“I don’t know where he is,” she said. “He’s been weird for weeks now. Last Friday—in the middle of the night—I found him shivering in the kitchen with a tablecloth over his shoulder. He was sleepwalking, and he kept saying the Jesuits were coming.”

“He’s always been weird,” I said, and I laughed. Mom didn’t.

“David,” she said, “I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m just saying,” I said. “So if Frick’s shivering in the kitchen, then where’s Paige?”

Mom smiled a little. “She’s home. Was on the couch watching those stupid apocalypse shows when I left to get you.”

We rolled past the stop sign and turned onto our dead-end road, heading up to our little yellow house. Mom pulled into the driveway, and people walking out back of the house in the woods caught my eye—JP and Tyson.

“Did you see that?” Mom said, and I told her who it was.

“Of course,” she said. She put the car in park and unbuckled her seat belt. “I’m glad you’re home, gwusis.” She reached over and hugged me, and kissed the top of my head. “Now,” she said, “stop coming home with your hair short. It’s bad medicine.” Dad never liked my hair long.

I grabbed my duffel bag and went up the crooked steps to the house. I was excited to see my sister. The TV in the living room was on. The end credits to a movie were playing with slow, low piano notes, drawing out something suspenseful.

“Paige?” I checked the living room. The imprint of a body indented the empty couch. I turned off the TV.

Mom came in the front door. “Get your shoes off.”

“Sorry, I was going to drop my bag off and head out.”

“So?”

My socks were damp from having my shoes on all day and my soggy feet marked up our old linoleum floor as I walked down the hallway to my room.

“You going to find your friends?” Mom said from the kitchen.

I asked if she minded—after two months away I had this feeling that I was supposed to visit with her. I unzipped my bag and pulled out a new pack of Camels and returned to the kitchen.

“No, I don’t mind,” she said. “Just tell them I know they been going in the shed most nights.”

“How do you know?”

Mom leaned over the stove, inspecting the burners for crumbs.

“Crows. You know better than anyone. They talk.”