We stay where we are, pressed against the side of the house, safe from lightning, I think. I hope. Rain pours off the roof like a waterfall. The trees are a green blur whipping back and forth in the wind, filling the air with leaves and twigs.

Inside the house is quiet. Pot smoke drifts out the window. Somebody laughs. I sink into silence so deep I can hardly breathe. Skylar has nothing to say either. The rain is cold. It soaks through our clothes. We shiver and hug ourselves to keep warm. I want to go home, but not in a lightning storm.

After a while, the rain lets up a little and Skylar grabs my hand. “Come on, let’s make a run for it.”

We sprint toward the driveway, but before we’re halfway there, I hear Rob yell, “Skylar, what the hell are you doing here?”

She doesn’t answer, doesn’t stop, doesn’t even look back, just keeps running, dragging me with her.

Rob catches up with us and grabs her arm, spinning her around to face him. She lets go of me and I stagger to keep my balance. “Don’t touch me, you druggie,” she screams at Rob. “I hate you!”

“Calm down, Skylar, it’s just pot. It’s legal in some places now.”

Rain pours down on us, thunder booms, lightning flashes in webs across the sky. I don’t know which scares me more—the storm or Rob and Skylar fighting in the downpour, slipping in mud, yelling at each other.

Rob grabs Skylar’s arm again and mine too. “Shut up and get in the house.”

Skylar gives up and lets him drag us both inside. The place is moldy and nasty and full of trash. Rain splashes down through holes in the roof. It smells almost as bad as the dead deer.

I’d rather go outside and be struck by lightning than stay in this house, but Rob isn’t about to let us leave.

“Listen to me, Skylar,” Rob says. “Don’t tell Mom. This is the first time I’ve ever bought drugs. Honest. It’s for a big party.”

“That’s a lie,” Skylar yells. “You’ve got a sock stuffed with pot in your bureau. I saw it!”

He shakes his head. “That belongs to somebody else. I was keeping it for him, not smoking it.”

Even I don’t believe that, not anymore.

“You liar,” Skylar says. “I hate you, Rob. You’re a dumb idiot.”

A few guys I’ve seen with Rob are leaning against a wall, watching us. Like him, they play on the football team.

“Don’t tell anybody,” one says to Skylar and me. “It’s no big deal, not like something you’d see in Breaking Bad. No killings, no drug lords, just small-town stuff.”

Skylar stares him down. “If it’s no big deal, why are you so scared we’ll tell?”