When Jonathon and some other guys show up, we forget about Mr. Boyce. They cannonball into the pool and mess around ducking each other. We jump into the pool near them, and Jonathon ducks Skylar. She comes up laughing and spluttering and tries to duck him. He swims away underwater. The next thing I know, he’s jumping off the high board. He and his friends horse around in the deep end, but I get out of the pool. I’m not that great a swimmer, and I’m nervous in water over my head.

I glance at the wading pool, hoping to see Mr. Boyce. He’s not there, and neither is Mrs. Boyce. The little yellow duck is bobbing around in the water. I rescue it, thinking I can give it to Andy the next time I see him. Hopefully, Mr. Boyce will be here, and he’ll say I’m even more super-duper than he thought.

It rains the next day and the day after that. We go to the mall, we go to the library and pay fines for our ruined books. The library’s other copies are checked out, so we go to the used bookstore and buy beat-up paperbacks of The Red Pony.

It turns out to be the biggest waste of money ever because in the end, the boy has to shoot the pony, which is the most horrible thing I’ve ever read. Think what it would be like to Kill. Your. Own. Pony. Mr. Boyce would probably say it’s supposed to be a big life lesson of some kind, but I will never read another book by John Steinbeck, and neither will Skylar. We are done with him.

After dinner, Mom watches the local news while I load the dishwasher.

“Abbi,” she calls, “don’t you have a teacher named Sullivan?”

“She’s my art teacher. Why?”

“The News at Seven has just announced that she’s missing.”

I look at the TV in time to see Ms. Sullivan’s face on the screen. I freeze as the newswoman says, “If you have any information, please call the police at this number.”

When a shampoo commercial with happy music comes on, Mom turns off the TV.

I drop down on the sofa beside her. “What happened?”

“Her sister had been trying to call her, but it went straight to voice mail. When Ms. Sullivan didn’t return her calls, her sister went to her apartment. She wasn’t there, and neither was her car. So she called the police.”

I’m getting scared. It sounds wrong somehow, another story that won’t end well.

“She’s only been gone a couple of days,” Mom says, putting her arm around me and drawing me closer. “Maybe she decided to take a little trip. People do that.”

“But why didn’t she tell her sister?”

“Don’t worry, Abbi. I’m sure Ms. Sullivan will be home soon.”