And I knew right then that I’d never see Zeke again. This was the end of something that had mattered so much to me, for such an intensely short amount of time, and it was ending, and I was going to be all alone when whatever was next finally came for me.

He turned away from me and opened the door.

“I’ll tell people we did it,” I said. I opened my backpack and showed him the huge stack of the posters. “I’ll put them all over this house and my house, and I’ll tell everyone that it was us.”

Zeke froze and then I watched his shoulders seize, like I’d just punched him in the neck. “No, you won’t,” he said. He was tapping the palms of his hands against his ears, like they were on fire, or maybe buzzing. He was right next to me now, and he suddenly grabbed my wrist, harder than I think he meant to. “Please don’t do that,” he said, and he wasn’t even really looking at me, like he was far away. “I’m begging you not to do that.”

I tried to pull my arm from his grip, but he squeezed tighter, like he couldn’t let go until I promised him. The look on his face, it was like nothing I’d seen before from him. The left side was spasming, like bugs were under his skin, and he looked . . . so frightened. And I realized that he was afraid of me. Because I was doing something cruel, because I was terrified of being alone. Because I worried what I’d do if Zeke wasn’t around, when it was just me and whatever was inside of me. Maybe, I thought, Zeke was what was keeping me from doing bad things.