“Cool,” he says. “Sorry your parents are still divorced, by the way.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I think they’ll probably stay divorced forever.”

“Makes sense.” Luis shrugs and then tosses the backpack at Oscar. “Watch your back. The only reason I’m leaving you alone is because Sweet Pea’s here.”

I bite down on my lips so I don’t smile too hard.

Luis walks out and down the hallway to the living room.

Oscar exhales. “You cannot go home before my mom gets here. I forbid it.”

I giggle.

“You laugh,” he says. “But you’ve never had two older brothers.”

“He’s not really going to beat you up,” I tell him. Oscar’s brothers are rough sometimes, but they don’t really hurt each other.

His nose wrinkles. “No, but he will fart on my head. Twice. At least. Death by fart attack.”

“Don’t worry.” I pat his arm. “I’m here. You’re safe from the fart fumes for now.”

We spend the next few hours watching episodes of America’s Most Haunted, and it’s easy to forget I’m hiding anything from my best friend until the next episode starts, and Cliff VanWarren in his spooky yet somehow game-show-announcer voice says, “Secret identities. Not just for comic books, and perhaps more sinister than you may think. You think you know someone only to find they’re living a whole other life . . . as a whole other person. The paranormal world—”

I grab the remote and hit the power button. “Sorry,” I say. “I gotta go and didn’t want it to get any further and spoil the episode.”

Oscar throws himself back against the cushions. “Leave me to the fart dungeon, I guess.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I sing over and over as I rush out the door.

“Later, Sweet Potatoes!” calls Jorge from where he still sits on the porch with his friends.

“Still Sweet Pea,” I shout back. “You’ll run out of produce eventually!”

On my way to Dad’s, I check on Miss Flora Mae’s place. Inside, I plop down on the floor of her plant room and turn on the radio. I sprawl out with the most recent pack of letters from Mr. Joe Salazar and find myself reading through every last one of them.

I’ve only got a little bit of time before I need to be home, but something about hearing other people’s problems makes my own feel farther and farther away. Maybe that’s what Mom likes so much about her job. Some problems make mine feel small and others make them feel bigger, but for a town so small, there are still an awful lot of problems.

Arguing siblings, lying significant others, nosy neighbors . . . it goes on and on. Some people just write to ask Miss Flora Mae about the best way to get rid of a stain in the couch or what her favorite recipes are. It makes me wonder how many of these people are just lonely.

I always thought of Miss Flora Mae as this eccentric old lady who never let anyone in, but maybe that’s not true. Maybe this is her way of letting people in.