Nick sat slack-jawed, chewing on words that wouldn’t come. Another minute to add to the 2,628,000 that had passed between us in silence. He rapped his knuckles a single time against the wood of the tree beside him.

Once for all clear.

When we used to search our houses for interesting findings, someone usually had to stand guard. Make sure our parents weren’t going to find us rummaging through their belongings. That someone was first me—the aforementioned youngest and worst—but I failed the job so often that Marley had no choice but to let me pass Nick in seniority rankings. He became our official watchman, and I became investigator number seven: best known for unearthing an old love letter written for Harrison’s mom and a stack of vintage Playboys in the Campbells’ garage. I loved my job, but Nick’s—though unwanted by everyone—was most important. The sound of his single knock on the door meant we were safe to discover more secrets. Once for all clear. Twice for get out of here.

“I did hear you,” I finally said. This was Marley’s work. Nick’s knock on the wood, an unconscious declaration of safety. “And I know. She never left.”

“You’re the reason I came here,” Nick said to me, like there was a reason before that he’d misinterpreted. He craned his head back to see the sky. His face had ridges and grooves smooth enough for water to trickle across in steady rivers. I carved a picture of it into my palm with my fingernail, trying to remember him in his older form, in case this moment was the last we’d ever share.

The day of the accident, I made the choice to carry Marley with me always. I couldn’t leave her. Nick made the choice to run away. He became a shadow on my life; our town. The usually right boy who made one very wrong choice and decided to take up residence there permanently. But here he was, drinking in the night, sitting right beside me. Telling me I was why he’d shown up.

So much for making him insignificant.

Words had been what protected me. Say I’m okay and I am. Tell the world I don’t care about Nick and I don’t. Always bending lower than the truths I didn’t want to share. Never losing the game of limbo. But by the dried-up creek behind City Hall, between the dying cedars that leaned into one another like lovers touching foreheads, I couldn’t find a single protective syllable with more power than my own mysterious feelings.

Feelings.

Of all the things to take me down.