“Is she a monster? Or does she just appear to be one?”

Amelia chuckled, but her ears burned. “Monster.”

And she was. But she hadn’t always been that way.

“We used to be friends when we were little,” said Amelia.

“Really? What happened?”

Amelia shrugged. “I don’t know. At the start of fifth grade, we kind of drifted apart. She started hanging around with a different group.” She dumped me, is what Amelia was thinking. “She turned mean.” It was one of the many sad mysteries of life.

Amelia remembered the moment it happened with burning clarity. They were walking through the cafeteria during the first week of fifth grade. For two days they’d been sitting together for lunch at the table with other kids who weren’t part of a large group. Kids alone or with one other kid. Loose ends. Leftovers. As they neared their table, Shelby Granger called Lindy over to her noisy, bustling one. Amelia could still hear Shelby’s voice, high and sure, circling inside her head like a bird: “Hey, Lindy. Sit here.” And Lindy turned on her heel and let herself be drawn to Shelby as if she’d lost all control over her body. That was it. Amelia was left standing alone like a single tree on a cartoon desert island. There was no “Goodbye.” No “Come with me.” No “See you later.” No “Sorry.” Nothing. It confused Amelia then. Still did. Although, now, she tried not to care.

Natalie Vandermeer had been at the other table, and when Amelia, eyes shiny with tears, joined her, sitting next to her, Natalie pushed a chocolate chip cookie in front of her. “Here,” she said quietly, looking off to the side. And she and Amelia sat together from that day on. Day by day their shyness disappeared and their friendship grew.

Casey shifted urgently on his stool. “Do you ever make up stories for people?” he asked, craning his neck, catching a final glimpse of Lindy and Connor.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, personal histories. Take your former friend and that guy she’s with. We could give them names and make up stories for them.”

“I already know their names. Hers is Lindy Tussler. He’s Connor Gup.”

Casey shook his head. “We can do better than that.” He grinned, apparently delighted by the possibilities. Amelia could tell he was thinking hard by the way he narrowed his eyes and chewed his lower lip. “Okay,” he said, after a moment, “her name is Feather.”

“Feather?”

“Yeah. And no last name. Like Madonna or Prince.” He nodded. “Feather.”

Amelia laughed. “She’s the opposite of a feather.” Lindy was big-boned and fairly tall and kind of loud.

“That’s what makes it good,” said Casey. “And—her story is that she collects salt and pepper shakers in the shapes of barnyard animals. She has hundreds.” He paused.

“Lots of pigs,” said Amelia suddenly, surprising herself. “Mostly pigs.”

Casey continued gleefully. “She spends her weekends going to rummage sales and antique shops, adding to her collection,” he said. “It’s an obsession.”