“You should try it,” Skylar says. “You might learn something.”

He gives her the sort of look Skylar gives me when I’m being really irritating. Twins born five years apart, I think.

“What’s going on, Sky?” he asks. “You get up on the wrong side of the bed or something?”

Skylar makes an exasperated noise. “Come on, Abbi, let’s go to your house. We can read in peace there. Even turn into books if we want to.”

Rob finishes his soda and lies down on the grass, his eyes shut. “Sisters,” he mutters.

After Skylar and I cross the street, I say, “Why are you mad at Rob?”

“You don’t want to know,” she says. “He’s not as great as you think he is, I can tell you that.”

“You were really rude to him. Did you have a fight or what?”

We go into my house and shut the door. Skylar looks at me, and I see she’s not mad after all. She’s worried.

“What if I told you I found a bag of pot in his bureau drawer?”

“It must be something else. Rob would never do anything that stupid.” My mouth hangs open like I’m stunned.

“It was pot, Abbi. Everybody in middle school knows what it smells like.” She swipes her hair behind her ears. “Rob is a stoner.”

“I don’t believe you,” I say. “Stoners don’t play football.”

“You are so naive,” Skylar says.

“I am not!” This isn’t the first time she’s told me that. It’s getting on my nerves. What does she know that I don’t know?

We stare at each other. The clock on the mantel ticks. Shadows of leaves dance across the walls, changing shape in the breeze. Then Skylar flops down on the sofa, opens The Hunger Games.

I sit next to her, Never Let Me Go unopened in my lap. “Did you tell him you found the pot?” I’m hoping she’ll say no, and then I can pretend it belongs to someone else and Rob is just keeping it safe for them.

She shakes her head. “It’s not like I saw him steal a candy bar at Madison Market. This is big. He could get kicked off the team and ruin his whole life.” Skylar looks like she might cry. “He knows I’m mad at him, but he doesn’t know why.”

“What if the pot belongs to someone else and he’s just keeping it for them or something?”

She sniffs and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “He sneaks out at night,” she says, “after Mom goes to bed.”

“Where does he go?”

“I don’t know!” Now Skylar is getting mad—at me? At Rob? Whatever—it’s time to stop asking questions.

“I’m hungry,” I say. “There’s tuna salad in the fridge. We can make sandwiches.”