“Hi, Mr. Dale,” Lance replies politely, and then he takes a deep breath and stares down the aisle at the seats, which are already more than half-full.

He does spy one empty seat and makes a beeline for it like it could disappear. When he slides across the hot, sticky vinyl, a rush of air escapes him. The bus jerks as Mr. Dale puts it in gear, and off they go.

Lance rests his forehead against the window, staring out at the grass meadow bordering the gravel road, the blades beginning to burn red at the tips to signal fall. The bus sways as Mr. Dale takes the sharp turn just before the one-lane bridge. As they cross it, Lance holds his breath like always, sure the ancient boards and crossbeams will split under the strain of the bus’s weight. The river bridge looks like something built for horses and carriages, not heavy vehicles.

But like always, they make it. In reality, nothing is quite as fragile as it feels in Lance’s imagination.

As the bus rumbles over the gravel on the far side of the bridge, Lance sits up in his seat, anxiousness forgotten in favor of eagerness to see the Chases. Their driveway is winding and gravel-surfaced like Lance’s, but it’s also much better groomed—a level stretch of fresh white rock curving to disappear toward a house not visible from the road.

The Chases don’t walk out to meet the bus. Their older brother, Robbie, drives them. They’re waiting in the bed of an old truck, its pale blue paint making it stand out like a robin’s egg on the backdrop of verdant oak trees that hedge the Chases’ long driveway. As the boys see the bus pulling around, they spill out of the back of the truck one at a time.

First is Danny, who’s Lance’s age, sliding off the tailgate. Robbie hovers beside him, his hands outstretched but not quite touching, like he’s worried Danny will fall. But Danny lands on his feet and bats his brother’s hands away.

Then, there’s Johnny, who’s four years older than Lance. He clambers out after Danny and tousles his hair, which makes Danny scowl.

Unlike his golden-haired brothers, Robbie, the eldest Chase, has black hair and a black, untidy beard. He pushes his hands into his jeans pockets while Danny and Johnny rush up the bus steps.

Lance doesn’t know why he’s so fascinated by the Chases. Maybe because he’s heard his father grumble about them since before Lance could talk. Maybe because, in class, Danny knows every answer and quickly becomes every teacher’s favorite. Which, incidentally, makes him most of the other kids’ least favorite. Maybe it’s because Johnny is so popular that even kids in grade school know who he is. He’s a football quarterback and plays some of the leads in the school plays. He can even sing.

But the main reason that Lance watches the Chases is for glimpses of their quiet older brother, Robbie; Robbie, who always seems a little sad and a little tired, but watches the younger boys with warm protectiveness. It’s an expression Lance has never seen anyone turn in his own direction. He watches Robbie Chase so that he knows exactly what to picture when he closes his eyes and imagines mattering enough to someone that they look at him that way.