The Harper boys—they’re wild. What James did has only cast more eyes on them; I see them look at Andrew when he comes to our school in the morning, before he takes the bus to his school. I bet they look at him there, too.

I bet they’d look at Owen like this. That’s why he doesn’t come.

“Are you…still in for the competition Saturday? I think Mr. Brody would understand. You know, if…if you can’t perform?” Willow asks. Eggshells—everyone is walking on eggshells.

“I’ll be there,” I say, smiling, eyes wide.

“Okay, but, if you can’t…” she says.

“Ohhhhh my god!” I yell, tossing my bag into my passenger seat. “Please. Not you. Please, Will…just be normal. I need you, you out of everyone, to act normal. I’m begging.”

She’s standing before me, her arms folded in front of her, her fingers picking at her elbows nervously, her eyes searching mine. I know this is awkward for her. It’s awkward for me, but I’m not Owen. When she sees him, then she can get all uncomfortable and formal and careful. But now, when it’s just her and me and Jess and our friends—now is the time to be blunt, to pop her gum, to pretend I don’t have other shit happening in my life.

“So I’ll pick you up at six?” she asks, a shrug of her shoulder to punctuate her question.

I smile and nod. “Yeah, six. And bring snacks for the road trip,” I add. I get in my car and watch as she and Jess get into hers from my rearview mirror. Driving away, I don’t look at her again, because that small exchange was normal, and I don’t want to ruin it. I hold onto it for the few miles to my house, and then I pull into the driveway and see Owen’s truck and forget all about normal.

His house is first, and I leave my backpack in my car and don’t bother going to my own home. My mom is home today, but she’ll see my car out front. She knows where I am—where I’ve been every day. She’s been trying to help with paperwork, answering Owen’s questions about where to file things, how to handle closing accounts, who he needs to notify.

James didn’t leave a very big mark on this world electronically, and erasing what there was of him wasn’t very hard.

I don’t bother to knock, instead just stepping inside Owen’s home. His mom is labeling boxes at the table, taping things closed, and moving them to the front porch one at a time. She marks FOR DONATION on the last box, and I pull it from her arms and take it to the porch for her. When I come back inside, she’s still standing at the table, her hands pressed flat against the now-clear surface, her eyes intent on the center.

When I move closer, she flinches, snapping awake again, and runs her hand once over the smooth tabletop before pushing the chair underneath. “Thank you for helping with things this week, Kensi. O and I…we appreciate everything you and your mom have done,” she says, her eyes never able to meet mine completely. “Can I get you something to drink? I think we have…”

She opens her fridge, pausing when she sees it’s empty. She starts to laugh lightly, closing it, and backing away until the backs of her legs hit the table. She stumbles a little and catches her balance, then turns to me, a full smile on her face, her laugh coming out harder.

“We have nothing,” she says, her lips squeezing tight, trying to hold onto normal. Her body begins to shake with laughter again. “Oh my god, we have…nothing!”

As if a switch flips, her laughter shifts into tears and her breath escapes her, her knees buckling again, sending her to the floor.

“Are you okay?” I rush to her, helping her to one of the chairs. “Wait here, I’ll get Owen.”

“No, it’s…it’s fine. It just, it gets to me sometimes—all of it. It’s all just…so much,” she says, her red eyes peering at me, her face pale, her hair thin and tangled.

“I know,” I speak, not sure what else there is to say. I don’t really know, but I know enough.

Owen’s mom takes a full breath, closing her eyes just long enough to clear them of tears and hide the redness, then she stands and pulls a hair tie from her wrist, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. “I’m going to run to the store. Owen’s upstairs; he’d love to see you,” she says, grabbing her coat from the hook by the door and leaving in a rush.

Everything has to happen fast, and there always has to be something to do. If there isn’t, she’ll fall apart. That much I understand.

I pull my own coat from my body and leave it on the table, then I climb the stairs, catching the soft sound of Owen’s stereo. He’s listening to the Black Keys, the same album he’s listened to for five days straight. There will come a time, I fear, that he will never be able to hear these songs again.