The Fort was located in the green belt behind the house but was not visible from any window. He and Lane Chapman had built it last summer out of leftover materials from the construction of a summer cabin down the road. Lane’s father’s company had built the cabin, and Lane’s father had given them posts, two-by-fours, planks, and even some cement—enough material to build the basic structure of two rooms. It had taken them most of the summer to scrounge up the rest of the wood and the signs, decorations, and furniture for the inside, but after they’d finished, The Fort was perfect. Even better than they’d thought it would be. The front and sides were camouflaged with branches of sumac and manzanita; the rear wall was backed against a tree. You entered from the roof, climbing the tree until you were on top of The Fort, then pulling the string that unlatched the hinged trapdoor. There were no stairs and no ladder, but the jump was not far.

Inside, the Big Room was decorated with cast-off knicknacks salvaged from garbage cans around town: old album covers, bamboo beads, an empty picture frame, a bicycle wheel. Lane had added a stolen Stop sign given to him by another friend in order to lend the place a touch of class. The other room, the HQ, was smaller and carpeted with a stained throw rug they’d scavenged from the dump. It was here that they kept the Playboys they had found in a sack of newspapers destined for recycling.

Billy walked down the short path in back of the house. He could have called Lane and had him meet him at The Fort, but he wanted to be alone today. He felt sort of strange and sad and lonely, and though it wasn’t exactly a pleasant feeling, it was not something he wanted to push away and force out of his system. Some emotions just had to run their course—you had to think about them, experience them, let them pass of their own accord—and this was one of those.

He also didn’t feel much like talking, and with Lane around talking would have been unavoidable. The boy talked more than anyone he had ever met, and while sometimes that was fine, it was not always appropriate, and he just wasn’t in the mood for conversation today.

Still, he felt slightly traitorous coming here alone. It was the first time he’d been to The Fort without Lane, and it seemed somehow wrong, as if he were breaking some type of pact, though there had been no such agreement either spoken or unspoken between them.