“I’m going to Mizerak’s,” I hiss at her. “And you better come, too, or you are shit for a friend. Not to me. To her.” I grab my coat and run out into a gray morning. It’s not that cold, and I run with my jacket open. Crosslots, the Mizeraks’ barns are only two pastures and a cornfield away from Versailles, but they’re big fields. The snow is wet and slushy and splashes with every step. I run across corn stubble, climb a fence, dodge semifrozen cow flops, and climb another fence. When I can see the tops of the big blue Harvestore silos, I start to hear the Mizeraks’ cows. I stop and listen. I’m not a farmer, but even I can hear an urgency to their mooing, like they know something’s wrong.

“Serena!” Angel is waving to me from the barn doorway. “We have to milk the cows!” she shouts. “The bulk tank comes at two o’clock!”

The shrubbery in front of Rack’s house is completely wrecked. Beer bottles are everywhere. “This is a disaster.”

“No, it’s not,” she says. “It’s a mess, not a disaster. Not getting the cows milked, that’s a disaster.”

“Where’s—”

“She won’t get up. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. She can’t stop crying. She tries to walk and then she collapses, crying.”

“Junior.”

“Well, yeah. Obviously.”

“Was she drunk?”

“No. She went to bed last night.” I follow her into the barn. “What about Melody?” she asks over her shoulder. “I thought she went to your house. We need her.”