It was bright and clear out, the moon a sign in the sky welcoming me into the night. I walked through the field, past the big, strange, empty barn, dark with its secrets, Murphy sleeping fast in the house behind me. I’d never been out in the Farm at night without my sister, and I felt a little bit like a jerk for leaving her behind. But how many times back home had she climbed out of our window to go meet with her friends, and had she ever asked me to come along? Hell no. So maybe it was okay if I did something without her. Maybe it was okay if I struck out on my own for once.

I followed the birch trail to the tenant house. Along the way I could hear them, the laughter and music—joyful this time, not eerie and strange like before—and soon I came upon a few kids around my age, sitting in plastic chairs around a small fire in a gravel pit in front of the house.

They all looked at me as I walked up, the music loud and blaring from a stereo inside the house, the window left wide open so it would blast into the yard. Nobody said a word, and for a second I nearly turned back and walked myself right into the darkness and my own bedroom.

But then Cass came laughing outside, a beer bottle in her hand. She wore a blue dress with flowers all over it, and when she walked it swished around her ankles. Cass could have been from 1967, or she could have been from the future. She could have come from anywhere.

“It’s Lee!” she said and ran up to give me a hug.

I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I just stood there and let her pull me close.

“Dude,” she said, “you give the worst hugs.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m not much of a hugger.”

“It takes practice,” she said, and it was like she was seeing right through to me, to how awkward and friendless I was, like my own loneliness was scrawled in big letters on my forehead.

A redheaded kid stood up and walked toward me. He was short and wore a sweaty gray T-shirt.

“This is the famous Lee, huh?” he said, shaking my hand. “Heard a hell of a lot about you.”

“Oh,” I said, taken aback. “I hope not.”

“Ha!” said the redhead. “Didn’t tell me he was funny too, did you, Cass? I’m Stephens. Welcome to our lovely little outhouse.”

“It’s not that bad,” said Cass. “Remember, his grandmother’s our landlord.”

“No insult intended,” said Stephens. “All in good fun. Lord knows she rents it to us cheap enough.”

“It suits our purposes,” said a tall kid in a Cubs hat who was smoking a corncob pipe. “I’m Luther. Pleasure to meet you.”