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will—except Randy announcing that he isn’t moving after all.
    The party fizzles. Randy has no appetite, which saddles us with a lot of uneaten chips.
    Dad has a solution. “You can each have one more bag. We trust you not to take more than your fair share.” He escorts Mrs. Laska out of the room.
    Amber scowls at Malik, who already has a huge armload. “We’re on the honor system!”
    Malik stuffs a fistful into his mouth. “Guess that makes me the most honorable guy in town.”
    I look over at Randy. His expression never changes.
    The next day is Saturday—departure day—although in my mind, Randy’s already gone. I’m done banging my head against the wall. Numbness has begun to set in.
    Still, I get up early to watch them load the car, which doesn’t even appear so full after all that packing. In a way, everything seems totally normal. The Hardaways are going for a drive, something they do occasionally. The only difference is that, this time, when they come back, Randy won’t be with them.
    He looks pale, and there’s no life in his eyes. His parents seem none too happy themselves, and his little sister is crying. I’m trying to swallow a lump in my throat the size of a bowling ball.
    It’s so awkward. There’s no hugging or handshakes. Instead, I give him a piece of paper with my email address on it. “In case you forget.” He probably never knew it. We live a grand total of a hundred yards away from each other.
    Correction: we used to.
    â€œLet’s go, Randy,” his father announces. “It’s getting late.”
    They get in the car. He hasn’t even said good-bye. The car pulls away from the curb.
    Suddenly, he rolls his window down. “I’ll write.”
    I point to the paper in his fist. “Don’t lose my email address.”
    â€œI’ll write,” he repeats as if it’s the most urgent thing in the world, and I was too stupid to understand the first time. “Think of it as our newest challenge.”
    Like a few messages back and forth can replace nearly fourteen years of friendship.
    As the car makes the turn onto Old County Six, I wave. I couldn’t have said anything if I wanted to.
    Now that Randy’s gone, it’s like the counter on my whole life has been reset. Everything is measured by the moment the Hardaways’ car disappeared. There’s the first night without Randy; the first weekend without Randy. I can’t remember the last time I walked to school alone. It’s less than a quarter mile, but it feels longer without the company, the shared yawns and jokes about Purple People Eaters driving by in their pickups. The rapid-fire plop of a fistful of cottonwood seeds splashing into somebody’s pool isn’t nearly as satisfying when there’s no one to hear it with you.
    When you spend thirteen years with the same two-and-a-half-dozen kids, losing somebody is like cutting off a finger. Especially when it’s your best friend.
    At lunch, Amber and Tori are eating together, and Malik, Hector, and Stanley are at one of the picnic tables. Just beyond them are Melanie Brandt and the Fowler twins.
    It’s probably been like this for years, but I never noticed because I was always paired up myself.
    After school comes the first water polo practice without Randy. The pool feels empty somehow, which makes no sense because the same number of us are in the water at any given time.
    I’m not the only one missing Randy. He was Team Community’s best player.
    Mrs. Delaney makes me his replacement, which means I have to go up against Malik, who plays the game like a great white shark with elbows. If you want to be on the winning side on Serenity Day this year, root for Solidarity.
    Everyone’s already in the locker rooms. I linger poolside, dripping on the towel in my lap. I can’t seem to work up the enthusiasm to wrap it around me. Randy and I