“No?” I said. All that time to type two little letters? “What does that mean?”

His eyebrow went up.

I rolled my eyes. “I know what no means. But I’m asking—” I sighed. “Never mind. You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

He shook his head.

“Ever?”

That got me a shrug.

Did that mean maybe?

“Fine,” I said. “Whatever. The real reason I’m here is to tell you I’m sorry I was mean to you after the movie. It wasn’t fair. I guess I was mad at those horrible girls and took it out on you. I didn’t mean to.”

Before I even knew what was happening, I was crying again. Big, fat tears falling down my face.

Oren leaned into me, which felt good but for some reason just made me cry more.

“They’re so awful,” I said. “I mean, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be crying because you’re here and your parents are dead and your life is way worse than mine, but they’re just… ugh…you must think I’m the most horrible person ever, and I—” I stopped talking because I was just making it worse.

When I braved a look at him, he was staring at me. Waiting.

“I am the worst. Sometimes I speak before I think. I don’t mean to. It just happens.”

He started typing.

I know that. It’s OK. Those girls are awful.

It meant a lot that he thought so too. “Right?”

I wiped at my eyes.

DYNAH?

“Dynah?” I said, confused. “Those girls were Miri and Sasha. Who is Dynah?”

He rolled his eyes and returned to his phone.

Do You Need A Hug? DYNAH

“Oh!” I laughed. Then I nodded and leaned toward him. He put his good arm around me and patted my back.

“Thank you,” I said a minute later as I pulled away from him. “You forgive me, right?”

He made a “hmm” face and looked up at the sky like he was thinking about it.

“Oren!”

He smiled and then nodded.

“Dork,” I teased.

He picked up my round stones and looked at me.

I was happy to change the subject. “It’s Jewish tradition that when you go to someone’s grave, you place a stone down.” I pointed at the shiny black headstone next to his parents’ graves. “Look there at Mr. and Mrs. Adams. See all the little rocks piled on top of their headstone? That means a lot of people have visited. They were old, so they probably have a lot of kids and grandkids who come to pay their respects.”

He looked at my rocks again.

On the other side of his parents’ graves was a single headstone that read Hannah Menkowitz. I did the math in my head. She was forty-four when she died. No mention of her being a wife or mother. There were no little rocks on her headstone. How sad.

I got up onto my knees and placed the stones on the new mounds of turf. “One for each of them,” I said to Oren. “I want to mark that I was here.”