared that they'd already hit the road to Rochester. I also worried that Dalton might still be angry with me. I didn't know what he'd expected me to do or say while his mother ranted on about moving, since it was clear that my lack of involvement in his favor had disappointed him.

"Hey." He let the door swing open as he walked to the couch. "My mom said we're going to my grandma's on Friday or Saturday."

I released the air from my lungs, ready to provide optimistic words about the wonderful things that might come with moving. But I knew he didn't want to hear it and likely wouldn't believe it, anyway.

"Did your mom say anything about where you're moving to?"

"No." He spooned cereal from a bowl on his lap and chewed. "She said she's gonna get the money tomorrow or Wednesday. She doesn't want anyone to know, so we're leaving on her day off."

"She's not even going to tell her job that she's quitting?"

Draining the bowl of milk, he muttered, "I guess not."

"I know you're not very excited about it, but we—"

"No shit."

I sat on the arm of the couch, the wood under the thin upholstery digging into my ass cheek. "Don't be mad at me."

"I'm not. I'm mad that I have to move."

There were no empty boxes, rolls of bubble wrap, or packing tape indicating that a move was about to take place. The living room and what I could see of the kitchen looked the same as the first day I'd sneaked into the house—a perpetual state of bleakness. Perhaps Stacey didn't yet have the money needed to prepare for the move.

Dalton peeled the bandage from his finger and then tossed it to the coffee table.

"Does it still hurt?" I asked.

"Not really."

"That's good." I followed him to the kitchen. "I thought maybe we could go buy you a suitcase."

"Jeez. You're ready for me to get the hell outta here, huh?"

"No!"

"Why do I need a suitcase?"

"For your clothes and books. But also you can use it for when you come to visit me."

He huffed. "Do you really think that's gonna happen?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

Shrugging, he headed back to the living room. "Fine. Let's go."

A couple of hours later, we were in his bedroom arranging books into one of two suitcases when we heard the front door open and then close with a slam.

"Dalton!" Stacey called from the hall. "Hey!"

"What?"

In the doorway, frenzy in her movements and near-panic etched onto her face, she said, "I got something important to do. I won't get home until late."

"At work?"

"Work? No, not at work. I got Jeremy to cover the rest of my damn shift." She eyed the two suitcases. "You're packing. Good. Don't worry about packing all your clothes. You're growing out of 'em anyway." Scratching her head, she pursed her lips with irritation. "Shit! I gotta take a shower." As she stomped to her bedroom, she mumbled, "Fuck, fuck, shit. Dammit."

Drawers were opened and closed. Profanity was muttered. Feet thudded to the bathroom.

"I should go," I said. "I have to eat dinner with my family tonight."

As we walked to the front door, Dalton asked, "Are you coming over tomorrow too?"

"Yeah, of course. I'll see you every day until you guys leave."

He smiled. "Okay."

I'd walked halfway through the yard when Dalton shouted, "Hey."

Turning, I tilted my head and grinned. "Now what?"

"I'm gonna miss you." Then he rushed inside.

*   *   *

Family dinner consisted of insalata mista, rosemary garlic focaccia, and puttanesca. Meghan was the moderator of boring conversation, inundating us with stories about Naples, and trips across Alligator Alley to eat lunch and shop at Bal Harbour. We went to the beach and blah, blah, blah. We ate brunch at the Ritz Carlton Golf Resort and blah, blah, blah. Charlotte's cousin, Oliver is so sweet and good looking and blah, blah, blah.

I'd so successfully entertained myself with twisting linguine on my fork that I didn't realize Meghan and my parents were staring at me, apparently waiting for my response.

"Uh, sorry. What?"

"Friday night," Meghan said. "Please, say you'll go."

Oh, crap. Dumbstruck, I asked, "Go where?"

Widening her eyes and batting her long lashes, she groaned. "You haven't been paying attention at all."

"Yeah, I have. You said Oliver was hot and some other stuff."

"Uh, yeah. The other stuff is that his family is in town. His sister is seventeen. I showed her a picture of you, and she thinks you're really good-looking. And I wanted to know if you'd go on a double date with us on Friday night."

"Huh? A double date? Why?"

"So his sister can go out and have some fun too."

"Really? Can't you ask someone else?" I shifted uncomfortably in my seat but tried to play it off as a casual adjustment of my posture. "And what does she even look like?"

"It'll be fun," our father remarked. "You haven't been out on a date in a long time."

"Big deal," I said. "This is, like, a blind date. I've never been on an effing blind date before."

"You might like this girl," our mother said. "Do your sister a favor and go out on Friday night."

Surrendering against my will, I sighed. "Fine. I'll go."

Meghan gasped with delight. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Spencer. It'll be fun. I promise."

*   *   *

The following morning, I cast an amused but sympathetic glance at Monica as she walked to the laundry room with her arms overloaded with clothes up to her chin.

"Looks fun," I said.

"I don't know how your sister is going to get all these clothes to school in the fall."

"Oh, please. She'll probably overnight them in a sealed container. But school doesn't start for another month. I'm sure there'll be a lot more added to her wardrobe before she leaves."

My phone chimed an email notification. The two copies I'd ordered of American Savage had arrived at the bookstore. Excited by the news, I jumped to my feet.

"Have fun with Meghan's laundry," I teased before running out of the room and upstairs.

Two steps from the front door, my mother called my name from the living room. "Where are you running off to?"

"To the bookstore and then to Dalton's."

She adjusted the collar to her lavender silk blouse. "Thank you for agreeing to go on the double date with your sister."

"I still don't know why she wants to drag his sister out. Meghan and that guy—"

"Oliver."

"Wouldn't Meghan and Oliver prefer to be alone?"

"It's a nice gesture to his sister."

"I guess."

"It is." She grabbed her phone from a side table and then walked to the foyer. "When will you be home?"

"I don't know. Later this afternoon, maybe. Bailey wants to go to the gym later. And we still need to buy Maya's birthday gift."

"Goodness' sake, Spencer. You should have a gift already."

"I know, but it slipped my mind."

She motioned to the door. "Go on, then. Let me know when you'll be home."

"I will."

*   *   *

Another late-morning arrival at Dalton's house. Stacey's car sat in the driveway, but no one answered my knock on the front door. A quick twist of the knob confirmed that it was locked. Instead of knocking harder, I walked through the yard to the back. Like before, it only took a little muscled effort to nudge the back door open.

Stepping into the kitchen, the house no longer possessed the air of restriction and repression. I'd grown so accustomed to being inside that I no longer dwelt on the dusty surfaces, the beer cans scattered about, or the stench of cigarettes and cannabis. I didn't walk with cautious steps or a sense of unease. I felt strangely comfortable strolling down the hall to Dalton's bedroom.

One tap on his door, and it unlatched on its own.

Seated on the mattress, he looked up from the pages of a book. "Jeez. You almost scared me."

"Almost?"

"I saw your face."

I chuckled. "Oh, my face is scary?"

"I saw your face after you almost scared me."

The books that had lined the wall were gone. Clothes that had been thrown to the floor were elsewhere.

"Did you pack?"

Standing, he said, "Yeah. I threw most of the clothes in the closet, though. Since Mom said I'm getting new clothes, I'm only taking the things I like."

"Is she home?"

"I don't think so."

"Her car's in the driveway."

"Maybe she already quit."

"You think?"

He shrugged as he ushered me to the hall. "She came home at, like, four in the morning. She probably didn't want to get up for work."

"Maybe she's not even home."

Dalton cracked open her bedroom door and peeked inside. "Yep. She's sleeping. I bet she quit." Quietly clicking the door closed, he added, "And who cares? We're leaving in, like, three days, anyway."

"What?" she yelled in muffled exasperation.

Cracking the door open again, he said, "Your car's here, so I was checking if you were home."

"Well, I am."

"Did you quit already?"

"No. They think I'm sick."

I retreated to the arm of the couch, where I couldn't discern her mumbled words, but Dalton said "goodbye" and then appeared at my side without a hint at his mood.

"Are you hungry?" I asked. "We can eat lunch at Camden Cuisine then go to the bookstore. American Savage came in."

His face brightened. "Really?"

Outside, I tousled his unruly head of hair. "I looked it up, and it only takes five and half hours to drive to Rochester. And a flight is only ninety minutes."

"I don't know if that's where we're gonna live."

"Well, if it is, I want you to know that it's not too far for a visit."

*   *   *

At the restaurant, Dalton and I had just ordered our meals when Bailey and Maya walked through the door. Within the fraction of a second, Bailey spotted us as if endowed with high-tech radar. Moments later, he and Maya crammed their butts into our booth.

"Did you guys order?" he asked.

"Literally a minute ago."

"We're just in time," he said, waving a waitress to the table. "You know what you want, Maya?"

"If I'm forced to choose now, then yeah, I guess so."

Bailey nudged Dalton's shoulder. "Let me see your stitches."

Raising his hand for Bailey's inspection, Dalton said, "It doesn't even hurt anymore. I don't know why I still have them."

"Because," I interjected, "stitches help the wound heal."

Maya contorted her face. "I don't wanna see it."

The waitress arrived at our booth. "Do you need menus?"

"Nope," Bailey replied. "We know what we want."

The four of us remained a group from the restaurant to the bookstore and then to the coffeehouse. After our caffeine fix, we parted ways; Bailey and Maya headed to a clothing boutique while Dalton and I headed to my Jeep.

As I drove to Dalton's house, I caught him slyly reading the first pages of American Savage. "We're supposed to start at the same time."

"We will. I was just looking."

I focused on the cars in front of me. "I can't believe you're leaving in a few days."

"I can't either."

"Well, if your mom's still home, I want to ask her about her plans."

"If she has any."

"Meaning?"

"She only mentioned going to Grandma's. I have no idea what her plan is. She probably doesn't even know."

"If you're going to be in Rochester a while, we can plan a trip."

As expected, Stacey's car was still in the driveway. I tensed at the possibility that she might be in a bad mood. Or high. Rambling Stacey was just as off-putting as Venomous Stacey. Then it occurred to me that she might not want Dalton and I to maintain a friendship. She'd stated that once they left Englewood Park, she never wanted to look back. Maybe that included me as well.

I parked behind her Corolla and grabbed the bag of cookies I'd bought at the coffeehouse from the passenger seat.

"Is there food for dinner in the house?"

"Not really." Dalton hopped out of the Jeep.

"Do you still have some of the money I gave you?"

He shook his head as though embarrassed to answer aloud.

"Before I leave, I'll give you some, just in case."

Inside, I walked to the kitchen while Dalton headed toward his mother's bedroom. I set the cookies onto the small table and sat. The freezer emitted a whirling sound like it needed repairing. A small brown bird perched outside the kitchen window pranced from one end of the frame to the other.

Dalton screamed, "No!"

The ear-splitting plea scared the shit out of me, and I stumbled as I rushed to the hall.

There was a dull thud.

What the hell happened? Did she hit him? Did he hurt himself?

"Mom!"

Sprinting to Stacey's bedroom, it seemed as if every sound in the world had gone silent except for Dalton's screams. I didn't hear my pounding footsteps or my heavy breathing. Only the wailing of a hysterical boy rang in my ears.

I palmed the bedroom door so hard that it flung open and crashed against the wall. The faint scent of ammonia tickled my nostrils. On his knees, Dalton sobbed with his hands pressed to his eyes.

"Mom! Oh, my God! Mom!"

I dropped to a crouch and gripped his shoulders.

There was no need for me to ask him what was wrong. Stacey lay in bed with the sheet draped over her bare legs, her head lolled to the side, and a syringe still in her arm.

He lurched forward, flattening his hands against the floor. Panting heavily and sobbing, he stuttered, "W-way . . . wake . . . her uh-up."

She obviously wasn't sleeping, but I rushed to the bed anyway, if for no other reason than because he'd insisted I do something.

The color had drained from Stacey's face, leaving it ashy like chalk. Even her lips had lost their pink tone. She was dead, and I knew it. Yet I slowly reached out and touched her cheek. The lack of warmth shocked me but, for Dalton's sake, I resisted recoiling. I quickly rubbed my fingers on my tank top and then turned toward Dalton with my jaw taut and my fingers curled into my palms.

Staring at me, he screamed "Mom!" as if I'd communicated to him by telepathy.

My eyes watered and words tumbled out of my mouth like I had gravel in my throat. "Dalton, she's dead."

He screamed, "No!"

His voice filled my head with such anguished power that I wanted out of the bedroom as quickly as possible. I wrapped my arms around him, hoisted him to his feet, and carried him pressed against my chest to the living room like a life-size doll.

I set him on the couch and knelt. "I'm sorry, Dalton."

He stared past me to the wall like a mute zombie.

"Dalton. My phone's in the Jeep. I gotta go get it so we can call the police."

Wailing again, he practically collapsed against me.

I rubbed his back and whispered, "We need to call the cops."

As his body trembled, I kissed the top of his head. Seconds later, he sat upright and gazed at me with tears flooding his eyes.

"Are you going to be okay while I run out to the Jeep?"

He nodded with a whimper.

Sweat dotted my forehead. Anxiety thundered in my chest. On my feet, I ordered, "Stay here. I'll be right back."

As I hurried from the sofa, an urgent, heavy-handed pounding rattled the front door.

Startled, I froze mid-step.

"Stacey!" a male voice shouted.

Dalton cried again.

I opened the door to find myself face-to-face with the muscled man and another guy standing at the foot of the porch steps.

The man eyed me with curiosity. "Where's Stacey?"

"Uh. Um . . . she's—"

Pushing me aside, he entered and marched to Dalton. "Where the hell is your mother?"

Dalton pointed toward her bedroom, and the man raced to the hall.

On his heels, I followed and then paused in her doorway. "We just found her. A few minutes ago."

Next to the bed, he surveyed the scene and then touched her face. "Oh, Jesus. What the fuck? You stupid fucking bitch!"

"I was just running out to my Jeep to get my phone. I mean, 911 will send whoever's supposed to deal with this, right?"

Apparently shocked, he stared at me. "What?"

I turned and rushed down the hall. "I'm going to get my phone."

As I entered the living room, the man grabbed my arm and swung me off-balance. "What the fuck did you say?"

Staggering, I reached out for the wall. "I'm going to call 911."

"You ain't fucking calling nobody! You hear me?"

"But we need—"

A raging fire in his eyes, he charged at me and shoved me through the kitchen doorway. "You need to keep your fucking mouth shut. Now get in there and sit your ass on the couch."

"Are you serious?"

He brutally backhanded the side of my head. "Do you think I'm fucking joking?"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Blinded by blotchy shades of blackness and silvery star-like dots, I instinctively covered my right eye. A high-pitched ringing drilled through my ear like it had tripped a circuit board of nerves in my head. My hearing returned as if breaking the surface from being under-water. Before I fully recovered from the blow, the man yanked me forward by my tank top, tearing the fabric as he hauled me into the living room.

He tossed me to the couch, knocking Dalton to the side as I landed in a heap against him.

Poking his head outside, he said, "Get your ass in here, Troy."

The second man, as muscular as the first but not as terrifying, strolled inside and slammed the door. The long sleeves of his T-shirt were bunched up at the elbow, revealing a string of tattoos on his forearms. "Where's our shit?"

"I don't know. We gotta find it 'cause the damn bitch OD'd."

"Fuckin' A, Craig. You gotta be shittin' me."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

Nestled against my arm, Dalton breathed more heavily. Fearing that he was on the verge of hyperventilating, I reassuringly rubbed his back. "It's okay. Relax. We're going to be fine."

Craig yelled, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm trying to calm him down."

He kicked the coffee table, sending it across the room. In a squat, he wedged his arm between Dalton and me. "You know what your mom did with our shit?"

Dalton lowered his chin.

"Cat got your tongue? Or you don't know?"

"I don't know anything."

Craig clutched Dalton's injured hand.

Screaming out, Dalton pleaded, "Stop, stop! I don't know."

"He has stitches!" I yelled.

Craig moved close to me, nose to nose. Spit flying from his mouth, he shouted, "Shut the fuck up!"

Again, he squeezed Dalton's hand. "Are you lying to me?"

Howling in pain, Dalton fell back and kicked his feet. "Please. I'm not lying. I don't know anything."

Craig planted his hand on Dalton's face and shoved so hard that Dalton nearly fell off the couch.

Upright again, Dalton scooted to me. A thin line of blood trickled along his finger to the back of his hand.

"Whatever you're looking for," I said, "we'll help you find it. Then you can go."

"Help us?" Craig asked. "Do you know where our shit is?"

"I don't know anything either."

He studied me, peering directly into my eyes. "You ever shoot up or smoke meth with her?"

"No. I've never done drugs."

He laughed like he didn't believe me. "Never?"

"No. I swear."

"You're just this kid's friend, huh?"

"Yes. I swear I'm telling the truth. I don't do drugs. And I don't know what you guys are looking for."

"Last night, that bitch stole a stash worth a lot of money from us. And she also stole thirty-five thousand dollars, cash."

"We don't know anything about that."

Sniffling, Dalton said, "She told us she was getting money from a dead uncle."

Shaking his head, Craig chuckled as he glanced at Troy. "See? The damn bitch was planning this for a while."

Troy shrugged as if the information was meaningless. "Well, we're gonna have to tear the fucking house apart until we find it."

The unfolding scene pummeled me with a swelling panic that I struggled to keep hidden. But I couldn’t let Dalton sense my fear. If we were going to walk away from the situation unscathed, I needed to remain calm.

The revelation that Stacey had stolen drugs and money explained her erratic behavior during my last couple of visits. It also provided a reason for her sudden plan to move. Yet it provoked questions. Did Stacey really intend to visit her mother? If so, did her mother truly live in Rochester? Stacey had lied to me about the two hundred dollars. She'd lied about the uncle. Had she ever told me the truth?

"Get up!" Craig demanded.

Standing, Dalton and I didn't have a chance to say or do anything because Craig shoved us aside.

He searched inside each couch cushion and then jammed his hand into the gap of the bed as if desperately looking for loose change. Then he tipped the couch over and explored every inch of the underside.

Troy investigated a small closet next to the front door, tossing every clothing item, box, and shoe onto the living room floor.

The entertainment center. The TV. The few framed pictures on the wall. Two lamp shades. One tattered armchair. Everything was broken into pieces and inspected.

When Craig ordered us to the kitchen, Dalton didn't move an inch.

"Get your asses in here!" Craig yelled.

As I reached out to Dalton, Craig stormed into the room. I quickly positioned myself in front of Dalton, protecting him from the man's violence.

Seemingly amused by my defensive actions, Craig smirked. "You got the balls to take me on?"

"You're scaring him."

He took two steps closer. "You got the balls to take me on?"

My stance weakened and my torso quivered, but I stood my ground, even as my heart felt like it might explode.

Craig lunged forward and cupped my crotch in a tight grip.

The pain shot from my balls to my stomach within one aching heartbeat. I coughed the air from my lungs. My stomach convulsed. I resisted squirming from his grasp—the pain would only worsen.

With tears in my eyes and the threat of vomit rising in my throat, I hollered in agony. "No, I can't take you on. I'm sorry. Let me go."

"Stop!" Dalton shouted.

Pain still radiating from my crotch, Craig tugged me by the ear across the room.

Dalton had clutched the waistband of my jeans and staggered at my side as Craig thrust me into the kitchen.

When I regained my balance, Troy rushed up to me and punched me in the face. "Better learn to listen to what you're told," he said before walking away and yanking a door from an upper cabinet.

The wood clattered on the floor, inches from Dalton's feet.

Wincing, I opened my mouth wide and then moved my jaw back and forth. For a muscular guy, Troy had hit me with a lazy fist.

If the men wanted to beat me, I'd endure each blow as long as they didn't lay a hand on Dalton.

Craig told me to search the refrigerator while Dalton looked inside the oven and its bottom drawer. When neither of us found drugs or cash, the two men pulled the appliances from the wall and tipped them onto their sides. There was nothing to be discovered.

Huffing, Craig muttered, "All right. Let's search the bedrooms and the bathroom."

"No," Dalton pleaded. "I don't wanna go back there."

"You're not staying out here."

I begged, "Let me take him to his bedroom."

Craig grunted. "Fine!"

Ushering Dalton down the hall as quickly as possible, I mumbled, "Don't worry. This will be over soon."

The instant we passed his mother's room, he sobbed.

Troy stood in the hall, monitoring us as Craig ransacked Stacey's bedroom.

Thuds. Pounding. Thumps. Profanity. Breaking glass.

Minutes later, he yelled, "Shit! There's nothing here."

Troy worked on the bathroom while Craig tore through Dalton's room. Clothes and books were thrown about. The two suitcases were ripped apart. The mattress was shredded. Chunks of foam littered the floor like popcorn.

Incensed, Craig kicked his foot through the drywall. "Dammit."

Troy appeared in the doorway. "Nothing in the bathroom."

"Shit!" Craig pointed to the hall. "Get your asses back to the living room."

Joined at the hip, Dalton and I stood next to the destroyed couch. We watched Craig pace the room, muttering to himself, while Troy leaned against a wall and smoked a cigarette.

Craig faced us. "Where does you mom keep her car keys?"

"On the coffee table or maybe her purse."

He dashed out of the room. Moments later he rushed out the front door as if convinced he'd soon find what he was looking for.

The bright sunlight shining through the opened door teased me like a cruel joke leading to freedom. But it wasn't realistic to believe Dalton and I could escape the situation by running outside. Then what? We'd have one guy on our heels and another quick to pounce on us in the yard. And what if Troy caught Dalton but I managed to evade capture? I couldn't leave Dalton on his own.

Craig returned empty-handed.

"Now what?" Troy asked.

"We're not staying here." He snatched the pack of cigarettes from Troy's hand and then lit one. "Someone from her job will probably try to find out why she wasn't at work."

"What about our shit, man?"

"I'm thinking."

Troy flicked ash in my direction. "What about these two?"

Craig propped the cigarette between his lips and then reached for the button of his jeans. As he walked toward the hall, he said, "I need to take a piss. Then we're leaving."

My posture slackened, and my breathing slowed. Soon, Dalton and I would be alone. I'd call 911 about Stacey. I'd figure out what to tell the cops about the condition of the house. Dalton and I would play stupid about the men's identities. We'd never see them again.

Returning to the room, Craig folded his arms and scanned the floor. "Looks like we fucked this place up, huh?"

Troy laughed. "Hey, we were looking for our shit."

Sighing heavily, Craig looked at Dalton and me. "Okay. Let's go."

Full-fledged panic surged throughout my body. "Wait, wait, wait. You don't need to take us anywhere. We won't say anything."

Troy snickered. "How are you gonna explain the mess? The two of you gonna take the blame for it?"

"The drugs and money aren't here. And we don't know where they are. There's no reason to take us."

"We gotta figure out what the hell she did with our shit."

On the verge of tears, I pleaded, "Just leave us here. Please. You can't take us with you."

Craig tossed his car keys to Troy. "Go get your piece."

Flight or fight kicked in, and I was ready to agree to anything that would allow Dalton and me to stay at the house.

"You can't take us," I repeated. "I'll give you my Jeep. You can sell it. I don't care. Take it and sell it for the money."

"Yeah, I can sell it. But it's not gonna get us the amount of money we need."

"It's not even a year old. It cost over fifty thousand dollars."

"No one's gonna pay me fifty for it. Twenty, twenty-five maybe."

I blurted out in desperation, "My family has money. You can have my Jeep, and my family will give you the thirty-five thousand."

Taking a long drag off his cigarette, he said, "Stacey told me you were rich, but I thought she meant you had more money than her. Which isn't saying much." He moved closer and exhaled smoke in my eyes. "So you're really rich, huh?"

Squinting watery eyes, I replied, "My family is."

Troy returned inside with a shiny handgun and a blank expression on his face. "Are we gonna shoot them?"

Bursting into tears, Dalton yelled, "Don't shoot us!"

Craig hooked his thumb at me. "Guess this kid's family is loaded."

"They'll give you the money," I said. "I'll call them, and you'll have your money fast."

"That would be stupid." He dropped the cigarette to the floor and stamped it out. "You call them, then your parents call the police and Troy and I get busted. That's not the way this is gonna play out."

"They won't call the police. I'll tell them not to, and they won't."

"What's the plan?" Troy asked.

"The cabin." Craig stepped up to me. "Gimme your keys."

"Please. Let me call my parents."

"Gimme your fucking keys!"

I offered the fob from my pocket. "You don't have to take us."

"Actually, we don't need the kid. We can take you with us after we take care of him."

My stomach dropped. "If you want the money from my family, then Dalton has to go with us."

Grinning, Craig leaned forward and nearly whispered, "All right. The two of you need to walk your asses out to my car. Don't make any noise, and don't try to run."

He turned back to Troy. "You drive the Jeep. Follow close behind. When we get to the cabin, we'll work out our plan."

Troy shrugged. "Fine. Whatever. Let's go."

I faced Dalton. "We're going to be fine."

We marched outside with Craig in the lead and Troy behind us.

At the Range Rover, Craig opened the back door. "Okay, boys. Get comfortable. We've got a two-hour drive."

Seated, I glanced at Dalton. The undeniable terror in his eyes was gut-wrenching. I wrapped my arm around him. "Don't worry, okay? I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Resting his head on my shoulder, he nodded.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Numb. I was comfortably numb.

Without the crying and the yelling and the breaking of furniture, the sound of the Range Rover's engine seemed strange. It was too quiet. Craig didn't talk to us. Dalton didn't say anything. And I sat silently with my thoughts firmly set on my parents. Once I was allowed to call them and request the money Craig demanded, the end of our nightmare would soon follow.

Knowing my parents, they'd immediately want the police and the FBI involved. I'd have to swiftly talk them out of it. My mother would ultimately convince my father to pay the ransom without involving the authorities. However, if my grandparents caught wind of the situation, Grumps would take over the entire affair, secure our release, and then probably hire private detectives to hunt down Craig and Troy.

The entire scenario played out in my mind as I watched the scenery outside my window. Once we'd left the city limits behind, I recognized Interstate 495 North. If I paid attention, I might be able to point the police to the cabin, which would hopefully provide evidence leading to Craig and Troy's arrests.

Dalton sniffed and then the tears flowed.

"My mom's dead," he cried.

The words stung because I didn't know how to console him. My chest tightened. My body stiffened. My heart ached for him.

I moved closer and draped my arm across his shoulders. Although I didn't know what to say, I hoped a comforting touch would convey how sorry I was.

Minutes later, he still cried.

Craig groaned with irritation.

"He's upset," I said.

"Dalton, your mom was a druggie. She was for a long time. And she OD'd. It sucks. Wounds heal with time, or whatever the hell the saying is."

"Time heals all wounds," I corrected.

"See? Listen to your know-it-all, smart-ass friend." Craig glanced over his shoulder. "I don't even know your name."

"Spencer," I mumbled.

"Spencer what?"

"Spencer Newhouse."

"Good. I'll look your family up when we get to the cabin."

"Where is it?"

"None of your fucking business. That's where."

Another half hour passed. Dalton slept peacefully, curled up on the back seat like a kid without a care in the world. I assumed the intensity of his grief had knocked him out. The scene at the house had tired me, so I was certain that it had exhausted him.

As Craig drove, he'd clenched his jaw like he'd trapped a thought between his teeth that he'd soon spit out. But he'd remained silent. He hadn't even turned on the radio. He chewed on his thoughts, smoked a cigarette, chewed on his thoughts, and then smoked another cigarette.

Occasionally, he'd glance in the rearview mirror. And every time we made eye contact, he'd quickly avert his eyes back to the road.

At Exit 58, he took the ramp, followed the loop, and then merged onto I-90 toward Albany.

West. We're headed west.

Craig swiped his phone from the passenger seat. Seconds later, he barked, "Stop at Charlton Service Plaza, twenty miles up the road."

Dropping the phone onto the seat, he said, "We're stopping for gas. If you guys need to piss or anything, you better do it. I'm not stopping again until we reach the cabin."

I'd read plenty of thriller novels to know that I needed to be smart. Don't say or do anything stupid. Pay attention to details. Don't make a situation worse. Stay focused on the desired outcome.

Miles later, I gently nudged Dalton awake. "Hey."

Sitting upright, he rubbed his eyes. The inkling of recognition and alarm streaked across his face. "Where are we?"

"We're going to stop for gas. If you need to use the bathroom, you need to go now. Maybe we'll get something to eat and drink."

"Yeah, sure," Craig said. "We'll get something before we fill the tank and hit the road."

In the busy lot, we sat in the Range Rover until Troy parked next to us a few minutes later. He hopped out of my Jeep and cast a disgruntled look at me through the black-tinted window. Leaning into the open front passenger window, he lit a cigarette.

"What's the plan?" he asked.

"Kids want something to eat and drink. Let's go inside and get some stuff. My tank's almost empty. How's the Jeep?"

"Eh. Quarter tank, I think."

"Fill her up, then." Craig twisted to face us. "Don't try anything stupid in there. We'll get away and retaliate against your family."

The warning was a punch to the gut, but I casually replied, "We don't need to do anything. You're going to get your money, then we'll be free. I'm not stupid."

"Good. Make sure the kid isn't stupid, then." He lit a cigarette. "How much money you got on you?"

"None. I'm not sure what's in my wallet."

He gestured to Troy.

After retrieving my wallet, Troy counted over one hundred dollars. "This kid's got three credit cards too. Must actually be rich."

I noticed the bridge of Troy's nose had a slightly pronounced bump and the corner of his upper lip was marked with a scar.

Craig snatched the wallet and searched the contents. "School ID. Gym card. Some receipts. Insurance card. A debit card and three credit cards." He handed me a twenty. "Get something to eat and drink for you and the kid." He gave sixty dollars to Troy. "Get whatever you want and pay cash for gas." After pocketing the rest of the money, he tossed my wallet to the floorboard. "Let's go."

Flanked by the men, Dalton and I strolled to the building.

Troy said, "Your damn phone sang damn near the whole trip."

"It usually does," I replied.

"Well, it was fucking annoying."

Text messages, phone calls, email and social media notifications. Bailey had probably texted or called to bitch me out for not showing up at the gym.

"When you get back to the Jeep," Craig said to Troy, "take the damn SIM card outta his phone."

Walking through the glass doors, the overwhelming stench of fried sugar and cinnamon replaced the fumes of mufflers and fast-food grease in the parking lot. I quickly scanned for a security camera and spotted a globe mounted to the ceiling as soon as we entered. Lifting my chin, I discreetly looked at it and set my hand on Dalton's shoulder as we passed.

The lobby was busy with people, most of whom didn't even glance at us. Craig swatted my arm and then pointed in the direction of the men's restroom.

"You gotta piss?" he asked Troy.

"No, I'm good."

"Okay. Get your snacks or whatever, then the gas. We'll meet you outside."

The aroma of cleaning solutions greeted us as we walked into the restroom. Grateful for the apparent recent cleaning, I headed toward the wall of urinals, but Craig swatted my arm again.

"Nah." He pointed at a handicap stall. "All of us in there."

Latching the door behind us, he ordered me to the toilet. "You go first."

After peeing, I stepped aside to wash my hands at the small sink.

"Stay there," he said as he strutted to the toilet. When he was done, he zipped his jeans, then turned to Dalton. "Your turn."

Dalton's eyes drifted from me to Craig. "I don't need to pee."

"Fine. But I don't wanna pull over so you can take a piss."

"I mean, I don't need to only pee. I need to . . . "

Craig hung his head and sighed with a hint of frustration. "Park your ass on the toilet and do your business."

"Not with you in here."

"Who cares, kid. Get to it."

Dalton hesitated, his eyes sweeping between Craig and me.

"Let him go alone," I said. "I mean, he doesn't have a pen to write a message on toilet paper or anything."

"All right." He ushered me out of the stall. "Make it quick, kid."

Back in the lobby, Craig and Dalton selected food from McDonald's, and then I got a veggie wrap and a smoothie from Fresh City. At the Range Rover, Craig ordered us into the back seat.

"Eat." Standing next to the open door, he sipped his large Coke. "Take your tank top off."

I narrowed my eyes. "What?"

"Take it off."

I set my smoothie down and removed my shirt. "Why?"

"Finish eating." He studied me for a moment. "Damn, kid. You're shredded. Maybe you should give me some workout tips."

"Diet," I mumbled.

"A diet gave you those six-pack abs, huh?"

"Eight-pack." Embarrassed that I'd allowed my vanity to correct our kidnapper, I added, "It's not just about working out. You gotta be disciplined about your diet too."

He ripped apart the tank top at both side-seams, and I thought of how easily he destroyed a seventy-five-dollar tank top like it was cheap cotton. Then he stretched each strap until they snapped apart.

Dalton shoved his Big Mac wrapper into the McDonald's bag. "How long are we gonna be at the cabin?"

Craig shrugged. "I don't know. I gotta work out everything in my head first, so stop asking me questions. I'll tell you what you need to know."

After we finished our meal, he motioned for me to scoot over and then climbed into the back seat. Dropping half my tank top onto my lap, he closed the door. "Tie this around the kid's head so he can't see. Make sure it's tight. Then I'll do yours."

Obeying his instructions, I asked Dalton, "It's not too tight, is it?"

"No. It's fine."

Craig wrapped the material around my head, checked that my eyes were completely covered, and then pulled the knot tight. "Both of you, keep your hands off until we get to the cabin."

Blindfolded with my own shirt, I thought well, there goes my plan to possibly lead the police to the cabin.

Through the thin material of my white tank top, I could make out simple shapes and subdued colors, but reading signs we passed or identifying physical markers would be impossible.

Apparently, the thriller novels I'd read hadn't taught me how to outsmart our captors after all.

*   *   *

During the remainder of the trip, I contemplated if I'd missed a golden opportunity to cause a scene at the service area. Could we have slipped away from Craig and Troy? Could we have given the police enough information to lead to their capture and arrest? Was Craig's threat of retaliation just a ploy to scare me into behaving?

I was confident Dalton and I would soon be free because my parents would pay the ransom Craig demanded. Therefore, there was no reason for either of us to fall out of line.

What I knew for certain was that I wanted the entire ordeal to be over with as soon as possible.

I sensed that Craig drove more slowly, and then he turned right. The road was no longer smooth like asphalt but bumpy like unpaved dirt. I'd only counted to two hundred and twenty-seven by the time I heard the crunch of gravel under the tires. Several minutes later, the Range Rover came to a stop and then the engine was turned off.

"You can take your blindfolds off," he said as he got out.

Because of the knot, I had to tug the material off my head, worried that I'd rubbed half my eyebrow off in the process.

Dalton leaned forward and peered out the windshield. "This is where we're staying?"

We were parked in front of a modernized log cabin. The wooden porch extended the full length of the house and looked to have actual rocking chairs near the front door. To my surprise, the cabin appeared to be in good shape.

Craig poked his head inside the Rover. "This ain't a four-star hotel, but this ain't no damn vacation either. So the two of you will be just fine here. Now get out."

The driveway and the path leading to the porch were gravel. Tall trees bordered both sides of the cabin and spread toward the back. Glancing around, I didn't see any other cabin near us. We seemed to be secluded from neighbors and the main road, surrounded by a dense forest of trees towering over us like skyscrapers.

"What time is it?" I asked, stepping out of the car.

Craig glanced at his phone. "Five thirty-eight."

Hearing the crunch of gravel, I turned and watched my Jeep appear and then park next to the Rover.

Troy hopped out and sauntered to Craig like he'd just arrived for a weekend fishing trip. "I like driving this kid's Jeep. I should get one."

Craig slapped him on the stomach. "Stay focused. We got these kids to deal with." He aimed his finger at the cabin. "Everyone inside."

While he unlocked the front door, I asked, "When can I call my parents?"

"Maybe in a day or two."

"Why a day or two?"

"Because I wanna see how crazy and desperate your parents get. I'll have a better idea of what I'm working with."

"I told you they have money. You can have it tonight. I swear."

As he pushed the door open, he glared at me. "Are you holding us hostage or are we holding you hostage?"

"Uh, you're holding us hostage."

"That's right. I'm making the plans here, so shut the fuck up and get your asses inside."

The interior was spacious but sparsely furnished. One long sofa. Two armchairs. A coffee table that looked like it was constructed from one of the trees outside. And a television. A decent-sized circular table sat near the small kitchen, where a narrow hallway led toward the back of the house.

Craig turned on lamps and lights while Troy searched the kitchen cabinets.

"Not much here," Troy said.

"You'll have to go to the store," Craig replied. "We need enough to get us through a week."

Dalton gasped. "A week?"

"Yeah. We're not gonna be making a lot of trips. So if you guys are here for a week, then you guys are here for a fucking week. Got it?"

Dalton and I nodded.

A momentary sensation of unsteadiness coursed through my body. Obviously, Craig had worked out a plan in his head during the drive. In spite of his earlier mention of a couple days, he'd drafted a much longer scenario than I'd anticipated. And the realization pricked at me with underlying panic.

Craig directed us to the darkened hallway. "The bedrooms are back here. You and Dalton will share a room." He turned to Troy. "We need to switch out the knob so we can lock it from the outside."

He opened the second door on the left. "Step inside, boys. This is your new home for a while."

The room had a musty smell to it. Evidently, the cabin hadn't been used in a while. A full-size bed with a white quilt dotted with tiny blue flowers sat in the middle of the room. Both sides of the bed had a nightstand. An armchair sat near the window. A dresser with a small TV was situated next to a door that looked like it had been painted over dozens of times over the years.

"Since this is your room," Craig said, "you guys need to clean it up. Shake out the dust from the blanket. Wipe down the furniture." He opened the door next to the dresser. "This room has a small bathroom." Facing us again, he smiled. "Not too bad, huh?"

The overcast sky and tall trees allowed little light to shine through the window. I flipped the switch next to the door. "So you're going to keep us in here the whole time?"

"If you guys aren't trouble, maybe I'll let you come out to the rest of the cabin."

Leaning against a wall, Troy appeared completely uninterested and bored. "Let's go talk. I don't wanna be here for days and days."

Alone in the room, Dalton and I sat on the edge of the bed.

"How are you doing?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes. "Doing just great. My mom's dead. We're being held hostage. And I don't know what's gonna happen to me."

"I won't let anything happen to you."

"I mean, when we're finally out of here. Where am I supposed to go? Will your parents let me live with you?"

The unexpected question sent a jolt of unease through me. "Um. I don't know what's going to happen." In case he was serious, I wanted to brush the question aside without him feeling like I was ignoring him. "Right now we need to concentrate on getting out of here."

"Your parents will give them the money?"

"Of course they will. Money's not a problem. So let's make sure we don't do anything to piss these guys off while we're here, okay?"

Sighing, he walked toward the bathroom. "Okay."

*   *   *

Sprawled out on the bed, I had nearly fallen asleep when one of the men yelled, "Son of a bitch!"

Open the door? Not open the door? I had no clue.

I thought I had a pretty good idea of the men's characters. If Craig had yelled, then I guessed that he'd hollered at Troy—probably for saying or asking something stupid. But if it was Troy who had yelled, then I guessed that he'd done something stupid—such as hitting his head on an opened cabinet door—and shouted aloud to himself.

At the dresser to search for a shirt, I stood close to the door and strained to hear their muffled voices.

"Are you sure?" Troy asked.

"I looked it up. It says right here, a phone can be tracked without a SIM card if it still connects to the internet. And this is an iPhone with all the bells and whistles. So you need to take the damn thing with you and dump it."

"Can't he just turn it off?"

"Maybe. But I'm not taking any chances."

"Where do I dump it?"

Craig groaned. "When you go to the damn store or Home Depot."

"In Hadley?"

"That's the closest one, so yeah."

Mental note: Hadley.

I snatched the first white T-shirt I saw and returned to the bed.

Craig walked into the room. "You guys can sit in the living room and watch TV." He furrowed his brow. "Where'd you get that shirt?"

"The dresser. I hope it's okay that I wear it. It's cool in here."

Seemingly at a loss for words, Craig rubbed a knuckle against his stubbly chin. "Uh. Yeah. It's fine. It fits, so that's good."

"Is it yours?"

"My brother's."

I thought a moment of lighthearted humor would soften Craig's agitated mood. "Well, I hope he doesn't mind that I'm wearing it."

Turing on his heels, Craig muttered, "He's dead."

For a moment, I felt bad. But I didn't want to feel any sympathy toward Craig. Nor Troy. It didn't matter what they'd gone through in life or what hardships they struggled with currently. They'd kidnapped us for ransom. Neither of them deserved pity from Dalton or me.

I playfully tugged on Dalton's hair and gestured to the door. "Come on. Let's go watch something on TV."

In the living room, we lingered near the hall for instructions. Craig, clearly irritated, flicked his finger at the sofa.

"Sit your asses down."

As we passed Troy, he said, "I hope you saved shit to the iCloud or whatever. Your phone's going bye-bye."

Sitting on the sofa, I replied, "I don't have my parents' numbers memorized. If I'm going to call, I need to write their numbers down."

He held the phone out to me, but Craig screamed, "No, idiot!"

"He has to open it with his fingerprint."

"Fine. But then take it back and write the numbers down."

I pressed my thumb onto the home button, and Troy's dark, beady eyes brightened as if I'd solved an absurdly difficult puzzle.

He slumped onto a chair at the round kitchen table. "Are they in your contacts as mom and dad?"

"Yes."

I grabbed the remote control from the coffee table and handed it to Dalton. "Here. See what you can find to watch. It'll pass the time."

He examined the remote a moment, and then the TV clicked on.

"Who else?" Troy asked. "You got a stepdad or something?"

"No, my parents are still married to each other."

He sarcastically chuckled. "Of course they are."

Leaning back, I noticed Craig in the kitchen, eyeing Dalton and me as his brain seemed to work in overdrive. I looked directly at him. "Um. Can I see what the texts or missed calls are?"

His face contorted into a look of disbelief. "Why?"

I shrugged. "Maybe someone already knows what happened. You know, in Englewood."

He approached Troy. "You write the numbers down?"

"Uh, huh."

"Okay. Gimme the phone."

Craig swiped his finger on the screen and then faced me. "Let's see. You must be a popular guy. Several missed phone calls and a lot of text messages. Maya. Bailey. Jayden. Meghan. Willow. Aiden. Far-en. Far-ren. Something like that."

"Faryn," I mumbled.

"I don't give a shit how it's pronounced. And there's a text from Lance too. That's it."

"Lance?"

"Yeah." He clicked on the screen, then laughed. "Lance says, Fuck you. Sounds like Lance isn't much of a friend right now. Maya texted, I need to buy a dress for the party. Wanna go? You guys going to some fancy crab bake or something? She your girlfriend"

"Just a friend."

"Mm-hmm. So . . . Faryn says . . . Jeez, these are some rich-kid-sounding names . . . anyway, Faryn says, Hey stud. You wanna get together later? Been thinking about you. Okay, this girl's gotta be the girlfriend."

Embarrassment concealed my rising irritation. "Ex-girlfriend."

"Well, sounds like she wants to hook up, stud."

Troy snickered.

"Willow . . . Pretty popular with the ladies, huh?"

"She's one of my best friends."

"Well, Willow says, My dad is totally ballistic 'cause I came home late. He blamed it on Sebastian. Wanna get pizza tonight? Aiden said he'd go with us." He lifted his head. "That's a good idea. We should get pizza for dinner."

I fixed my eyes on the television as Dalton scanned the channels.

"Aiden says, Willow wants to go out for pizza. You game? I ran into Lance and . . . oh, this might explain Lance's text . . . Blah, blah, blah, I ran into Lance. Totally gave him the brush-off. I think he's more pissed at you than me. Yeah, Lance seemed kinda pissed."

When I didn't respond, Craig continued. "Meghan says, Friday night is all set. Thank you for going with us. Well, that's simple and boring. But whatever's going on Friday night . . . you might not make it. And then Bailey says, I'm at the gym, asshole. Where the hell are you? Hello? Answer your fucking phone. You better have a good reason."

Craig mocking the texts and Troy staring at me with a stupid smirk on his face more than embarrassed me. I actually felt shameful about the hint of my life revealed in the messages.

He hadn't read Jayden's text, and I decided there was no point in asking him to. It was probably about a party at someone's house.

A Lord of the Rings film appeared on the television. I couldn't immediately identify which one, but then . . . The Two Towers.

"Look at this," Craig whispered.

Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I saw Craig hover over Troy and tilt my phone's screen so both could look at it.

A text message?

"What?" I asked.

Sitting at the table, Craig replied, "There's a lot of selfies showing off your muscles."

I returned my attention to the TV. "I used to post a lot of that on social media."

My eyes were focused on the movie, but my ears were trained on the two men.

Troy chuckled. "That's not a picture you can post on social media."

"Nope. Gives me an idea, though."

"What kind of idea?"

"Plan B." His chair groaned against the floor as he slid back from the table and stood. "You better get going. We need to eat soon. I wanna do the window before it gets dark. Make sure you have that phone turned on where there's some free Wi-Fi. Like Starbucks or something. Then toss it. And take my car. We're not gonna use his anymore."

"All right."

Craig collapsed onto an armchair. "Whatcha guys watching?"

"Lord of the Rings," Dalton said.

"Good choice." As soon as Troy walked out, Craig said, "I figure we got a day or two before the shit hits the fan. So you guys make yourself comfortable. Hopefully it'll be smooth sailing. If not, things might get a little bumpy."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You'll find out when you need to know. Until then, do what you're told and don't cause any problems." He directed his sight to the TV. "Or you'll regret it."

My chance to ask about Plan B flew right out the window and flapped its wings high in the gloomy sky.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It was nearly nine o'clock when Troy returned to the cabin. The sun had set, only the faintest of light peeking through the windows. Troy's feet thudded on the wooden porch and then the door swung open. The sight of the grocery bags in his arms should have been a relief, but they only reminded me of the situation Dalton and I were in.

Soon, my friends would notice my continued failure to return texts and phone calls. My parents might not question my absence until the following morning. If Bailey and the others didn't reach out to my mom or dad soon, they'd definitely show up at my house after I didn't attend Maya's birthday party.

That would be tomorrow night, Wednesday.

My parents would report me missing. So maybe the shit would hit the fan on Thursday. Hopefully I could call my mom or dad, request a ransom without involving the police, then Dalton and I would be free on Friday.

I didn't know what would happen to Dalton. I knew he wondered the same. For the time being, however, our experience in the cabin needed to be peaceful and safe.

Maybe someone would discover Stacey's body, then call—

"You guys put this stuff away," Troy demanded. "I got two pizzas out in the car." Pausing at the door, he looked at Craig still seated in the armchair. "Got the bars but it's too dark to do the window tonight."

"First thing in the morning, then. Where's the phone?"

"In a dumpster."

"Good. Wiped clean, I hope."

"Of course it's fucking wiped clean. You think I'm a damn idiot?"

Craig didn't speak, but the flaming glint in his eyes answered yes.

I helped Dalton unload the groceries and place them in cabinets and the refrigerator. Evidently, lunch and dinner for the foreseeable future would consist of deli turkey slices on honey wheat bread with a side of potato chips and apple juice. Troy and Craig would probably consume the twelve-pack of beer by the next night.

The pizza was lukewarm at best. One pepperoni and one cheese. But after the day we'd had, Dalton and I scarfed down slice after slice as if it were the last meal we'd eat for a while.

Craig let us watch The Return of the King. Once the final Lord of the Rings film ended, he announced, "Time for bed. Get blankets and pillows from the bedroom. You're sleeping out here tonight."

"On the floor?" I asked.

"One of you can have the couch, I guess."

"Why can't we sleep in the bedroom?"

He gulped his beer and stepped toward the kitchen with the empty bottle. "Don't trust you. In the morning, you'll help Troy put some security bars over the window. Then I'll let the two of you sleep in the bedroom."

I offered Dalton the sofa, but he refused as if he feared someone would whisk him far away during the night. Under Craig's watchful eye, Dalton and I stripped down to our underwear and then stretched out on a thin blanket where the coffee table had been. It didn't take long for Dalton to fall asleep. But I remained wide awake, listening to his steady breaths while slyly eyeing Craig slouched in an armchair.

We'd reached the end of day one. The drive to the cabin and watching the movies had kept Dalton from saying much, which I was grateful for. What would he talk about the following day? His mother was dead. Apparently, he had nowhere to go. Those were two topics I didn't want to discuss because I didn't know what to say to comfort him. Being allowed to watch TV again would help curb any detailed conversations. But once we were shut up in the bedroom, Dalton and I would be forced to talk, and the possible subjects made me nervous.

Craig snored, occasionally shifting in the chair.

In general, he and Troy were tolerable. Yet each possessed a mean streak that reared its ugly head without warning. I needed to remain cooperative and polite to stay on their good side. Because each passing hour was one step closer to our freedom.

*   *   *

The creak of a door woke me. The darkness outside had lightened to a dull gray. Since the sun was rising, I estimated that I'd only slept four hours. Five at the most.

Sitting upright, I leaned forward and reached my fingertips to my toes. My back stretched and cracked, but the tension remained lodged in my body . . . in my chest . . . in my mind.

The front door was propped open with a boot. Peering through the gap, I saw Craig leaning against a pillar as he smoked a cigarette. He appeared deep in thought, his gaze set on the passing clouds.

Quietly, I relocated to the sofa.

After tossing the cigarette butt to the yard, he stayed on the porch for another minute or two. Turning, he instantly spotted me on the sofa and acknowledged me with a nod.

"You're up early," he said as he walked inside. "Means Troy and you can get the window done soon."

"Okay." I cleared my throat due to the swelling nervousness of engaging our captor. "Um. Should I make a pot of coffee?"

"Make sure it's strong." Slumped in the armchair, he yawned. "It's supposed to be black, not brown."

Silence clung to the stale air while I searched for coffee grounds and filters. As I filled the glass coffee pot with water, I said, "We should open the windows. Let some fresh air in."

"You think so, huh?"

"It's stuffy in here."

Craig's gaze lingered on me. Then he asked, "I suppose you live in a big ol' mansion."

I peeled the foil seal from the red, plastic container of coffee. "Um. Yeah, it's a mansion."

"Good. Maybe I'll see it on television today or tomorrow."

I read the instructions on the coffee can. Craig said it had to be black, not brown. The directions suggested half a cup of grounds per ten cups. Black, not brown. I added an extra quarter cup of coffee.

Before I turned around, I could sense Craig watching my every move. When I faced the living room again, he was staring at me.

"How long have you been friends with Dalton?"

"A few weeks."

"You must really like him. I mean, he's just a kid. But you kept coming around to see him."

I wanted to shove my hands into my pockets, but I was dressed only in boxers. "He's a good kid."

"So you want him outta this situation as much as you want outta this situation, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"Good." He stood and locked the front door. "That's gonna be real good when the time comes."

"When the time comes for what?"

"The ransom." He flicked his hand to the hall. "I gotta take a piss. Let's go."

I followed him to the bathroom and then stood in the doorway as instructed. After he flushed the toilet, he washed his hands and then splashed water onto his face.

"Go ahead. Take your morning piss. I'm not leaving you in here alone."

*   *   *

After Dalton and I ate Raisin Bran for breakfast, Craig ordered me outside with Troy. The two of us rounded the house to the bedroom window.

The sun burned bright, the clouds having thinned. The trees were alive with the sounds of birds and insects.

Troy dumped the contents of a box at my feet.

Studying the black metal rods, I asked, "Have you installed one of these before?"

He scoffed. "No. Seems easy enough, though. It's only a bunch of pieces and screws. Easy to put up, hard for you to get out."

I scanned the manual as I laid out the rods. First, we assembled the bars into the mounting bracket. When the grille was fully put together, I held it in place over the window frame while Troy marked the screw holes with a pencil.

As I lowered the grille to the ground, I accidentally nicked Troy's mess of swirling forearm tattoos with a rod.

Flinching, he hollered, "Ow. Dammit. Watch it."

Because he'd reacted as though I'd stabbed him, I suppressed my laughter, but my grin betrayed me.

"It hurt, dammit." He whipped the back of his hand against my cheek. "How 'bout that? Did it hurt or was that funny?"

Crouched, I wanted to jump to my feet and punch him in the face. But I had to play cooperative and polite. "It was an accident. I didn't even have a chance to say sorry."

"Get up and hold it in place so I can drill the damn screws."

Once finished, we stood several feet back to admire our work.

Troy tilted his head from side to side. Then he stepped to the left and then to the right. Then to the left again. "It looks straight, right?"

"Yeah. Plus, it's up. Does it matter?"

I watched a squirrel scurry along the edge of the roof toward the back of the house.

Troy nudged my arm. "Let's go. We're done out here."

*   *   *

Early afternoon, Dalton and I retreated to our newly secured prison of a bedroom. We sprawled out on the bed, fatigued from a day of boredom.

Turning my head to the side, I watched him stare at the ceiling. "It'll be over soon."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I promise."

Tears gathered in the corner of his eye. "The child services people are gonna take me away."

My chest knotted. "I don't know what's going to happen after we're out of here."

"Why did my stupid mom take their drugs and money?"

Inhaling deeply, I directed my eyes to the ceiling. "I guess it was her way of making a better life for the two of you."

"She wasn't thinking about me. Only herself."

"You don't know that, Dalton."

He flung his arms over his face. "She died with a needle in her arm, and now I'm an orphan. I should be dead too."

"Don't say that."

He turned onto his side, clearly ignoring me.

I nudged his shoulder. "Don't ever say that. You hear me? I'd be very sad if you were dead. So don't think that way. Ever."

Still, he cried, so I gently removed a strand of hair from his eyes.

"Everything is going to be fine," I said. "I promise."

Finally, he looked at me. The flames of hope faintly flickered in his expression.

Somewhere, Craig excitedly exclaimed, "Holy shit. This is it."

I shot up and scooted to the edge of the bed.

"What happened?" Dalton asked.

"I think the police know we're missing."

Heavy footsteps hurried to the door.

I should have been electrified by the possibility of news, but my body ached with anxiety.

The door swung open.

Face bright with elation, Craig read from his phone. "Two local kids reported missing. The police are asking for assistance from the community."

Dalton wiped the tears from his eyes. His smile matched mine—a giddy, stupid display of happiness for his benefit. Because I knew the news didn't change the ordeal we'd soon face.

We were hostages. A ransom would be demanded. The exchange needed to take place before we were set free. The idea that freedom was within reach excited me, but we still had to cross the finish line.

"What else does it say?" I asked.

Leaning against the doorjamb, Craig skimmed the article. "Spencer Newhouse. Sixteen. Son of David and Kate, blah, blah, blah. Dalton Humphries. Eleven. Son of deceased discovered at the scene. Police suspect foul play. 2019 Black Jeep Grand Cherokee. Press conference expected this evening. If you have any information, please call, blah, blah, blah . . . "

"That means I can call my parents soon, right?"

"When the time's right."

"Tomorrow?"

He looked at me as if irritation scratched at his skin. "We'll see." Pointing at the dresser, he said, "Look for a change of clothes. There's probably something you can wear. Then take a shower."

Once the door closed behind Craig, I couldn't resist pulling Dalton into a hug. "See? It's going to be over soon."

He shook with a muffled laugh, and the warmth of hope returned to my body.

"Let's find something to wear. You can shower first."

Rummaging through the clothing of Craig's brother, I finally found several pairs of cotton shorts in the bottom drawer. They'd fit loosely on me and practically hang off Dalton, but they'd have to do.

Dalton took a quick shower and then slipped on the clothes I had picked for him. The sight was comical, the baggy clothes making him appear much younger.

When it was my turn to jump into the shower, Dalton didn't want to leave the bathroom. His reluctance was understandable, given our situation, but I sensed a deeper fear gnawing at his bones.

"What do you think is going to happen?"

He shrugged. "Can I please just stay in here with you?"

"Will it make you feel safer?"

"Yeah."

I motioned for him to step aside so I could turn on the water. "Sit on the toilet while I take my shower."

"Okay."

Pulling off the T-shirt from the day before, I asked, "What are you really scared of?"

"Craig is mean."

I searched his face for a tacit explanation, but Dalton's expression revealed nothing. "You told me Craig accidentally hit you when he and your mom were arguing. Did he hit you on purpose?"

He lowered his chin. "Uh, huh."

"Okay. Stay in here. And I'll make sure that I'm always close by to protect you, okay?"

He nodded, lowered the toilet lid, and then sat.

Under the water, I thought of home, family, friends, my bed . . . The longing for the return to my life pulsated with guilt. When the ordeal at the cabin was over, my life would resume roughly unstained. Yet Dalton's life would be completely altered. For the better? For the worse?

I pushed all the thoughts out of my head and concentrated on the most important matter at hand: enduring life with Craig and Troy until I called my parents for the ransom money.

Dalton scanned the TV channels in search of something to watch. I sat next to him on the sofa, my eyes on the TV and my ears fixated on the men mumbling at the kitchen table. Their words were faint and secretive. The conversation was a deliberation of planning.

The minutes lengthened while I waited impatiently for their words to boomerang in my direction. Finally, Craig spoke, but the words had jagged sharp edges.

"Spencer. How much money do your parents have?"

Twisting to the side, I replied, "I don't know what's in their bank account if that's what you want to know."

"In general. Your parents are rich. You think they have over ten million dollars?"

"Over ten million? Uh, probably not."

"But they're millionaires, right?"

"Yeah."

"So they probably have at least a few million bucks."

"Probably."

He glanced at Troy. "See? It's just a matter of working out the numbers." Redirecting his attention to me, he asked, "What about any other family? Your parents the only rich ones?"

"My grandparents have money too."

"Over ten?"

"Yeah."

Impressed, Troy whistled. "Man, oh man."

"Over twenty?" Craig asked.

"I don't know. Maybe, I guess. I don't know."

"Okay." The chair slid from the table, and he stood. "Someone's coming to get your Jeep. If there's anything in it that you want, you better get it."

"You sold my Jeep?"

"Twenty-two, five. Besides, after we let you go, you can't keep it. There might be evidence of some kind. And we can't have that." He opened the front door. "Let's go take a look inside your Jeep."

Rising to my feet, I smiled reassuringly at Dalton. "Be right back."

Before I inspected the Jeep, I knew there wasn't much of anything I wanted or needed. I grabbed my gym bag from the back seat. In the front, the sight of a book on the floorboard excited me. I'd totally forgotten about American Savage. Dalton would be thrilled to have something to read.

"Is that it?" Craig asked.

"Yeah."

He took the duffle bag from my hands. As he rifled through the contents, he muttered, "Shorts. Shirt. Shoes. Towel. Wait, what the hell is this?" He read the label on the small white container with the silver lid. "Are you serious? Gucci deodorant?"

Warmth flushed my cheeks.

He pressed the bag to my chest. "Let's go."

Inside, I presented the copy of American Savage like it was a gift. Dalton's expression finally brightened with happiness. It felt good to give him something that represented good and ordinary in his eyes.

"You can start reading it if you want."

"I'll wait," he said. "We can read it together later."

While I sat in front of the television, curiosity sunk its teeth into my insides and scraped along the edges of my gut. I wanted to ask questions—about calling my parents, about the ransom, about how much longer we'd have to stay at the cabin. Yet I remained mute as my eyes barely registered the images on the TV.

Craig fumbled with his phone as he plopped onto a wooden chair at the kitchen table. The volume of his cell steadily increased as a woman was speaking.

" . . . reason to believe it was against their will. There are details of the investigation we won't release to the public, yet. However, based on information from the Department of Transportation, we know that Spencer Newhouse's Jeep Grand Cherokee traveled west along Interstate 495, likely in the company of a black Ranger Rover. We're confident the boys are still in Massachusetts. Look at the photographs. If anyone has seen either of these boys or the Jeep, do not hesitate to call the number to report a tip, not matter how small. We're doing our best to locate the boys, and any assistance from the public is greatly appreciated. Now, I'll let Spencer's parents make a short statement, then I'll take a handful of questions."

My entire body spasmed at the sound of my father's voice.

"I'm David Newhouse and this is my wife, Kate. We are pleading with the man or men responsible for Spencer's kidnapping. Please safely release our son. His family and friends miss him terribly. We are offering a one-hundred-thousand-dollar reward to the person who provides information that leads to our son's whereabouts. And to the kidnappers, please take care of Spencer. Do not harm him. We want our son safe at home as soon as possible. Please release Spencer and Dalton so they can resume their happy, healthy lives. Thank you."

And then my mother's anguished words scorched my heart.

"Spencer. We love you. You're going to be home again soon. Be strong. We love you so much."

My eyes stung. My throat tightened. The weight of Dalton's gaze sat upon my chest like a boulder.

Craig turned his phone off and set it aside.

Still, I didn't dare say or ask anything.

He angled his body to the sofa. "One hundred thousand dollars. That's a handsome amount. How much more do you think your parents are willing to give?"

The money for the Jeep. The one hundred grand. It wasn't enough for Craig. My confidence that we'd soon be released dimmed.

I faced him straight-on, fighting the glare that danced behind my eyes. "I don't know. But I know they will."

"Good. That's exactly what I wanna hear." He turned toward a grinning Troy. "Are we eating fucking turkey sandwiches again?"

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Darkness had settled around the cabin. It wasn't late, but Craig ordered us into the bedroom and locked the door behind us.

I sat on the edge of the bed and sensed a heaviness creeping up to rest on my shoulders. Seated in the armchair next to the window, Dalton clutched the book in his hands. It appeared as though the same heaviness had already caused his shoulders to slump.

I had to be encouraging. "Shouldn't be that much longer."

The wind whispered outside the window.

Next to the chair, I squatted and waited for him to look into my eyes. "You can start reading if you want. I'm going to see if I can hear what they're talking about."

"Maybe he'll let you call your parents tomorrow."

"Maybe." Standing, I pointed at the book. "Go ahead."

Spread out on the floor, I inched my head close to the door and set my ear to the gap at the bottom.

For minutes, I heard nothing. Then two sets of footsteps sounded for a short distance and then stopped.

With my earlobe touching carpet and my forehead pressed against wood, I closed my eyes to better focus on their voices. Breathing in dust, I tuned out all ambient sounds.

"Doesn't matter anymore," Craig said. "The drugs and cash could be halfway to California by now. Who knows what the hell she did with it. We know it wasn't at the damn house."

"If we paid off the drugs and money, we'd still have—"

"About thirty-five each. You think you can start a whole new life with that?"

"It's a good start," Troy replied.

"Not good enough." Footsteps sounded as they walked. "We're running out of time before we meet a bullet with our name on it."

The front door opened and closed. They'd probably stepped outside to smoke.

When I pushed myself up from the floor, I noticed Dalton staring at me. On my feet, I played it casual.

"Did you hear anything?"

I nodded. "Just talking about the ransom. Sounds like I'll be asking my parents for the money soon. Then we'll be free."

"That's it?"

"Yeah. Don't worry. Everything is unfolding as planned." I situated myself close to the headboard and patted the space next to me. "Let's read the book."

As Dalton prepared to reintroduce us to the world of the Savages, I fixated on Craig's words. The demand for more ransom money. Paying off the drugs and money Stacey had stolen. The bullets with their names on it. Starting over somewhere.

Evidently, there was a lot Dalton and I were not supposed to know. And I was starting to understand why. Dalton and I were in a lot more danger than I had realized.

"You read first," Dalton said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." I brought my knees up and propped the book on my legs. "Let's see what cannibalistic wit this sequel has for us."

*   *   *

The bedroom door clicked unlocked late in the morning. Craig stood in the doorway. "Breakfast. Then we got a phone call to make."

We were going to be one step closer to the end of this ordeal. I would hear my mom or dad's voice. They would know I was safe. We'd arrange the ransom exchange, and then Dalton and I would finally be free.

Even Dalton spooned cereal into his mouth with more zest.

Craig sat next to me at the kitchen table. "We're gonna drive to a location so you can make the call. You're gonna use a TracFone. When the call is done, we're gonna toss it."

"Okay. What am I supposed to say?"

"Tell your parents that you and Dalton are safe. We're taking good care of you. Tell them that the ransom is five hundred thousand in twenties only. No police or FBI or anybody. You'll call back at eight o'clock to check the status of the cash."

"That's it?"

"Yeah. No small talk. Don't tell them anything other than what I told you to say. Got it?"

"Yes."

"Good. Finish eating. Then we'll take a drive."

I fought the urge to consume my cereal as quickly as possible. I looked at Dalton out of the corner of my eye, and he smiled like a kid trying not to get into trouble for acting up. And for his benefit, I smiled in return. The countdown would soon begin.

*   *   *

Back in the bedroom again, Dalton and I continued to read American Savage. However, I was too antsy to pay close attention to the words Dalton delivered in his semi-animated reading. When he handed the book to me at the end of the chapter, I did my best to match his lively performance. But one paragraph in, the door unlocked and then opened.

"Let's go," Craig said gruffly, his tone bordering on angry.

"Time to call my parents?"

"Yeah. Shouldn't take long."

Seated in the back of the Rover, I leaned back and involuntarily scratched my nails against the palm of my hand. I didn't want to obsess about the phone call. Still, I couldn't help but look forward to it while simultaneously worrying that something could go horribly wrong.

We'd only driven the equivalent of a few blocks when Craig said, "Lay down on the back seat."

"What?"

"Lay your ass down. I forgot to bring the blindfold."

I'd only seen green trees and a dirt road. I had no clue where we were. The likelihood of me figuring out where we were headed was slim to none. I lay down and stared at the back of the driver's seat.

We bounced along a bumpy road for several minutes. The limbs and twigs of trees occasionally scraped the windows and the side of the car. Then the Rover slowed and followed a much more uneven path for a minute before Craig braked and parked.

"Okay. You can sit up."

Slyly, I peeked outside without drawing attention to my exploring eyes. We were parked among trees so close that opening any of the doors would require effort. There appeared to be a clearing not too far ahead of us on the right. I assumed we were at a camping site, but I knew better than to ask questions.

Craig powered down the window and lit a cigarette. "Do I need to remind you what to say?"

"Dalton and I are safe. You're taking good care of us. No police. Five hundred thousand in twenties. We'll call back tonight at eight."

"Good." Facing me, he exhaled a long stream of smoke. "Don't talk about anything else. Get it over and done with, then hang up."

"Okay."

"It might get emotional. But you got a job to do."

"I understand."

He handed me a TracFone and the slip of paper with two phone numbers written on it.

My hands slightly trembled. Sweat slicked my forehead and the back of my neck. I filled my lungs with a healthy dose of oxygen.

"Now?" I asked.

"Yeah. Let's get this over with."

Neither phone number had a name written next to it, so I had no clue which parent I was about to call. My dad would be less emotional and more in control. My mother would listen to instructions without attempting to be an amateur detective.

I swiped my hands across my face and then dialed the first number on the paper.

One ring.

Two ri—

"Hello. Hello, this is David Newhouse."

My voice cracked, "Hey, Dad."

"Spencer! Oh, my God. It's Spencer. Where are you? Are you hurt? Do you know where you are?"

"I don't have a lot—"

"Do you know who kidnapped you? Are you still with them?"

"Dad! Shut up. I don't have time to talk."

"Okay, okay. Fine. You're not hurt, are you?"

Spencer! my mother cried in the background.

"Listen," I said. "Dalton and I are fine. We're not hurt or injured or anything. They're taking good care of us. You need to get—"

"Are the men right there with—"

"Dad!" Groaning in frustration, I tilted my head back. "You need to get five hundred thousand dollars in twenties. And don't get the police or FBI involved. No one can be involved at all. Understand?"

"Yes."

I heard Grumps and Nana talking to my mother. My chest ached. My eyes stung. My grip on the phone tightened.

"Five hundred thousand in twenties only," I reminded him. "No police. I'll call you back at eight."

"All right. Five hundred in twenties."

"Yeah. I love you." Then I hung up.

I gave the phone to Craig and then slumped in the seat. Hearing my parents' frenzied voices had filled me with sadness that I hadn't expect. For all my complaints about my mom and dad, their panic had proved that I never should have doubted their love for me.

Craig drove forward to the clearing. Once the Rover was free of trees, he parked and opened his door. "You did good. Now get out."

I slid across the seat. Outside, I flicked the leaves of a tree from my face, then stepped into the clearing.

Craig strutted to a small boulder, then crouched. He dropped the phone to the ground and then smashed it with a rock. "Five hundred is gonna be easy for your parents to get, huh?"

"They won't have any problems getting it."

"What about a million?"

My heart sunk. Please don't drag this out longer with a demand for even more money.

Sighing, I shrugged. "I don't know how difficult it is for a bank to give someone one million dollars in twenties."

"But your parents could get it, right?"

"Yeah, probably."

"Okay. So now I know for sure that five hundred is easy for them." He stood and aimed his fob at the Rover. Its alarm shrieked as though magically amplified by the open clearing.

Startled, I regarded Craig with wide eyes. What was he doing?

Speaking loudly, he said, "There's no one close enough to hear. Maybe a hiker or a camper somewhere. Definitely no one who lives around here. Could be a couple miles off." He pressed a button on the fob, and we were thrust back into the ambient sounds of the woods. "I think Troy and I have been very good to you and Dalton. Don't you think?"

"Yeah. You have."

He stepped within a couple feet of me. His dull gray eyes, squinty and serious. "Do you think I'm a dangerous man? Or desperate?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Dangerous. Do you think I'm dangerous? Scary?"

"No, I guess not. Like I said, you've been good to me and Dalton this whole time."

"You're right. I have." He anchored his eyes on mine as if studying their color. Relighting what remained of his cigarette, he smiled. Then he swung his fist into my face.

I staggered backward against the Rover. A thunderbolt of pain shot through my elbow as it smashed against the Rover's grille. Wincing, I sucked in air and then quickly straightened to prove he hadn't knocked me on my ass. Without emotion, I waited for the next punch.

"Did you think I was gonna punch you?"

Gently, I touched my lip, then looked at the spot of blood on my finger. I spit red saliva to the ground. "No."

"Let that be a lesson to you. I can be dangerous and scary. When you least expect it, I could fuck your world up. Got it?"

"Yeah. I got it."

"Good. Now get back in the car. You and I will come back later to make the next phone call."

In the back seat, I lay down. My elbow pulsated with sharp, flashes of stabbing pain. My lip and gums throbbed.

Dangerous? Had he really wanted me to admit that I thought he was dangerous? Of course I did. He'd thrown me about Dalton's house. He'd squeezed my balls and dick until I thought I'd vomit. He'd yelled and threatened. Yeah, I thought he was dangerous. But I didn't want to tell him that.

He carefully backed the Rover out of the clearing and through the tree-lined path. "What about desperate?"

I licked the blood from my lip. "Do I think you're desperate?"

"Yeah. Do you?"

Maybe he was trying to trick me. I wasn't going to admit that I'd listened to him and Troy talk about paying back the value of the drugs and cash. And there was no way in hell I'd tell him I knew they were worried about a bullet with their name on it.

"I don't know anything about you that would make me think you're desperate."

"Good answer."

*   *   *

Dalton's excitement to see me vanished the instant he saw my bloody, swollen lip.

"What happened?"

"I called my dad and told him about the ransom."

"I was talking about your lip."

Waving away his concern, I replied, "He was just proving a point."

"What was that?"

In the bathroom, I soaked a washcloth with cold water and then held it to my lip. "Just . . . " I wasn't sure what lie to tell him. "Just to follow directions."

Craig and Troy's muffled voices mingled in the living room.

I dropped the washcloth and hurried to the bedroom door. On the floor, I set my ear close to the gap.

"Good timing," Craig said. "We won't have to worry about the Jeep anymore, and we'll have half the cash we need for Keith."

"We can go now and get a drink or something before we meet up with the buyer."

"Yeah, I guess. Let's go get it over with."

A scuttle of footsteps was followed by the opening and closing of the front door.

At the window, I listened intently until I was confident that the two vehicles had driven away.

Facing Dalton on the edge of the bed, I calmly said, "Okay. I lied. He didn't hit me to prove a point about following directions. He hit me to prove that he's dangerous."

"Dangerous how?"

"Dangerous as in he's capable of anything." I jerked open the top drawer of the dresser. "When he hit you a couple weeks ago, was that out of anger or do you think he wanted to hurt you?"

"Uh, he was fighting with my mom and angry at her. So I guess it was to hurt me."

"Now we know he won't hesitate to hurt us if he wants."

"What about the ransom?"

I carefully rummaged through the clothes. "I have to call my dad back tonight. If they have the money, then I'm sure Craig will have his instructions about exchanging it for us. Between now and when we're finally free, we don't know what the hell could happen."

He joined me at the dresser. "What are you looking for?"

"Anything. A weapon or something. I won't know until I find it." I pointed at the door. "They'll probably be gone a while, but you need to listen in case they come back. I'm going to search the bedroom and bathroom."

The dresser had nothing but clothing and extra bath towels. There was nothing in the small closet that might be used as a weapon. During our time in the cabin, nothing in the bathroom had caught my eye, but I searched anyway. No tweezers. No pointed-edge nail file. No small tools. Nothing.

In the bedroom again, I scanned from wall to wall. We couldn't break the mirror without soliciting suspicion or punishment. My heart pulsated with failure until I remembered the light fixture in the ceiling. I rushed to flip the switch. Only three of the four light bulbs worked.

I unscrewed the nipple cap and handed the glass globe to Dalton. Once I removed the burned out bulb, I put the globe back into place.

"What are you gonna do with that?"

Walking to the bathroom, I said, "In case you need it, you can use this as a weapon."

"How?"

I wrapped toilet paper around the bulb and then gently tapped it against the edge of the tub until the glass cracked. I opened the small ventilation window above the toilet and then pressed a corner of the screen until it tore and pushed away from the frame. Dropping the biggest pieces of glass outside the window, I said, "You can do some damage by using this to slice someone."

I presented the metal cap with a jagged glass crown. "Hide this by the bed where you can get to it quickly if needed."

He looked scared. "You think we'll have to use it?"

"Maybe not." I closed the window and then gripped his shoulders. "But if something happens, I want you to have a weapon."

Clearly frightened, he said, "You're bigger and muscular. You can fight him. Or Troy. I'm just a kid."

"If one of them comes after you in here, you fight with all your might and slice them up with that. And go for the throat."

Sufficiently stunned by the scenario I'd painted, he simply looked at me. Then he walked to the far side of the bed and knelt. "I'm hiding it behind the back leg."

"And you can get to it quickly, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good." I plopped onto the bed and grabbed our book. "My parents are going to pay the ransom. We might be free in two days. After that, you'll never have to pick up the broken bulb again."

"I hope not."

"You won't. So don't think about it." I flipped the pages to chapter twenty-two. "Let's read."

As I opened my mouth to speak, the sound of scurrying feet drew our attention to the window.

"Must be that squirrel I saw when Troy and I put up the bars."

"On the roof?"

"It was running along the gutter." I cleared my throat and looked at the first line of the chapter. "Ready to read?"

"Yeah."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Nearly two hours had passed when Craig and Troy bounded back into the cabin. The aroma of pizza drifted into the bedroom before they unlocked the door.

Annoyed or simply revealing his personality, Troy barked, "Let's eat. Then you and Craig got an eight o'clock appointment."

Standing, I asked, "The phone call?"

"Yeah, the fucking phone call. What the hell did you think I was talking about, a manicure?" He tapped his fingers on the doorjamb. "C'mon. What are you waiting for, a written invitation?"

Troy was amped up and fidgety. I'd witnessed the same behavior by Stacey enough times to know he was high.

Sitting at the kitchen table, I worried about leaving Dalton at the cabin with Troy while I made the next phone call. Earlier, the trip to the clearing and back had taken about thirty minutes. Who knew what an irritable, drugged up Troy was capable of doing in a half hour?

He sat next to me, stretched out his legs, and then rocked his feet in a nervous display of energy. Suddenly, he shot up from the chair and stomped to the front door. "I'm smoking."

The first bite of hot, greasy cheese pizza stung my split lip. Still, I refused to visibly react for Craig's enjoyment.

Dalton ate more slowly than usual.

"What's wrong?" Craig asked me. "Not hungry?"

"Uh, I'm hungry. It's a little too hot right now."

Craig raised his shoulders with a disinterested shrug as if to say yeah sure, kid, whatever.

"Maybe Dalton can go with us," I said. "He's been locked up here this whole time."

"Go for what? Why?"

"I don't know. Stretch his legs. Fresh air."

Craig laughed. "Shut up and eat your pizza."

Leaning forward, I said, "Troy's high, right?"

"What's your point?"

"I mean, he doesn't get all crazy and violent, does he? If he does, then I think Dalton should go with us."

"He ain't gonna smack the kid around, okay? You're paranoid."

I considered that Craig was maybe high as well and that it just wasn't as obvious. So I kept my mouth shut to avoid pissing him off.

The three of us sat silently eating pizza. My eyes drifted from one spot in the cabin to another because I believed making direct eye contact might be a mistake.

When Troy returned to the table, he munched on one slice of pizza and gulped two beers. Tossing the crust to the trash can a few feet away, he asked Craig, "Did you tell them about tomorrow?"

"No, dumbass."

"Eh. Okay. Sorry for asking."

"You should be sorry. Unless I tell you otherwise, you shouldn't ask questions in front of these two. Sometimes you're a fucking idiot."

"Oh, screw you, man. No harm, no foul."

Craig glared at him with a red-hot intensity. "Did you forget who you're talking to? Or are you dumber than I thought?"

Jumping to his feet, Troy slammed his fist onto the table. His chair toppled over with a raucous thud. "I think you forgot who you're talking to."

Dalton clutched my knee with a powerful grip.

Slowly rising from his seat, Craig said, "Troy, the fucking idiot. That's who I'm talking to. Now pick up that damn chair and sit your ass down real quick before you regret it."

I stared at the pizza in the box, not wanting to attract the attention of either as I prepared to yank Dalton from the table should an explosive fight erupt.

Honestly, I agreed with Craig. Troy was stupid for instigating an argument. Stocky, muscled Craig looked like he could totally kick Troy's lean muscular ass in a heartbeat. Troy was the type of guy who wanted people to think he was a bad ass. As my Grumps liked to say, he couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag. Which is probably why he liked smacking me around. I couldn't fight back without risking Craig's wrath.

Something had happened during the time they were gone with the Jeep. Their moods had soured, especially Troy's. Obviously, I had no clue what had influenced the change. All I could do was maintain my cooperative, polite facade while hoping they didn't turn on us. Dalton and I only needed to get through the next two or three days until we were released.

As Troy set the chair right, Craig said, "You need to relax. Pretty soon this will all be over."

"Uh, huh." Troy snatched a slice of pizza from the box.

"You're impatient."

"And you know why."

Assuming someone with a gun might show up at the cabin door with bullets marked Craig and Troy, I didn't care what dangerous situation they might face. I only hoped Dalton and I were out of the picture by then.

*   *   *

Blindfolded and stretched out on the back seat, I listened to the hum of the engine as my head bounced with every bump of the road. I was a little too anxious about making the phone call, and that worried me because maybe it meant I was becoming more desperate to avoid any unexpected threatening turn of events. The fact that Dalton was at the cabin with a drugged and volatile Troy concerned me as well. While these thoughts cycled through my head, Craig listed his instructions for the phone call. My anxiety inflated, fearing that I'd miss something important he wanted me to say. And the warning I was to give my parents nearly panicked me.

Once the Rover came to a stop, I breathed in deeply and silently prayed that the call would go as expected, that Dalton would be safe at the cabin with Troy, and that I wouldn't suffer another round of physical violence at Craig's hand.

"Here's the deal," he said. "I'm gonna let you talk off the cuff a little bit."

"Meaning?"

"Say what you need to say to make your parents understand how serious this situation is. Got it?"

"Yeah." I removed the blindfold and set it aside.

He handed me a TracFone and the slip of paper.

I dialed my dad's number because I couldn't bear to hear my mom's frantic voice again.

Two rings. "Hello, this is David Newhouse."

"Hey, Dad. It's me."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Did you get the money?"

"We have access to the cash in twenties. I only need to make a call about picking it up."

"Split the money between two bags. Two backpacks. Whatever."

"Okay."

"I'll call you tomorrow morning. If you have the money, I'll tell you where the money needs to be dropped off. If you don't have it yet, then you have six hours to get it. I'll call you back and if you have the cash, then I'll tell you where to drop it off."

"We'll get it first thing in the morning."

"No police or FBI. There can't be anyone around watching and ready to arrest somebody. Got it?"

"Yes, I understand."

"No one, Dad. You have to promise there won't be anyone there."

"I promise, I promise."

"If there is, Dalton and I won't make it out of this alive."

He exhaled heavily.

I was certain I'd heard my mother exclaim Oh, my God, no!

Then I heard Grumps shouting. Get out. No. Don't tell me what I need to do. Everybody out of here, now.

I imagined Grumps forcibly shoving police officers and FBI agents out of the house.

"You understand, don't you, Dad?"

"Yes. There won't be anyone there. I promise, Spencer. No one."

"Okay. Good. I love you." Then I hung up.

I ached as if my ribcage was squeezing my heart little by little. I resisted the tears welling in my eyes.

Smiling, he took the TracFone from me and then shifted the Rover into drive. "You did good. Killing you and Dalton was a nice touch."

"You said something bad would happen to us."

"Maybe."

"If it's not death, then what is it?"

"You'll find out tomorrow."

I lowered my head and closed my eyes. Tomorrow? Troy had mentioned tomorrow. What the hell had they planned?

He parked, then opened the driver's door. "Get out."

In the clearing, I watched him smash the TracFone and then light a cigarette. He regarded me a with curious look and a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Sounded like someone was kicking some detectives outta the house."

"That was my grandfather."

"You think they'll do the drop without the police?"

"That's what I told them to do. So yeah."

Exhaling a puff of smoke, he gestured for me to follow him to the edge of the clearing. He stepped onto a narrow dirt path nearly concealed by bushes. We walked several feet through the overgrowth and then rounded an enormous stump of a tree that had apparently fallen due to old age or perhaps a storm.

As the shrubbery thinned, he slowed his pace and glanced at me. "Do you have any idea where we are?"

"Right now? Or in general?"

"Either."

"Well, it's a forest. We didn't drive a long time." I remembered the press conference. We're confident the boys are still in Massachusetts. "I don't know. New Hampshire, maybe."

He parted a wall of tall bushes. An enormous body of water lay at the foot of the steep, sloping hill. Several small islands were scattered about. It reminded me of the coastline, but I knew we weren't looking at the Atlantic Ocean. We'd traveled west, not east.

I flashbacked to a field trip in the seventh grade. The two-hour trip. The forest of trees and hiking trails. The four towns that were flooded in 1938 to meet the demand for water service to the public, further increasing the size of the reservoir.

I was near certain I knew where we were located.

"I've never killed a kid before," he said. "I'm not sure I could do it. But I could toss you into the middle of the lake and let you guys fend for yourselves. Hands tied, of course."

"You won't have to. You'll get your money tomorrow."

He dropped the cigarette butt to the ground. "You're gonna get my money tomorrow." Shrugging, he added, "Maybe Saturday. But you're getting it. Not me. Not Troy."

"Me?"

"Yeah." He motioned back to the trail. "I can't be too sure there won't be any cops around. You think I'm just gonna waltz on up to the cash and get busted? No way."

"Grumps won't . . . I mean, my grandfather won't let that happen."

"Cops are sneaky. They'll do just about anything to grab their guy. And I don't know how much influence your grandfather has with the city and shit like that."

"I'll go get your money."

"I wasn't asking. You're gonna do it 'cause it's your job." He stood in the center of the clearing and crossed his arms. "The internet is pretty amazing. You can find out how much certain amounts of cash will weigh. And five hundred thousand is gonna weigh about fifty-five pounds." He thumped my chest with a fist. "A muscular stud like you, that will be easy for you to carry as you haul ass."

"Okay. It'll be no problem."

He chuckled. "You're so accommodating. I kinda like you."

Oh, ha ha. I kinda like you too, Craig. Bullshit.

"Let's go. We got a big day tomorrow."

Walking into the cabin, I was relieved to see Dalton sitting on the sofa watching TV. He had no visible marks of abuse. As I sat next to him, he smiled at me but quickly returned his eyes to the television.

"Yeah, watch some TV," Craig said as he opened the refrigerator. "When that movie or whatever is over, I want you guys to clean up this kitchen. Got it?"

"We will," I replied.

He sat at the table and focused on the screen of his phone while he sipped a beer.

"Maybe tomorrow," I whispered to Dalton.

He nibbled on his thumb. "Tomorrow?"

"Freedom."

*   *   *

I awoke the next morning to someone kicking the bedframe.

As I opened my eyes, I heard Troy's voice.

"Get up and get dressed. We're leaving in thirty minutes."

I didn't look at him. I didn't ask questions. When he walked out of the room, I glanced at Dalton. "Today might be our lucky day."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah. My parents will have the money. I'll go get it. Craig and Troy will have their cash. Then you and I will be free."

I slipped into the pair of dirty jeans I'd worn our first day at the cabin. Pulling a T-shirt over my head, I said, "If not today, tomorrow. I can feel it."

"I hope so." He followed me into the hall where we nearly collided with Troy.

"Sorry," I muttered.

Troy rubbed his eyebrow with a bony finger and then sighed. "You don't need to get up," he said to Dalton. "You can go back to bed."

Slowly retreating into the bedroom, Dalton replied, "Okay. I'll wait for Craig to get me."

"Jeez, kid. Craig's in the damn kitchen. I was just telling you that you don't need to get up if you don't want to." He yanked on the sleeve of my shirt. "C'mon. Hurry up with your breakfast. We gotta go soon."

For miles, I sat blindfolded as Troy drove along bumpy roads before merging onto asphalt. Several minutes later, I was allowed to remove the partial tank top from my face. He said nothing more to me, and I didn't speak to him.

I noted Interstate 291 passed under the Massachusetts Turnpike, but I had no idea where we were headed. Soon, the interstate entered a metro area, and I saw homes and businesses on either side of the road. The traffic increased. Exit ramps and city signage appeared left, right, and straight ahead.

"You ready?" he asked.

"For what?"

"I'm gonna show you where you need to go after you pick up the money."

"Oh."

"Springfield." He took Exit 2B and followed the signs for Dwight Street. "The drop-off will be right before the Memorial Bridge."

He slowed the Rover on Boland Way, stopping at the red light that intersected with West Columbus Avenue. Memorial Bridge was just beyond the intersection.

Pointing to the right, he said, "The money should be dropped off behind this parking garage. You're gonna get it, then cross the street to the bridge." The light turned green, and he drove forward. "Walk across. And don't take your time doing it. You're not out for a summer stroll. Got it?"

"Yeah. Okay."

"You walk all the way across." When we reached the end of the bridge, he braked and waited to merge into traffic at a roundabout. "You're going to walk around the Memorial Rotary to the far side and go to Dunkin' Donuts. I'll pick you up and drive back to the cabin."

"That sounds easy enough."

"Yeah, it is. If your parents don't fuck it up by bringing the cops."

"My dad knows that can't happen."

"He better."

"He does."

Troy merged right, followed the roundabout for a block, and then drove into the Dunkin' Donuts parking lot. "And to show you that I can be a nice guy, I'll buy you a donut and coffee."

*   *   *

When I removed the blindfold, I immediately noticed a blue Mercedes CLA parked in front of the cabin. Although tempted to ask Troy about it, I kept my mouth shut and followed him inside. A distinguished man in his early forties who could pass as an attorney or a CEO of some kind sat with Craig at the kitchen table. They greeted us with self-assured smiles.

"You're a little late," Craig said.

"There was an accident on the interstate," Troy replied.

"I just got here," the stranger said. "Ran into some traffic myself."

"Yeah, it can be a bitch."

"This is the kid, huh?" The man stood and shrugged off his navy suit jacket. "You were right. Beautiful face."

Confused and uncomfortable, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. "Um. Where's Dalton?"

"In the bedroom," Craig said.

The man glanced around. "Let's see. I think the living room will be a more ideal location." He pointed to the far side of the room. "There's a nice blank background we can use."

He approached and gestured to the wall.

"What are we doing?" I asked.

"I have a few questions." He removed a pad of paper and a small digital camera from the pocket of his slacks. "Spencer, right?"

"Yeah."

"How old are you?"

"I'll be seventeen on August first."

"Oh, wow. Okay." He wrote in the pad. "And how tall are you?"

"Six foot." I glanced at Craig. "What's going on?"

Craig said nothing, and the man continued.

"How much do you weigh?"

"One seventy-five."

"Nice." He smiled. "Are you a virgin?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you a virgin?"

"No. What the hell is going on here? Who are you? Why are you asking me these questions?"

"Straight?"

Lightheaded, I was certain the color drained from my face as they stared at me. "Why do you—"

"Are you straight?"

"Yes!" I turned to Craig. "Please tell me who this man is."

The man clicked the pen repeatedly. "No gay experiences at all?"

"What? No."

"Be honest. It doesn't matter."

"No! I haven't had any gay experiences."

Writing, he muttered, "Partial virgin."

Troy leaned against the refrigerator with his arms folded.

Craig watched me, his gaze more severe than moments before.

The man tapped me on the arm. "Stand in front of that wall."

Again, I glanced at Craig, and he flicked his hand to the wall with an expression that read: don't fuck this up or you'll regret it.

I walked to the far side of the room and faced the man.

He lifted the digital camera to his eye. "Take your shirt off."

"Why? What are you doing?"

Craig shouted, "Do what your told! And keep your mouth shut."

Biting my lip, I debated what to do. If I refused, I'd likely get my ass kicked by three men. I took a deep breath, removed the shirt, and then dropped it to the floor.

"Holy shit," the man proclaimed. "That's an impressive body you got there. Do you know what your body fat percentage is?"

I rocked on my feet slightly as my torso pulsated with alarm. "Like seven. Maybe six."

"Lean as hell, man. Really shows off your muscles." He snapped a picture. "Take your jeans off."

I hesitated.

"Do it!" Craig yelled.

I stepped out of my jeans and kicked them to the side.

"Boxers," the man scoffed, then took a picture. "Turn to the side."

Memories of my vanity and cockiness shuffled through my mind. All the times I'd worn a tank top to show off my muscles. Moments I'd gone shirtless to be admired, strutting across the gym floor or at a party like I was a star. The sexy photos I'd posted on social media. The intimate selfies I'd shared with girls.

"Face me again," he said. "Do a muscle pose. You know, show off all that hard work."

Embarrassed, I flexed my biceps, then dropped my arms to my sides.

"Nice." He examined the photo. "Good. Now take the boxers off."

"Seriously?"

The man narrowed his eyes as though my reluctance consumed his valuable time.

"Are these pictures for you? Is this a turn-on or something?"

Craig situated himself next to the sofa. "Take them off."

"I don't understand why I have to do this."

"You don't need to understand," Craig snapped. "Do it."

I hooked my thumbs into my waistband but again hesitated.

Troy still watched from the kitchen.

Craig glared at me.

The guy appeared to be losing patience. "C'mon, kid. Craig said he saw dick pics on your phone. Yours, right?"

I let the boxers fall and drape around my ankles. I'd always been a show-off, but now I was humiliated. I fixated on the man's navy tie as I wondered what I was supposed to do. Stand there like an idiot? Cross my arms? Flex my biceps again?

He snapped a couple pictures and then cast a quick glance to Craig. "Impressive all-around. We won't have any problems with him." He set his eyes on me again. "Now turn around."

I faced the wall, then paused while he took a picture. Twisting forward again, my right leg trembled slightly.

"Okay. Now I want you to—"

"I'm not doing anything else. I don't want to do this."

"Don't be a wimp. A couple erection pics, then you're done."

"I'm seriously done." I yanked the boxers back on.

"Do what he says," Craig warned. "Don't tell us what—"

"It's fine, it's fine," the man said. "I got face, body, dick, ass."

"He'll do it," Craig said.

"No, really. It's fine." The man's gaze swept from me to Craig. "Where's the kid? He's seven?"

"Eleven."

The jolt of shock to my body nearly sent me to my knees. "What!" I exclaimed. "What are you doing with Dalton?"

Craig waved Troy to the hall. "Go get him."

"No!" I shouted. "You can't do this to him. He's just a kid."

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Please." I rushed to the man. "I'll do the other pictures you wanted me to do."

"I got what I needed," he replied. "You're done."

"Please don't do this," I pleaded with Craig. "I'll shut up and do the other pictures. I will." I started pushing my boxers down my hips.

Craig yanked my arm and flung me across the room. "You're done. Now it's time for you to shut the hell up."

He shoved me to the hall.

Troy brushed past me, leading a frightened Dalton by the hand.

I reached for Dalton's arm, but Craig pushed me harder, which sent me staggering backward against the wall. Before I had a chance to stand upright, he thrust me into the bedroom.

Landing on my ass with a loud thud, I grunted and then sprung to my feet. "Don't make him do those pictures. You're going to get your money. There's no reason to do this. You'll have all that money today. You know it. Please, leave him alone."

"What's going on?" Dalton cried.

Craig blocked my attempt to rush out of the room. He forced me off-balance into the dresser. When I looked at him, he punched me in the face. I swung my fist, but he snatched my wrist and punched me again. And then again.

On the floor, I tasted blood.

Leaning close, he said, "Not as tough as you thought, huh, stud?"

I kicked him in the thigh. "Please, don't make Dalton do this."

His fist smashed into my face.

An explosion of silvery static blinded me and then blackness overwhelmed me.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Dalton shook my shoulders as I opened my eyes to a squint. Touching my face, I winced. The throb of my head weakened as I sat up.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a panicked voice.

"Uh, huh. I'm fine." I gripped his hand as he helped me to my feet. "What did they do to you? Did they take pictures?"

"Yeah."

"He didn't touch you, did you?"

"No."

"Good." I wrapped my arms around him. "I'm sorry."

"What are they doing?"

"I don't know." I positioned myself at the gap at the bottom of the door. "Be quiet."

For a moment, I didn't hear anything. Then someone laughed.

"And that's it?" Craig asked.

"Yeah," the man replied. "This kinda shit happens all the time."

"Really?"

"Oh, hell yeah. It's on the news a lot if you pay attention. But I try not to. This is a side hustle for me, you know?"

"Now what?"

"I'll see who's interested. The younger kid is more valuable than the older one. I mean, that teenager is good-looking and has a great body from head to toe, but the kid's only eleven. There's a lot more money to be made with him."

"Well, let me know when you hear something."

"Oh, I will. Trust me. I wanna make my twenty percent."

The front door opened.

Did Craig plan to sell us to some pervert after receiving the ransom money? Why? Two hundred fifty thousand dollars wasn't enough for him? Were Dalton and I going to be shipped to a foreign country as sex slaves or prostitutes? Victims of a child pornography ring? Sold to be raped and killed? Was this Plan B to make some money in case he didn't get the ransom from my parents?

I had to convince Craig not to sell us to the highest bidder. He and Troy would be hundreds of thousands of dollars richer by the end of the day. They could run off and start a new life somewhere, never arrested and imprisoned for kidnapping us.

Every molecule of my being flamed with urgency. Yes, Craig was a dangerous man. I fully believed it.

Beating on the door, I yelled, "Craig!"

To my surprise, the lock unlatched. The door cracked open slowly as if purposely taunting us. Standing in the hall, Craig studied my face. Casually, he said, "You should put some ice on that."

Horrified and desperate, I felt tears prick my eyes. "Don't let that man sell us off," I begged. "Especially Dalton. Please!"

"You need to calm down," he said as he walked away.

I followed, practically tripping on his heels and breathing down his neck. "You're going to get the money from my parents. A quarter of a million dollars each. You don't need to do business with that man. You'll have all that money by the end of the day."

Turning, he smiled. "I'll tell you what the plan is when you need to know." He clutched my shoulders and leaned close like was going to kiss me. "Go wash the blood and snot and spit off your face. Put some ice on it for a while. You got a job to do tonight."

He looked at Dalton. "Put some ice in a baggie. Then help him get cleaned up."

My face was a mix of blotchy redness and a splash of developing blue. The pain radiated from my jaw to my left eye. The split skin of my lip still oozed blood. I didn't look good at all, and I doubted ice and a hot shower would improve my appearance.

Before stepping into the tub, I tossed my boxers to the floor. The stranger's expression of mocking, bemused surprise flashed before my eyes. Boxers!

Dalton dumped the melting ice from the Ziploc baggie into the sink. "Do you want me to get some more?"

"I guess so."

The water pressure was crap. The stream alternated between an acceptable flow and a stuttering spit. I stared at my feet, watching the water that dripped from my body maneuver around my toes.

"I found this."

Pulling the shower curtain aside, I looked at the small tube in his hand. "What is it?"

"Pain reliever."

"How old is it?"

He examined the tube and then suddenly whipped his eyes to the ceiling. "Um. I think that squirrel's in the house."

"What?"

"I think the squirrel's running around the attic."

I focused on the ceiling but didn't hear it. "How old is that tube?"

Holding it close to his eyes, he said, "I think it's expired."

"That reminds me," I said. "How's your finger?"

"Fine."

Positive reinforcement. "When we're free, the stitches come out."

*   *   *

I wasn't able to eat much of the turkey sandwich because my jaw hurt too much. Half of it remained on my plate with the chips and a dill pickle that had stung the hell out of my lip.

"Are you done?" Craig asked.

I nodded.

"All right. Let's go call your father."

"I need to put my shoes on."

"We're only going out to the porch."

We sat on the steps side by side as though we were close friends.

I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees, listening to what he wanted me to tell my father. When he stopped speaking, he handed me the TracFone, and I gripped it like it was a precious gem.

"Hello, this is David Newhouse."

"Hey, Dad." The possibility that I might never see my family again stabbed at my heart. Maybe after getting the ransom money, Craig would sell Dalton and me to the man. Maybe Craig had never planned to release us.

"We have the money. It's divided equally in two backpacks. We're ready to drop it off."

"Good." Tears nested in the corners of my eyes. "Go to the I-91 North Parking Garage in Springfield. At the corner of Boland Way and West Columbus. Drop the backpacks behind the hedges along the wall of the parking garage. Then you need to leave. Go back home. I'll call later to give you details about our release."

"Okay."

I inhaled deeply. "So you're ready to do this?"

"Yes, of course."

"The backpacks need to be dropped off by five o'clock. Then get the hell out of there."

"Okay. The money will be there."

"And no cops or FBI, right?"

"No one."

"Good. You wrote down everything about the drop-off?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I love you." I ended the call and handed the phone back to Craig. "You'll have your money tonight."

"Great." He stomped on the TracFone. "Troy's gonna take you."

When I stood, he tugged on my jeans and motioned for me to sit.

"You were pretty worked up about Dalton and that guy."

"Dalton didn't need to go through that. It's disgusting."

"Well, you proved how much you really care about him."

Sighing, I looked at him. "What's your point?"

"You're very protective of him. It'll be a great motivator for you tonight."

"What do you mean?"

"When you get the money, if you don't make it back because of the police or some other bullshit . . . well, things won't be looking so good for Dalton."

"Don't hurt him."

"If you don't make it back to the cabin with the money, I'll have to do something. Maybe that guy will come back to get him. Or maybe I'll take Dalton on a trip to the middle of the lake."

"I'll be here with the money. Don't worry."

"I'm not gonna worry. But I'll be waiting for you to walk through the door tonight."

"You'll see me walk inside with the money. I promise."

"Good." He slapped me on the knee and then stood. "Back inside. You have a few hours until you gotta go."

Craig's hard-edged tone had weakened considerably. But I wasn't fooled. If something went wrong during the pickup, I believed Dalton would suffer a horrible fate. The man or the lake. I didn't know which was worse. No, the man was worse.

My father and Grumps would have demanded that the police not be involved. But maybe someone exerted their authority, overriding my family's wishes. If so, Dalton and I were screwed.

I returned to the kitchen to try and eat more of my sandwich.

Troy entered from the hall with a beer. "The kid says there's a squirrel in the attic."

Craig furrowed his brow. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I heard it." Troy sat next to me at the table. "There's a fucking rat or squirrel or something running around up there."

"So what."

"If it dies up there, this place is gonna stink like hell."

"We won't be here much longer."

"What if we are?" He gulped his beer. "But whatever you say."

Groaning, Craig stopped at the entrance to the hall and looked at me. "Get over here, kid. You're going up there to check it out."

In the hall, he reached up and pulled a small, knotted rope on an access panel. A retractable ladder screeched as it unfolded to the floor.

He pointed to the opening. "There's a string hanging up there to turn on the light. And be careful. The attic's unfinished. Step off the framing and you'll come crashing down on your ass in the living room or somewhere."

The ladder wobbled with each of my steps. A wave of heat hit me the moment I poked my head into the attic. After turning on the light, I scanned the length of the dimly lit space. Blonde wood framing crisscrossed the entire area. A window, half the standard size, looked out to the side of the house. On the opposite wall, a similar window faced a dense forestry of trees.

Peering into the darkness, I finally spotted sunlight shining through a gap. Carefully walking on the framing, I made my way to the corner and inspected the hole.

"I don't see the squirrel," I shouted. "But I think I found where it's coming in at. The hole's not that bad."

"Can you block it off?"

"With what?"

"Is there anything up there you can use?"

I saw several pieces of fairly small wood paneling, but I lied. "No. Maybe it can be blocked from the outside."

"Fine. Do you see the squirrel?"

"Let me look." The electrical wiring trailed the framing and spread out to various locations. Based on my spot, I was almost certain that our bedroom was to the right. I followed the wires along the frame until I believed I found where it connected to the light socket in the closet. Running my finger around the porcelain base, I forced bits of Sheetrock to fall below. Then I worked my way back to ladder.

"I didn't see a squirrel," I said as I descended the steps. "If the hole is sealed off soon, it won't get back in the attic."

The ladder released a metallic whine as it folded and closed with a jarring clap.

"Go take a look," Craig said to Troy.

"What?"

"Go outside and see if you can block the hole."

Troy smirked. "You said we weren't gonna be here much longer. Just leave it."

"You scared of heights or something?"

Apparently offended, Troy retorted, "No. I just don't wanna do it. Have the kid do it."

"Hell no. I'm not sending him up a ladder to the roof. What if he falls? You gonna go get the cash if he can't walk?"

"He ain't gonna fall."

Angry, Craig flipped his middle finger. "Screw you. I'm not risking it, dipshit."

Seated next to Dalton on the sofa, I watched the undulating tension between the two. If they'd ever been close friends, it appeared their friendship had deteriorated.

I nudged Dalton's arm. "Let's go read for a while."

Troy swiped his cigarettes and lighter from the kitchen table and then stalked outside like a pouting child. Before closing the front door, he repeated in mocking fashion, "I'm not risking it, dipshit."

Stepping toward the hall, I said, "We're going to read. And maybe I might take a quick nap."

Craig waved us by. "Whatever. You're leaving about five o'clock."

"Okay."

In the bedroom, I waited to hear the door lock behind us, but it didn't happen. I searched the carpet in the closet for bits of Sheetrock. Satisfied by the sight of chalky debris, I ushered Dalton into the bathroom, closed the door, and then sat him on the edge of the tub.

Quietly, I said, "I'm pretty sure I know where we are."

"You do?"

"Yeah, like ninety-nine percent sure. Quabbin Reservoir."

"So what does that mean?"

"If we escape, we can probably get away pretty easily."

"Escape?"

Leaning close, I whispered, "I don't know what their plan is. After I get the money, maybe we'll be free just like they said. But if it looks like they're not going to release us, then we have to try escaping."

The brightness of Dalton's blue eyes had dimmed. "You think we'll have to?"

"Maybe." I clutched his shoulders and gazed into his eyes. "To be honest, I think it's possible they're going to give us to that man. And you know what that will mean, right?"

He responded with a single nod.

"I'm not going to let that or anything else bad happen to us. If we're not free soon, we're running."

"How?"

I led him to the closet and pointed at the spot where my finger had poked through the Sheetrock. "The attic is unfinished. There's no floor. We can make a hole here, pull ourselves up into the attic, then climb out the window."

"You really think we can?"

"We'll have no choice."

"Okay."

As we returned to the bed, I added, "We have to do it at night. It'll be really dark. But it'll give us more time to run because they'll be sleeping or whatever because they'll think we're asleep."

He took a deep breath then released an excessive exhale. "Okay."

I draped my arm across his shoulders and hugged him to my side. "Don't worry. One way or the other, we're getting out of here."

Depending on the situation we faced, we'd have two paths to run from the cabin. The dirt road, which would sooner than later lead to somewhere safe. Or the forest of trees and rolling hills, which would likely prove to be fairly treacherous. Yet it didn't matter. One way or the other, we're getting out of here.

With a looming handoff to freedom or to slavery, neither of us were in the mood to read. There was no reason for me to scare Dalton further with the threat of being dropped in the middle of the reservoir. We lay on the bed in silence. I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep.

*   *   *

Troy chain-smoked on the way to Springfield. Each passing minute caused my nerves to wildly flutter like tall blades of grass flailing in the gusty wind.

"Rush hour won't be so bad," Troy muttered to himself. "Traffic will be dying off. Yeah, right. Whatever, asshole."

I slipped the blindfold off my head and peered out the window. We were close to our destination. But when I expected him to turn right, he turned left, away from the parking garage.

"Where are you going?"

"I ain't dropping you off like an Uber. You think I'm an idiot? My ass ain't getting busted."

"My dad knows there can't be any cops or anything."

"Well, I ain't stupid enough to see if he's telling the truth."

I slumped in the seat, my hands between my knees. It was just a matter of time before I had two backpacks loaded with half a million dollars. All I needed to do was get across the bridge to Troy and then return to the cabin. Hours later or first thing in the morning, Dalton and I would finally be free.

He pulled into the parking lot of a Holiday Inn Express, then stopped next to a white Ford Explorer. "Get out," he ordered.

"Here?"

"Yeah, here. Jeez." He pointed. "Walk in that direction. You'll see the bridge. Head for the parking garage and get the money. I'll be at the Dunkin'."

I hopped out of the Rover and surveyed the area.

"Don't take too long," he said as he pulled away. "And you better not fuck it up."

I stood there motionless, dumbfounded by my sudden liberation. I watched cars drive by and people walk on the sidewalk. It was a minor bout of sensory overload. The breeze cooled my skin. The noise of the city was oddly comforting. The scent of a nearby bakery deflated the tension buzzing within me.

My commitment to Dalton quickly returned to the foreground of my mind, and I focused on the obligation required of me. With an inflated sense of duty, I walked in the direction Troy had pointed.

I rushed along State Street until I reached Hall of Fame Avenue. The towers of Memorial Bridge caught my eye, and I raced two blocks to the corner of Boland Way. The parking garage sat across the street, tantalizing me as though it offered some magical token I needed to claim. In a way, it did, because the key to freedom seemed pretty damn powerful at that moment.

Rush hour had not diminished. Cars clogged the streets, and a steady line of traffic waited at the light to drive onto the bridge.

The instant the crosswalk blinked in my favor, I sprinted across the street and rounded a small red-brick wall to a grassy area with several bushes and a small tree dwarfed by one large tree. Most of the bushes were so little I doubted they provided enough space to hide two backpacks full of money. But one large bush near the tall tree looked promising. Scanning left and right, I took a deep breath and darted straight for it.

Nearly collapsing to my knees, I parted the twigs and gasped at the sight of the two backpacks. It's the money. It's the money!

I swung a heavy backpack to each shoulder and jumped to my feet. Twisting, I walked briskly—but casually—toward the street. Then I heard a male voice call my name.

My heart sledgehammered as I looked in the direction of the parking garage. My father stood on the opposite side of the small concrete wall.

Panic pumped through my body so quickly that I thought I would have a heart attack on the spot. "No, no, no!" I screamed. "You're not supposed to be here."

He stepped over the wall, anguish painting his face. "Oh, my God. Spencer!"

"You're going to get us killed," I yelled over my shoulder as I ran.

He called out my name again, but I didn't look back. I sprinted to the corner and stopped dead in my tracks. Traffic whooshed by, the blur of colors blinding me.

I panted as a four-alarm of sound screeched in my head.

"Spencer!"

My dad raced toward me.

The cars slowed to a stop, and then the traffic light indicated that I could walk.

"Don't follow me," I shouted as I bolted across the street to the bridge and onto the walkway.

The nearly sixty pounds of cash thumped against my back.

Please, no police. Please, no police. Please, no police.

The shock of seeing my father morphed into anger. Why had he ignored the rules? Why had he ignored my warning?

Halfway across the Connecticut River, a black car matched my pace. Glancing to the side, I instantly recognized Grumps behind the wheel.

I burst into tears. "Go! You're going to get us killed."

He powered down the window.

Stopping to catch my breath, I peered into the car. "If I don't make it back with the money, they're going to kill Dalton. Don't follow me. No one is supposed to be here."

The vehicles behind his BMW squealed to a stop and honked.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I shouted, "If there are any cops, you better tell them to back off. Or Dalton and I are dead. Do you understand? Dead!"

He opened his mouth to respond, but I ran.

Closer. Closer to the roundabout.

Cars waited to merge into traffic at Memorial Rotary.

I spotted my grandfather's BMW five cars back. In an instant, I studied the oncoming traffic and then rushed forward.

Tires screamed. Horns blared. I weaved between two cars to the next section of walkway. Without looking back and gasping for breath, I jumped behind a pickup and darted across the road to the sidewalk.

Bent with my hands on my knees, I gulped air. As I stood upright, the green highway sign in front of me read: 147 West. Dunkin' Donuts was across the street. Although Grumps was now eight or nine cars behind me, I raced across the road. A driver slammed on their brakes, inches from hitting me. I staggered to the side, twisted on my feet, and fought to regain my balance. Then a second car sped toward me. If I didn't instantly jump out of the way, I'd be roadkill.

I dove for the median.

The car clipped the backpack hanging from my elbow. The force spun me into the pole of a streetlight.

Pain shot from my forearm to my shoulder.

The backpack sailed through the air and landed in the middle of Memorial Rotary.

For a moment, I thought my arm had broken, but I soon realized the pain was a result of the backpack being ripped from me.

My eyes focused on the bag for a fraction of a second, then the tire of a speeding car sent it skidding backward.

Before I could scream a string of obscenities, a second car ran over the backpack. Twenty-dollar bills scattered across the pavement. With each passing car, the money took to the air like a flock of birds taking flight.

"Son of a bitch!"

Vehicles suddenly slowed or stopped in the middle of the road.

A car rammed into the back of an SUV, and I flinched at the sound of crunching metal.

On Memorial Avenue, a young woman stepped out of her car. "Are you okay?"

I glanced at the tumbling dollar bills one last time before running toward Dunkin' Donuts.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I slowed to a hasty walk into the Dunkin' parking lot. As I passed by two guys about my age, one exclaimed, "Whoa, dude! That was some crazy shit."

The black Range Rover was nowhere in sight. Spinning around, I panicked at the thought that Troy had abandoned me. Had he seen me yelling at Grumps on the bridge? Had he fled the scene in a panic after witnessing my brush with death at the Rotary?

I rushed inside Dunkin' and scanned the faces. No Troy.

In the parking lot again, I dropped the backpack to my feet and whimpered. I screwed up. And Dalton's going to pay the price for my fiasco.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

Looking up and down the street, I didn't see my grandfather's car anywhere.

Walking across the lot, tears flooded my eyes. The police were close. I had no idea where the cabin was located. Dalton was going to suffer a horrible fate, and it was my fault.

Behind me, a vehicle's engine idled.

"Get the fuck in," Troy ordered.

I barely registered the Rover, but I jumped into the back seat.

He accelerated before I slammed the door.

Stretched out my stomach, and my face pressed against the seat, I steadied my panting.

Pulling onto Memorial Avenue, he asked, "What happened?"

"I almost got ran over. That's what."

"There's money all over the damn street."

"Yeah, I know. A car hit me and took a backpack instead of my damn head."

"Shit!" He turned right. "Craig is gonna be pissed."

"It wasn't my fault."

"Okay, okay, okay. Um . . . we still got half the money. Oh! Dump the cash. We gotta toss the backpack."

"What?"

"In case there's a GPS or something hidden in there. Take the cash out so we can get rid of the backpack."

I unzipped the bag, flipped it upside down, and shook the bundles of twenties onto the seat and the floor. Searching the pockets, I didn't find any sort of tracking device.

"I don't think there's a GPS in here."

"Hidden!" he yelled. "Jeez. It could be sewn in there somewhere."

"It's empty. Where do you want to toss it?"

"Give it to me!"

I dropped it onto the passenger seat and then fell back in a heap, exhausted.

My arms hurt, and my legs ached. Drenched with sweat, I removed my T-shirt and mopped my forehead. The bruises on my face reacted with throbbing soreness. My busted lip was alive with fire.

A few minutes later, the Rover slowed to a crawl. Troy powered down the window, threw the backpack out, and then whipped the car around a corner.

"You didn't see any cops?" he asked.

"No. Did you?"

"Are you sure?"

"I didn't see any police officers or anyone who looked like the FBI. Just a bunch of people driving home from work."

"Good. But there coulda been some sneaky fuckers around." His eyes darted to all the mirrors. "They're all like that."

"If my dad got rid of the police, they wouldn't even know about the drop-off at the parking garage."

"Yeah, uh huh. Sure. Maybe. Unless his phone was bugged."

I grimaced. "You think the phone was bugged?"

"So. So what? The clock's ticking. It's just a matter of time before Craig and me are gone. Fucking outta here. This is the real deal, man."

As he lit a cigarette I wondered if he was high.

"Yeah. Tonight, after a few payoffs, I'm outta here. And don't you worry your pretty, beat-up face. You'll never see me again. You hear me? Never." He scratched the back of his neck, burning himself with the Camel and dropping it somewhere behind him. "Shit!"

The Rover swerved to the right as he lifted his ass from the seat and shoved his hand behind him. "Fucking help me, idiot."

I bolted upright, leaned through the gap between the front seats, and searched.

The car veered left, right, left, right.

Irritated drivers honked.

"We're going to get pulled over if you keep swerving like that."

Decreasing speed, and more or less driving in a straight line, he shouted, "Just find it!"

I plucked the cigarette from the seat and then tossed it outside.

Driving normally again, he wiped the sweat from his brow. As he lit another cigarette, he casually asked, "There isn't a hole burned in the seat, is there?"

"I don't know. I didn't see one."

"Craig would be pissed." He merged into the left lane. "Put the damn blindfold on."

He reached into the passenger seat and then pressed a phone to his ear. "We're on our way . . . Yeah, we got the money, but there was a problem . . . Kid almost got ran over, that's what . . . No, he's walking, but half the money went flying . . .No, I ain't shitting you. There are twenties all over Springfield . . . Ain't my fucking fault. You're the one who picked rush hour . . . Well, if you wanna be the—" He flicked the phone to the passenger seat. "Screw you too, prick."

*   *   *

Although Troy seemed to have accepted that half the ransom money had gone bye-bye, I worried Craig would be the polar opposite. I seriously doubted that he'd consider half the cash as good enough to meet their needs. My anxiety increased with each bump of the dirt road leading to the cabin. When the Rover came to a stop, I inhaled deeply and ripped the blindfold from my face.

Craig marched out the front door and directly to the vehicle as though drawn to it like a magnet.

"Where is it?" he asked.

"In the back," Troy mumbled.

I stepped outside and gestured to the back seat.

"What the hell happened?" He regarded me for a moment and then grabbed several bundles of cash. "This is only half? Did you count it?"

"No, we didn't count it," I replied. "I'm sure it was divided equally just like you said it should be."

"Fucking half," he muttered. "It's supposed to be half a million."

"Well, half of that is on the street. If that car had run me over, you wouldn't even have this money now."

He glared at me, and I cast my eyes to the darkening sky.

Troy appeared at our side. "So now what?"

"Let's take it inside so we can count it."

The three of us gathered the stacks of cash until the back seat was empty, save for the blindfold I hoped to never wear again.

In the living room, I dropped the money onto the sofa. "We don't have to count every individual bill, do we?"

"No," Craig said as he knelt at the coffee table. "We confirm how much is in the smaller bundles, then we add them all up."

Troy stepped toward the kitchen.

"Where the hell are you going?" Craig asked.

"I'm getting a damn beer. Man, get off my ass. We're almost done here. You go your way, and I go mine. End of story."

I stared at Craig. "Where's Dalton?"

He simply looked at me, the gray of his eyes like smokey ice.

"Where the hell is Dalton?"

"Relax. He's in the bedroom."

I pounded down the hall, unlocked the door, and charged into the room. Wrapping my arms around him, I held him close.

His words vibrated against my chest. "Are they gonna let us go now?"

"Not yet. I still have to call my dad again."

"But soon, right?"

"I think so." I slackened my embrace. "Did Craig feed you?"

"No."

"Okay. I'm going to take a quick shower. Then we'll eat something and find out when I can call my father."

No one had locked us in the bedroom. And since our ordeal with Craig and Troy might soon end, I was bold enough to suggest that we walk to the living room and ask about dinner.

"Maybe we should wait," Dalton said, his nerves on full display.

"They might not even be concerned about food. We could wait all night and go hungry." I nodded toward the door. "Let's go."

Troy sat on the floor next to the coffee table loaded with cash. He held the flame of a lighter just below the ball of a glass pipe. As we stepped into the living room, he didn't even cast a quick glance at us.

"Where's Craig?" I asked.

"Outside talking to some chick he's gonna crash with for a while. Why? What the hell do you want with him?"

"We're going to eat something."

"Well-go-do-it-I-ain't-a-fucking-waiter!" While inhaling from the tip of the pipe, he slowly twisted it from side to side.

Maybe Troy was smoking meth or crack or whatever because he was celebrating the ransom money. And maybe Craig's phone call to some woman was an indication he wanted to move on from the experience at the cabin.

There was no more turkey in the fridge, and the bag of chips was nearly empty.

I poured two bowls of Raisin Bran and then set them onto the table. I thought I should mention the lack of food.

"There's not much to eat for dinner."

Troy grunted as if I'd said something utterly offensive. "You think I give a shit that you can't make a fucking sandwich? Shut the hell up, man."

A stack of twenties sailed past my head and hit a cabinet door.

The moment Dalton and I sat at the kitchen table, Craig walked inside. He took in the sight of Troy seated on the floor with a crack pipe in his hand.

"You gonna smoke all your money?"

"Screw you," Troy replied. "Why do you care what I spend my money on, huh? And I can do whatever the hell I want. I earned this." He flipped a few bundles into the air. When they landed back onto the table with a thud, he said, "Yeah, that's right. I earned this right here. So screw you."

"Better watch what comes outta your mouth!" Craig yelled.

"Watch, what?" He snickered. "I know what me and the rich kid had to go through to get this money. What did you do? Babysit your kid. That's what."

"Shut your mouth before I shut it for you."

I picked up our bowls. "Let's eat in the bedroom."

I let Dalton walk to the bedroom first so I could act as a buffer between him and the two men behind us.

The voices intensified.

Situated on the bed with the bowl on my lap, I carried on as though nothing out of the ordinary was taking place in the living room. We'd heard them argue before. Although, not to the booming level it had reached.

"When they're done yelling at each other," I said, "I'll wait a little bit and then ask about calling my dad."

He lowered his chin. "I don't know where I'm gonna live."

"We're getting outta here," I stressed. "Then we'll figure everything out. We need to get out of here first, okay?"

He appeared paralyzed, sadness draining his energy.

"Tonight or tomorrow." I scooted close. "This will be over soon. I promise."

Resting his head on my shoulder, he nodded.

"Are you going to finish eating?"

"Maybe in a little bit."

"Take a shower," I said. "It's been a day or two, right? Getting clean will help you feel better."

He sauntered to the bathroom as if following my suggestion only to please me.

Once I heard Dalton open and close the shower curtain, I dropped to position at the door. Straining to hear, I thought maybe they were no longer talking. But then I heard their hushed voices.

"It's good enough for me," Troy said.

"We were supposed to walk away from here with a quarter mill, each. Two fifty. Each."

"I can start over with a hundred grand, easy."

Craig groaned in frustration. "With the Jeep money, we still owe Keith close to twenty. That puts us at one fifteen."

"Works for me."

Heavy footsteps sounded from one spot to another.

"Doesn't work for me," Craig said.

"Whatcha gonna do? Give 'em to Jared to sell?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

The front door opened and closed.

I hurried to the closet. Inside, I snapped a decent-sized chunk of Sheetrock from the ceiling. Perhaps creating a hole to climb through to escape wasn't the best plan. Yet it was the only option we had. I pulled a few more chunks away from the ceiling, satisfied that I could create an entrance into the attic.

The next day was Saturday or Sunday. Maybe Sunday or Monday? I couldn't focus long enough to figure it out. But if it were a weekend day, the sex-trafficking man could return early in the morning to finish business with Craig instead of whatever nine-to-five job he had. Our only choice was to escape at some point during the night.

Dalton finished his shower so quickly that I wondered if he'd even washed himself. Moments later he emerged from the bathroom in the same pair of shorts he'd worn for two days.

"Done already?" I asked. "That was pretty fast."

Wet hair plastered to his forehead, he muttered "uh, huh."

"Well, you're cleaner, at least."

He plucked a shirt from the dresser and held it against his torso. All the available shirts hung on his pre-teen frame like a wrinkled sheet draped over furniture.

"Put on a dark-colored T-shirt."

"Why?"

I whispered, "Because it'll be harder to see when we're running around in the dark."

His eyes widened.

"That might be our only way to freedom."

Sitting on the bed, he looked at me with an expression of concern.

Expecting to reassure him by explaining how the plan would work, I sat beside him.

"I didn't mean it when I called my mom a bitch." He whimpered as if struggling to control his emotion. "I was mad at her."

"I know."

At a loss as to how to console him with words, I softly rubbed his upper back as he cried.

I'd witnessed less than motherly loving from Stacey to Dalton. But still, I'd only known him for weeks and he was nearly twelve years old; there were likely many loving moments through the years that I wasn't privy to.

A couple of minutes passed, then he dragged his hands across his face and took a deep breath. "Do you think we can do it?"

"Of course we can." I lowered my voice to a whisper. "Once we're in the attic, we walk across the framing. There are two windows up there. We climb out one, drop to the ground, and then make a run to freedom."

"How high is it?"

"It's not that far. Maybe ten feet, I think." I paused to listen for any approaching footsteps. "If we're in the clear, then we run down the road until we find someone."

"What if we don't?"

"The road has to lead to other cabins or businesses or a camp site. Something. But if we can't run along the road, we're going through the trees."

"What if we get lost?"

With a reassuring squeeze, I said, "I know we're at the reservoir. If we run through the forest, we'll see the water at some point. There are roads leading to it for fishing and stuff. They'll lead us somewhere out of here."

Standing, I pointed to the door. "Go listen. I'm going to make the hole. If you hear someone coming, get me as quickly as possible."

I watched Dalton get comfortable on his stomach at the door. He gave me the thumbs up. Setting the closet door open, I got to work pulling the Sheetrock from the ceiling.

I toweled the white dust and rocky flecks from my head, but a residual powder had mixed with the sweat on my face and arms. Although Craig and Troy probably wouldn't notice, I didn't want to invite any suspicion. After picking out a dark green T-shirt from the dresser and retrieving the black shorts from my gym bag, I jumped into the shower to rinse off. As if racing the clock, I splashed water onto my body and doused my eyes to clean out the bits of sand-like debris trapped under my eyelids. With each passing second, I worried that Craig or Troy might walk into the bedroom for some odd reason and discover the hole in the closet.

I did a half-assed job drying my body, then quickly dressed.

Although I wanted to ask about calling my father, our escape plan occupied my mind, prodding me to prepare for running instead. My mind convinced me that we could successfully flee. I didn't want to think about all the things that could go wrong. I only wanted to focus on the positive outcome: freedom. It seemed logical that once we dropped from the roof of the cabin and ran, we'd find help within an hour or two.

I heard Craig and Troy's muffled voices before Dalton rushed into the bathroom to tell me they were arguing again.

A part of me believed there was no longer a point listening at the gap, but I rushed to the door anyway.

"—last day for me," Troy said.

"So tomorrow, you're just leaving, huh?"

"I'm fine with one hundred grand. I'm not sticking around to deal with any bullshit."

Craig chuckled. "You're too paranoid."

"No. I'm being smart. I'm looking out for my own ass."

"You're skipping out."

"Look, let's just make this as easy possible. Give me my cut of the cash. Then you can do whatever the hell you want."

"You're not walking away that easily!" Craig shouted.

"What? You gonna stop me?"

"We started this together, and we're finishing this together."

"I didn't sign up for kidnapping and smacking some kids around. I didn't bring up handing 'em off to a sicko. You did!"

There was a scrambling noise I couldn't identity.

Craig bellowed, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Taking my half, that's what."

"No, you're not. Not yet!"

"Screw you!"

Feet stomped across the floor, followed by a loud thud.

I easily recognized the unmistakable sounds of a struggle in the living room. Movements. Grunts. The thud of a piece of furniture seemingly knocked from its spot. Disgruntled profanity delivered in labored breaths.

For a moment, I was simultaneously frozen by my warring fear and curiosity. But I certainly wasn't going to rush out of the bedroom to investigate or break up their fight. I bounded to my feet and pulled Dalton with me to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I think they're beating up each other," I said.

"Why? Did you hear what—"

An explosive gunshot rattled the house, followed by the thump of a body hitting the floor.

A second gunshot erupted like a too-close-for-comfort crack of lightning—unexpected, terrifying, and temporarily deafening.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

My reaction was what I imagined an out-of-body experience must be like. Disorienting. Surreal. A speedy moment of the mind trying to make sense of the situation.  A part of me grasping for reality as it plummeted back into my body.

On my feet, I didn't remember standing.

My stare bore into the door as though I might miraculously see what was happening in the living room. I stepped forward but retreated to the bed when I heard someone rushing down the hall.

Dalton swiftly moved to the headboard as I positioned myself in front of him.

The door swung open.

Craig, clutching a gun, yelled, "Get out here and help me."

"Is he dead?" I asked.

"Yeah, he's dead. Now get your asses out here." He turned on his heels and stomped away.

Pleadingly, Dalton's eyes swept from me to the closet.

I shook my head.

"Let's go!" Craig shouted.

Entering the living room, I expected to smell gun smoke or some metallic odor that I'd assume represented gun fire. I smelled nothing but the drug Troy had smoked earlier.

When I rounded the couch, I spotted Troy sprawled on his back. Blood pooled from his chest. Another bullet had blown a hole into the center of his forehead. Based on television shows and the movies, I thought I'd see a large portion of his head open or missing. It wasn't. The blood from the wound poured down the side of his face to the floor.

Did Craig have a gun? Or had Troy been shot and killed with his own weapon?

"You're sure he's dead?"

"Doesn't he look dead?" Craig yelled.

I knew it was a stupid question. Of course Troy wasn't alive.

"You want me to shoot him in the head again?"

"No!"

Craig crouched and lifted Troy by the armpits. "Grab his feet."

"Then what?"

"We're taking him outside. We gotta get rid of the body."

"How? Where?"

"Just help me carry him outside." He shouted at Dalton, "Go get some towels and start cleaning up the blood."

Dalton remained motionless and silent.

"Go get the damn towels!"

Dalton hurried down the hall while Craig and I lugged Troy's body to the front door. Although Troy wasn't heavy to carry, Craig's forced momentum caused me to stagger.

"Open the damn door. Blood's getting everywhere."

Outside, he directed me to the porch steps. "On the count of three."

"What, on the count of three?"

"Toss him to the yard." He took a deep breath and hefted Troy's weight higher. "One, two, three."

We swung him forward and then released, his body landing on the ground with a thump.

The air was cool. The waning crescent moon provided little light. In the darkness of the trees, an owl hooted. Crickets and other insects emitted their nighttime songs. And blood continued to flow from the two holes blown into Troy's body.

Craig set his hands on his hips and took in the sight. Seemingly satisfied, he filled his lungs with a healthy inhale. "Son of a bitch. He coulda walked outta here instead of being six feet under."

"We're going to bury him?"

"We're not leaving him out in the open for scavengers."

"But where?"

The porch creaked as he stepped close enough for me to feel his warm breath on my face. "You're gonna help me dig a hole behind the cabin. Then we're dropping him in and piling on the dirt."

Inside again, he yelled at Dalton. "Why aren't you cleaning up the mess? Don't just put towels over it. Clean it up."

Petrified, Dalton knelt next to the puddle of blood. "How?"

"Wipe it up. Use a wet towel. Put it all in a trash bag. Use your fucking brain, kid."

"I can't clean up all of this by myself."

In one quick, sweeping movement, Craig was suddenly hovering over Dalton. "Yeah, you can."

"But I—"

Craig kicked Dalton in the hip, sending him onto his side.

Wincing, Dalton cried out. When he realized his arm was covered with blood, he scrambled to his feet.

"Leave him alone!" I shouted as I charged toward them.

Craig thrust his palm against my chest. "Now the two of you are gonna give me a hard time, huh?"

I adjusted my footing and stood up to him. "When do I get to call my father?"

His face contorted with rage. "Keep this up, tough guy, and you won't be calling anyone."

I didn't know where he'd put the gun. The waistband of his jeans, hidden under this shirt? The coffee table? Where was the gun?

Peeking over Craig's shoulder, I said to Dalton, "I'll help you clean this up when he and I are done outside."

Highly irritated, Craig nudged me across the room and out to the porch. He inserted a key and locked the door behind us.

"Let's carry him to the back."

I slipped my hands under Troy's calves and helped haul him along the side of the cabin. With each step, I studied his bloodied and pale, faintly creased face. In spite of everything that had transpired during the past few days, I didn't think he deserved to be killed. But then again, I didn't know what had occurred in the living room. Maybe Troy had pointed a gun at Craig first.

But there was no gun in his hand or on the floor when Craig and I had lifted him from the carpet.

By the time we stood behind the cabin, my arms ached and both of us were breathing heavily. After we set Troy on the ground, Craig hustled to the shed. He returned with two shovels, keeping the square-ended for himself and handing me the round-ended.

"Start digging." He leaned against the cabin wall and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jeans pocket. "We only need a hole big enough to cover him, so the animals don't sniff him out and drop his bones all over the damn place."

"We should dig at the same time."

"You got the first shift, stud."

The thrust of the blade into the soil didn't reach as deeply as I'd hoped. The dirt was hard, clumpy, and rocky. I stepped onto the edges of the blade, using my weight to sink the shovel deeper. Unlike the spring I'd easily helped Grumps plant rose bushes, digging Troy's grave required muscle and determination.

Sweat coated my face. My triceps and shoulders felt the burn.

I paused, resting one foot on the blade and propping my hands on the tip of the handle. "Your turn."

He nudged me aside and drove his blade into the dirt. "You rich kids are too soft. All your muscles and you're already taking a break."

"It's not as easy as it looks," I replied. "And this rich kid's family just gave you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

"Well, Stacey fucked things up for the two of you."

"Dalton and I had nothing to do with that."

He tossed a clump of soil onto my feet. "An opportunity presented itself, and I took it."

"I could have gotten the money you needed to pay back the drugs and the cash she took from you." I shook the dirt from my shoes. "You could have walked away instead of kidnapping us."

"Voices carry, huh?"

"What?"

"You heard me and Troy talking about stuff."

"I know you weren't happy when Troy wanted to walk away with half the cash." I massaged my upper arm. "What's your plan after we're done with Troy?"

"Haven't decided."

With those two words, I instantly understood he had no intention of letting me call my father. He'd probably already scheduled a time for that man to return to the cabin.

"You can't give us to that sex-trafficking guy."

He looked at me and smirked. "I can do whatever I want."

Panic ignited. My mind soared into survival mode. Attack Craig now? Wait to escape during the night? What if escaping through the attic wasn't such a good plan after all? I'd never even checked if either of the windows opened.

I used my weight to push the shovel into the ground. Dig soil. Toss the dirt. Dig soil. Toss the dirt.

Craig turned and set his shovel against the cabin.

As he faced the wall, I raised mine like a baseball bat and swung it against the back of his head.

He staggered. "You motherfu—"

My second hit smashed into the side of his head, producing a gash on his cheek that instantly oozed blood. He stumbled to the side and then landed on his ass, slumping at the base of the cabin. I stepped toward him to inspect the damage but jerked back when the glimpse of a shiny object appeared from behind his back. Knife. Handgun. Pistol. I had no clue.

I swung the shovel through the air. The clunk of metal against skull caused me to cringe despite my intention to inflict serious injury.

Craig collapsed onto his side.

Confident that he was unconscious, I lunged forward and kicked the object from his hand. It wasn't a knife or a gun. It was his iPhone. I snatched it from his fingers then studied his face. Maybe I'd killed him.

Searching the waistband of his jeans, I didn't find a gun. Nor was I lucky enough to pluck the Range Rover's fob from his pockets.

Rising to my feet, I scanned the ground for anything that he might have dropped or set somewhere when I wasn't looking, but I saw nothing.

His leg twitched.

Startled, I stumbled back, expecting him to spring to his feet and attack me.

The twitch intensified, and then his entire body shook violently.

Seizure.

I sprinted to the front of the cabin, onto the porch, and reached for the doorknob. I'd forgotten that he'd locked the door, and I slammed right into it at full force.

Momentarily stunned, I regained my senses and then beat on the door. "Dalton, let me in!"

He twisted the knob frantically. "I can't."

"Unlock it."

"I can't. There's no twisty thing on the lock!"

"What? But I saw him lock it from the inside, like, yesterday."

"The . . . the deadbolt. It's flat. I can't unlock it."

I kicked the door, and the impact of the wood against my foot sent a shock of pain through my leg. After a quick massage of my knee, I rushed to the window and tapped on the glass.

He managed to lift the window halfway before it stalled.

I shoved the iPhone into my pocket and tried to force the lower sash higher, but it wouldn't budge. "Move out of the way."

I rammed one of the rocking chairs against the window until most of the frame and glass had fallen to the floor inside.

Without a word spoken, Dalton carefully climbed out to the porch.

"It's time to go," I said.

"What happened?"

"I hit him with a shovel."

"Is he dead?"

"I thought he was, but he started having a seizure. He could be dead now, but I'm not checking. We need to go."

We jumped from the porch to the yard and bolted to the dirt road.

Dalton suddenly stopped. "We're running 'till we find someone?"

"I don't know where the fob to the Range Rover is."

"We could look for it."

Glancing at the house, I nervously tapped my fingertips on my thighs. "I don't know. Maybe we're better off on foot." I gestured to the road, then I remembered Craig's phone. "Hold on."

I woke the screen and selected Emergency Call.

"County 911."

The female dispatcher's voice kicked my adrenaline into overdrive. "Oh, my God. Hi, hi, hi. We need help."

"Do you need police, fire, or ambulance?"

"Um, police. My name is Spencer Newhouse. And uh, Dalton Humphries and I were kidnapped."

"Can you repeat your name, please?"

"My name is Spencer Newhouse. And I'm with Dalton Humphries. We were kidnapped, like, um three or four days ago. Five maybe. I don't know."

"Spencer Newhouse and Dalton Humphries?"

"Yes. Yes. We were on the news."

"Do you know the address where you are?"

"I have no idea. It's a cabin. And I'm pretty sure we're at Quabbin Reservoir. I don't know where, though."

"Are you inside the cabin?"

"No. We're out on the road. A man's dead, and I hit the other man in the head with a shovel. But I don't know if he's dead or not."

"Keep talking. We're gonna work on triangulating your location."

"Yeah, okay." With tears in my eyes, I looked at Dalton. "We're getting out of here," I said to him.

The grin on his face twisted my panic into excitement.

The dispatcher asked, "The men held you hostage at the cabin?"

"Yes. Since, um, Tuesday."

"Do either of you need medical assistance?"

"I don't think so. I mean, we've been hit and stuff, but we're not injured in a bad way."

"Do you know the names of your captors?"

"Only their first names. Craig and Troy." I asked Dalton, "Do you know either of their last names?"

"No."

"We don't know their full names."

"That's all right. Spencer, does the road you're walking on have a street sign?"

"No, I don't think it has—"

A loud pop penetrated the air, echoing all around us. Several feet ahead, a small cloud of dirt ballooned from the road.

In an instant, my excitement vanished. The adrenaline returned, flooding my veins with renewed power.

Where the road met the driveway to the cabin, Craig swayed from side to side like a drunken man. He awkwardly aimed the gun as if it weighed fifty pounds and fired another shot.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Dalton yelped as though he stared at a monster that had risen from the dead.

Why hadn't the whacks to the head immobilized Craig for good? Hadn't his brain suffered serious injury from bouncing around in his skull? How the hell was he standing, let alone walking?

The second gunshot had sailed down the road or into the woods. Craig's aim was obviously off the mark, but I didn't want to stick around long enough to judge the improvement of his next shot.

I tugged Dalton by the arm into the trees. We didn't make it far into the coverage of leaves and intertwining limbs, though. The trees had grown so close together that we had to carefully snake our way between thick tree trunks to increase the distance from Craig.

Thorny twigs dragged across my face and body like fiery needles burning thin lines into my skin.

The dispatcher's voice startled me. "Hello? Spencer, are you still there?"

Squatting, I eyed the road. "He's trying to shoot us. We're hiding."

"Are you somewhere safe you can stay until we pinpoint your location?"

"No. Be quiet. He'll find us if he can hear us."

"Okay. I'll stay on the line. Don't hang—"

"Stop talking!"

The lack of city noise only amplified the silence.

For several long, drawn-out moments, I waited but heard and saw no sign of Craig.

I pressed my mouth to Dalton's ear. "We need to get out of here."

He shook his head.

"If we stay here, he'll find us. We need to run down the road."

"What? No way."

"Dalton. We're so close to being free."

The fear in his eyes shone like shiny specks of silver in the near-nonexistent moonlight.

Still in a squat, I inched my way toward the dirt road and stepped on a twig. It snapped so loudly that I instinctively held my breath. Unless Craig had assumed we'd continued to run through the trees, he knew where we were. Any noise Dalton or I made would only help him zero in on our exact location.

Peeking through the leaves, I scanned in all directions.

I didn't see Craig. I squinted, thinking maybe he'd collapsed onto the road. Nothing. No body. Nowhere. No time to waste.

"Once we're out of here," I whispered, "run as fast as you can."

On the verge of tears, he pleaded, "Don't go out there."

"We have to."

He gripped my knee so tightly that I wobbled off-balance. "He's gonna shoot us."

I handed the phone to him. "Then you stay here. I'm going to run so he follows me. The police will find us soon. You'll be okay."

"What if he kills you?"

"Just stay here until you see the police." I yanked him into a hug. "I'm going to make him think you're with me. Whatever you hear me yell, ignore it. Stay right here until the cops or I get you."

"But what if you don't come back?"

"I will."

His voice cracked. "What if you don't?"

"I will." I quickly realized he was too frightened to trust my words. "All right. We run together."

Rising to our feet, we were united, ready to race to freedom.

I peered through the tree line one last time. No Craig in sight. I cupped Dalton's shoulder and gave him an encouraging half-assed smile. "Just run down the road until we can't run anymore."

Side by side, we darted from the trees. Sprinting, racing, running down the road until our pace slowed and our breathing quickened. I glanced over my shoulder, expecting Craig . . . a gunshot . . . a monster with big sharp teeth snapping at our heels.

The trees had thinned. A short distance ahead, a field of tall grass fluttered in the breeze. Behind us, nothing but the dirt road and the woods in darkness.

The iPhone no longer had a cellular signal.

Panting, my entire body ached. An intense workout at the gym had never caused my muscles to surge with near-constant pain. As he and I walked, each step felt like one stepper closer to complete exhaustion.

The dirt road was never-ending. Electrical wires drooping slightly between poles indicated that there were homes and buildings that needed electricity. Where the hell was an intersecting road that might lead us to safety and shelter?

Dalton appeared to drag his steps forward. The end of our ordeal near, it seemed that our experience was taking its toll on him. Running. The violence inflicted upon his body. The encounter with the sex-trafficking guy. The loss of his mother. The emotional toll of it all would soon cause him to crash and burn.

"We'll find a cabin or someone soon," I said. "Or maybe the police will find us first."

The creepiness of the darkened terrain steadily increased as we walked. My mind wandered to thoughts of woodland witches, strange creatures, crazy devil worshippers in black robes, and rabid coyotes.

He lifted the iPhone high in the air. "Still no signal."

"Try in a few minutes. Maybe when it picks up a signal again, we'll be closer to houses or something."

We were suddenly bathed in light.

I dreaded turning, but I had to see if a stranger who could help had driven up behind us.

Although the bright headlights made it difficult to see, I recognized the outline of the parked Range Rover and Craig's silhouette seated behind the wheel.

"Run!" I yelled.

The engine revved to life like the roar of a lion.

I nudged Dalton to the left. "Run to the grass."

The field sloped downhill, making our quick feet stumble on the clumps of dirt and rock. There were no clusters of trees to hide behind. The knife-like blades of grass stretched past my knees. Our best option for surviving was to dive into the field. I yanked Dalton to me and shoved his body to the ground.

The Rover's tires slid across the dirt and came to a crunching stop.

Because we were dozens of feet downhill, I could see where the field merged with the road. Both left tires of the Rover jutted partially over the edge. The driver's door swung open with a squeak, and then Craig emerged like a movie villain who had too swiftly recovered his stamina and motivation.

"I don't see you," he said as if entertained by how near we were. "But when I find you, I'm gonna shoot you both."

He stepped unsteadily into the grass.

I pressed my face against Dalton's head. "Be quiet. Don't move."

The sweat on his hair was salty on my lips. His heart hammered as powerfully as mine. His body slackened under my weight as though he'd surrendered to defeat or desperately wanted the ground to protect him by swallowing him whole.

I dragged my fingers across the soil until I found a small rock. Hoping to distract Craig with noise in the distance, I tossed the rock high in the air at an arc like a basketball, using my shoulder and not my wrist to drive it to the Rover.

It landed silently somewhere.

Another rock, silent. Then another rock. On my third attempt, ding!

Had it accomplished anything?

Carefully, I lifted my head to scan the field.

Craig stood several feet uphill, facing the road.

On all fours, I focused on my target and visualized the goal: throw a good fastball. Relying on my junior high baseball training, I pitched a palm-sized rock at the back of Craig's head.

A little off target, it hit him with a thwack that made me flinch and clench my teeth.

He howled in pain and dropped to his knees.

I catapulted from the grass and charged at him.

Before he tried to stand or turn toward me, I crashed into him. As I pressed his face against the ground, I dug my knee into his back and punched the side of his head.

Flailing, he waved the gun and fired a shot into the sky.

Although his reflexes seemed sluggish, he was still strong. He thrust his elbow into my hip, which caused my knee to shift from his back, allowing him to twist and knock me to the ground.

He managed to fling his body onto mine, but I grabbed his hand holding the gun at the wrist.

"You left me for dead," he spat. "Payback's a bitch."

I clutched his throat with my free hand and squeezed as hard as I possibly could.

Wheezing and gasping, he pinned his forearm against my neck.

The pressure was so intense, I thought he'd crush my Adam's apple or rupture an artery.

I released his throat and rammed my palm into his nose. Blood instantly splattered onto my forehead. Stunned by the blow to his nose, Craig's muscle-powered grip on me weakened almost instantly.

The gun fired. The power of the shot caused my ears to ring, but I heard the bullet hit the Range Rover.

Craig's weight still pinned me. I squirmed, using the heels of my feet to push myself from under him. Yet he remained in control.

"Like I said," he muttered, breathing heavily as he twisted the gun toward me. "Payback's a bitch."

Dalton appeared behind Craig and smashed a large rock against the back of his head.

Craig spun and knocked Dalton off his feet.

I grasped his wrist again and wrenched him backward. When his hand hit the ground, the gun again fired.

A boom echoed, followed by a loud whoosh of air. He'd shot the front left tire of the Rover.

Seemingly disoriented by Dalton's assault, Craig undulated on his ass like a shit-faced drunk struggling to recover from a fall.

A thud and then the screech of metal drew my eyes to the road.

The Range Rover had landed on its side and rested on the slope.

Startled, I catapulted to my feet and jerked Dalton to a stand as the Rover slowly flipped and started a tumbling descent downhill.

When Dalton and I sprinted away, Craig sat upright and glanced at us, just before the Range Rover crashed on top of him as it continued down the grassy incline.

I didn't look at the gruesome scene of what remained of Craig. There was no need. He was dead.

Dalton walked with a limp.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Just a sprain, I think."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

I removed my shirt and used it to wipe Craig's blood from my face.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"No. Just tired."

At the edge of the road, we collapsed onto our backs. We stared skyward, and our breathing gradually calmed. As the minutes passed, fatigue threatened to lull me to sleep. I didn't want to close my eyes and then wake up hours later in a field, still needing to find someone to help us.

I glanced to the side at Dalton. "We should go."

Taking a deep breath, he agreed. "Let's get the hell outta here."

I chuckled. "Exactly. Let's get the hell outta of here."

*   *   *

It seemed like we had trudged miles until we reached a major road. A few blocks later, a police car approached. Parking along the side of the road, the cop switched on the flashing lights.

I stopped walking, weighed down by sudden relief.

Dalton looked at me with teary eyes and smiled.

I smiled in return and one-armed him close.

The policeman sauntered up to us with the stride of a leisurely stroll. "Why are you boys walking along the highway in the middle of the night? You look pretty banged up."

"We were kidnapped," I replied.

"But now we're free," Dalton added.

"Yeah," I said. "Now we're free."

He regarded us with a scrutinizing gaze and then stated, "Spencer Newhouse and Dalton Humphries."

Hearing our names brought tears to my eyes. "That's us."

Dalton dozed off minutes after we sat in the back seat of the police car. But I couldn't sleep. My eyes were glued to the window—pried open by the shock of rescue. I watched the glimpses of moonlit scenery outside the window as the officer drove us to a hospital in Springfield. Of all places, I was going to Springfield again.

The cop didn't ask a lot of questions during the drive, which I very much appreciated. I wasn't ready to immediately recall our ordeal from start to finish. Once we reached the hospital, however, a detective escorted us inside where we were assigned a room with two beds and examined by a doctor.

"Can I call my parents?" I asked.

"They've already been contacted," Detective Allen replied with a gentle smile. "Your grandfather has arranged for you and Dalton to be transferred to a hospital in Worcester."

"Really? Why?"

"Closer to home." He ran a hand through his thin, short brown hair. "Your family is going to meet you there."

I didn't want to look at the next bed to check if Dalton was still awake. I didn't want to see the sadness of his expression if he listened to the detective and I talking about my family. He had no one rushing to a hospital to cry happy tears of relief over him. As far as I knew, he only had me.

Aside from minor injuries, the doctor was satisfied by our physical conditions. The scrapes and bruises would fade. My busted lip and Dalton's sprained ankle would take days to heal. But the doctor was confident that we'd make a speedy recovery. He signed off on the paperwork and then discharged us for transfer to Worcester.

*   *   *

At the next hospital, Dalton and I were given private rooms. I lay in bed and stared at the muted television mounted on the wall. Soon, our story would appear on the news. Probably as the lead story. Two kids escape drug-dealing kidnappers.

Detective Allen entered the room without his suit jacket and tie.

As the door slowly creaked shut on its own, he sat in a chair near the bed. "I need to hear your story from beginning to end."

I nodded. "Can it wait until tomorrow?"

"Sure. I understand."

My eyes drifted from the weary-looking detective to a commercial demonstrating the wonderous durability of a frying pan.

"A psychologist will be meeting with you tomorrow."

"A psychologist?"

"You and Dalton have been through the wringer. She wants to talk briefly before you go home. Make sure your emotional needs are met."

"Oh. That makes sense. Both of us?"

"Yes."

"Is anyone coming for Dalton?"

"Family, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"His grandmother and aunt will arrive in the morning."

"His aunt?"

He relaxed in the chair and crossed his ankles. "His mother's sister. I believe she or his grandmother will be taking him in."

The information was encouraging but also somewhat unsettling. "I don't think he knows them."

"They're family. It might take some time for—"

My parents entered the room with Grumps and Nana close behind.

The instant my mother looked at me she burst into tears. "Oh, my God. Spencer. Spencer. Spencer." She pulled me into a warm embrace and kissed the side of my head. "Thank God."

I winced and sucked in air.

"I'm sorry." She released me and gazed into my eyes.

"It's okay," I said. "I'm just sore."

She studied my face and then shed new tears. "My beautiful boy."

My dad gripped my hand. "It's so good to see you again. We can't wait to take you home."

The image of him at the parking garage flashed in my mind. For a moment, my anger flared, but I smiled at him and squeezed his hand in return.

Detective Allen excused himself from the room.

To my surprise, my parents were visibly more emotional than my grandparents. Grumps maintained his man-in-control exterior while Nana patted the corners of her eyes and smiled broadly.

I sat there, unsure of what to say. Everyone seemed to be avoiding questions and assertions. Finally, my mother said, "Your sisters are here. Can they come in and see you?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm starting to get tired, though."

Grumps said, "He needs to rest."

"Of course," Mom replied. "After Aubrey and Meghan say hello, we'll let him sleep."

While she stepped out into the hall to retrieve my sisters, my father leaned close. "We'll be outta your hair soon, big guy." He kissed my forehead and then softly squeezed my shoulder. "I love you, Spencer."

Several minutes later, my family finally left, vowing to return by noon to hopefully take me home.

I slipped out of bed, tightened the hospital gown around my waist, and then headed next door to Dalton's room.

Walking in quietly, I smiled at the sight of him curled up and sleeping peacefully. At the side of the bed, I watched him for a minute before gently brushing the hair from his eyes. I noticed the absence of stitches in his finger. Then I moved a chair close and sat. Slouching, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I awoke to Dalton nudging my knee with his foot. Straightening, I rubbed my eyes and smiled at him. "Hey."

"I can't believe it," he said.

"What? That we're free?"

"Yeah." Sitting upright, he folded his arms across his stomach. "It's weird. Not being there anymore."

"I know what you mean."

Following a moment of silence, Dalton asked, "Do you really think he's dead?"

Standing, I chuckled. "Uh, yeah. He's dead."

"Did the cops say anything about him?"

"Not to me." I stretched my arms toward the ceiling, groaning as my shoulder throbbed with pain. "Not yet, anyway."

He glanced about the room until I finally asked, "Did the detective talk to you?"

"A little."

"What did he say?"

"He said my grandma and aunt are coming to get me."

I didn't know how to respond. Acknowledge that I'd been told the same? Offer words of encouragement? Instigate a conversation about a positive future?

A nurse entered the room. "There you are," she said to me. "The detective is looking for you."

"Okay." I faced Dalton and smiled. "I'll be back in a little bit."

"All right."

As I turned to follow the nurse out of the room, he laughed.

Facing him again, I asked, "What?"

"Your ass is hanging out."

I closed the gap at the back of the gown.

"She totally saw your ass." His laughter died down to a giggle. "There's a big bruise on it too."

"Whatever. It's not that funny."

A young man entered with a tray of food.

I stepped into the hall, and Dalton called my name.

"What?"

"Show him your ass."

I rolled my eyes and then strolled back to my room.

Unfortunately, Dalton's moment of comic relief brought thoughts of the man with the camera back to mind. It also reminded me that I was about to tell the detective the story of our harrowing experience from start to finish. Although I wanted to get the interview over and done with, I wasn't looking forward to it.

*   *   *

Five minutes into talking to the detective, my parents arrived. At first, I wasn't thrilled by the idea of them listening. I quickly realized they'd want to hear the story as well, so I restarted from the beginning and revealed each detail to my audience of three. Several times during the interview, my father interrupted with questions and my mother gasped or exclaimed "oh, my God" until I politely told them to shut the hell up and listen.

Once the detective left, my mother hugged me. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

How the hell could I possibly respond to that? Oh, I know. Doesn't it totally suck that it happened to us?

"Did you bring us some clothes?" I asked.

"Yes. Your grandparents are in the hall with the bags." She rose to her feet and lovingly rubbed my hand before stepping away.

My father scooted his chair closer to the bed. "I'm proud of you, Spencer. You fought to survive, and you saved Dalton's life too."

The door opened, and my mother entered with my grandparents and a friendly-looking plump lady who appeared to be in her fifties.

"Spencer," my mom said, "this is Beatrice Stewart. She's Dalton's grandmother."

The woman smiled warmly as she approached the bed. "My kids call me Mrs. Bea. Some of them call me Bumble Bee."

"Kids?"

"I'm a fourth-grade teacher."

"Oh." I accepted the shopping bag from Nana. "Well, it's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too," she replied. "Given the circumstances, I'm not sure what to say. But I know I'd like to thank you for helping Dalton escape the situation the both of you were in."

My father offered his chair to her, and she sat.

"My daughter had a troubled life. She ran off course years ago. And I'm so sorry her life ended the way that it did." She took a deep breath and then continued. "Until this morning, I hadn't seen Dalton since he was nearly four years old."

For some reason, I avoided looking directly into her eyes. I stared at the wave of dark brown hair that swept across her forehead. "Are you taking him home to live with you?"

"My husband and I . . . my second husband, that is. Stacey's father has been out of the picture for many years." Clasping her hands in her lap, she said, "We're more than happy to take him in. My daughter, Amelia, has also offered to take him in. I suppose we'll leave it up to Dalton to decide. Either way, he'll live in a happy, loving home."

The contrast between Beatrice and Stacey was night and day. In the short amount of time that we talked, Bea convinced me that she was a woman with her priorities in order. My initial fears that her home might not be a safe environment for Dalton were laid to rest.

*   *   *

It was the psychologist who'd suggested Dalton and I remain in each other's company for a few days. Because we had suffered a traumatic experience together, she wanted us to start the healing process together before his grandmother and aunt whisked him away to New York.

Following a few minutes of back-and-forth, Beatrice and Amelia accepted my parents' invitation to stay at our house for a few days. Then Dalton and I said goodbye to the hospital staff and a few police officers we'd interacted with. Detective Allen promised to update us with any information and asked that we call him if we remembered any new details.

Craig and Troy were dead. I didn't understand why Dalton and I would need to be updated about any additional information. As far as I was concerned, we'd turned the final page to that chapter when we walked away from Craig's body in the field.

A policewoman escorted us outside because a few news crews had gathered at the hospital entrance. As reporters shouted questions, she and her partner pushed our way through the crowd to our waiting cars.

Before I climbed into the back seat of Grumps's BMW, I glanced at Dalton getting into his grandmother's Kia. He seemed to sense my gaze and smiled faintly before getting into the vehicle.

Miles down the road, Nana turned and offered her hand to me. "It's going to take some time to adjust to being home."

I gently squeezed her soft, delicate fingers. "I know."

"When you don't want to talk to your parents or the psychologist, but you need someone to listen, then you come to your grandfather or me. We'll listen to whatever you want to tell us. Okay?"

"Yes." I lowered my chin as I felt the burn of tears in my eyes.

Moments later, Grumps asked, "Is there anything you want to talk about now?"

"I should be happy for Dalton, but I also feel bad for him."

"Why?"

"He doesn't know them. They're strangers."

Nana patted my knee. "He's lucky he has family to take him in. If he didn't, he'd be on his way to foster care right now."

"I know."

"So be happy for him," Grumps said.

"I just keep thinking about how upset he was when his mother said they were moving. He didn't want—"

"This is different," Nana said. "His grandmother is a lovely, caring woman. His aunt too. He has the opportunity to live a healthy, happy life that he likely wouldn't have experienced with his mother."

Grumps agreed. "You've been his friend since day one. Through it all. The two of you got through this together. So keep being his friend. No matter where he lives, the two of you need each other."

Sniffing, I wiped my eyes. "You think I need him as much as he needs me?"

"Of course," Nana replied. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have allowed him into your life."

*   *   *

A few blocks from Camden Heights, Nana's phone rang.

"Mm-hm . . . We're only a couple minutes away . . . Oh, really? I'm not so sure that's a good idea . . . Fine, fine. I'll ask."

She glanced over her shoulder. "Spencer, honey. Some of your friends are at the house. Do you want your dad to tell them to come back another time?"

I cupped my hands to my face and exhaled heavily. "I don't know. I mean, it's going to feel weird. I guess it's okay."

"Sweetheart, you don't have to see them now."

"No. It's fine."

"Let them say hello and what not. Then we'll send them off after five or ten minutes. How's that sound?"

"Okay."

Of course my friends wanted to visit me. I should have been eager and excited to see them as well. But I was nervous about the reception I'd receive. Would they ask a long list of uncomfortable questions? Would they act normally as though I'd been away on a trip? How differently would they treat me?

My anxiety grew as we neared the driveway, knotting my insides in anticipation of seeing everyone.

I spotted Dalton squeezed in the middle of a Maya-and-Aiden-embrace. Bailey stood to the side, talking to my father. Willow turned toward Grumps's approaching BMW and burst into tears. Jayden and a few other friends lingered about. Then suddenly, all eyes were focused on Grumps's car.

For a moment, I debated how to exit the vehicle. Normally, as if it were just another day? Wounded, the damage of my ordeal on full display? Resilient, ready to move on in a positive direction?

I should have been proud of my bruises, scrapes, and scratches, but I was embarrassed. Sluggishly, I opened the car door. Taking a deep breath, I stepped outside and presented my best smile.

Willow rushed to me. "Oh, my God. I'm so glad you're alive!"

Maybe it was her overly animated reaction that made me laugh. "And you call me a drama queen."

Wrapping her arms around me, she replied, "You can be a drama queen sometimes, but I love you anyway."

One by one, my friends embraced me. It felt good to be comforted and loved. But again, I was embarrassed by the attention.

Standing behind Dalton, I set my hands on his shoulders. "It's been really nice seeing everyone. But Dalton and I need to rest now."

Within minutes, only Dalton and the Wyatt Five remained.

We eyed each other awkwardly.

Bailey hooked his arm around my neck and then kissed the side of my head. "We're really happy to have you back. When you're ready for us to come around, you let us know."

"It's not that I'm avoiding you, it's just—"

"It's okay. You don't need to explain anything."

"Thank you."

Maya hugged me tight as Aiden rubbed my head. He met my eyes. "Call or text whenever you need me. Or any of us."

"I will."

Maya maintained her firm grip on me and rested her head against my chest. "We love you."

"I know. I love you guys too."

After Bailey playfully pried Maya from my torso Dalton and I watched their cars drive away.

"My grandma wants me to live with her."

"Yeah, she told me," I said in a near whisper. "What do you think about that?"

"Her or my aunt." He faced me with watery eyes. "But I don't want to leave. We're supposed to be friends forever."

"We are. We will be."

"What if I never see you again?"

I forced a laugh. "Ridiculous. Of course you'll see me. I promise. You and I will always be friends."

He turned toward the front door, stepping forward with a slight limp.

"Does you ankle still hurt?"

"Only a little."

"You want a piggyback ride?"

He side-eyed me and whined, "Ah, jeez. Seriously?"

Inside, we stood in the foyer, listening to the voices in the living room and the kitchen.

"I'm kinda hungry," I said. "You want to eat something?"

"I guess so."

I gestured to the kitchen, but he didn't move.

"What is it?" I asked.

He scratched at his lip and then nibbled on his fingernail. "Is it okay if I sleep in your room?"

"If you want, sure." I nudged him to walk with me. "Meghan will be happy that she doesn't have to share a bed with Aubrey."

"Really?"

"We only have two guest rooms. Meghan was going to let you have her room. So she'll be glad to have her own bed."

He smiled. "Okay."

"Whatever makes you comfortable. Besides," I said, "it'll make me feel better too."

"Is that why you slept in the chair in my hospital room?"

"I guess so. I mean, yeah. It's going to take some getting used to, not having you around." Reaching the kitchen, where nearly everyone had congregated, I said, "But let's not talk about that right now."

As we walked toward our family members, the heaviness of the moment weighed on me. Now it was time for the two of us to start living a normal life again. Deep within me, I understood there would be no miraculous and swift return to normalcy.

*   *   *

I tried to give Dalton, Beatrice, and Amelia time alone to get to know each other better and establish relationships. Each attempt on my part was short-lived because Dalton would seek me out and stay by my side. Yet I soon felt guilty that he essentially avoided his family while gravitating to me time and time again.

When we retreated to my room for the night, I thought I should encourage him to bond with his grandmother and aunt.

"You're not really giving them a chance," I said.

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not." I kicked off my shoes and sat beside him on the bed. "They're really nice people. And they want what's best for you."

"Then they should leave me here."

"Where? Here, with me?"

"Yeah. We can be brothers."

Sighing, I gazed at him sympathetically. "You remember what the caseworker from children's services said, don't you?"

Huffing, he replied, "Yeah, I remember."

"If you didn't have family, then you'd be in a foster home. Would you rather be in a home with strangers or living with family who wants to give you a really good life?"

"Okay. Fine. I get it. Jeez."

"I'm sorry."

He jumped to his feet and crossed the room to the bookshelf. "Are there any good books here?"

"Of course." I knelt in front of the shelves of books. "You're not the only one who reads good books."

"Uh, huh."

"Are you going to ignore me now by reading a book?"

"Maybe."

I grabbed The Family Upstairs from my desk and returned to the bed. I teased, "Fine. I'll read and ignore you."

Tired, I propped myself against the headboard, looking forward to reading the final chapters before falling asleep. Nearly an hour later, I read the last line of the novel and then glanced at Dalton. He was asleep, lightly snoring with The Nickel Boys on his chest—a book choice that surprised me because of the subject matter of abused young boys.

I turned off the bedside lamp and curled up with my pillow.

My eyes shot open. My heart raced. My body was rigid with alarm.

Next to me, Dalton emitted a distressing groan.

In darkness, I studied his face, wondering if I should wake him.

Then he released a panicked shout and bolted upright.

Breathing heavily, he grasped my arm. "Spencer!"

I scooted closer. "I'm right here. What is it? A nightmare?"

Tears streamed down his face, shining in the dim moonlight as a muted shimmer.

He wiped his eyes. "I'm . . . it was . . . I'm okay now."

"Are you sure?"

Nodding, he said, "Yeah, just a stupid nightmare."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"Uh, I don't know."

"If you tell me, maybe the nightmare will go away for good."

Sniffing, he replied, "We were at that cabin. We climbed through the hole, but the windows wouldn't open in the attic. There were dead squirrels everywhere. And then Craig nailed boards over the hole, so we were trapped. We were gonna die up there."

I slid my arm across his shoulders. "But we're safe now. Nothing like that is going to happen to us. It was a just a nightmare."

"Yeah, I know."

"Think you can go back to sleep?"

He cried, "My mom's dead, and I don't even know my aunt and grandma."

"You will." I squeezed him close. "Everything's going to be okay."

Minutes passed in silence. His tears ceased. My arm tingled with fatigue. I listened to the rhythm of his steady breaths.

After I was certain Dalton had fallen asleep, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. For all my reservations about returning to the normality of my life, I realized Dalton's path would be more difficult. I needed to help Dalton make a smooth transition to his next chapter.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The next day, Dalton spent more time with his aunt and grandmother. They even explored Camden Heights together during the afternoon. It seemed that he had grown more comfortable around the two. Bea was sweet and affectionate. Amelia was friendly and lively. I easily imagined him living with either of them—growing up without drunks and druggies in the house, without utilities shut off, without a menu of frozen fish sticks and peanut butter sandwiches . . . without a mother.

My dad had taken time off from work, and my mom had canceled her social commitments. It was nice to have them around day and night, but their constant hovering wore on my nerves. There were moments I'd go out of my way to avoid them. I'd either isolate myself in my bedroom or settle in a lounger by the pool—the farthest seat from the house.

Meghan had assumed the chore of entertaining Aubrey, who didn't understand all the fuss over me. For the most part, her brother's escape from drug dealers who'd planned to sell him off to strangers was not within the scope of her understanding. But I was grateful she didn't comprehend the full severity of the situation. An eight-year-old didn't need the seeds of a horror story planted in her head.

In a day or two, Meghan would expect my parents' devotion. That was her nature. For the time being, however, she treated me with a kindness she usually reserved for her close circle of spoiled, rich friends.

Isolated by the pool, I fixated on the cloudless, blue sky while I rubbed a finger along the dry, flaky sore on my lip.

I didn't look up at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Grumps pushed my legs over so he could sit on the edge of the lounger. Never one to beat around the bush, he said, "Detective Allen called. They located that Jared guy."

I tensed in response. "They did?"

"Apparently, he's been on their radar for a couple years."

"A couple years!"

"Investigations take time." He watched Nana sit in the chair next to us. "Obviously, Detective Allen isn't going to give us all the details. But he said they recovered evidence, including the photographs of you and Dalton."

Excited and relieved by the news, I released a healthy stream of air and smiled. But a pang of shame bloomed within me. Jared had shared those pictures with men and women who were potential buyers of children. The certainty nauseated me.

"At some point," Grumps said, "He's going to contact you about identifying the man they have in custody."

"Okay."

He slapped his hand onto my knee. "This is good news. Soon, you can put all of this behind you."

"Uh, huh."

Reading the gloominess of my expression, he cast his gaze to Nana and then excused himself.

It only took one glance at my grandmother's face for me to burst into tears.

She opened her arms to me, and I moved from my lounger to her loving embrace. Without speaking, she rubbed my back as I wept on her shoulder.

I didn't understand the reason for my sobbing, only that a sadness had crawled into my heart and rooted itself there. I cried for a couple of minutes until I realized that I'd slobbered on her blouse. "I'm sorry."

"It's good to let it all out."

"No. Your blouse."

She shrugged. "It's only a garment. I'd rather have your tears of pain on my shoulder than buried deep inside you."

Wiping my eyes, I chuckled. "Thanks, Nana."

"Even though your parents aren't going to Paris, you can still come stay for the week if you want."

"Maybe for a few days."

As she stood, she took my hand. "Don't sit out here all by yourself. Let's go inside."

In the kitchen, I acknowledged Grumps and my parents with a glance before heading upstairs to wash my face. When I entered the foyer, Dalton opened the front door with Bea and Amelia close behind.

Noticing the shopping bags in his hand, I asked, "What did you buy?"

He quickened his steps past me. "It's your birthday present. You can see it tomorrow."

At my side, Bea rested her hand on my shoulder and smiled. "We had a good day. I think he's going to be just fine with us in Rochester."

With a lump in my throat, I smiled in return. "Good."

My seventeenth birthday. Tomorrow. And then the following day, Dalton would leave for New York with his new family.

*   *   *

Like the previous night, Dalton and I retreated to my room and made ourselves comfortable in bed with our books. And like the previous night, Dalton fell asleep with the book on his chest.

Unlike the previous night, I didn't stare at the ceiling and think about the difficulty of returning to the normality of our lives. I stared at the ceiling and waited for Dalton to have a nightmare. But it never happened. The next thing I knew, I awoke to sunlight pouring into the room and a calmness to my first moments of a new day.

*   *   *

At my request, my big birthday party had been canceled. I certainly didn't feel like celebrating with all my friends. When the deliveryman arrived at the house with an enormous cake, it reenforced my belief that my life had drastically changed. It also reminded me that I wasn't the same person I was a week ago . . . a month ago . . . my whole life.

Of course, Aiden arrived with Maya. Minutes later, Willow and Bailey showed up in their separate cars. And that was it. My family, closest friends, Dalton, Bea, and Amelia. A relatively small affair with an obnoxiously large birthday cake.

After dinner, we relocated to the living room for the exchange of gifts. Clothing, money, gift cards, a Diesel watch, and an Alexander McQueen silver-tone necklace. Although technically it wasn't a gift, I also received my iPhone replacement.

Dalton handed me a medium-sized box wrapped in a beautiful navy-colored foil.

Based on its weight and size, I guessed that it was a book. But I didn't spoil the surprise by vocalizing my prediction.

In the box was a thick, brown leather-bound journal—something I'd never considered buying for myself. The soft, wrap-around cover had a rustic appearance and a leather strap with a key attached. The interior aged-looking pages were thick and deckle-edged, as though curated from a paper supply a hundred years old.

It was a stunning work of craftsmanship.

"Thank you." I one-armed him into an embrace. "This is fantastic."

Quietly, he said, "I wrote something in it for you."

I unwrapped the strap and flipped to the first page.

Spencer. Thank you for finding me. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for saving me. Love, Dalton.

I gave him a proper hug, holding him tight. And I whispered in his ear. "Thank you. I love you too."

When we separated, the sight of everyone watching us brought warmth to my cheeks. And then Willow said, "So can we have cake now?"

Back in the dining room, I exchanged glances with my smiling friends. There was an undercurrent of unease between us. The unspoken: What happened to you? Thankfully, they understood my temporary need to avoid the topic.

It was odd, staring at the flaming candles while everyone sang Happy Birthday. In a way, it felt wrong to celebrate my birthday. Yet participating in the usual activities of life was what the psychologist had ordered. She'd explained the path to returning to normalcy: do all the things you're comfortable with, but don't force it. Since I had three additional sessions with her, the strangeness of celebrating my birthday would be something I discussed with her.

When it was time for me to blow out the blue-and-silver candles, instead of making a wish, all I thought about was the fact that Dalton and I hadn't talked about our ordeal. And we probably needed to talk about it before he left the next day with his grandmother and aunt.

Close to midnight, Dalton and I sat at the patio table with a big slice of the vanilla passion fruit and raspberry cake set between us. As I pierced the cake with a fork, my first typical-slash-normal-Spencer thought popped into my head. I'll need to workout big time to burn off this sugar and fat.

Dalton had no reservations about eating another piece of cake.

"So . . . " I cleared my throat. "Um. Do you want to talk about what happened?"

He fixed his blue eyes on mine. "You mean at the cabin?"

"Yeah. Or before." Uncomfortable, I reclined in the chair, trying to look causal. "Anything."

"I don't know what to talk about."

"That's fine."

Silence hung in the air as equally unbearable as the humidity.

"I wish it hadn't happened," I said. "But I'm also glad you were with me. Or that you didn't go through that without me."

"Yeah, me too."

"Soon, it'll all just be a bad experience that we went through. It won't be something we carry around with us all the time."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. I know so." I tilted my head back and looked at the moon. "If you ever want to talk about it, all you have to do is tell me. And we'll talk about anything and everything."

"Okay."

Silence hovered again, then I asked, "Are you excited at all about going to Rochester?"

"I don't know. I guess."

"I think you'll end up liking it more than you think."

"Maybe." He scooped passion fruit puree with his finger. "My grandma's husband has a construction business. So maybe I'll, like, help him build houses or something."

"You better make sure he pays you well."

Dalton smiled. "Hey, yeah. I didn't think about that. I can save a lot of money."

"What are you going to save it for?"

"Um, when I'm older, I can buy a car. Then I can drive here to visit."

I squished a raspberry with my fork and blended it into a lump of vanilla frosting. "I'll drive to visit you. And when you buy that car, you'll drive to visit me. We'll see each other all the time."

He set his fork onto the table and pushed the plate toward me. "It woulda been nice to live here, though." Lowering his chin, he added, "We coulda been brothers."

On my feet, I slid the plate closer to him. "We're already brothers."

"Not really."

"Yes, we are." I squatted next to his chair, hooked my arm around his neck, and playfully tugged him to me. "We'll always be brothers."

He relaxed in my grip. "I'm glad."

I planted a kiss on the top of his head. "Me too."

*   *   *

Bea and Amelia wanted to start their trip to Rochester early enough that they'd return home by late afternoon. It was a six-hour drive, which meant they needed to leave by ten o'clock. So after breakfast, Dalton and I returned to my room to gather his belongings.

He only had a few articles of clothing. There was the paperwork from the detective and psychologist too. Nothing more, nothing less. He shoved all of it into a backpack I'd given him. Within minutes, he was ready to go.

We sat silently on the bench at the foot of my bed.

My heart thumped at the image of him waving goodbye from the back seat of his grandmother's Kia. Although New York was across the border, my heart felt like Dalton was moving a far greater distance and that I wouldn't see him for a long time.

My eyes wandered to the bookshelf. "Hey, you should take a book to read during the drive."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Can I take the book I was reading last night?"

"Yeah. Take a few. Then you'll have some stuff to read until you buy some more or get a library card or something."

He settled on his knees in front of the bookshelf and then turned toward me. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. When I visit, you can give them back to me."

As he collected books from the shelf, I sat at my desk and wrote my phone number and address on a piece of paper.

On our feet again, we stared at one another like strangers who'd collided into each other and waited for the other to apologize first.

My chest inflated with a deep breath. "I guess this is it, huh?"

He looked at the window, then my shoulder, and then his shoes.

"Your grandma said she'd get you a phone tomorrow or the next day. So when you get it, call me or text me."

"I will."

"I know it'll take a while for you to get into the swing of things in Rochester. But when you do, I want to hear all about it."

Still we lingered, as if frightened to move.

"Are you scared?" I asked.

He shrugged.

"It's fine. It's okay to be nervous and scared. But everything's going to be okay. Better than okay, even."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I do."

He slung the backpack onto his shoulder.

Pulling him into a bear hug, I muttered, "Have a safe trip home."

He rested his forehead against my collar bone. "Spencer?"

"Yeah."

"I'm really gonna miss you."

I gently tousled his hair. "I'm going to miss you too. We've been through a lot. As much as I helped you, you helped me too."

"How?"

"Just by being you. By being my friend. My brother."

He threw his arms around me. "I meant all those words I wrote in that journal."

"I know." I held him more tightly. "I would have written the exact same thing to you."

I was foolish to think watching the Kia drive away wouldn't sting. It stung more intensely than saying goodbye. So I stood in the driveway, numb—except for the thousand bees buzzing around inside my body.

A gentle hand on my shoulder snapped me out of my trance.

"Let's go inside," Nana said.

In the foyer, my entire family had gathered as though their mere presence represented the first step to returning to my normal life.

One foot in front of the other. The remaining days of summer. Working out at the gym. Adhering to a strict diet. Laying out by the pool. Reading books. Starting the new school year.

But first, I drowned in the comfort of my mother's embrace.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I don't know why I went to the party. I didn't know whose mansion I was at. But it was an attempt to do the usual activities expected of me. In Camden Heights, it was the rule of the land. The summer belonged to wealthy, privileged teens living life like wealthy, privileged adults. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen years old, and we all thought we were mature beyond our years with life figured out.

Blaring crap-pop music. A fog of cigarette and marijuana smoke in the air. More strangers than familiar faces. Finally, I spotted Willow near a long wall of framed abstract paintings. Sebastian was at her side, of course. She wore ear buds as she danced to a beat, ignoring whatever Basher was saying to her.

Smiling, I waved my hand inches from her face.

She laughed and then kissed me on the cheek. "Hey!"

"What are you doing?"

"What?" She removed the ear buds. "What?"

"What are you doing? Playing DJ for an audience of one?"

"Yeah, me!"

"What are you listening to?"

"Oh. Eighties, of course. We Don't Need Another Hero by Tina Turner."

"Where's everyone else?" I asked as I acknowledged Basher with a quick nod.

"Around." She nudged my shoulder. "Go get a drink."

In the crowded kitchen, I found Bailey at the black marble island sloppily pouring liquor into short cocktail glasses. A pretty, blonde girl whispered in his ear as I approached. As soon as he saw me, he immediately beamed, rushed to me, and flung his arms around my torso.

"You're here!" He kissed the side of my head. "I didn't think you'd come. But you did!"

"Well, here I am."

Still holding me, he looked into my eyes. "I missed you so much." He laid his head on my shoulder and swayed on his feet as if slow dancing.

Smirking, I asked, "Are you drunk?"

"No. Are you?"

"No. I just got here."

Bailey placed a cocktail glass in my grip. "Time to join the party."

The liquid burned its way down my throat. Coughing, I widened my eyes. "What the hell is this?"

"I don't know. I just poured a little from each of the bottles."

"Jeez. You trying to kill everyone?"

He laughed and slapped me on the back. "You'll survive."

From behind, a pair of hands slid around my waist as a pair of lips pressed against the crook of my neck. "You smell good."

I mussed Aiden's hair. "It's all natural, baby."

Maya appeared in front of us and snapped a photo with her phone. "Too effing cute," she cooed while showing the picture to Bailey and the blonde girl. "Now, another pose."

I set my glass onto the island. "I can't drink this."

Bailey groaned. "Mix it with juice."

I glanced at the collection of bottles. "I don't see any."

"Blind." He searched through the bottles. "Oh, yeah. I think Dalton has it."

My entire body stiffened. "What!?"

"I forgot Dalton has the juice." He glanced around the kitchen. "I guess he took it to his room. He's too young to be out here, anyway."

"What the hell did you say?"

Cocking his head, he spoke slowly. "Dalton. Juice. His bedroom."

I broke away from my friends, forcing my way through the jam-packed living room in search of bedrooms. I sprinted up the wooden stairs to the landing and then suddenly found myself peering down a long, dark hallway.

Rushing forward, a door opened on my right. Stacey emerged from her bedroom. Flawless makeup. Stylish hair. She wore a sleeveless black dress. Her face instantly brightened upon seeing me.

"Hey." She outstretched her arms to me. "I can't get these out."

Each arm had a syringe hanging from the inside of her elbow.

I raced to Dalton's bedroom and burst through the door. A lamp sat on an overturned milk crate. Short stacks of books lined the wall under the window. Clothes were littered here and there about the room. No dresser. No chair. No desk or table. No toys or posters. No stray crayon on the floor. No Dalton.

The mattress on the floor was bare except for Craig propped in the dark corner with his phone pressed to his ear.

"Where's Dalton?" I screamed.

He waved his hand to hush me.

I lunged forward and knocked the phone from his grasp. "Where the hell is Dalton, you son of a bitch!"

"Oh, the kid? He's gone."

"What? Gone where?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Boxers?"

Glancing down, I saw that I was nude except for a pair of sheer white boxers. "Where the hell is Dalton?"

"Beats me. I don't know where they took him."

Seizing him by the neck, I spat, "Find out or I'll kill you."

He laughed. "You already killed me, asshole."

I awoke with a strangled scream. Jumping from the bed, I was in a state of panic. I couldn't breathe. Or I couldn't swallow. Maybe both. I frantically paced in the darkness. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Finally, I swallowed the saliva in my mouth and gulped air.

Was it a panic attack? Was it an extreme reaction to the nightmare? I didn't know. For a moment, I didn't even recognize my bedroom.

Dalton lived with his grandparents in Rochester. He'd texted me. I'd talked to him on the phone. He'd been a New Yorker for nearly two weeks. Dalton was safe. I was safe.

I slipped under the comforter, curled up on my side, and stared at the wall.

Steady breaths.

Decreasing heartbeat.

Returning to normal.

*   *   *

Dr. Liu, the psychologist, had explained the stress and trauma that hostages sometimes face when returning to their normal lives. It was expected given the circumstances victims had endured. She'd further explained that I was experiencing a minor episode of survivor's guilt.

"Because you thought the two men would go off with the money, and you and Dalton would go home," she'd said. "Yet the situation became much more dire. Escaping involved the death of your captors. You didn't foresee that. There's trauma there. Especially since you played a role in one of their deaths."

She'd continued, "Your nightmare is your subconscious concern for Dalton. You went out of your way to protect him and provide for him. Soon after your ordeal was over, he moved to New York with his grandmother. You feel a void within you because you're no longer there to protect him and provide for him."

Sighing, I'd agreed with her assessment.

"Does he still need you to protect him and provide for him?"

"No," I'd replied.

"I know you have your family's support. What about your closest friends?"

"What about them?"

"Have you shared your experience with them?"

"No."

"If they are a true support group for you, then you need to share your experience with them. Don't be afraid to be vulnerable. There's no better place to be vulnerable than with people who love you."

Hours later, the Wyatt Five were gathered on the floor of my bedroom.

Nervous, I fidgeted with the hem of my basketball shorts. I felt like a fool for the story I was about to tell. And I felt like a fool because I hadn't shared my story with them earlier.

"I know everyone's seen or read news about Dalton and me." I took a deep breath, pausing to fight sweat-inducing anxiety. "Maybe some of you even talked to my parents."

"In the beginning," Willow said. "But after we had you back, I just didn't care about the news anymore."

"Me too," Aiden said.

"Well, I want to tell you the whole story." I released the hem of my shorts and looked at each of my friends. "The psychologist said I should share my experience with you. And I need to. So I'm going to tell you everything from the very beginning."

"Are you ready to do that?" Bailey asked.

"Yeah. I want to."

Maya rubbed my shoulder. "Okay. We're here to listen. None of us will interrupt at all. We'll listen to whatever you want to tell us."

I started with the day I'd sneaked through the back door of 729 Carpenter Street. I told them everything about Dalton and his mother. I detailed scenes I'd witnessed and experienced. Then I told them about discovering Stacey's dead body and when Craig and Troy showed up at the house. I shared every moment of our kidnapping. The final night at the cabin unfolded at a quicker pace than I'd anticipated. Maybe because I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to get it all out without tears or anger or pain.

But I did. I told them everything from the beginning to the end.

Everyone sat in stunned silence.

Embarrassed but relieved, I lowered my eyes to the floor.

"I'm sorry you went through all that," Bailey said.

I wasn't sure how to respond. "Yeah, thanks. Me too."

"I'm glad you told us," Aiden said. "Now, you don't have to talk about it ever again."

"Unless you want to," Willow added, wiping a tear from her cheek.

I smiled at her. "Drama queen."

A laugh escaped her lips. "I know. I am a drama queen."

Maya rested her head on my shoulder. "Now what? Do you still have to go to therapy or something?"

"I don't think so. I mean, if I still have nightmares or stress from the whole ordeal, then I guess so."

"The psychologist," Bailey said. "She said you still felt like you had to protect Dalton, right?"

I nodded.

"Like, right now, you feel kinda lost because you're not looking out for him, right?"

"Uh, huh."

He jumped to his feet. "I know exactly what we need to do."

We looked at him, and he stared at us with a slack jaw and palms to the air.

"We need to take Spencer to Rochester," he stated.

"He's only been there two weeks," I replied.

"So," Aiden said. "It's not a visit for fun. It has a purpose."

Maya chimed in, "That's true. Let's go."

"We can't just go," I said.

Bailey pulled me to my feet. "Yes, we can. Call his grandmother and tell her we're coming."

"We can surprise Dalton," Willow said.

"Seriously?" I asked.

Bailey wrapped his arms around me. "We're going to Rochester."

Then, one by one, my friends embraced me until we'd formed a cheesy, Wyatt Five group hug, wobbled on our feet, and then broke apart before we crashed into the side of my bed.

*   *   *

Amelia had two children. Both boys. A ten-year-old and a thirteen-year-old. So I knew Dalton had two cousins who he'd been spending time with in Rochester. According to Bea, he'd also quickly befriended a few kids in the neighborhood.

"He has some down moments," she'd said on the phone. "I think he's just working through the process."

"What process?"

"Well, the passing of his mother. A new environment. New people. He's adjusting."

Me too, I'd thought. "Maybe my visit will help him as much as it's supposed to help me."

"I'm sure it will."

My mother walked me outside at seven in the morning. "Are you sure you need to do this now?"

"Yeah. Why postpone it?"

"You're right." She studied my face. "You need a haircut."

I ran my hand along my prickly buzzed hair. "Yeah, I know."

"Since you don't have your replacements yet." She handed a credit card to me. "Use this for whatever. And if you think Dalton's missing something he should have, get it."

"Like what?"

"Anything. I don't know what Bea's financial situation is. Teachers are underpaid. If he needs something, then buy it. It'll help them out."

"Okay."

Aiden pulled up to the house in his father's Lincoln Navigator. The passenger seat was empty, and the others sat together in the back.

The driver's window powered down. "We need to stop for coffee, first. Then . . . road trip!"

"Be careful," my mother said before kissing me on the cheek.

"We will."

After a quick run to the local coffeehouse for caffeine and pastries, we hit the road. Although conversation and music occupied my mind, I sat with an underlying sense of unease until we passed the Charlton Service Area and exits for Quabbin Reservoir and Springfield. Once we entered New York, I relaxed and enjoyed the trip more.

Shortly before two o'clock, we arrived at Shetland Circle. To my relief, the neighborhood was nice, with green lawns, trimmed trees, bright flower beds, and recently constructed two-story homes. A stark contrast to Englewood Park.

Aiden parked behind Bea's Kia in the driveway.

Bailey gripped my shoulder. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

The screen door opened, and Bea appeared on the porch.

Hopping out of the Lincoln, the five of us lingered in the driveway as she approached.

"Hello," she said cheerfully. "It's so nice to see you."

"Nice to see you too," I replied.

"Dalton and his cousins should be here at two."

"So he doesn't know I was coming?"

"No. We had rain a couple days ago, and it's pretty warm out. So they're out on their bikes." Her eyes swept from me to the others. "Let's go get something to cool to drink." She stepped toward the house "How was the drive?"

"It was fine."

Bailey added, "Especially after we got Willow to turn off her eighties playlist."

Bea chuckled. "I was a teenager during the 80s. Sounds like fun road trip music to me."

Willow pushed Bailey off-balance. "See?"

We walked into a living room of comfortable-looking furniture and plenty of sunlight from the windows. Apparently, Bea was a believer in a clean home, because I didn't spot a loose piece of paper or a speck of dust anywhere.

In the kitchen, we huddled around a circular table covered with a tablecloth of green leaves and flowers. A variety of mason jars filled with colorful fruit or vegetables sat on the counter.

"Excuse the mess," she said. "The last couple of days were the last of my summer canning."

I wanted to say something about the huge difference between her house and 729 Carpenter Street. But I kept my mouth shut.

Maya accepted a glass of lemonade. "Thank you."

Once everyone had a glass, Bea asked me, "So how have you been, Spencer? Are you adjusting all right?"

"Yeah, sorta. I'm doing okay." I sipped the lemonade and glanced at Aiden.

He gestured for me to keep talking.

"The psychologist who Dalton and I talked to, she thinks I'm still stressed because I'm worried about Dalton and his new life."

"Oh. Well, as you can see, he has a nice home. He has quite a few friends, which I was a bit surprised by. I thought he'd take more time to socialize. But like I said on the phone, he has his down moments from time to time. I think he misses his mother. And you."

"You have a very nice house. He should be very comfortable and happy here."

"I hope so."

A young boy burst through the front door. "Grandma! Mark and Dalton are—"

He stopped dead in his tracks near the sofa, eyeing my friends and me with curiosity.

No more than two seconds later, Dalton rushed through the door with his older cousin. He gasped the instant he saw me, turned away, and took a few steps toward the front door with his hands to his eyes.

Mark gripped Dalton's shoulder. "What's wrong, dude?"

"That's . . . that's my brother." He faced me and then hurried to my waiting arms. "Spencer!"

Hugging him tight, I cupped the back of his head. "Hey, Dalton."

After we separated, Dalton said hello to everyone. Bea introduced us to Mark and Liam. Then Dalton ushered me upstairs to his room.

He had a full-size bed, a dresser with a mirror on top, a desk, and a bookshelf with several books but plenty of space for more.

We sat on the edge of his bed.

"How are you doing?" I asked.

"Okay."

"Really? I mean, seriously tell me. You're doing okay here?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I'm glad." I rubbed my hands on my knees and then pointed at the bookshelf. "You need to buy some books."

"How are you doing?"

I set my eyes on his. "Huh?"

"Are you doing okay?"

"Oh. Yeah, I'm fine."

"Really?"

I filled my lungs with plenty of air and straightened my posture. "Yeah, really."

"Tell me the truth."

The sting of tears burned the corners of my eyes. "Um. I'm really doing okay. But I've had a really hard time without you around."

"Why?"

"Because I still worry about you. I guess I always will. You know, hoping you're safe and happy."

"I am."

"Yeah, now that I'm here, I see that."

Neither of us spoke for several seconds, then Dalton wiped a tear from his eye.

"I miss you," he said.

"I miss you too. But you got your cousins and new friends."

"Yeah, I know."

"We'll see each other a lot," I said. "You're going to come see me in October, remember?"

"Uh, huh."

"I'll be here for your birthday on November fifth." I yanked him into an embrace. "It makes me happy to see you happy."

He sniffled. "I can't believe you showed up today."

"Maybe I'll surprise you again sometime." I looked into his blue eyes. "We're both going to be just fine, right?"

He nodded.

For the next ten minutes he filled me in on everything about his life in Rochester. All his excited and encouraging words were nice to hear. The cloud of despair that had hovered over my head for far too long slowly dissipated. And I was excited for him and his new life.

Downstairs, everyone had congregated outside on the small patio. Bea offered me another glass of lemonade, which Dalton promptly gulped.

"Hey," Mark called from the far end of the backyard. He bounced a baseball between his hands. "C'mon, Dalton."

Glancing at me, Dalton swiped his hand across his lips.

"Go on," I said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. We're going to be here for a while."

Dalton ran to his cousins for an impromptu game of fastball catch.

On the edge of the concrete patio, I sat between Aiden and Maya. A moment later, Willow situated herself on the grass at my feet. Bailey crouched behind me and rested his elbows on my shoulders and his hands on my head.

"Looks like he's going to be okay," Aiden said.

Watching Dalton having fun with his cousins, an unexpected smile crept to my lips. I inhaled deeply. "Yeah, he is."

"See? It was good that we came," Bailey said.

Leaning against my legs, Willow tilted her head back and looked at me. "And how are you doing?"

"Fine."

Maya gripped my hand. "Really?"

I laughed. "Yeah, really. I'm going to be fine."

Maybe the Wyatt Five wouldn't survive as a clique. Maybe we'd wander farther and farther away from our little orbit. Yet I knew we'd always be the best of friends. We'd probably never completely sever the Wyatt Five umbilical cord we'd constructed years ago. In truth, why would we want to? Would we ever find a set of friends who'd understand and love each other as equally as we did? Maybe. Maybe not.

Bailey ran his hands over my head and then playfully down my face until he rested them on my shoulders. "You know, you really did find the best souvenir."

For a fraction of a second, I took offense. Then I understood Bailey was right. Had the Souvenir Game been a competition, I would have been crowned the winner.

Dalton was the best souvenir. He'd filled a void in me that I hadn't known existed. Or, at least, I hadn't understood enough to articulate.

I'd closed myself off to my parents, my sisters, and friends outside the Wyatt Five. I'd assumed I wasn't appreciated or loved or admired or valued because I hadn't received the attention I believed I deserved. I had allowed myself to be blind to it because of my needy, self-serving expectations. Of course my family loved me. Of course my friends appreciated me. It had taken providing those things to Dalton for me to see that I'd had the benefit of those things all along.

So yes, Dalton was the best souvenir.

Or maybe, in the end, because of Dalton I'd discovered the best souvenir of all: me.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Another novel. Another story I wanted to tell. During the process of writing The Souvenir Game, my goal was to keep the plot focused on the relationship between Spencer and Dalton. I wanted their bond to be the primary thread that stitched together their everyday problems and the unexpected danger they face. Thankfully, my alpha reader and editor agreed.

Janet Longhofer Killough: Thank you for reading the first draft of this novel and giving me your honest feedback. We were on the same page with a lot of issues and fixes, but you also steered me in the right direction to make minor but necessary changes to the manuscript. I am grateful for your input.

Angela Houston: I'm always eager to share a new project with you and receive your valuable feedback. I appreciate your editor's eye and suggestions with every novel we work on together. It's difficult for me to imagine ever working on a novel without your involvement.

Chris Fichtel: Thank you for discussing book blurbs and covers with me. Our discussions about art and painting planted the seed of inspiration that led to this novel's book cover design.

A big thank-you to my faithful opinion group: Vicky Couturier, Tonya Heslet, Julie Sellers, Danielle Longhofer Bartelli, Angi Lund, Sam Irvin, and Paul Renna.

Finally, to my readers: Thank you for reading my novels, posting on social media, and sharing your reviews. I'll never take your support for granted.

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Also by Christopher Renna

Darkness on the Horizon

Darkness on the Horizon

Before the Sun Rises

Standalone

The Butterfly House

The Unspeakable Kind

Condemned

The Souvenir Game

Endless Sky

Watch for more at Christopher Renna’s site.