I cock my eyebrow at James, who is taking off a yellow apron. He knows what she’s asking without my having to repeat it.

Tell God I said hello, he says. James tries to avoid religion at all costs.

I’m somewhere in between. Catholic school years aside, I’m not particularly interested in religion, but not totally ready to rule it out yet either. Plus, I’m kinda pissed at my dad for using God as an excuse to kick Connor out of the house. As if my dad has any use for God. Or God has any obvious use for him.

Come, I mouth to James, silently begging. Sometimes church makes Becky depressed and I’m already feeling out of sorts.

James holds out his hand for the phone and passes me the apron in trade.

I love you to pieces, kitten, he says into the phone, but it’s you and Michael today.

Damn.

They talk about the snow for a while, and when he hangs up, his hand stays on the receiver, back in its cradle.

I want to ask him if he’s okay. He has these moments with Becky sometimes, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t, and they seem to be happening more and more lately.

But then he turns, that sly smile on his face, and says, Light a candle for me, will you?

I need to learn to say no. Becky tells me that all the time; only she never wants me to say no to her.

When I walk into the church after trudging through the snow for what feels like an hour, she says, You’re late, you missed the bells.

The bells. Of course. Becky knows facts about the bells—even their names—the same way James knows facts about…everything.

It’s snowing, I remind her. You know, like a lot.

She bumps her shoulder into mine, surrounding us in a cloud of powdery perfume. A dusting of slush sprays off my coat.

No shit, Sherlock, she says with a laugh. But you still missed the bells.

I offer my apology, though, really, I’m surprised I made it at all.

Did you get home okay last night? I ask. Becky lives in Queens but lies and uses her aunt’s address on the Upper West Side, so she can go to our school in Manhattan. Her aunt actually lives in California, though, and only rents the place out, so it isn’t like Becky can move there for real or anything.

I crashed at Andy’s, she says, And don’t look at me like that. His mom took the night shift at St. Vincent’s, but his dad was there.

Andy’s mom is a nurse and his dad is, like, seven-feet tall and a cop who no doubt made Andy sleep on the couch and kept his hand on the butt of his gun all night.

So remind me why your boyfriend doesn’t do this church thing with you again?

Becky snorts. He doesn’t believe in God.

And you’re Jewish, I say. So why go to church?