My mom asked why he didn’t come to the door and asked again where his helmet was.

“Because he’s a freak,” said my sister. It was the first thing she’d said since the day before. She’d just come out of her bedroom to get coffee. Carbs = 0.

“We’re going out,” I said.

“What? Where?” asked my mom.

She wasn’t used to me having things to do or leaving the house. You know, back home I mostly hung out by the pool.

“Out,” I told her, which felt pretty hardcore.

“Ha!” said my sister. “Out! What are you? A sixteen-year-old girl? What kind of eleven-year-old says that?”

“Kate,” said my mom.

“Well, really,” said Kate. “Even at my worst I don’t just say ‘out.’ I give you a proper lie to set your mind at ease. I must have learned how to do that from our dear old—”

“Enough!” said my mother.

I didn’t point out that Kate never goes out either, especially since we moved here. Back home she hung out with Lav and Cav. You remember them. My sister’s best friends? The ones who also dress like old men and only smile after they say something rude or listen to sad music or read one of their depressing poems on the internet.

If you don’t remember, Cavendish is the one who is trying to be an Instagram poet, but so far, it’s mostly just Lavender and Kate who follow her. You know more about poetry than I do, but I don’t think hers is going to be popular because it doesn’t even rhyme and nothing good ever happens in it. To be honest, it’s always surprising to me that she can read the poems because she wears her hair right in front of her eyes when she goes on camera. Maybe she has the poems memorized.

Remember how they would sit by the pool under the umbrella while wearing huge hats and long sleeves, talking about how much they hated the sun?

“I think we’re going hiking. Or biking.”

“Where?” asked my mom. “And who is that?”

“His name is Ben.”

“Ben who? Can I meet his parents?”

“We’re just going over there,” I said, and pointed to the trail behind the house.

“Alone?”

“Together,” I said.

“It’s fine, Mom,” said Kate. “We won’t miss him anyway. He eats too much and is kind of a suck-up.”

“Kate!” said my mother.

“When will you be home?” she asked me.

“An hour,” I said. “Or two.”

“This seems dangerous. Please bring your phone. And text me every half hour. No, every fifteen minutes.”

“Seriously?” said Kate.

“I’ll text,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. He’s in my class. He’s nice.”

“No getting on anything with wheels without a helmet!” she said.