One of the teenage girls walked over to her. TJ ducked down her head and pretended not to see her. “You’re her,” she said. “Aren’t you?”

“I’m nobody,” TJ said. “Sorry. We’re at the wrong house.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” she said. “I promise. I hope they get whoever killed your mother. I know it had to be that Chester Pratt. Especially after he stole all your money. Sounds like he was covering his own butt.”

TJ stopped cold. John Wesley looked up at her, not sure what to do. Somewhere far off she heard the sound of a jazz band starting up and people beginning to clap along with the music. A real wild party. Good times. She could see the park on the other side of Saint Charles. They could just ignore the girls and make a run for it.

“I want to help,” the girl said.

“Why would you help us?”

“Because what you did is right,” she said. “Stood up. Fair is fair and all that. Love the hair, by the way.”

TJ watched John Wesley dig into his blue jeans for a tiny sandwich. She shivered some more as she hugged her arms around herself. She looked at the girl and girl grinned back at her, so much time, space, and money separating them. But the girl looked at TJ as if she was looking at something made of gold or altogether new.

“We need money,” TJ said, just kind of blurting it out. “And a phone. Especially a phone. I’ll pay you back. I swear on it.”

The girl said her name was Anna and that this was her family’s house. She was tall, with glossy, dark brown hair and perfect teeth and skin, pretty in her big puffy coat with a fur-lined hood. TJ watched as the girl wandered back to her friends, four other girls, and they all reached into their purses and pockets like they were at some kind of church revival. Raise your hands. Praise the Lord. They did it secret and slow, eyes darting around the party to see if anyone noticed. Anna came back and pressed a wad of cash into TJ’s hand. “There you go. You’re one of us.”

“What about a phone?” TJ asked.

“You can have mine,” she said. “But can we take a selfie first?”

“You can’t post it.”

“I know,” she said. “I’ll mail it to myself. You know. For when it’s all over.”

TJ felt her face heat up, reaching for John Wesley’s hand, and looking back at the girl. “You mean when I’m dead?” she asked. “Shit. This ain’t no goddamn reality show, Anna. I swear to you this shit is real.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

TJ nodded slow as the girl stepped up, reaching her arm around TJ’s waist, pulling her close and stretching out her camera from both of them. TJ didn’t smile but looked dead center of the camera lens on the phone.