“It’s not very cute or cuddly,” he said. “I don’t know.” He swept his bangs away from his eyes. “I’m pretty into tech stuff and games and whatever, and it’s like nothing I’ve seen or heard of.”

Eden said, “Remember not to get it wet.” She nodded in the direction of the house. “I should go.”

He nodded, too. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll draw up a schedule, maybe. With the other two. What’s that girl’s name?”

“Ilanka Sokolova.”

“You have her number?” Eli asked.

“Nope.”

“What about Marwan Gamal?”

“Nope,” she said. “We should just return it.”

“We can decide tomorrow. But I guess I need to hand it off to you right when we get there. I’ll meet you at your locker.”

“Okay, sure,” Eden said, because she had no better ideas, and he shrugged and walked off. She went inside, closed and locked the upper door, and leaned against it, breathing in deeply.

Back in her room, she checked her phone.

Caught up on stories and posts.

People were stuck in an elevator in a building on Twenty-First Street.

She searched for Marwan. Found him. His most recent post was a picture of a flyer posted on a streetlamp that had a photo of dog poop and said: FOUND! If this belongs to you or your dog, please contact us ASAP.

His caption said: The person who made this flyer deserves a medal.

Another post was a screenshot of a true crime podcast home page with the caption: Can’t. Stop. Listening.

She clicked away and went downstairs, then plugged her phone in at the charger in the dining room, where it was supposed to stay for the night because those were the house rules. Eden’s mother had made her take some online survey a while back, and the results supposedly proved that Eden was addicted to her phone, so now there were, technically, no phones allowed at the dinner table or in the bathroom (oops) or upstairs or while walking to school or after nine p.m. Her mother didn’t know that Eden snuck down every night and then up again so she could sleep with her phone under her pillow. And by the way, if her mother was honest with herself, she was addicted, too. She had refused to take the same survey on the basis of being an adult and not having to.

A text alert on her mom’s home screen was from someone identified as NH and said, How about just lunch then? You owe me that.

“You have a weird text,” Eden said, and her mother rushed over and read it and then put her phone facedown. “It’s nothing. And why are you reading my phone?”

“It was an accident. Jeez. Who do you owe lunch?”

“It’s a work thing.”