Of course she wanted to remember. If she could just remember what had happened, then she could find her brothers. Those lost memories held the secrets to finding them.

All that she had been left with were horrible dreams that made her wake up in the hospital screaming and left ghosts of images in their wake. Trees, Michael’s smile, John’s shoes, screams of laughter, and a pair of eyes like stars.

CHAPTER 5

The Arroyos

The garage door at the Arroyos’ house was open, revealing shelves of tools and car parts. There were two cars in the garage. One belonged to Jordan—a beat-up sedan with a rusting hood that fit in well with the greasy car parts surrounding it. And then there was Mr. Arroyo’s sleek, silver crown and glory next to it. Any time Wendy had problems with her truck, Jordan and her dad were the ones to help her out. She would need to enlist their services for her dented hood and scratched windshield, but right now, there were more earthshaking matters at hand.

Wendy half ran up to the porch and rang the doorbell. A large knot lodged in her throat.

Jordan opened the door. She stood, shoeless, in a pair of gray sweatpants. One arm stretched above her head, scratching her back and pulling up the hem of her beat-up Red Cross shirt. While Wendy always got up early—both every day during the summer and on the weekends during the school year—Jordan had the sleep habits of a very lazy house cat. Jordan had a piece of toast sticking out of her mouth, a sleepy smile playing on her lips. Her brown hair was a pile of springy ringlets framing her heart-shaped face.

“Hey, you—” Jordan cut herself off, brows furrowing as soon as she got a proper look at Wendy.

Wendy rocked forward onto the balls of her feet, wringing her hands.

Jordan’s arm fell to her side. “What’s wrong?” she demanded through a mouthful of toast.

Wendy opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She felt her lower lip wobble.

In one fluid motion, Jordan pulled her inside. They quickly started down the hall, passing the kitchen on the way. Jordan tossed the rest of her toast onto the counter and Wendy heard Mr. Arroyo say, “¡Ay, Jordan! ¿Qué haces?” She caught a glimpse of Jordan’s dad, frowning as he picked up the piece of soggy toast and threw it in the trash.

“My bad!” Jordan maneuvered herself to block Wendy from her father’s view. “Wendy just got here. We’ll be in my room,” she said casually.

“Oh, okay, fine— Hi, Wendy,” Mr. Arroyo said distractedly as he wiped up the melted butter with a dish towel.