She laughed. “Well, today’s my first day. Somehow, my grandma knows the funeral director, so here. I. Am.” She pulled a granola bar from her pocket. “Halfsies?”

I hadn’t eaten all day. Hadn’t really eaten much since. But I found myself nodding anyway, watching her as she unwrapped it and broke it in two.

“I’m gonna be nice and give you the bigger piece, but don’t think this is how it’s gonna always be.”

And even though she was only joking like we’re gonna hang out again, it was not an idea I entirely hated, which, odd, because I’d been in full-on hate everything mode for days.

I said, “Cool.” And then added: “Statement.”

And I didn’t know how but her laugh made me wanna laugh.

“It really sucks,” she said. “I heard they were young.”

“Who?” I asked but then I got it. And then my lip was trembling, tears threatening rain.

“Heard they have three kids.”

“Two,” I say quietly.

“What was that?”

“Just two kids.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Well, it still blows. Can you imagine? What on earth do you say to a kid who’s just lost the two most important people in their life?”

“I don’t know.” I turned to her, wiped my eyes. “But here’s your chance.”

She made an Ooooh sound, blanketed her mouth with both hands. “Ohmi—”

But she didn’t get a chance to finish this awkward moment because the Do Not Open door opened once more.

“Hey, man,” Q said, stepping out onto the cracked pavement. “Everyone’s looking for you, so I, uh, I figured you’d be wherever they weren’t. And . . .” He spied the girl and stopped. “Oh, my bad, am I interrupting . . . ?”

I didn’t meet his eyes. The energy had been off between us. But if he’d noticed it, he did not let on.

The girl stuck out her hand. “Hi, I’m Autumn. And no, you aren’t interrupting anything except me making a fool of myself, so perfect timing.”

Q smiled. “Nice to meet you, Autumn. I’m Quincy.” He glanced at me. “Uh, Q, actually. Jamal’s friend.” And he paused like he was waiting for Autumn to explain how she knew me, or for me to interject, but honestly the only thing I wanted was for this dude to vacate the premises. Not just my presence. Not just this grimy alleyway. The whole funeral home. The block. The damn world.

Of course, he could have just let it go. Be content with not knowing this one thing about me and my life. But he couldn’t help himself.

He shook his forefinger at her. “You look familiar. Wait, are you from Indiana? Are you the daughter of . . .”