Some prophet, right? I wasn’t any visionary genius. I wasn’t a leader of people. I was just a neglected kid who wanted everyone to love me. And I nearly sacrificed my own fucking sister to get it.

Do you have any idea how humiliating that is? How completely and unbearably pathetic? I’m still so ashamed of myself, most days I can barely look in the mirror.

Murphy seems mostly okay about everything. A week after we got home, she started sneaking out every night, partying again. She even invited me out with her one night. I was so excited I couldn’t believe it. We wound up at a party at some senior’s house, watching him and a few other guys play FIFA. The music was turned up really loud, and everyone sipped beer and kept going out back to smoke cigarettes. They all seemed to know Murphy and to like her too, though she didn’t act much like she did at home. This Murphy was quieter, cooler, and more aloof, not the loud, foulmouthed girl I knew. I took a beer but didn’t drink it, just let it get warm in my hands. I was so nervous, so scared I would embarrass Murphy in front of her friends. But they were pretty nice to me, all things considered. I mean, to be honest, none of them seemed to care that much that I was there. Still, I kept looking around, watching all the kids my age or older, seeing them lean against walls and look disinterested, probably texting each other even though they were in the same room. I just kept thinking, Is this it? Is this what everyone’s doing all the time, that secret world of parties and friends and being cool that I’ve always longed for? It was kind of a letdown, to be honest, especially after my time at the tenant house, partying with those kids. Sneaking out turned out to be pretty boring by comparison.

When we came back home, crawling in through her bedroom window, Murphy asked me if I’d had any fun.

“It meant a lot to me that you asked me,” I said.

“That bad, huh?” she said. “Well, thanks for coming with me anyhow.”

She punched me in the arm, and then I went off to my own room. It did mean a lot that she had invited me out, truly, but I probably won’t ever go again.

Murphy’s changed in other ways too. She’s been painting. Not my visions or anything like that, thank god. Her own stuff, landscapes mostly, and they’re pretty damn good. She has this thing for houses at night, streetlights, with no people visible at all. They’re mysteries, her paintings, like wrapped presents that no one will ever open. They scare me a little bit.