“Is that true?” Amelia asked cautiously. “What the shirt says.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just made it up. My mom says it’s not true.”

Casey jammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and covered his mouth while he chewed. He appeared to be talking to his hand or telling a secret.

He sat back and chewed, slowly, thoughtfully, for a long time. When he was done, he leaned in. “They met at the Eiffel Tower when they were in college,” he explained. “That’s why I’m trying to make one—an Eiffel Tower.” He rolled his eyes. “Dumb, I know.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

“No. It’s nice.”

“How’s your parents’ marriage?” asked Casey.

The question caught Amelia off guard and hung between them for a long moment.

“What about your parents?” Casey pressed on. “Are they divorced? Statistically, it’s almost normal.”

“No, they’re not divorced.”

“You’re lucky.”

She waited a beat, then as casually as possible, said, “My mom’s dead.”

“Oh.” His face reddened. His neck, too. “That’s—that’s—” He was obviously flustered. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay. I was only two when she died. I don’t even remember her.”

As sometimes happened, Amelia’s statement shut down the conversation like a door slamming. Amelia thought that if Casey were an adult, this is when he’d say, “Poor thing.” They both stared out the window. They finished eating without speaking.

Casey’s next question pierced the silence. “Do you ever get signs from her?”

Another surprising question. She looked right at him. “No,” she said. No, she never got signs. None that she was aware of, anyway. Then she looked out the window again. Cars and people passed by in both directions, in and out of the shadows, like fish in an aquarium. Her eyes hopped from a crying baby in a stroller to a jogger with glaring orange shoes to a poster on an idling bus advertising an art exhibit downtown. Behind it all, above it all, between the branches, the sky was blue. Nothing unusual.

A sign.

A sign.

What would a sign look like? she wondered.

7 • Feather

Amelia was still looking out the window wondering about a sign from her mother when she saw Lindy Tussler. How could she miss her? Lindy edged along the window, then nearly pressed her face against the glass. She was using the window as a mirror, canting her head and fluffing her purple-streaked bangs. She seemed to be admiring her reflection when all at once, she saw Amelia, recognized her, and contorted her face into an expression of pure disgust. Then she mouthed the word freak.

Amelia drew back and stiffened.

Lindy lifted her chin and turned away. Amelia watched her catch up with Connor Gup, who was waiting for her. Hand in hand they walked off.

“Who was that?” asked Casey. He crinkled his nose. “Do you know her?”

“She goes to my school.”