This divide hadn’t always existed. Somehow, over the years of their friendship, Jesse forgot how they’d all become friends, but Mira remembered. It was early January of her first year of middle school, the air hovering above freezing, and Mira blew on her hands to keep them warm, watching as Celine approached her. Strands of her blond hair bunched at the top of the puffer jacket she wore. The jacket had a hole near the bottom and Mira could see bits of the interior peeking out. The jacket was a faded pink, the color of the Pepto Bismol Mira’s mother used to make her choke down. Celine raised a hand and Mira noticed that Celine wore two mismatched mittens—one black, the other pink, the color of her coat.

Mira thought better than to comment on it when Celine introduced herself, and instead listened as she explained how they’d just moved into one of the houses up for rent.

“Which one?” Mira asked, curious.

“It’s blue. Three eighteen Milson Road? Do you know it?”

Mira didn’t, but only because so many houses went up for sale only to be foreclosed months later, the owners gutting the insides of anything of value to make up a fraction of what they lost. On her block Mira knew of at least four houses like these. Families moved into them because the rent was cheap but often left shortly after—because they couldn’t make the payments, because they were in search of a better dream, because in the end, they couldn’t bring themselves to live in this part of Kipsen. Whatever the reason, there was enough transition in the neighborhood that it didn’t matter which house it was Celine had moved into. She probably wouldn’t be staying in it for long.

Soon after, their bus came. Mira climbed its steps, found a seat, and sat near the window. She was surprised when Celine sat next to her, but there weren’t many white students on the bus, since most had their parents to drive them or they carpooled with others. Celine also seemed like the type to need to be around people, or at least attention, and wouldn’t have wanted to sit alone. She wouldn’t stop talking and she filled the minutes of the ride with offerings about her life. Mira continued to listen as she rambled on about nothing in particular—television shows she’d watched the night before, her favorite subjects in school, a crush she had on the member of a boy band Mira had never heard of.

“You’re so quiet. I’ve been talking so much. You got nothing to say?”