I shuffle out of the shelter, not sure if I feel better or worse for my visit. My phone has been going off the hook with Casper's texts and missed calls that it's vibrated itself right off the seat and onto the floorboard. I retrieve it and call her back with a sigh.

"I'm going to fucking kill you. What took so long?"

"Sorry," I mumble. "I was... I got distracted. Adam should be okay."

"Did he wake up? Did you talk to him?"

"No. Yes. Sort of? His mom showed up just as he was starting to come to. She kicked me out."

"God, that woman..." Casper sighs. It's a heavy, tired sound. She's feeling worse. "Come over for a bit and fill me in on everything?"

Pause. "Come over as in...come over. To your place. And hang out?"

"Um, yeah. That's what I said."

I chew at the inside of my cheek. "What about your parents?"

"Mom's at work and Dad's here, but he'll probably head out to run some errands. And who cares? They won't have a problem with you being here."

I relent and say I'll be there soon. It isn't until I'm driving for Casper's that I realize there has to be a reason Casper has never had Adam and me over before, and that this means she wants to see me, but she isn't feeling well enough to leave the house.

She's getting sicker, and I didn't even ask how she was feeling.

#

There's a car in front of Casper's house when I pull up. I scrub my palms against my pants before knocking on the front door, worried her dad will answer and I'll be known as the smelly dog guy.

Thankfully, it's Casper who pulls open the door. It's only been a week since I saw her last, but under her eyes are dark and her cheeks are more hollow than I remember. She grins as she steps aside, beckoning me in. I'm praying under my breath her house isn't as immaculate as Adam's, or that her dad isn't as terrifying and infuriating as Mrs. Rockswell.

Nothing to worry about. Immediately, I'm more at home here than I was at Adam's. There are shoes piled just inside the door. Sneakers, work boots, a pair of heels. Casper is in her socks so I hesitate, but she rolls her eyes, takes my hand, and drags me out of the entryway.

"Don't worry. You can ditch your shoes wherever."

Not at all like Adam's. Not even like my apartment. I hate people wearing shoes in my place. I let Casper lead me to her room, past the kitchen and a bathroom. No sign of anyone else. Maybe the car in the driveway doesn't mean anything?

Her bedroom is about half the size of my entire apartment. Which isn't to say it's huge, but it's bigger than the room I had at Maggie's. Kind of messy, too. Books lying around—I resist the urge to put them on her bookshelf in alphabetical order—overflowing laundry basket, and shoes here and there. Casper is, obviously, a shoe person.