“Much better. You hunt a lot?”

The spine of the girl sitting in front of them stiffened dramatically, almost melodramatically.

“Every weekend, pretty much. Almost deer season.”

The girl couldn’t take it one more second. She spun around in her chair to honor them with her opinion.

“Hunting is gross,” she said. “What’s wrong with you two? Why would you want to go out and kill defenseless—”

“You a vegetarian?” Jeremy asked before Ralph could muster a defense.

“No, but—”

“Then shut up, Mabel.” The girl’s name was not Mabel. “You think your pet pepperoni pizza shot itself in the parking lot behind Blockbuster?”

A question that made less sense the more one thought about it.

Jeremy twirled his finger, warning her to spin her nosy little self around to the front of the class again.

“Sexist.” She huffed and whirled away.

Jeremy’s mouth fell open. He raised his fists and shook them as he silently screamed at the back of her head. Ralph had to wonder if all British people were like this.

Tantrum over, Jeremy tapped the girl on the right shoulder. She looked back at him, haughty as a duchess.

“I am not sexist,” he said. “I am an asshole. There’s a difference. Get it right.”

With a roll of her eyes, she faced forward again. Really, what could she have said to that? Sorry?

The bell rang. Their teacher, Miss Farris, strode into the classroom, and everyone got quiet.

Jeremy jotted something on a scrap of paper and passed it to Ralph when Miss Farris turned her back.

Would your dad teach me to hunt?

Sincerely,

The Asshole (Who is not sexist because I’m an asshole to everyone equally)

Before Jeremy, Ralph had felt like an outsider. There was no reason for it. He was, seemingly, just like everyone else. His grades were good enough. He was fine. He was acceptable. But telling himself that never did erase the sneaking suspicion he didn’t belong. And then…Jeremy. It wasn’t like Jeremy belonged either. He stuck out like a sore thumb, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t living in their world. He lived in his own world, and Rafe wanted to live there too. For the first time in his life, he was glad he didn’t belong.

He replied,

Yeah. This weekend?

And the note was signed,

Rafe

Before they were the West Virginia Lost Boys, they were just boys.

Chapter Nine

When they turned down the long gravel drive to Rafe’s mother’s house, he spotted her beat-up red F-150, which had been his dad’s beat-up red F-150, parked in its usual spot in front of the garage. She was home. The garden lights in the flower beds around the porch were already glowing, but no romantic lighting could make the old house with the ancient putty-colored vinyl look good. It was ugly, ugly enough that the first time he’d had Jeremy over, Rafe had tried distracting him by pointing out the woods attached to the backyard, ten acres with a little stream through it. To that, Jeremy had said, “Awesome,” and it sounded like he meant it. Then when Jeremy’s mother came to pick him up, he’d complained about having to go home.

They’d been friends for less than a week, and Rafe would have given him a lung, kidney, or both if Jeremy had wanted them.

Jeremy parked and turned off the engine.

“Wait,” Rafe said as they started to get out of the car. “Don’t tell my mom about Red Crow. Let me tell her.”

“What if she asks?” Emilie said.

“Lie,” Rafe said.

“I’m not lying to your mother,” Jeremy said.

“You lied to your mother all the time,” Rafe countered.

“Yes, but that’s my mother. Very different.”

“She’ll know anyway,” Emilie said. “Moms always do.”

“Now I know why my parents stopped after one,” Rafe said.

Emilie’s mouth fell open. “Hurtful,” she said.

“It’ll be all right,” Jeremy said. “Bobbi will be too happy to see me to even care why we’re here.”

“She doesn’t like you that much,” Rafe said but had a feeling he might be right. “Just let me handle it.”

“Fine.” Emilie flung open the car door. “But I’m telling you, she’ll know.”

As the three of them got out, the front door of the house opened. Rafe braced himself.

“If that’s my son, he better look like my son.” His mother yelled loudly enough everyone in the whole holler probably heard her.

“I look like your son,” he called back, walking toward the porch. His mother wore an apron over her jeans, and the sleeves of her floral-print shirt were rolled up. They must have caught her baking something for church.

“We cleaned him up for you, Mom,” Jeremy said from behind him.

Rafe was still mad at Jeremy, probably always would be, but he couldn’t help but smile at his mother’s reaction to Jeremy’s voice. She gasped softly, put a hand over her heart, and ran down the porch steps. Jeremy met her at the bottom. She threw her arms around him, holding him tight.

Emilie crept up next to Rafe and smiled nervously.

“She always did like him better,” Rafe said loud enough for his mother to hear.

“You hush,” his mother said. “This is my redheaded stepchild, and I’m going to hug him tight if I want to.” She patted Jeremy on the back and said softly, “I’m so sorry about your sweet mama. Mary Cox was a great lady.”