Read Second Star for Free Online Page A

proof—absolute proof—I’m going to believe that John and Michael are still out there, still surfing, still together. And I’m going to try to find them.”
    “Wendy—” Fiona tries, but I stand.
    “I’m really tired,” I lie. “I think I’m going to take a nap.”
    Fiona nods. “Okay. I’ll call you later.”
    I shrug. “Of course. We’ll talk later.”
    Before she leaves, Fiona hugs me, rubbing my back like I’m a little kid who’s come to her for comfort over a skinned knee. Later, I crush the business card into a ball and drop it into the garbage, a fine coating of sand falling along with it.
    I’m going back to that beach, and soon. But I’m not going to tell Fiona about it. She doesn’t understand.
    That night, I dream of Kensington, and in the morning I wake up in sheets that smell like salt water. I miss the shiver from Pete’s touch. My lips are warm where his touched them; my palms flush with heat when I think about holding his hand. I can still feel his breath on my face, leftover from our kisses.
    I want to see him again. I want it almost as badly as I want to find my brothers.

8
    The car seems to remember how to get to Kensington. It’s dusk when I pull into the lookout. I told my parents I might be late tonight. I even said that I might sleep over at Fiona’s, though for days I’ve been screening her calls, answering noncommittally to her texts.
    I slip my sandals off as I walk into the reeds. The sand is cool beneath my feet, and just the tiniest bit damp, like it’s waiting for the tide to come in and drench everything.
    When I get down to the beach, I look out to the waves for Pete, but the water is empty. The beach is empty. Where the fire burned, there’s nothing left but a pile of ash. But over the roar of the surf, shouts and cheers descend from the top of the cliffs. I spot the wooden stairs and begin to climb. All the way up this time, until I’m out of breath.
    The stairs lead practically into what must be Pete’s backyard. I slide my shoes back on and walk toward an empty infinity pool overlooking the cliff. A group of boys lounge on the other side, and I gasp when one of them jumps right into the empty pool. Blinking, I realize that he’s riding a skateboard. He skates expertly down the curving sides of the pool, around the puddles leftover from last week’s rainfall, and out again. The sound of the wheels on the concrete echoes like a plane taking flight.
    Suddenly, Belle is standing beside me, graceful as a tightrope walker on the edge of the pool. She gets to me so fast, I can’t help thinking that maybe she has been waiting for me.
    Belle doesn’t say hello, so I don’t either. Instead I ask, “Do all of you live here?” I can’t count how many kids are milling inside and out of the sliding glass doors.
    Belle shrugs. “Some of us,” she says. “Others are like you—just passing through.”
    “But where did they all come from?” I don’t say what I’m thinking: Are their parents looking for them, too?
    Belle shrugs again. “Mostly runaways. Foster kids, like Pete.”
    “Pete’s a foster kid?” I try to picture him as a little boy, shuffled from home to home, but I can only imagine him the way he is now.
    “What’d you think?” Belle says, narrowing her eyes. “That he just materialized out of thin air for your entertainment?” She stands so close that I think she might push me right over the cliffs.
    I shake my head, looking beyond the empty pool to the enormous house where Pete and his friends live. There isn’t a single light coming from inside, but even in the darkness I can see that most of the paint has peeled from the wooden sides of the house, which must have been white once. The planks of wood on the porch around the empty pool are splitting; some are missing altogether.
    “I just didn’t know that he was a foster kid,” I say finally.
    “Of course you didn’t.” Belle lifts one foot and balances like a gymnast on a