At the last second, as we’re heading out the door, Tanq rushes toward a cash register and yanks a package of Red Vines from the display. She hands it to Trey. “For His Majesty,” she says, with a little bow.

We’re in and out within ten minutes. Tanq insists on riding in the back this time, saying it’s “my turn.” Trey drives, and I sit in the passenger seat with Emmaline between us.

“I think Tanq is warming up to us,” I say as he aims the El Camino toward Washington Park.

“Of course she is,” he says. “We’re awesome.”

“Definitely some of the coolest people in the world.”

“She’s really worried about someone trying to make her have babies,” he says, frowning.

“She told me. Brought it up in the most awkward way possible.”

“There’s more to that. I guess she’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

We’re all haunted, I suppose, by the people we’ve left behind. The things that have happened to us. I say, “It’s weird how, even though our lives before are gone—and I mean deader than dead—they’re still clinging to us. Sucking away at us. Like ticks.”

“Oh?” he says, looking away from the road ahead to glance at me. “What part of your past life is still clinging to you, Paige?”

Emmaline takes a break from watching out the back window and lays her head on my lap. I absently scritch the soft spot behind her ears and say, “That came out wrong. I don’t mean in a bad way necessarily. I don’t want to forget my life before or let it go.”

“What’s still clinging to you in a good way?”

It’s a moment before I can make the words come out: “I feel responsible for everything. It’s like I’m ten years old again, and the world is terrifying, and if I don’t make all the right decisions, the people I care about will suffer.”

“So . . . you’re saying you care about me?” I whip my head around to stare at his profile. His grin is huge.

“What about you, Trey?” I say in challenge. “What part of your past life is unshakable?”

His lips press together. We turn left, following a sign, and find an idyllic downtown area with brick shops and trees blooming along beautifully maintained sidewalks. Just when I’ve given up on getting an answer, he says, “I can’t stop thinking about my mom. And my sister Teena. I was going to declare for the NFL at my earliest opportunity. Then I was going to buy Momma a house and a car. So she’d never have to work again. I designed that house over and over in my head. Indoor laundry, kitchen cabinets with pull-out shelves, a working fireplace, a craft room for Momma’s sewing. It kept me going, thinking about Momma’s house.”