We hit the first floor, and he hissed, “Crap!”

The front door swung inward. His mom and dad were silhouettes backlit by the setting sun.

Mr. Sesay crossed the threshold, blinking rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the house’s oppressive gloom. He stopped cold when he saw me. Mrs. Sesay walked right into him, knocking him forward like a softly tapped billiard ball.

They probably didn’t recognize me. My FISHto uniform and all. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Sesay, it’s—”

“Del,” Mrs. Sesay said, with zero enthusiasm. She peeked around her husband’s shoulder. “Jameer, what’s going on here?”

The way she talked through me made me feel like I wasn’t all the way present.

Jameer said, “Del’s in Purity Pledge with me. He came by—”

Mrs. Sesay squeezed Mr. Sesay’s arm. He said, “You’re not allowed to have company if no one’s here. You know that.”

“It’s about the Pledge, Dad.”

Mr. Sesay said, “Uh-huh.”

The glances his parents exchanged were the kind I’d seen Mom and Dad give each other when a more miserable discussion was being scheduled for later. Succumbing to politeness, Mrs. Sesay held up a plastic grocery sack, fragrant with the garlic twang of rotisserie chicken. “You can stay for dinner if you like, Del.”

It was supposed to sound like an invite. I felt no more welcome to sit at their table than if I’d actually been the Count of Monte FISHto himself, flopping wet and stinking of the deep sea.

“No, thank you. My dad’s cooking.”

“Well, then.” Mr. Sesay stepped aside, and his wife did the same, allowing me full access to the exit.

Okay. “Later, Jameer.”

He didn’t respond. The Sesays closed the door, but before it slammed shut, I caught a “What the hell do you think you’re—?”

Followed by a deadbolt clacking into place.

I was mad at Jameer for . . . everything. I was also worried about him. His room . . . no doors, no mirror, as bare as frontier cabins we sometimes read about when MJ couldn’t get around state-mandated book lists. It creeped me out.

So, I didn’t leave. I lingered on the shadowy porch, listening intently for danger sounds—yelling, crashes. After a few minutes of nothing, I decided he probably wasn’t in physical danger, and I was totally overreacting. It was okay to go back to being mad at Jameer.

Cautiously, I glanced next door to the Westing home. The man on the riding mower finished his last swath of cutting while Mason trimmed bushes, in the landscaper zone, the white cable from his earbuds snaking from his head to his phone.

Qwan said it; I was playing this too casual. That had to change. It would change. I wasn’t about to let another dude come along and take what I’d been waiting so patiently for.

I traversed stepping-stones that led to the street. When I touched asphalt, I circled the block to my car. Moving fast, with purpose, but no plan. What now?

I still had an hour before my original FISHto’s shift was supposed to end, so I drove slowly around Green Creek. Sulking, really.