Just then, Zeke’s mom came onto the porch. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t look angry. She touched Zeke’s shoulder and he turned to look at her. And then, holy shit, his dad came out, walking with a cane, and asked Zeke if he was okay. I could not believe that they were still married. Or maybe they weren’t. Why was Zeke still living with them? I guessed I needed to get inside and maybe I’d find out. I did not like that the fact of his parents staying together was overwhelming my focus on Zeke. I waited for permission, because I wouldn’t come in if Zeke said no. I mean, I would later throw a rock through their window with a message that explained everything, but I would not go into their house without Zeke’s okay.

He took a deep breath, looked back at his parents, and then nodded. “Yeah, come on in,” he said.

“You were hard to find, honestly,” I said, still not moving, and he smiled for just a flash of a second, and I saw those weird teeth and it instantly made me happy, calmed me down, even though he went back to his deadpan look right after.

“I mean, kind of?” he said. “I’m in the house where I grew up. I didn’t leave.”

“Well, okay, but it was hard to find you online.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Did you not want people to find you?” I asked.

“No one is trying to find me,” he said, smiling again. “Except, you know, for you.”

“Well,” I said, “I found you.”

“You did.”

“Honey, maybe we can go inside?” his mom said, looking around as if a crowd were on the sidewalk watching us. “Hello, Frankie,” she said to me.

“Hi, Mrs. . . . well, hello. And, hello, Mr. Brown. I don’t know if you remember m—”

And the whole family laughed, a real laugh, over something so strange as the fact that I’d kicked him so freaking hard in the knee while his son had tried to murder him.

“I do remember you,” Mr. Brown said. “Very well.”

I looked at his cane, my eyes so wide, and he shook his head. “This was all later,” he admitted. “A stroke.”

“Oh,” I said, “good. I mean, not, you know, not good that you had . . . You look well, sir.” I turned back to Zeke. “Do you know why I’m here?” I asked. “Like, can you guess?”

“Jeez, Frankie, yeah, I can guess. Here, just . . . come inside.”

The whole family kind of awkwardly shuffled back into the house, and there was this moment when I realized that I could walk inside and Zeke and his parents could stuff me in a hidden room and the secret would stay a secret. But then I remembered my mom, all those cans of pepper spray, this address on her phone, and I knew I was safe.