“I didn’t even tell her about the iPhone.”

“So tell her. Tell her all that stuff.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?” He kicks a stick off the bridge and into the water. We watch it disappear behind us.

“She doesn’t know about the SPD. She won’t even believe it’s a real thing.” I sigh.

“So tell her.”

I throw the blanket off.

“It’s not that simple!”

“Why not?”

“You know, I don’t like this version of you—this Mr. Miyagi from the Karate Kid version of you.”

“Ohhh, look at you quoting movies at me. And an Asian reference, at that.”

“Ha. Ha.”

We sit down on the bridge facing each other. The snow sinks into my jeans. Well is still in his tennis shorts. He’s got to be cold. How do I explain our old life, living in a truck and falling asleep to the sound of our stomachs growling, to a boy like Well, who has a theater in his basement and a credit card on file at Little Caesars?

“You don’t know how we used to live. Things are too different now. I can’t talk to her. It’s not like talking to you or Ginger. She’s a force, Well. A force.”

Well leans toward me, too close for comfort as always. “So are you, Lou. You’re like… a superhero who doesn’t know your own strength. You just have to test it out. And who better to test it out on than your mom?”

I like the me that Well sees. But Well is good at make-believe. I picture myself turning into Wonder Woman and lassoing Mom and holding her still until she sees me, really sees me.

“The key here,” he says, leaning in close and settling the blanket back around my shoulders, “is to remember that with great power comes great responsibility.”

“Wow. You actually had me up until that last bit.” I throw some snow on him.

Well shrugs. His favorite move.

13 The Show Must Go On

In the dark like this, being in the middle school gym is kind of like being underwater, with nothing but the dim strips of glow-in-the-dark stage tape to light my way. Sounds are muffled. I have to fight the urge to hold my breath. I keep looking up and around for a source of light. It’s the very last rehearsal, and it’s not going well.

Mary Katherine still doesn’t know all her lines, and Lacey, our Rapunzel, keeps tripping on her wig. And though I’m not going to be the one to tell him this—because Mrs. Nicky has already done it enough—Well is overacting. Big time. He keeps yelling his lines.