There’s no one. Not even as we pass my old middle school. The office secretaries, Clair and Maryann, wear enormous sun visors as they gawp at the return of Connor Major: OG trouble.

Some people won’t ever be convinced, not with all the evidence in the world. Nightlight Believers, they’re called: people—cults, basically—who not only believe my friends and I are lying about what happened to us, but that we’re murderers. Sinful, fame-hungry liars, who realized who Karaoke Bill was and decided to profit off his capture. According to the most fanatical believers, I personally gutted Reverend Packard and killed Drew with my bare hands. The more detailed theories get really gruesome. Some even deny that Reverend Packard is dead at all. Miss Manners knew what she was doing disposing of him. No body, no crime.

All the evidence we have is my Nightlight shirt stained with his blood.

Around the next turn, people camp outside of Sue’s Diner, that beloved place that’s three abandoned railway cars converted into a greasy spoon over half a century ago.

My heart lifts.

Alone among the crowd stands Sue—ancient, pink haired, and gripping her oxygen tank. In her other arm, Sue shakes a picket sign that reads Sue’s Diner believes Connor! She cheers our sedan as we pass. Two men holler at her to sit down, but she merely swings the sign in their direction and shouts, “BANNED!”

“You can’t do that!” complains a woman at the other end of the crowd.

Sue swings the picket in her direction and spits, “BANNED!”

I cackle as Sue forgets all about her jeering former customers and returns to waving her sign at me. It’s as delicious as any milkshake I’ve ever drank. My good luck streak continues as Agent Elms takes a shortcut through River Drive—my beautiful, amazing friend Vicky Woodbine waits on her front porch. “He’s here!” she cries, little Avery sticking out of the Björn on her chest like a wild mushroom. She and her parents leap from their lawn chairs and together they wave their homemade banner: The Woodbines believe and LOVE Connor Major!

There’s too many sour-looking neighbors lurking around for us to stop, but I slap my hands against the window in a furious wave to Vicky’s family. Weeping, I chicken-peck my loving, heart-exploding texts to Vicky, but it all comes out as autocorrected gobbledygook.

It’s going to be okay. I don’t need everyone to believe me if I have the best of them.