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you’re still into movie night,” she whispered.
    â€œ Shhhh! ” Tesla pouted. “I’m trying to watch.”
    Tesla was superintense through the whole movie. At some point she slid off the couch and sat cross-legged on the floor, so she could practically touch the TV. Against the screen, her hair looked like a halo.
    At some point, the kid, who has been left alone, goes to a church, because he’s lonely, I guess. Tesla made us pause the movie at that scene.
    â€œWhy don’t we go to church?” she asked.
    â€œDo you want to go?” Momma Jo asked, her mouth full of pizza.
    Tesla shrugged and pressed Play.
    Mama Kate looked hard at the back of Tesla’s head.
    Weird.
    But then, of course, before I could think about it too much, true to form …
    â€œOh! It’s that woman! What’s the name of that actress, Monty?”
    I have no idea.
    â€œYou know this little boy is grown up and married now, I think. Isn’t he, Monty?”
    For God’s sake.
    Right about the time the zany burglars in the movie were slipping around on marbles, which Momma Jo thought was hilarious, I began my escape.
    â€œYou don’t want to see the end of this?” Momma Jo asked as I slid backward off the couch, not unlike a lizard.
    â€œI think I got it,” I said, landing on the floor and standing upright. “The kid ends up not alone, right?”
    â€œ Monty! ” Tesla whined.
    â€œSorry!” I hollered, and bounded up the stairs.
    *   *   *
    I was lying in bed when I got an IM from Thomas.
    Thomas: You OK? Looked for you after school.
    Me: Bad day. Jefferson sucks.
    Thomas: Cour-age, my little one.
    Thomas: Remember we are orchids in a forest of carnations.
    Me: I will try.
    I think the thing that really makes Thomas, me, and Naoki such good friends, beyond their amazingness, is the fact that we are most definitely—unlike everyone else in Aunty—not from here.
    Technically, I’ve lived here since I was nine. But let’s just say, as a girl with two moms, from Canada, I didn’t exactly get a warm welcome when I stepped through the doors of Aunty Public Elementary School, vintage Michael Jackson lunch box in tow.
    And the number of times, since that first day, that I’ve been asked if I grew up in an igloo is uncountable.
    I’ve also been asked, more than a million times, if I miss my dad. By which they presumably mean the anonymous sperm donor who I’ve never met.
    Basically, for as long as I’ve lived in Aunty, I’ve always been, like, this inexplicable thing, a mystery object that’s not like anyone else at this school. I guess it’s possible that that’s part of why I’m so obsessed with other inexplicable things. With other unsolved mysteries.
    There’s nothing wrong with being unsolved. Unsolved just means not everyone gets it.
    I’m kind of glad no one else but the Mystery Club is into this kind of stuff. It’s like my secret treasure. Me and the Mystery Club’s thing. It’s special.
    After I got off IMing with Thomas, I watched this BBC documentary on cryonics, which is where people freeze themselves so they can be brought back to life in the future. Then I spent a few hours rereading The Outsiders .
    It’s a great book.
    I looked up foreshadowing, which—surprise, surprise—doesn’t have anything to do with darkness. It’s a hint of what’s to come that a writer leaves for the reader.
    Why would foreshadowing have to be bad? I thought. Everything has a shadow. Plus anyone with a brain knows you need a light to have a shadow. Light is good.
    I pulled out my phone and opened my app.
    â€… Foreshadowing in real life. Maybe fortune telling?
    Right under that was:
    â€… The Eye of Know
    I tossed my phone on the bed and looked up the website, just for kicks.
    The site was still there, but the shop now had a banner that read SOLD OUT .
    I called