20 • Real

Walking home, Amelia felt lonelier than ever. Which was strange, and she knew it. Strange, because Casey had written C + A inside his heart. She wondered if the A was for Amelia. Normally this would have surprised and excited her. But today, at this moment, she felt cut loose from the world, as if she were separate from herself, watching life happen to a twelve-year-old motherless girl whose mother may or may not have come back from god-knows-where to reclaim her daughter. How could that possibility not cast its shadow—or spread its blinding light—on every single thing?

Amelia opened her hand and traced C + A on her palm with her finger. Then she made a tight fist as if to make the connection permanent.

She took the long way, always on the lookout for Epiphany—either on foot, or driving the silver car. As she roamed the streets, weaving through the neighborhood, she thought that when she got home she might write a letter to her friend Natalie. She would tell her everything that was happening—from Casey and the initials carved into the heart to Epiphany and the silver car. It would be a kind of relief to tell. Wouldn’t it?

Or would Natalie think the letter was a joke, or worse, that she, Amelia, was a complete idiot and never write or speak to her again?

Maybe she wouldn’t write the letter. She wondered if writing about Epiphany would make her seem more real or less so. Casey is real, she thought. Focus on that.

She clenched her fist again and continued down the street into the unknown future.

21 • Tree

Minutes later, the future presented itself.

Amelia saw the cantaloupe jacket first, a smear of bright color on the porch in the gathering dusk. She had just crossed the street and was at the corner of her block, three houses away from her own.

Amelia’s heart skipped a beat. She moved slowly, barely. It was hard to breathe. And then her father came out onto the porch.

Without thinking, Amelia stepped behind the nearest tree, a big one, watching secretly. She ran her hand along the rough bark, then gripped it. She closed one eye first, then the other. Blinked. Squinted. She hadn’t been imagining things. Epiphany and her father were still there.

The Professor seemed almost frantic, his arms and elbows raised and jutting. He twisted and turned, looking up and down the block. Epiphany lifted her shoulders and let them fall. Then Amelia’s father leaned into Epiphany as if he were whispering to her. He placed his arm across Epiphany’s back and led her down the porch steps to the silver car. They moved as one unit, covering the distance quickly. Epiphany dashed around the car and got in on the driver’s side. Amelia’s father slipped in on the passenger side. The doors slammed at nearly the same second, and the silver car drove away.