Before I left the house I asked if she could get me smokes at the store—told her I had ten bucks and it was in my bag in my room—and she said she would. I left the house and the door slammed loud behind me. I jumped off the front steps and headed out back of the house. I slipped in mud but caught myself. My feet felt heavy the more I trekked through the woods, leaves sticking to my soles. I scraped the bottom of my shoes on a log, and I heard JP laugh in the distance. I saw Tyson first. He was wearing a bright orange jacket that barely fit him now. I thought it was impossible for him to grow anymore—the kid was pushing six foot three and he was so skinny that if he got any taller he might disappear.

In a clearing beyond the trees, JP threw a rock at Tyson, who was telling him to quit it. JP had his long hair pulled back, something he couldn’t do at the beginning of the summer. He raised his big arm and threw another rock at Tyson.

At the sound of my crunching leaves and twigs, JP turned around.

“David,” he said, pegging one last rock at Tyson. “We were starting to think you weren’t coming out. Give me a ciggie butt.”

I handed one to JP, who then sat on the giant boulder that forked the path.

JP pointed to Tyson, who was rubbing his arm. “He was doing it again,” JP said.

“Doing what?” I said.

“You know, he invites you over to hang out and then stuffs his skinny ass with food while you sit there and watch.”

“I didn’t know you were hungry,” Tyson said.

“Bullshit. I’m always hungry. Anyway, David, lots has happened since you’ve been gone. We have to go find a new spot. The last storm that came through took out the lean-to.”

I lit a cigarette. “Why don’t we rebuild there?”

“The spot’s shot. We’re too close to the swamp and the rain’s been making it all muddy. And Tyson’s convinced the swamp lady’s after him.” He flicked his cigarette.

“No, I’m not.”

JP and I crept toward him.

“Oh, you ain’t scared, Tyson?” JP said.

“Yeah,” I added. “You don’t think the swamp lady will bother you tonight while you’re sleeping?”

“Fuck you guys.”

“Better be courteous when she comes by.” JP poked Tyson hard in the chest and he tripped. “You’ll get more than a rock peggin’ if you don’t!”

We all laughed, and we headed up the path. I started thinking about that woman—she could have been Native, could have been Puerto Rican, could have been Mexican—on the bus. I wondered if she got to her destination.

“Do either of you know if the Greyhound has another stop after Overtown?”