I faked a yawn around eleven o’clock, and the guys caught on. Soon they were both asleep. I heard them breathing, and Harry tended to snore.

I waited.

Before long, the zipper of the tent started to slide up slowly. A draft of cold air pushed inside, sterilizing the warmth of our bodies. When the zipper got to the top, my dad stuck his head through the gap, looked at the two other guys, then at me. His eyes shone in the dark, otherwise he was nothing but shadow.

I reached for my flashlight, but dared not turn it on, horrified by the idea of my friends waking up to see my dead father’s glowing face. Probably turn their hair white.

I lifted one hand and waved. My dad lifted a hand, waved back.

He sat there for a while, not saying anything, not moving.

I wanted him to leave. But he stayed. Just sat there for almost an hour.

By midnight I was quietly crying. I hid my face in my sleeping bag so he wouldn’t see, wouldn’t hear. He didn’t seem to notice.

And he never said a word.

14

DAD KNEW ABOUT TOM.

“Who the hell is this guy? Is he here now? In her fucking bed?”

“No, no. He doesn’t stay over,” I lied. Harry and I had been trolling this team of ragtag survivors in a game called Fallaway, where basically you can play as a Survivor, a Peacekeeper, or a Scavenger.

We were Scavengers. There were five of us on the team, and we’d been picking off this weak team of Survivors who called themselves “Tina’s Drama Club” for some dumbass reason. Our team was “Poe’s Imagination,” which I’d thought up and the guys thought was pretty badass, although I don’t think they all knew who Edgar Allan Poe was or hadn’t read him other than whatever had been forced on them in English class. The guys were still on, but I logged off when Dad showed up.

If I’d known he was just going to bitch about Mom’s new boyfriend, I would have kept playing.

Besides, he didn’t look so hot these days.

Last year he showed up and talked for an hour about how miserable he was. How empty his world was. He kept saying how he felt stuck, how he was always on the edge of some great void, but never fell in. He said he’d jump into if he could, anything to get out of his “state of purgatory,” as he put it. Which seemed a bit dramatic. Even worse, he’d shown up shirtless and shoeless. He had pants on, thank God, but that was it. His body was thin, his bones sharp and pointed at his elbows and shoulders, and his ribs showed through sallow skin. His eyes were sunken, and his hair was dry and patchy, as if he’d been tugging it out in clumps.

He hardly looked like my dad at all.

When he arrived tonight, though, I thought he looked a little better than last year. He’d found a shirt to wear, although it was too long and looked stained. Torn in places. It was something a character in Fallaway would wear. Dad would be a perfect fit as a survivor of the apocalypse.

“Is she sleeping with him?”

I shook my head, disgusted. “How the heck should I know? I mean, no, I don’t think so. Come on, Dad. Please stop.”

But it was useless. He just paced and paced, his bare feet blackened and filthy. His hands jerked spasmodically, and his lips hardly ever stopped moving, whether he was talking or not. His teeth looked rotten.

He stopped pacing suddenly and yelled, “That bitch!” He picked up one of my baseball trophies and threw it against the wall. It shattered into pieces.

“Hey!” I jumped up, thinking to pick up the trophy, but he grabbed me instead. Like I was going for a hug or something. I hadn’t actually touched him in a few years, and I forgot how ice-cold his skin was. He gripped me hard and dug his face into my shoulder. I was nearly tall as he was now, and probably about the same weight based on how skinny he’d gotten. He wept into my shirt.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay, Dad.” I put my arms around him. His back felt lumpy and the flesh felt dead. Like hugging a cadaver. “It’s not a big deal.”

I held him as he cried and shook.

“Why did you make that wish?” he said, sobbing. “Why won’t you let me go?”

The cold of him curdled my flesh, and I did not answer.

15

IT WAS GETTING PATHETIC.

Dad arrived early again this year, waiting for me as I came to my room, not even ten P.M. He was hunched in the corner, naked and filthy. Like a wraith or a demon hiding in the shadows. His knees were drawn up to his chest, and he was rocking.

And the goddamned mumbling, just like always, the constant talking to himself.

I was beginning to think he’d gone insane.

I asked him if he was doing okay, said he didn’t seem well. He talked more about the void, about wanting to jump into it, about escaping purgatory yada-yada-yada.

Frankly, I wasn’t in the mood. All-in-all, it had been a pretty shitty birthday.

I’D DECIDED TO SPEND THE day with Harry, Tyler, and a couple other guys. We wanted to go see a new R-rated horror movie that was supposed to be insane, and the theater we went to didn’t care if we were eighteen or not, so we always got into the good stuff. The day before, in one of my more ballsy moves ever, I called Jane Sawyer and asked if she wanted to come with us. That it was my birthday. When she agreed, I was thrilled. I’d had a crush on Jane for years, and the idea of sitting in a dark theater with her clutching at my sleeve during the scary bits sounded like the best birthday gift ever.

What I thought was a fantastic plan, however, went quickly to hell. First of all, the seating got screwed up and I ended up jammed between Tyler and Drew, who ate like a slob and didn’t shower enough. Harry was two seats over and Jane was next to him at the end. Halfway through the movie Drew banged his elbow into my ribs. When I looked over, he nodded to the side, where the pale glow of the screen illuminated Jane’s bare thighs.

Harry’s hand rested on top of one, lightly squeezing. Jane’s hand was on his, holding it there.

My stomach flipped. I barely focused on the movie. It was all I could do to not get up and storm out. Even worse, and unable to help myself, I kept gazing over to see Harry’s slow, upward progress over the course of the film’s last hour. It was torture.

Finally, the damn thing ended, and we convened in the lobby. When Harry suggested going to the food court, I wanted to punch him in the goddamned mouth. Instead, I made up a story about plans with my mother and Tom. Some shit about how they wanted to take me to dinner. I think Harry knew I was full of it, and I guess he looked sort of worried, but fuck him. Fuck him and fuck Jane Sawyer. I hoped they’d have a dozen fat kids with a variety of diseases.

When I got home Mom was surprised, but happy, to see me, which took some of the sting out of the day. She and Tom gave me a new PC, which I wasn’t expecting and definitely helped soften the blow of Harry’s treason. Still, when I thought about hooking it up and logging onto Fallaway, I knew Harry would probably be there and want to chat about what had happened. The idea made me sick again and it ruined my excitement of the gift. Mom and Tom had obviously planned a quiet night watching a movie together, so I thanked them both and said I wanted to hook up the new computer. I tried to ignore their mutual relief.