Zoe’s phone vibrated on the windowsill, like a pair of windup teeth.
It was a text from Val.
On my way. Give me 10. Do NOT text back bc I’ll be DRIVING. Texting while driving is hazardous to my beauty. I WILL NOT endanger my beauty for you.
It was April. Friday night. It’d been a little more than a week since Ripper came and went, since Zoe and X met on the dock. Val and Dallas had spent the days in shock over what they had learned about X and the Lowlands. It was as if they’d stumbled away from a plane crash in a cornfield. Then, a few days ago, Zoe’s friends seemed to come back to life. They pummeled her with questions. Texts flew between them like arrows in the sky in a movie about the Middle Ages.
Zoe’s friends wanted her to promise she’d never see X again. She refused. She said she’d be lying if she agreed. Already, she was letting her mother believe it was all over, though she desperately hoped it wasn’t. She wouldn’t lie to her best friends, too. Val was angry. Dallas seemed … mopey. Zoe assumed it was a drag to find out that the girl you’d made out with in the handicapped bathroom at Walmart—Zoe was positive that it had been Walmart—had graduated to a bounty hunter from the underworld. How could you not feel insecure?
Today, for the first time, there seemed to be a calm in the air. Dallas had texted to say that there was something he wanted to do tonight but he wouldn’t tell them what it was. Val grudgingly agreed to go. Zoe was so sick of being inside her own head—so sick of wanting to help X but having absolutely no idea how—that she would have agreed to anything.
YES YES YES! she texted back. I am DYING to do the thing you won’t tell me! Can we do something I won’t tell YOU after??
Zoe was camped out on the bed in her weird bedroom at Rufus’s house, and waiting for Val to pick her up. Technically, she was reading a novel for English, but she couldn’t remember the main character’s name or why the main character thought that her Big Plan (Zoe couldn’t remember what it was) was a good idea when it obviously wasn’t. (Or was it? She couldn’t remember that either.) Really, Zoe was hiding until it was time to go—not from anything in particular but from everything in general, from the overwhelming evidence of life moving forward without X, which she refused to accept.
She could hear Rufus and her family beyond the door. Uhura had gotten sicker and thinner, like something was eating away at her from inside. She never moved from one particular spot on the living room rug unless they carried her. Jonah was with her every second. So was Spock, who was making his awful wincing sound, confused about why Uhura didn’t want to play.
They were only going to live with Rufus a little while. Bert and Betty had left the Bissells their A-frame house by the lake in their will. Once the place had been emptied and cleaned, Zoe’s family would move in. As for the Bissells’ former home on the mountain, it was still rubble—a milk carton that some kid had crushed with his sneaker. The insurance money would be slow in coming, if it came at all, because the house had been wrecked by a supernatural storm for which there was no earthly explanation or evidence. State Farm ordinarily covered that kind of destruction as an “Act of God.” Zoe’s mom thought it best not to tell them what it had actually been.
Rufus had been fantastically welcoming to the Bissells. In deference to Zoe’s mom, he removed every non-vegan item from the kitchen—which left tea bags, ketchup, and soy sauce. He bought them down comforters so soft that they seemed to sigh when you lay down and cotton sheets in colors he thought they’d like, based on the clothes they wore. (Zoe got purple, which would not have been her first choice, but still.) Zoe’s mom slept in the main bedroom, Zoe in the small one. Jonah and the dogs resided in the living room in a complicated pillow fort that was constantly falling down. Every morning, Jonah lay on his stomach next to Uhura, eating breakfast and begging her to eat, too. Whenever Zoe passed by, she’d pet Uhura without quite looking at her. It hurt too much.
Rufus himself had moved into the sagging, moss-roofed shed in the backyard, where he made his chain-saw sculptures of bears. He still didn’t know the truth about X, the lords, the Lowlands, any of it. He saw that Zoe’s family was traumatized, and didn’t bug them for answers. “I’m just goin’ with flowin’,” he said. Rufus slept in a red sleeping bag atop a folding plastic lounge chair from Home Depot. He had his electric guitar in there (it was covered with skateboard stickers from when he was a teenager) and a tiny amp. He had three space heaters arranged like a futuristic city; a stack of books about stuff like the souls of trees; and a mini fridge he called “my secret shame” because it was packed with Swiss Miss chocolate pudding and Dr Pepper.
Jonah had caught the kindness virus from Rufus. A week ago, he’d secretly given Zoe’s room a makeover. He had taken everything that had been recovered from the house on the mountain, and tried to re-create her old bedroom so that she’d feel more at home at Rufus’s. It was a sweet thing for the bug to have done.
But seriously, the room looked insane.
Zoe gazed around now, and saw crumpled posters, and beaten-up furniture, all of it placed carefully in the old configuration. Zoe had collected trophies from thrift stores for years because she thought it was hilarious that there were awards for so many ridiculous things. The few trophies that had survived congregated on a shelf by the door. Most were busted and chipped. (The Best Donut award that Val had once given her no longer even had a donut.) The college brochures Zoe had gotten in what seemed like another lifetime sat in a pile on her desk, untouched. If she was going to apply to college—if—it would have to wait another year. Zoe’s mother couldn’t even begin to afford tuition now, and what was Zoe supposed to study anyway? Every possibility felt pointless and unreal. Hi, I’m Zoe. I’m in love with a guy named X, and I study web design.
At the foot of the bed, Jonah had taped (with an unnecessarily big piece of gray duct tape) what used to be Zoe’s favorite photo: her and her dad in their wobbly caving helmets and their mud-spattered jumpsuits. It infuriated her to look at the thing. Still, she couldn’t take it down because she couldn’t tell Jonah that their father disgusted her. When Zoe thought about her childhood now, it was as if everything beneath her—everything she thought was supporting her, everything she was building on—had been erased and she was suddenly standing in midair and about to fall. So the picture stayed where it was, needling Zoe with memories of a time she hoped to forget. Fittingly, it was torn down the middle.
Though Jonah had tried valiantly, Zoe’s belongings didn’t belong in this new space—they didn’t even fit, because Zoe’s room at Rufus’s was smaller than her room on the mountain. The mangled remnants from her past life crowded in on her here. She sat on her bed a while longer, repeating the sentence This is my life in her head. No matter how many times she said it, it still sounded like a question.
It had been seven minutes since Val texted saying she’d be there in ten. Zoe decided she could handle three minutes of family time before escaping into the night. She shut the novel about the woman with some sort of plan, and dropped it to the floor.
The living room was a museum of sadness, as she knew it would be. Jonah and Uhura lay facing each other in the pillow fort, like they were having the world’s most depressing staring contest. Mist from a humidifier hung over them.
Zoe’s mom wanted to put Spock outside because he wouldn’t stop whining, but Jonah had forbidden it. He said that whimpering was Spock’s way of being scared and that everyone was allowed to have their own way of being scared. It was so much like something their mom would say that their mom couldn’t argue. Zoe waved their mother out of the room.
“I got this,” she said.
“You sure?” said her mother.
“No, but you definitely don’t got this,” said Zoe.
Her mom retreated into the kitchen, and Zoe sank to the carpet. She could tell Jonah had been crying. He confirmed this by tilting his pink face toward her suspiciously and saying, “I haven’t been crying.”
“I know, bug,” said Zoe.
She petted his hair while he stroked Uhura’s fur, a little chain of love. Jonah’s hair hadn’t been cut in months. It curled around his ears in hooks.
“How come I’m the only one not getting any sweetness?” said Zoe, trying to coax Jonah out of his mood.
“It’s not your turn,” said Jonah. “Your turn is later.”
“How will I know when it’s my turn?” said Zoe.
“I’ll tell you,” said Jonah. “I keep track.”
Jonah nudged Uhura’s water bowl toward her nose. He’d made it for her at a pottery place back when the Wallaces were alive and the dogs belonged to them. The bowl was lumpy and yellow, as if it had melted in the sun. On the side, in blue letters, Jonah had painted, ThrstY?
“Come on, girl,” he said. “Drink.”
Uhura wouldn’t drink, wouldn’t raise her head. It was unclear to Zoe if she even saw the bowl. Zoe felt like she should say something wise and big-sisterly—start preparing Jonah for the worst. But she couldn’t do it. Bug had already seen enough of the worst.
Jonah scooped water from the bowl with his hands, and offered it to Uhura. She drank a little. Jonah beamed.
“Boom!” he said. “Woot!”
“ ‘Boom’?” said Zoe. “Have you been texting with Dallas? Dallas words are not normal words.”
“I like Dallas words,” said Jonah. “Ooh, her tongue feels sandy!”
Uhura drank two handfuls, then lowered her head again, exhausted. She’d barely had a quarter of a cup of water, but at least it was something—and Jonah looked relieved.
“Why are you always in your room?” he asked Zoe. “Are you being sad about X?”
Zoe wasn’t expecting this. She felt an invisible finger poking at her chocolate Easter bunny heart.
“I am always in my room because I love my room now,” she said. “You are an awesome interior decorator.”
“Thank you,” said Jonah. “I think so also.” He paused. Zoe could never tell where his mind was going to go. “I wish I could text X, like I text Dallas,” he said. “I can’t, right? Because he doesn’t have a phone?”
“No, bug,” she said. “He doesn’t have a phone.”
“I could send him cool memes,” said Jonah.
“I know you could,” said Zoe.
“What would you send him?” said Jonah.
Zoe answered without thinking.
“Myself,” she said.
Her phone pulsed. She knew it’d be Val, and that her text would say, I’m here! Where are you! Let’s go! Val always texted that before she actually got there because she hated waiting.
Zoe checked the text to be sure. It was a minor variation: I’m outside. Come on come on come on! WTF?
She went and peered through the stiff, beige living room curtains.
Val was not, in fact, there.
Zoe texted her back: Your car must be REALLY REALLY small because I can’t see it.
She let the curtains fall closed.
“Bug, you haven’t talked to anyone about X, right?” she said. “I mean, about where he’s from and what he can do? Not even Rufus?”
“Nobody but you and Mom,” said Jonah. “Well, also Dallas.”
“Dallas is okay to talk to,” said Zoe. “And Val.”
“Val and I don’t talk, we just send each other poop emojis,” said Jonah. “She’s even grosser than me—and I’m in third grade.” He thought for a moment. “Isn’t it mean not to tell Rufus, though? Because he lets us live here? And he would tell us?”
It was a good point. Zoe couldn’t imagine it not coming out somehow anyway. They were a family of blurters.
“Maybe Mom can think of a way to explain it to him,” she said.
“Yeah,” said Jonah, “she’s good at explaining. It’s one of her best things.”
“But you and I aren’t going to say anything, okay?” said Zoe. “It might freak him out. It might make him worry about us.”
“Do you worry about us?” said Jonah.
A lock of his hair had sprung loose. Zoe hooked it back behind his ear.
“Nah,” she said.
Her phone buzzed again.
OK, actually here now. Waving. Come out come out wherever you are.
Zoe kissed Jonah on the top of the head, and ruffled his hair. When she parted the curtains again, she had to laugh: Val still wasn’t there.
Val never lied more than twice about being there when she wasn’t actually there. Zoe went to the kitchen, where Mom was teaching Rufus how to make nut milk, and Rufus, whose crush was clearly off the charts now, was doing an Oscar-caliber performance of pretending to be interested.
Her mom always brightened when she got to play vegan missionary. She looked pretty, Zoe thought. Hair up in a haphazard knot. Turquoise earrings. No makeup. She looked happy. How often had her mother looked happy over the last six months? Over the last six years, even? Zoe felt one of those pangs that are half gratitude, half pain.
Rufus had spent the afternoon working in his shed, covered in sawdust. But he had showered and changed into a clean work shirt and jeans. He looked shiny and new. He looked—as he always did when he spent time with Zoe’s mom—like a nervous boy on a date.
When Zoe’s mother looked away from the blender, Rufus tried to sneak sugar into it. She caught him, and swatted his hand.
“Hey, Mom,” said Zoe. “Hey, Rufus.”
“Hey, Zo, what’s shaking?”
He’d never called her Zo before. He seemed not to know if he was allowed to. Zoe nodded infinitesimally to let him know it was okay.
“Mom’s showing you how to make nut milk?” she said.
“Almond milk,” her mother said.
“Awesome,” said Zoe. “Almond milk is the best. All the kids love almond milk.”
“Rad,” said Rufus. “What’s it taste like?”
“Oh, you know—paint,” said Zoe.
“Ahem,” said her mother. “Humans are the only—literally the only—species to drink the milk of another species. Think about that. It’s like a sick science fiction movie.”
“I could drink Red Bull instead,” said Zoe. “But that’s from bulls.”
Her phone pulsed yet again. She could see Val’s blue Jeep through Rufus’s not-very-clean kitchen window. Val was parked by the giant hole that X had punched into the road.
“Before you go,” said Zoe’s mother, “how does Jonah seem to you?”
“He’s all right,” said Zoe, “but if Uhura dies—or we have to put her down—it’s gonna squash him.”
“It is,” her mom said. “It really is. And we’ve all been squashed enough.”
“I could talk to him, bro to bro,” said Rufus. “If you want? He’s always giving me advice about stuff. I could find a way to bring it up? I can be pretty slick.”
“You can, huh?” said Zoe’s mom. “Let me think about it.” She turned to Zoe. “What are you and your friends doing tonight?”
“Teenager things,” said Zoe.
“I used to do some epic teenager things, man,” said Rufus wistfully. “Until I was about thirty.”
“I need more information, Zoe,” said her mother.
“Dallas has a plan, but he hasn’t declassified it yet,” said Zoe. “I’ll tell you when I know. But I’m sure it’s just a teenager thing.”
“Okay, repeat after me,” said her mom. “I will keep my phone charged, and answer all my mother’s texts promptly—with words, not emojis.”
“I will keep my phone charged, and answer all my mother’s texts promptly—with words, not emojis,” said Zoe.
“I will be back by 11 p.m.,” her mother said. “I will not take uncool or unnecessary risks. I will remember that I have a family that loves me and supports me and cannot function without me.”
“Yeah, I’m not repeating all that,” said Zoe.
“As long as you heard me,” said her mother.
Zoe hugged her mom, then shoved Rufus playfully by way of good-bye.
“No uncool or unnecessary risks!” her mom shouted.
But Zoe was already out the door.