For a while I zoned out, drifting in time. It was a few years ago, a night when Alex had called to tell Patrick that her dad had to go out on patrol.

We sneak over to her house and hide in the bushes, waiting for the sheriff’s car to pull out of the driveway. Finally Sheriff Blanton steps outside. He pauses on the porch, looking back at her in the doorway. “I don’t want those Rain boys over here,” he says. “Rain only—”

“—goes one direction,” she says, cutting him off. “Down.” She shoves his shoulder playfully. “I got it. Now, go keep the peace already.”

When Sheriff Blanton turns for his car, she casts a glance over at the bushes where she knows we’re hiding and shoots us a wink I feel in my spine.

I know the wink isn’t for me. It’s for Patrick. But it doesn’t matter. I’m close enough to her, to them, that some of her glow touches me, too.

As soon as the car’s taillights disappear, we sneak across the front lawn and Alex lets us in, giving Patrick a kiss I can hear even though I don’t look over. We make root beer floats and head outside. Like old times, we cram into the hammock together to peer up at the stars, slurping our drinks, swaying, and picking out the constellations.

“I think I see Man Throwing Up,” Alex says, pointing at a spray of stars.

“Is that Greek?” I ask, and she laughs.

I’m nestled against her side, her bare arm pressed against mine, and it is warm and soft.

“What do you see, Patrick?” she asks.

“It’s just north of the Big Dipper,” Patrick says. “It’s called Your Dad Tossing My Butt in Jail.”

“Ooh,” Alex says. “That’s an exciting one.”

“Exciting?” Patrick says, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “I think it’s more scary than anything.”

“Well”—Alex turns her face to Patrick, her hair drifting across my cheek—“I hope it’s worth it.”

“It’s worth it,” Patrick says.

The hammock rocks hard as my brother climbs out. “I need another root beer float,” he says, and pads into the house.

Alex and I lie there for a moment alone. It feels like floating.

“What do you see, Chance?” she asks.

“The Little Bear,” I say.

“Where?”

“There.”

“I thought that was the Little Dipper.”

“It’s called that, too.”

I hear her rustle on the hammock as she turns to me. “How do you remember all this stuff?”

I can feel her breath. We’re that close. I don’t dare look over. I shrug. “I don’t know.”

She turns back to face the night sky. “Is there a Big Bear?”

“It’s called the Great Bear. It’s formed using the Big Dipper. See, there? The hindquarters. Then the rest of him.”