“That sucks,” Will says. “Those camping trips we went on were the best. Remember how he’d try to teach us to fly-fish even though he was terrible at it, and we’d all end up with our lines caught in the trees? And then there was that one time he finally got his line in the water and a bat took off with the fly? And then he had all these hilarious British swears, like ‘oh blimey, we’ve got quite a cock-up on our hands’ or ‘keep your hands out of the fire, you gormless knobs.’”

I almost smile, but then I remember myself and tighten the armor around my mechanical heart.

“Yeah, but then he left and stopped giving a shit, so I’ve done my best to do the same.”

“He’s a jackass for leaving,” Will says.

“You have to say arse because he’s British,” I point out.

“Arsewit.”

“Fuckhead,” I say.

“Chowderhole.”

“Cuntbiscuit.”

“Twatwaffle.”

“Shitspider.”

Soon we’re laughing so hard we can’t breathe, and, for a moment, it almost makes everything else stop hurting.

Zoe

Friday morning, I’m awakened by the sound of Jonah bellowing. It’s barely five thirty, but my parents are trying to get him up. On top of the extra early hour, Jonah had a seizure last night. He didn’t get hurt, thank god, but they always wipe him out, so I’m not surprised he doesn’t want to get up. They’re supposed to be at Little Lambs Village at ten. Two hours to get Jonah changed and fed and cleaned up and dressed, two hours to drive to Eugene, and a half hour for “padding,” as my dad calls it. You never know when there might be a traffic accident or construction or any number of unforeseen delays, so he likes to preemptively outfox them. My mom’s tendency to run behind schedule drives him completely bonkers — it’s the number one thing they end up in tense arguments about. But today, they are both up and at it early.

I pull my pillow over my head. Everything about this day is terrible. When I come home from school, Jonah will be gone. He’ll be a kid who doesn’t live with his family. He’ll be in a strange place, in a strange bed, with strange people. Our family at home will be three and not four. And even though I finally confided in Cammie and she hugged me and sympathized, for some reason it’s still Sam whose understanding I want most. And she’s not speaking to me.