I laughed and it sounded short and mean. “My mother wishes that I would just disappear.”

“Then, maybe you should.”

“Maybe I should.”

He was quiet and I felt betrayed. Exposed. I started to get up to leave and that’s when he tossed it at me.

His notebook.

As curious as I was to open it, something held me back. For a moment, I thought that maybe not knowing was better. I looked up and saw a van drive slowly past. On its side were the words JOSEPH’S PLUMBING and I wondered what it felt like to travel through the world with a sign that told the whole world exactly who you were.

I opened the book.

It was filled with drawings of big shoes and tiny heads like Daryl had been looking up from deep within the ground when he drew them. They were normal everyday people, except for the little corners of capes hanging from behind their backs. Tiny squares here and there, peeking out from pockets and jackets and zippers, all colored a bright sky blue. His notebook was filled with drawings of superheroes. Except that they were superheroes in disguise.

I closed the book and squeezed it tightly to my chest, but not like the last time when I was trying to take it away from him. “I think my sister would like it here.”

He didn’t answer. Just kept pulling at the grass.

“Except for before she was born, this is the longest we’ve been apart.”

“Is she a part of your screaming dream?”

The tone of his voice and the fact that he was actually listening surprised me. “Franny is never a part of that dream. I am always alone.”

“It’s probably something stupid like your mom wouldn’t let you eat candy when you were a kid.” He snickered and Mean Daryl quietly crept into our moment.

I slipped my feet back into my flip-flops. I hated when I wasn’t sure if he was making fun of me.

“What about your dad? Maybe he knows something.” His voice was softer now.

“I don’t know my dad,” I told him.

He unzipped his backpack and held down the flap so that it looked like the tongue of a panting dog.

“Here,” he said, handing me the familiar brown bottle.

“No.”

He pushed it toward me, pressing the opening against my bottom lip. I took a sip and thought about promises.

“Who would know?”

“Know what?” I ignored the burn snaking its way down my throat.

“About your dad? Who would know about him?”

“Maybe my grandmother. But the only thing she’s ever told me is that my mother wanted me to stay away from him.” I was already starting to feel sleepy.

“Who else?”