“Hello?” Derrick’s voice cracked.

“Check the video feed from Bob’s house. There’s two kids in front of the gate.”

“They’re probably just fans.”

“It sounds like they know something.”

After putting his finger on his lips and waiting until Bob nodded understanding, he put his mom on speakerphone and then pulled up the feeds from the security cameras from Bob’s house. A Subaru was parked in front of the gate. Two people were peering in between the wrought-iron curlicues. When the smaller one stepped closer to the light, he saw red hair.

Derrick said, “It’s not just two kids.” He glared down at Bob, resisting the urge to kick him. “One’s Bridget, his researcher.”

His mom’s voice sharpened. “And why would she be there?” Without waiting for an answer, she said, “The security system already dispatched the police. I don’t know if I can beat them there.”

BRIDGET

Tilting Off Its Axis

“Welcome to our humble abode!” Bridget made a sweeping gesture as she stepped in the front door. Her breakfast dishes were in the sink, not the dishwasher, and there was a huge pile of mail on the dining room table, but things were mostly picked up, for which she was secretly thankful.

She tried to see her house through Ajay’s eyes. The olive green L-shaped couch with the gray-and-orange throw pillows. The long black leather ottoman in front of the couch that doubled as both footrest and coffee table. Opposite the couch, her dad’s gray overstuffed chair was flanked by a floor lamp standing on three carved wooden legs.

Other than the addition of framed photos of her mom or their family, Bridget realized everything looked just the way it had when her mom was still alive. The room suddenly felt like a time capsule—or a museum.

Darting down the hallway to her room, Bridget tossed her pack on her bed and quickly closed the door as she left. It was already weird enough being alone with Ajay without him seeing her unmade bed or the clothes that had missed the hamper.

But he was still in the living room, focused on the framed photo of a grinning girl on a skateboard. He pointed. “So that’s you?”

“My mom, actually.” In the picture, her mom was a few years younger than Bridget was now. She wore a yellow T-shirt, and her red hair curled up over the edge of her helmet. Her smile was so big it squeezed her eyes closed. “She was more daring than I’ll ever be. She wasn’t scared of anything.” Except dying, but there wasn’t really a way to talk about that.

“You look a lot like her. And I’ll bet your personalities are more alike than you think.”