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he climbed into his pickup. He nodded toward me and then reached across the caband threw open the passenger door. “Lift?” he asked. Hardly any of us juniors had our licenses then. But they’d left Dean back one year, right before middle school, probably on account of his stutter. Now he seemed even older, parked all the way in the back of the lot, gazing past me at the kids pouring from the school doors.
    “I’m supposed to go to my grandmother’s. I can walk the few blocks. But thanks, really.” I finally forced myself to stop talking and wondered if all Dean’s conversations were like that—all slanted. For every one word he pronounced, the other person said twelve. “You okay?” I asked. Which was just as moronic, because Dean West was certainly not okay. But he just shrugged and turned the key in the ignition. I slammed the door shut and tried not to imagine how he felt. Once, Colt River’s resident source of radiance had unexpectedly beamed her smile Dean’s way. And then, just as suddenly, she was gone.
    Standing there by the empty space, I watched him peel out of the school lot. I needed to make sure he didn’t circle back and follow me to Chloe.
    Donahue’s Grocery was on my way to Nana’s, but I didn’t want to have to talk with Mr. or Mrs. Donahue behind the corner, and went on to the Rite Aid just a little out of the way. I stocked up on as many of Chloe’s favorite snacks as I could: Baby Ruths and Ritz crackers and Ring Dings and Circus Peanuts. Pretty much acelebration of preservatives, but at least none of it would go bad. I bought batteries for the flashlights and hoped no one would notice that part. At the last minute, I remembered to stick in a bunch of magazines, People and In Touch , wondering if Chloe would be on next week’s covers.
    Buying all that crap helped slow me down, too, because I couldn’t exactly sprint with all of it in my arms. So I actually walked to my Nana’s like a normal person, let myself in, and just barely stopped myself from screaming down the basement.
    Chloe called for me instead.
    “Finn? Finn?” Her voice sounded scratchy, like she had a cold.
    “Don’t yell. Stay there.” I barked out the orders while I double-checked the dead bolt and made sure the back door was still locked, too.
    “Finn.”
    “Shut up! Seriously.” But I was already tearing down the basement stairs. Halfway down, I almost ran her over. It was so weird to see Chloe then. It really was like she was a ghost. We must have hugged each other for a full five minutes, swaying back and forth on the steps until we sort of tumbled down the rest of the way and landed in a heap against the wall.
    “Can I turn on the light?” She sounded like a little kid. With strep throat. I realized her voice was hoarsefrom not talking for days and felt immediately lousy for all the times I had thought to myself that Chloe had it easy. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re here. How long can you stay? What’s going on?”
    She couldn’t stop dancing around. My pajamas were too big on her and she looked like a little kid. She must have French braided her own hair, which was weird to see because we’d always braided each other’s hair. She saw me looking and touched the top of it proudly. “What do you think? I must have practiced for hours, but I can do it myself now. I have to hang upside down to reach. Sit down.” She wheeled over my grandmother’s tweed ottoman. “Sit down. Let me do yours.”
    “Chloe, you can’t braid my hair. If I leave here with a French braid, what’s my mom going to say?”
    “Oh, like anyone would even notice.”
    I handed over the Rite Aid bag and all the goodies and she shrieked again. I had to stop myself from clamping my hand over her mouth.
    “Shhhhh,” I said. “Chloe, they would notice. You have no idea—everybody notices everything now.”
    “That’s because you’re a celebrity.” She trilled the word, being goofy with it, pulling out the magazines