Yours in Brotherhood,

Brad

I read the letter twice more, my eyes blurring with tears. There was noise coming from upstairs, but I ignored it. I already knew most of what was in this letter, I guess. There were no real surprises. But to see it written out like that, stated so plainly by my now-deceased father, it was like a hand squeezing my heart.

Yes, I had grown weary of the constant travel. I had wanted a normal life, in one community, a place where I could join a school basketball team for an entire season, test my skills with real teammates, make lasting friends, stay in one school, maybe apply to college.

Well congratulations, Mickey. You got what you wanted.

I thought about our lives when my father wrote that letter. We had been so great, hadn’t we? Mom and Dad had been happy and in love. Now, thanks to my wants, Dad was dead and the only thing Mom was in love with came out of a needle. And the truth—the unmistakable truth when you looked at it with honest eyes—was that it was my fault.

Nice work, Mickey.

The basement door opened behind me. Myron called down, “Mickey?”

I wiped my eyes. “Homework!”

Myron’s voice had a happy-little-singsong quality to it. “You have a visitor.”

“What?”

I could hear his footsteps coming down.

More singsong. “There’s a young lady here to see you.”

I spun around. Myron reached the bottom of the steps with the biggest, goofiest, dorkiest smile I had ever seen on a human being. Behind him, coming into view just now, was Rachel Caldwell.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” I said. Mr. Romance.

Myron smiled at us like a game-show host. “Do you kids want me to make you popcorn?”

“No, thanks,” I said quickly.

“How about you, little lady?”

Little lady? I wanted to die.

“I’m fine, Mr. Bolitar, thank you.”

“You can call me Myron.”

He was still standing there, smiling like the most pleased jackass. I stared at him, flaring my eyes a little so that he’d catch the hint. He did. Awkwardly. “Oh, right,” Myron said. “I’ll just leave you two alone then. I’m going to head back upstairs, I guess.”

Myron pointed up the stairs with his thumb. Like maybe we didn’t know where “upstairs” was.

“Great,” I said, hoping to move him along.

Uncle Dork took one step and turned back toward us. “Uh, um, if it’s okay—and even if it’s not—I’m going to leave the basement door open. It’s not that I don’t trust you two, but I think Rachel’s parents wouldn’t approve—”

“Fine!” I said, interrupting him. “Leave the door open.”

“Not that I feel like I have to check up on you or anything. I’m sure you’re both very responsible teenagers.”

I wondered if I would ever in my life feel more mortified. “Thanks, Myron. Bye.”

“If you change your mind about the popcorn—”

“You’ll be the first to know,” I said. “Bye.”

Myron finally headed up the stairs. I turned to Rachel, who was smothering a chuckle.

“I’m sorry about my dorky uncle.”

“I think he’s nice,” Rachel said. “By the way, is everyone in your family over seven feet tall? Remind me not to wear flats when I visit you.”

I laughed at that, maybe a little too hard, but I needed a laugh.

“I’ve got two tests next week,” Rachel said, “so I thought maybe we could get a jump on the French Revolution project?”

“Sure,” I said.

Rachel took in the basement. Myron’s posters. Myron’s lava lamp (yes, he had one). Myron’s beanbag chairs. “Cool room.”

“It’s my uncle’s.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. I’m just here temporarily.”

“From where?”

“All over,” I said.

“Nice vague answer,” Rachel said.

“I was trying to be a man of mystery.”

“Try harder.”

I liked the way she said that.

“So, man of mystery, what were you doing by your girlfriend’s locker yesterday?”

I almost said, She’s not really my girlfriend, but I didn’t. “Just checking on something,” I said.

“Checking on what?”

“Do you know Ashley?” I asked.

“Not really, no.”

I didn’t know how much to say here. Rachel looked at me with deep-blue eyes a boy could fall into and never find his way out. And he’d be happy that way. “She left school,” I said. “I mean, I haven’t seen or heard from her in a week. I don’t know where she went.”

“And you thought her locker . . . ?”

“I don’t know. I thought it might hold a clue or something.”

Rachel seemed to consider this. “Ashley is new to the school too, right?”

“Right,” I said.

“So maybe she just moved away.”

“Maybe,” I said.

From upstairs Myron yelled, “How’s it going down there? Anybody want some popcorn and apple juice?”

Apple juice?

Rachel smiled at me. I felt my face flush.

Myron shouted down again, “Mickey?”

“Homework!”

Chapter 14

LATE THAT NIGHT, while I was getting ready for bed, I got a text. Ema: can you get out?

Me: Yes. What’s up?

Ema: something I saw in the woods at Bat Lady’s. I think we should take a closer look.

Now? I thought, but then again, when would it be a better time? We needed the cover of dark, I guess, because I wasn’t sure we could approach the yard during the day without being seen. I threw on a pair of sweats, grabbed a flashlight, and headed for the front door.

When I reached for the knob, I heard a voice behind me say, “Where are you going?”

It was Myron. “Out,” I said.

He made a production of looking at his watch. “It’s late.”

“I know.”

“And it’s a school night.”

I hated when my uncle tried to play parent. “Thanks for the heads-up. I shouldn’t be gone long.”

“I think you should tell me where you’re going.”

“I’m just meeting a friend,” I said, hoping that would end it. No such luck.

“Is it that Rachel girl who was here earlier?” my uncle asked.

I needed to nip this in the bud. “We had a deal when I agreed to stay here,” I said. “Part of that was, you were going to stay out of my business.”