Mr. Davenport-Gardner—Grant—started at the back of the pack, then bounded out in front. He pointed at Adam, Lindy, and Jillian with imaginary pistols. The only thing worse than imagining her mom pretending to be in love with an unknown person in the town play was knowing who the person was.

Her parents weren’t running in the race, which was a relief. Her mom was on Lucy’s porch taking pictures in a too-short denim skirt and cowboy hat. Jillian had to look away. “My friend designed this shirt,” she said, showing her shirt to Adam.

“Oh, your friend,” Lindy said.

“He is my friend.”

“Then why don’t you say hello to him? Hey, Mark!”

“Shut up!” Where was he? Could he hear them? Jillian looked around, but Lindy was laughing.

“I’m kidding. God. You don’t have to freak out. He’s over at his mom’s table, handing out magnets. He’s hot, huh?”

Jillian studied Lindy, not sure if she was making fun of her. “He’s, like, the best goalie, right?” She felt mean serving him up that way. Mark was nice in addition to being insanely cute. He was interested in things other than sports and boogers, like art and animals.

“He sucks, but he’s hot. How well do you know him?”

“We went to preschool together.”

“He’s in my math class.”

Jillian nodded; she knew. Mark was in Seventh-Grade Math, which was really remedial math. The grade-level classes were for the kids with learning issues, and the so-called gifted classes were for everyone else. It was either done so the kids who needed help wouldn’t feel bad, or so the other kids would feel like they were brilliant, but everyone knew it was fake.

Jillian picked up more cups. Lindy even tossed a few in the box. They held out waters when the runners came past them, but only a few people took them—probably just to be nice. It wasn’t hot. Jillian looked for Adam, but he was gone. “Hey, Adam!” She looked around, frantic. “Where is he?”

“Hey!” Lindy called. “Get back here, kid, or no candy!”

“I’m here,” he whispered from under the table.

Jillian squatted. “What are you doing there?”

“It’s quiet,” he said.

“Quiet?” Lindy squatted too. “You’re looking for quiet at a Halloween thing?”

“I have a headache,” Adam said.

SUZANNE DODGED A COUPLE OF HIP-HIGH FAIRIES AS SHE WALKED across the green toward Lucy’s. She needed her latte. She had a headache that shot right across the bow, a headache that only caffeine would cure. The baby—if there was indeed a baby—would survive a little caffeine. She’d just come from the grocery store, where she’d bought a home pregnancy test. It sat in the trunk of the car, cowering between the milk and the bread.