One day at school the principal, Mr. Perry, called me to his office during homeroom.

I walked past the empty desk where the secretary used to sit and knocked on Mr. Perry’s door. Kids at school called Mr. Perry “the pencil.” He was tall and thin and his skin had a yellow tint to it. Mr. Perry had stayed on through the accident, even though the town couldn’t guarantee his paycheck.

He sat behind his desk, several sheets of paper spread in front of him. He ran his finger down a printed computer sheet.

“Come in, Nyle,” he said. “Let’s be quick so you don’t miss first period.”

My mouth felt dry and gummy. I tried to remember if I’d brushed my teeth that morning.

“You and your grandmother doing all right?” he asked.

“I guess.”

“Your grandmother phoned last week and told me about your houseguests.”

A muscle under my eye started twitching.

“It’s all right, Nyle. I know you have evacuees staying with you.”

I sat in the chair opposite Mr. Perry and nodded.

“I also know that you want it kept quiet,” Mr. Perry said. “Particularly in the case of these evacuees. The families from the plant have been hardest to place.” Mr. Perry leaned toward me, his thin elbows digging into the stacks of paperwork on his desk. “I’ve also spoken with the boy’s mother. She believes he’s well enough to resume his studies.”

I stared at the back of Mr. Perry’s computer. It needed dusting.

“These are notes from all the tenth-grade teachers,” Mr. Perry explained, lifting one of the bundles of paperwork from the mess on his desk. “Here are copies of the books he’ll need. It’s better this way, I think, his studying at home. To be frank, Nyle, I’m not certain most students or their families are ready for him here at Leland and Gray. You just pick up his lessons each week and he’ll keep up. The staff knows about him, and the board. But we don’t have to say anything about him to anyone else right now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Perry looked down at a paper on his desk. “He should have no trouble completing the earlier assignments. He didn’t miss any school until—”

I stood juggling papers and books, turning my back on Mr. Perry. I didn’t want to talk about the accident.

“Anything he doesn’t understand, anything unfamiliar, just let us know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nyle,” Mr. Perry said, turning to the next layer of paperwork on his desk.

I turned back toward him.

“You and your grandmother, you’ve done a good thing.”

Nineteen

Everywhere I looked, the back bedroom showed signs of Ezra. Projects for school, maps, artwork.

The better he felt, the more he took on. He had completely monopolized the room. No outward sign of Mrs. Trent, except the neatly made cot. No trace of Gramp.

Mr. Perry was right. Ezra really hadn’t missed that much school. He caught up with his class quickly.

Sometimes, sitting together doing homework, I had trouble concentrating. My eyes wandered from my notes, lingering on Ezra’s legs, his eyes, his hair. He sat cross-legged on the floor, reading over his history assignment, drumming his pencil against the hard cover of his math book, against the empty cookie tins, and I could not take my eyes off him.