It takes minutes to throw my clothes into my duffel bag, and as I’m doing it I realize the last time this bag was packed, Sarah had done it. Only a week and a half has passed, but it feels like a year and a half. I wonder if she’s been interrogated by police, or singled out at school. Where is she even going to school since the high school was destroyed? I’m certain she can hold her own, but still, it can’t be easy on her, especially since she has no idea where I am, or even if I’m okay. I wish I could contact her without putting us both in danger.

Sam turns the TV back on the old-fashioned way—with the remote—and he watches the news while Six goes invisible to check on the truck. We assume Sam’s mom noticed it missing, which surely means the police are keeping an eye out for it. Earlier in the week Sam stole the front license plate off another truck. It might help us until we get to where we’re going.

I finish packing and set my bag beside the door. Sam smiles when his picture pops up on the television screen, again on the same news cycle, and I know he’s enjoying his small bit of celebrity even at the risk of being considered a fugitive. Then they show my picture again, which means they also show Henri’s. It rips me apart to see him, even though the sketch looks nothing like him. Now isn’t the time for guilt or misery, but I miss him so much. It’s my fault he’s dead.

Fifteen minutes later Six walks in carrying a white plastic bag.

She holds up the bag and shakes it at us. “I bought you guys something.”

“Yeah, what is it?” I ask.

She reaches in and pulls out a pair of hair clippers. “I think it’s time for a haircut for you and Sam.”

“Oh come on, my head’s too small. It’s going to make me look like a turtle,” Sam objects. I laugh and try to picture him without his shaggy hair. He has a long, skinny neck, and I think he might be right.

“You’ll be incognito,” Six replies.

“Well, I don’t want to be incognito. I’m Variable x.”

“Stop being a wuss,” Six says.

He scowls. I try to be upbeat. “Yeah, Sam,” I say, peeling off my shirt. Six follows me into the bathroom, ripping the packaging away from the clippers as I bend over the tub. Her fingers are a little cold, and goose bumps sprinkle down my spine. I wish it was Sarah who was holding my shoulder steady and giving me a makeover. Sam watches from the doorway, sighing loudly, making his displeasure known.