THERE WAS NOTHING ELSE TO DO, SO I WROTE THE NOVEL, finished it, and I made sure that my character, the evil genius, got away with it, that no one ever discovered what she’d done, what she was still doing, what she would never stop doing. She was invincible. She was a fugitive, goddammit, and the law was so skinny with hunger for her. I gave it to my mom, maybe to show her that I was getting better, or maybe because I had no one else who could acknowledge what I’d done. She loved it. “This is what you were doing all summer?” she asked, and I nodded, yes, of course, this and only this, and here is the proof of my last few months. She showed it to Hobart, who also loved it, and it made me feel, for the first time, that maybe it was dumb to be embarrassed about weird things if you were really good at them. Or not good. If they made you happy.

Of course, I kept putting up the poster. For the first one after the accident, I folded it up into a little bird, and I walked by myself in the morning heat to put the poster right in Zeke’s grandmother’s mailbox. After I shut the lid, I looked in the window, and I could see her on her sofa, watching TV, all alone. I left before she could see me, but I hoped that she’d find it, call Zeke’s mother, and she and Zeke would drive right back to Coalfield. But nothing happened, or nothing happened that made any difference to me. Maybe I terrified the absolute shit out of Zeke’s grandmother. I have no idea. Nothing reached me.

Sometimes, when I was alone, I’d go into the garage and make copies of the poster, using the original one. I had been the one who kept it. It was mine, the least that Zeke could do after he made me nearly die. I had the real one, the first one, and all of the power that was inside of it. Our blood, those stars in the sky. I’d make five copies at a time, just enough to make me feel like it was still mine.