Who knew this better than me? Blinky and ARRRGH!!! had been walking nightmares just days before and now were my most trusted friends. Meanwhile, other beings who looked perfectly normal moved through life in simulated benevolence: the Steve Jorgensen-Warners of the world, the Professor Lempkes, the Nullhuller changelings that, according to Blinky, ran most of Washington. Perhaps Mr. or Mrs. Fontaine fit into the same category, demanding a personality from their daughter that she’d been forced to invent.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be. You didn’t say it out of meanness. You said it because you think of me living in a make-believe place as wonderful as that of your mum, even though neither of us deserves it. You’re a good person, Mr. Sturges. A bit gloomy, but good.”

“Okay,” I said. “I like when you say it, anyway.”

If I am lucky, I will live to be an old man, and when I’m lying there on my last pillow with bleeping electronic equipment hooked up to measure the exact distance to my death, there will be a few choice memories that run on repeat in my brain, because I won’t want to leave life with any other thoughts but the sweetest. What happened next will be one of those memories.

Claire Fontaine, the sort of girl confident enough to one day take on the world and be the equal of those of the highest rank, thought enough of me in that moment to reach out with both hands and encircle my wrists. The raw ends of her electrical-wire bracelets poked into my skin. The adamant tips of her fingers crawled up my forearms and then pulled me closer. Her hair, as wild as ever, touched me long before anything else, and I remember the spider-web tickle of each follicle against my cheek. Then she was too close for me to keep in focus and she became the world’s most beautiful blur.

For all my fantasies, I’d never really thought about how soft lips feel when pressed against other lips.

My phone made sure we didn’t enjoy it for too long. Claire sat back with an eyebrow raised as if judging my performance as unconventional but precocious, and I blinked at her for a few seconds before rustling through the pocket of my coat for the stupid ringing piece of junk that so badly needed to be destroyed. My stomach lurched a bit. It was Dad, so I held up a wait-a-second finger to Claire, stood up, and answered the phone while heading into the dim light of the kitchen.

“You okay?” I asked.