Millie burst into tears as soon as she saw me. “Oh Dash,” she wailed (and one of my ear drums ruptured in the pressure differential), “YOU’RE SO SAD!”

She crashed into me with a hug, her tiny body shaking against me.

It was strangely easier to deal with this than with—well, with everything else. I patted her back. Then I rubbed her back. Then I patted her back some more. I made soothing sounds. I said all sorts of idiotic things like “Don’t cry,” and “Everything’s fine,” and worst of all, “I promise I’m not sad, Millie. Really.”

And as I did, I had nowhere to look but at Keme. He sat on a sideboard, bare feet swinging in the air as he glared at me, his expression set to death-by-incineration.

Finally, Millie calmed down. She hugged me one final time and stepped back, wiping her face.

“Deputy Salkanovic said you might be in shock,” Indira said, but it was more of a question.

And Fox, with a disturbingly keen look in their eyes, added, “And Bobby’s not answering his phone.”

“Dash,” Millie asked, “what happened?”

So, I told them: Nate, and then the Jeep dying, and then Deputy Bobby. As much as I could tell them, I guess. Because there were parts of it—what I hadn’t said, what I’d wanted to say—that I kept buried. Because they didn’t matter. They never had, I realized. It had all been in my head.

Millie started crying again, of course.

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seems,” Indira said, rubbing Millie’s shoulders. “You had a disagreement, that’s all.”

Fox couldn’t quite meet my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Dash.” And then, in what must have been a last-ditch effort: “But that’s good news about Ali, isn’t it? I mean, she’s on the run, which means she’s hiding from something. And someone tried to kill you again, which is very promising. Maybe next we can—”

I shook my head. “I’m done with that. Deputy Bobby was right: it’s none of my business, and I shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place.”

Fox looked like they wanted to argue about that, but after a moment, they shut their mouth.

“Let’s go downstairs and have something to eat,” Indira said. “We’ll all feel better after we get some food in us.”

“I’m not hungry,” I said.

Millie let out a sob.

Fox glared at me.

Keme’s feet stilled in the air.

Indira’s eyes were wide, as though I’d slapped her.

I mumbled, “I, uh, suppose I could eat something.” Jerking a thumb toward the room, I said, “Let me wash my hands.”

“You’re not going to lock yourself in your room again, are you?” Fox asked.

Millie sniffled. “Is this one of your sadness baths?”

“No,” I said. “And no. And I don’t even know what a sadness bath is.”

“We’ll see you downstairs,” Indira said, and mercifully, she herded the others toward the stairs.

I peed. I washed my hands. I considered the creature from the Black Lagoon who had appeared in my mirror. I honestly hadn’t known, until right now, that eyes could come in that shade of red.

For a moment, the pain threatened to overwhelm me: how terribly everything had gone with Bobby; how much I’d hurt him, because I’d been selfish, because I’d let my own feelings take control; the fact that, no matter what happened now, our friendship wouldn’t be the same. He’d move. And maybe, for a while, we’d keep trying. But the gulf—physical and emotional—would be too great. I didn’t know how to deal with that much pain—didn’t want to think about what it meant, that it could hurt so much. So, I stuffed it all down inside me somewhere, and I let myself out of the bathroom.

The blur of movement came so fast that I didn’t have time to respond. The blow to my head rocked me back, and I stumbled into the doorjamb. I stared at Keme in disbelief. He hadn’t hit me hard, not exactly, but he hadn’t been roughhousing either. His dark hair hung loose, and combined with the glint in his eyes, it made him look feral. He held my gaze for a moment, and then he pointed toward the front of the house.

“What the heck—” I began.

Before I could finish, Keme kicked me in the shin. Even though he was barefoot, it hurt, and I hopped as I massaged my leg. “Ow! What’s wrong with you?”

He stabbed his finger at the front of the house again.

“Fine, fine, I’m going. But you don’t have to be a jerk—”

I didn’t get to finish the sentence; Keme tried to cuff me again. This time, my reactions were faster, and I managed to avoid the blow.

He was still glaring at me. And, I realized, he was about to cry. Again, he pointed to the front of the house.

“I don’t know what that means—”

“Go talk to him, you donkey!”

I stared at Keme.

Keme stared back. His chest was heaving, and he dashed at his eyes. His voice was rocky as he said, “God, why do you always have to be such an idiot?”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do. In all fairness to myself, I’d never heard Keme talk before. (And, honestly, it was a great question.) All I could think about was his voice. It wasn’t an adult’s voice, not yet. But it was pleasantly masculine, with a little gravel in it that was going to drive the girls (or boys, or whoever) crazy.

“You’re talking to me,” I said.

“This is what I mean: it’s like you’ve got sand in your head. Did you hear me? Go talk to Bobby. Right now.”

“You’ve never talked to me.”

“Dash!”

“Well, I’m sorry. I’m still processing. Wait, why are you talking to me now?”

“Because, dingus, this is the first time I’ve had to fix things. Go. Talk. To. Bobby.”

“Uh, no?”

He tried to kick me again.

“Knock it off,” I said. “Bobby doesn’t want to talk to me. He made that perfectly clear today. He doesn’t want me around. He doesn’t want me to be involved in his life. He doesn’t want my friendship.”

“Did he say that?”

The question felt like a trap. Finally, I said, “No.” Then I held up a finger and added, “It’s complicated for adults. I know you don’t understand, but I promise, I already tried talking to Bobby, and he made it clear that he doesn’t want to talk to me.”