“Do you think people from the nuclear accident should have stayed where they were?” I asked.

“Yes,” Muncie said. “No.”

I stared at her.

“I don’t know. I just don’t want them near me.” Muncie kicked a stone into the road with the toe of her boot. “You coming up today after chores?”

“I can’t. Gran needs me home.”

“What for?”

“You want to ask her?”

Muncie usually stayed clear of Gran.

She blinked behind her glasses. “What’s so important at your house?”

Looking up the valley, I shrugged. The river, sluggish with cold, idled beside the road.

I glanced beyond the front pasture dotted with sheep, my eyes lingering on the curtained window. I wanted to tell Muncie about Ezra but I didn’t dare.

“I just promised my grandmother I’d stay home, that’s all.”

Muncie kicked another stone into the road.

“It’s nothing personal, Munce.”

“You don’t want to study with me, do you?”

I made a face she couldn’t see because of my mask.

“It’s because of what Ripley said yesterday, isn’t it? You think I’m stupid too.” Muncie pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose, magnifying her eyes.

I stood with my back to the wind, shielding her from the frigid gusts. Even though her parents sent her down the hill each morning, bundled from head to toe in heavy clothing, I still felt a need to protect her. She was so small.

I pulled my hat off and scratched my head. The wind divided the strands of my hair, snapping them against my eyes.

Muncie played with the zipper on her coat.

“Muncie.” I looked down at her. “Don’t let what Ripley said yesterday bother you.”

“It doesn’t.”

Resting my watery gaze on the dull green carpet of the hillside, I felt the crush of all I stood to lose because of the accident. It broke over my head like a slough of snow.

“I just want to make sure it’s not bothering you,” Muncie said through her mask.

“It’s not.”

Color flushed above the mask line, around the edges of Muncie’s cheeks.

“Then what is bothering you?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Is it something to do with me?”

“Why does everything have to be about you?” I asked.

“It doesn’t,” Muncie said. “Is that the way I act?”

I nodded. The cold made the inside of my nose crinkle.

“You don’t really like me, do you,” Muncie said. “You just put up with me because I live on your grandmother’s land.”

I scowled at Muncie. “Of course I like you. You’re my best friend. Quit acting like a baby. You’re always acting like a baby.”

“I am not,” Muncie said. “How am I acting like a baby?”

“Well—about our being friends. Why do you even have to ask? It’s stupid. And the way you are about boys.”

Muncie reached up and punched me with her pudgy fist. “What do boys have to do with it?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t like anybody, do you?”

I pinched the end of my nose through my mask. My fingers stung. I wished Gran had handed me a pair of gloves when she gave me the hat.