I wish the night Sawyer came to my patio felt like a fever dream, but the sound of Sawyer’s head slamming against the glass is programmed into my memory. Like every piece of window was at risk of breaking under the force of his skull. I can’t go to sleep at night without hearing that glass shatter.

I’d guess it’s about forty-five degrees. Our plant that looks like a sad mushroom and our crotons are grayish-brown husks. A fiddle-leaf fig is slowly decaying. Those never stay alive longer than a year.

The breeze blows Mom’s teacup wind chimes into an ominous jingle. The camera was above the door last I knew, two nights ago, but now it’s gone missing, with four holes in its place.

There’s a ghoul under the oak tree in my backyard, hiding its smile behind the maple leaves.

I rush inside and shut the door. It’s still watching. Like a sadist seeking revenge. There are eyes, actually. Inside the recesses of the head, where the eyes seem burned out by hot coals, are glowing white circles.

I pull out my phone. The iSpot app shows feedback from the security cameras. Front door, living room . . . and the third is now in Benji’s room. The feedback is of the girl who was in his bed, dressed and up, running around the room, searching for things in a panic. I recognize her fleshy thighs, always in jean shorts, and her horse-girl hair. Laura Pearson.

“Oh my God.”

Chad Roberts’s girlfriend. My nemesis’s girlfriend slept with my brother. It’s the kind of juicy gossip I’d relish if I were more vindictive or plugged into high school drama.

The only time I can recall Laura being at my house is at a post-track-meet chiller from the two months in the semester Benji and I ran last year. Eight jocks played beer pong and talked in the kitchen while I stood by the counter, eating nachos.

Chad Roberts pulled apple juice out of our fridge and let it waterfall into his mouth.

I said, “I can get you a cup.”

He kept drinking and made an aaah sound when he was finished.

Laura appeared, falling all over him. “Are you drinking all his juice? Stop being such a bully!” She was laughing through it, popping gum and pushing hair out of her face.

“It’s a free country,” Chad said. “And I’m a guest.”

“Exactly,” I said. “You’re a guest. Benji?”

Benji came over from the beer pong table, looking slightly dazed, a little buzzed.

“Why did you invite St. Clair people to our house?” I asked.

Chad snickered. “Jesus. Racist, much?”

“If the name of the school can be equated to whiteness, there’s probably a problem with the school.”

“Using big words like equated doesn’t make you sound smarter.”

Chad and Laura laughed.