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She always asks, “So, how’s Sherilyn? How’s Kate and Dannika?” It’s like she can’t understand that their lives are so much different than mine that what they’re doing doesn’t really matter anymore.
    The thing is, it’s easy to put people off. All you have to do is stop trying to have friends. It’s easy to put the projects between myself and everyone else.
I’m helping with a bronze pour tomorrow. I have a hundred beads to make for Sherilyn’s birthday present. I have a test tomorrow in trig. I’m so tired. I have a sore throat, a headache, PMS
. People know better than to ask me to do things now. I’m busy. I don’t have time to talk much, not even to Sherilyn, my used-to-be best friend. But it’s safer this way. It’s better this way.
    Footsteps make me jump back into my doorway. A door closes at the end of the hall. Bathroom. The creak of leather tells me that someone is in the living room, sitting in the rocker. Probably Dad, since that was always his favorite chair.
    After a moment I hear water in the bathroom, and the door opens. The sound of cloth and the muffled ting of the couch springs lets me know it’s safe to step back out into the hallway,and risk moving toward the corner. I’m still hidden but can see the edge of the fireplace and the top of the recliner.
    For a while, my parents talk about general things—Grandmama’s garden, Poppy’s visit to some friends in Portland, whether the tires on Mom’s car need to be rotated. And then Dad sighs.
    “So, Stace … are we ready for this?”
    I move closer, listening to Mom’s dry laugh.
    “I don’t think there’s any way to
be
ready for this. But we have to start somewhere.”
    There’s a pause, and I frown, wondering what “this” could be. Dad begins again, sounding uncertain. “Look, if you want to change your mind, I’ll understand. If you decide you don’t want—”
    “Christopher—
Chris
. You belong with us, and we belong together. We’ll just take the rest a step at a time, all right?”
    Silence, then Dad’s voice, low and pained. “Justin can’t even
look
at me.”
    “He loves you. You know how much he loves you. Give him time. He’s just scared. It’s easier for him to play his computer games than interact with the real world.”
    “I don’t like those shooter games he plays,” Dad says, his voice worried. “As angry as he’s been, I don’t want him to look at the whole world as a target.”
    “We’ve talked about that—he’s playing something else now, a quest game, more world building and less shooting. He said he has no interest in turning out to be a statistic.”
    Dad gives a ragged laugh, and I imagine he is shaking his head. “At least Belly’s not scared,” he says, and chuckles again. “I wouldn’t want to get between her and her blowtorch right now, but she seems like she’s doing all right.”
    “Bel takes things in stride. Justin will need a little more from us, but both of them will be fine,” my mother reassures him again, and I frown, feeling vaguely annoyed to be so easily dismissed.
    “And what about you, Stacey?” Dad sounds sad. “You’re worrying about the rest of us, but will you be fine?”
    My mother hesitates. “I— That’s not important now. Justin and Ysabel are my priority.”
    The leather creaks, and I flinch, stepping back silently.
    “I understand, of course.” Dad’s voice is polite, free of any emotion. He clears his throat. “Well, I’d probably better get Poppy’s car back—”
    “No.” Mom’s voice is stronger. “Pop can drive Mama’s car if he needs something. Stay awhile, all right? Just … watch TV with me or something. Read the paper. Be in the same room with me.” I hear the couch springs and imagine them facing each other, imagine Mom’s strained expression as she gives a painful laugh. “Every night Justin vanishes upstairs to his computer, Ysabel’s over at The Crucible, and I’m rattling around in here by myself. Pick