“Hey!” Daniela looks amazing, as usual, and she’s obviously finally recovered from the flu. But instead of the knee-length gray wool coat and black leggings she’s actually wearing, all I can see is the tiny red bikini underwear and Santa hat from the selfie Penn showed me. Which, ironically, makes me think of Amira.

But when I turn, I realize Amira’s still standing at the edge of the crowd, holding an unlit candle, pretending she doesn’t see my brother.

Or me. Not that I can blame her. I don’t think she and Penn have said four words to each other in my presence in … well, around thirty weeks, give or take. Which was easy for me to miss, because she’d basically quit coming around.

“Hi,” I say, returning Daniela’s greeting. “Glad you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks. The flu sucks. Hey, let’s get you a candle!”

“No, that’s okay. I’m holding one in spirit.”

“Yeah, I guess you are.” Her smile fades. “I heard that you found her. That must have been so traumatic.”

I feel like that statement is going to follow me for the rest of my life. Maybe I should have it printed on some business cards.

“Yeah.” I turn to Penn. “Can you watch Landry? Get her out of here if this goes downhill?”

“I don’t need to be watched,” my sister grumbles.

Penn cocks his head to the side. “Downhill, meaning …?”

“Mom said they’re expecting protesters. Looks like a couple of groups are trying to commandeer the Clifford baby as their own personal political symbol.”

“How awful!” Daniela flips long, straight black hair over her shoulder. “I don’t see any, though. Maybe they changed their—”

“Hello! What an amazing turnout! Thank you all so much for coming out tonight, in spite of the cold!” Sophia Nelson’s voice echoes over an unseen speaker, and I look up to discover that I can actually see her. They’ve erected a podium in front of the gazebo, and she’s standing on it with a lit candle in one hand and a microphone in the other.

“What is this, a pep rally?” Penn mumbles.

“Hey, keep an eye on Landry, okay?”

“Why?” He turns to me with a frown. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. I just don’t want her with me in case any of the reporters”—or protesters—“recognize me.”

Penn nods with a glance around at the reporters, who’re now all filming Sophia.

“Thanks.” I head back to Amira, and Landry doesn’t even seem to realize I’ve gone. She’s holding her lit candle, staring, rapt, at Sophia and Brother Bill on the podium.

I’m not supposed to know that Amira slept with my brother, so it would make sense to ask her why she hung back. And I’m tempted, considering she may be the reason I’m getting death threats.