“It is too late,” Sal said. “I already enrolled you—a week ago, when I got the word from the Elders.”

Reg ran a hand along the back of his neck, as if working out a knot. “A week? Is that how long we were in our coffins awaiting sentencing? Seemed shorter.”

“Well, this part will seem like an eternity if we have to sit it out in some dreary school,” I said.

Sal frowned. “If you don’t go now, people will notice. People will talk.”

“We’re new kids,” I pointed out. “People will talk anyway.”

At least, that was always the case on all my TV shows.

“And what are we to tell them?” Reg asked. “When people ask who we are and where we’re from?”

“Well, now, I’ve given that some thought.” Sal leaned on the table, his broad weathered hands spread on the wooden surface. “You’re from New York—a suburb, not the city. Don’t want to be too interesting.”

I stifled a sigh. As if I could just stop being interesting.

“Your parents died, so you came to live with me, your grandfather—”

I interrupted with a grunt of disagreement, and he tried again.

“You came to live with me, your . . . uncle Sal?”

He paused while I considered. When I offered no noise of protest, he went on.

“You’re sad and you don’t want to talk about it. Most people won’t press.”

“That’s it?” I said when Sal fell silent. “That’s our whole story?”

“It does seem a bit . . . slim,” Reg said, and for once he sounded more pained than polite.

“The best cover stories are simple. And boring. All anyone ’round here knows about me is that I come from a big family on the East Coast—which is a lie—and that I’m retired.” He looked down at his hands pressed against the table and curled them into fists. “Which is true.”

I yawned. “You’re right. That is boring.”

“You’re free to fill in the blanks.” Sal stood up straight. “The good news is, you arrived in time for the first day of school. Fewer questions that way. Mind you, you’ll still get some questions, so keep your answers short and stick to the cover story.”

“And you?” Reg asked. “People might give me and Charlie some space if they think we’ve lost parents. But questions are sure to come your way.”

“I get a lot of strays through here. People have learned to stop asking.”

“What’s the name of the town anyway?” I asked.

“It’s more village than town,” he said.

“Town, village. Either way, it’s nowhere.”

“Exactly right.”

“What?”

“The name of the village. It’s Nowhere.”

My mask of disdain was shattered by the drop of my jaw. “You have got to be kidding me.”