Myron wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or not. The corridor had the stale stench of spilled beer and academic worry. There was a bulletin board overloaded with flyers, meetings for all kinds of groups and clubs, everything from badminton to belly dancing, from feminist thought to flute choir. There were clubs with names Myron didn’t understand, like Orchesis or Gayaa or Taal, and what was the Venom Step Team?

“For a while, after your brother disappears, you stay home from school,” Clark said, his voice faraway. “I don’t remember how long anymore. Was it a week, a month? I can’t remember. But eventually you have to go back, and when you do, everyone looks at you like you’re some kind of alien. Your friends. Your teachers. Everyone. Then you go home from school, and it’s even worse. Your parents are falling apart. They’re extra clingy because now they’re scared of losing you too. So you come home and you try to escape to your room, but when you do, you walk right past his room. Every day. You move on—and yet you never move on. You try to forget, but that makes it worse. You try to get out from the shadow, but then you see your mother’s sad face and it knocks you back down again.”

Clark lowered his head.

And meanwhile, Myron thought, you’re just a kid.

Myron wasn’t sure it was the right move, but in the end, he put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Myron said.

“For what?”

“For sharing that. It must have been a nightmare.”

“It was,” Clark said, “but that’s my point. She made it better.”

“Francesca?”

Clark nodded. “I had someone who didn’t just say they got it. I had someone who understood completely.”

“Because she was going through the same thing.”

“Right.”

“And,” Myron said, “vice versa. She had someone too.”

“Yeah, I guess. You get it, right?”

A friendship bonded in tragedy—maybe the strongest kind of all. “Of course.”

“I came out to Francesca before anyone, even my parents, but of course, she already knew. We could talk about anything.”

“You were lucky to have her.”

“You have no idea, Mr. Bolitar.”

Myron took his time with the next question. “And now that her brother is back?”

Clark said nothing.

“Now that her brother is back and yours isn’t,” Myron continued. “Has your relationship changed?”

His voice was soft. “Francesca is not here.”

“Where is she?”

“Back home, I guess.”

“I thought you drove her in last night.”

“Who told you that?” he half snapped. Then: “Oh, right. Your nephew. He was at the house.”

Myron waited.

“See, there was a party at the DKA house. I know it sounds stupid, what with finding her brother and all. She’s been really confused lately. On edge. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s ecstatic. She couldn’t even let Patrick out of her sight. At first anyway. But now maybe it’s getting claustrophobic, you know what I mean?”