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deep and wide and fast it is. Parts are over a hundred feet deep. The spring snowmelt has been high this year.
    Pete adds quickly, “But don’t tell anyone. It could be a coincidence.”
    “Do her parents know?” Drew asks.
    “Of course,” Pete says, already looking like he’s sorry that he told us. “But no one else. I really shouldn’t have said anything.” He busies himself straightening up some papers. It’s clear we’re being dismissed. “I’ll talk to Miguel and tell him the schedule’s changed back.”
    Outside Pete’s office, I turn to Drew. “Want to go to Starbucks?”
     
     
    DREW’S MOM came into Pete’s a couple of weeks ago. Drew was in the back, grating mozzarella on the Hobart. I didn’t know it was his mom. He and I went to different elementary schools, which is about the last time you see people’s parents.
    My first thought wasn’t that she was anyone’s mom. Her dishwater blond hair hung in tangled curls in front of her skinny face, and her blue eyeshadow was smeared over one eye. She had on jeans, a black down jacket, and scuffed high heels.
    “Hey, is Drew working today?” She had a smoker’s voice, and she smelled like one too.
    “He’s in the back,” I said. “Do you want me to get him for you?”
    Everyone at school knew you could buy weed off Drew Lyle. But it was all pretty casual, a couple of joints. It wasn’t like he was some big dealer. He only sold pot. But now it looked like he was selling it to adults as well as kids, and somehow that was different. Plus, I’d never seen him sell at work before. I didn’t like that idea at all.
    Instead of answering me, she suddenly bellowed, “Drew! Come out here! Drew!”
    I winced. There was only one other customer in the place, some guy in his thirties who was eating a slice at the counter and reading an old People magazine. He had tried to hit on me earlier. I pegged him for recently divorced. And probably for good reason. I had communicated with him as little as possible, and he had given up, his shoulders slumping. Maybe he had finally realized how ridiculous he was being, trying to flirt with a seventeen-year-old girl at a pizza place. Now he looked up with an expression of annoyance that quickly changed to one of contemplation. Fresh meat. Or not so fresh.
    She opened her mouth to yell again. “I’ll get him,” I said quickly, not wanting to hear another nasal bray.
    But Drew came out at a run.
    “Mom, what are you doing here?”
    Mom? She didn’t look any older than thirty.
    And the look Drew shot me couldn’t be characterized. Embarrassed, defiant, pleading.
    “I need,” Drew’s mom announced in a haughty voice, “to borrow some money.”

The Fourth Day
     
    Drew
     
    AT STARBUCKS, Gabie insists on paying. I wish I’d ordered a house coffee instead of a grande mocha.
    “Are you guys related?” the barista says as she hands over identical coffees.
    We laugh, say no, and then look at each other. We do kind of look alike. I’m two inches taller, but we both have straight chin-length hair that’s the same nothing color, not blond, not brown, with bangs some people might think are too long.
    “Thanks for the coffee, cuz.” I lift the cup toward Gabie, like I’m making a toast. She smiles. We go out and sit at one of the small round metal tables. The sun feels good, like a warm, flat hand on my back.
    The only other person outside is a guy smoking and talking on a cell phone. Still, Gabie lowers her voice. “One of the reasons I wanted to talk to you is I feel like you’re the only one who understands about Kayla. I mean, he wanted me, right? He asked for the girl in the Mini Cooper. He didn’t ask for Kayla. She was an innocent bystander.”
    “He did ask about you.”
    Gabie’s throat moves up and down as she swallows. She’s quiet for a long time, but then she says in a rush, “Sometimes I think—what if he still wants me? What if he comes back?” Her knees are going again. I want to put my