On the lengthy walk home through patches of snow that lightened the night, my pinkie toes and heels combatted the stiffness of the leather. For the last fifty yards, my feet stayed curled to minimize the blisters. Nevertheless, those boots weren’t coming off. Even in my worn overalls, I felt far too fancy to go shoeless before morning. Or at least until I showed them off to Arie.

I was envisioning doing just that while I entered our apartment and noticed an object on my pillow. A small wooden train…the one from the party.

I’d assumed it had been lost to the stampede, crushed like Arie’s plane and so much more.

Papa had peeled off for the outhouse but could return any minute. I hurried to pick up the train, marveling that Arie had managed to save it. But why give it back, and without explanation?

Then I recalled the hidden compartment. On a hunch, I detached the cab and, to my sheer delight, pulled out a tiny square of folded brown paper. I set aside the toy, beaming over its use as a carrier pigeon of sorts.

Vigilant before reading, I scurried to the door and listened for Papa’s heavy footfalls. Hearing none, I unfurled the note.

My pop got a factory job in Amesboro.

Starts Monday so we’re moving today.

I’m sorry, Fenna. I’ll miss you.

Will write when I can.

—A

My throat tightened as I reread the words.

Amesboro…moving today…will write.

Arie was leaving—but no. He couldn’t!

I tore across the room and into the hall. At his family’s door, I knocked. Knocked again harder. I called for him, not caring who knew.

Barging inside, I gasped. The main room was empty, just sparse furniture left askew, paper scraps littering the floor. I didn’t have to inspect the bedrooms to know they looked the same.

My closest friend, my only friend, was gone.

The realities of what that meant pummeled me all at once.

No more talking or laughing or doing magic together. No more covert smiles or waves in passing. No more simply knowing he was there.

I wrapped myself with my arms, the note still in hand. Tears streamed as I stood there, chest gone hollow, gutted. Ragged words rode my quiet sobs: “Life couldn’t ever be worse, not ever…”

Surely dramatic by some standards, but not at that age. Not with everything considered.

Nonetheless, I should have known better.

Voicing my fears might have risked empowering the Devil; in this case, it seemed I’d offered him a dare.

Ten days later, he took it.

Chapter 14