“Tante Isabel, I’m going now.” I have one foot out the door as I watch my aunt warily for signs that she heard me. When she doesn’t respond, I walk back to the table where she’s sitting and wave a hand in front of her face.

“Tante,” I repeat, but I don’t bother to raise my voice. It wouldn’t matter. When she’s sculpting, she can’t see anything else. Maman used to say that it’s what made her so wonderful and terrible at the same time.

I think she’s wonderful all the time. Even though she overreacts. Like she did yesterday when I got back home. Maybe I should have left out the part about Graham having to save me from the lake.

Daddy told me there was nothing worse than a lie. I promised him that I would always tell the truth. So, I told her all about Graham. I promised to be careful and told her about our reading plans. So, she said it was okay for me to go back tomorrow.

After dinner, we made pineapple upside down cake. It’s my grandmother’s recipe, and even though this is the third time we’ve made it since we’ve been here, we always pull out the recipe card and read off each step.

“Can I take Graham a piece of cake? To say thank you for saving me?”

She nods yes, but she doesn’t look away from the clay she’s working on.

I run to the kitchen and cut two big pieces and wrap them up in some wax paper. I start to stuff them in my backpack but decide to hold them when I see all the books inside. I don’t want it to get mushed.

I run down the steps that I’d sat on, alone and bored, for the first week of our stay.

I stared out at the cornfield and wondered what was beyond it.

Well, I think it’s corn. It might be wheat. The only corn I’ve ever seen is the popped kind.

I live in a penthouse at the top of a casino in Las Vegas. Lately, it feels a lot less like home. When Papa and Artemis were here, it was fun. Now, it’s just either really quiet or, when Maman gets sad, really loud and she hits people. She got really sad on my birthday, and she hit me so hard that time that I called Tante Isabel. She brought me here so Maman can get better.

I miss Artemis and Daddy, too. But they left so much of themselves behind that everywhere I go, I feel like they’re with me. Daddy in his books and Artemis every time I look at the moon.

I was worried that being away from home, not smelling Daddy’s cologne in his closet, or not being able to sleep in Artemis’s bed would make them disappear from my dreams.

I run my fingers along the chipped white wooden post of our front fence. Being here, even when all I did was stand on the porch, has been so great.

I love the fresh air, the quiet, and most of all that I can see all the stars.

I brought my most special books for Graham today. They both belonged to Artemis. One is on Greek mythology, and the other is a book of poetry she loved better than anything else.

The poet, Rumi, is from Iran, like Maman. Artemis used to say that one day she was going to open a museum dedicated to him. She’ll never get to do it. But when I grow up, I’ll do it for her.

I hike my backpack up onto my shoulders and pick up my pace. I can’t wait to show Graham the books. A buzzing near my head makes me scream and jump. I swat at my ear and neck and wipe the sweat that coats my fingers off on my shorts.

The air here is thick and humid. It feels like being trapped in a bubble full of all of the sun’s energy and all the moisture in the air. I long for a cold drink and maybe reading in the air-conditioned sunroom at the back of the house. But not as much as I long for the grand adventure I’ve got planned today.

I smile when I think about the boy with the dark blond buzz cut and eyes the same color as the swirly gray granite boulders that dot the hillside here.

Papa would like him.

He’s so tall and strong and really nice. He carried me on his back and didn’t get mad when I almost made him fall.

He’s brave, too. He walked where there were snakes just to make sure I got my stuff, and he pulled me out of the lake.

He’s the cutest boy I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen lots. Sometimes in the hotel’s lobby, or on the magazines that Maman has littered all over the house. But I’ve never seen anyone who looked like him.

He listened to me when I taught him about the sun, and he got so happy when we talked about books.

And today, we’re going to sit and read together.

I didn’t mean to fall off the side of the cliff yesterday. But, it turned out to be a lucky thing because I met Graham.

I hurry down the white gravel lane. The sun is high and hot. It burns the backs of my calves and arms as I head toward the woods that edge our house and that lead to the lake. I pull my baseball cap low onto my forehead to spare my face as much as I can.

I’m wearing my white high top Keds with two pairs of socks and avoiding piles of brown leaves just like Graham told me to.

I step into the woods and sigh at the immediate break from the punishing sun that the thick covering of trees offers. The air’s not so thick here either, and I take a deep breath and try to cool down. But, I can’t ignore the buzzing, humming, and chirping of all the bugs and birds and whatever else lives in the trees.

I force myself to think about happy things. Like, that when I get to the lake, Graham will be there. The pile of books in my backpack shuffle and jostle. I hope he likes them. I walk past a pile of leaves, and when it shudders, I scream and start to run. I burst out of the woods and stop to let the sun warm my face and chase away the gooseflesh that’s covering my arms.

As I get closer to the lake, the damp, leaf-covered ground rolls into a dry grassy patch which in turn yields to the sandy shore of the beach. Graham is standing near the lakeshore. He’s wearing the same light blue shorts and white T-shirt he was wearing yesterday.

“Hey,” I call out to him. He looks up at me, his hand over his brow to block out the sun and grins.

“Hey, you’re late,” he says as I walk up to him.

“Sorry, I was writing a letter to my dad and lost track of time.” I shrug my backpack off one shoulder and riffle through it while it balances on my thigh.

“I thought you said he died,” he says like it was the strangest thing he’d ever heard. I glance at him, and he’s frowning at me.

“I know he’ll never read it. But I just wanted to write to him today. I felt like talking to him,” I say and smile because I want him to stop frowning. When he doesn’t, I hold up the slices of cake in my hand.

“Look what I brought.”

“What’s that?” He takes the piece of cake I’m holding out and turns it over in his hands.

“It’s cake—pineapple upside down.” I blush, feeling silly.

He frowns like what I’m saying doesn’t make sense.

“You miss him?” he asks, surprising me. He lifts the cake to his nose and takes a long, deep smell.

“Miss who?”

“Your daddy.”

“Who wouldn’t miss their daddy if he died?” I ask him.

“I don’t miss mine. I never even knew him. Maybe that’s why,” he says absently. He’s pulling the wrapping off the cake.

I don’t want him to stop liking me already, so I change the subject.

“You gonna try it?” I ask. “It’s really yummy.”

“You brought it for me?” His eyes are wide with surprise.

“Of course,” I say, but he’s staring at the cake, eyes wide, licking his lips.

“It smells so good,” he says and presses his nose to it again

“Take a bite. I brought one for—” My jaw drops open as he eats the entire piece in three huge bites.

“It tastes so good. Can I have that one?” he asks with his mouth full of cake and pineapple, his eyes trained on the piece I planned on eating.

I hand it to him and can’t help feeling a little disappointed as I watch him unwrap it. I was looking forward to it.

He smiles and closes his eyes while he chews. “Oh, yes, this is heaven for sure,” he says to no one in particular. It’s the first time I’ve seen him look really happy His entire face lights up. His dimples are long and deep. I think I could stick my entire pinky into one of them.

“Did you make it?” he asks and then sticks the last bite into his mouth.

“That’s my great-grandma’s recipe. It’s more than a hundred years old.”

“Well, they sure knew how to make mouths happy a hundred years ago,” he says in between licks as he sucks the sticky, sugary syrup clinging to his fingers.

Watching him eat it is so much better than eating it myself. I wish I had more.

“What’s that?” I point to the dark green cloth folded on the ground next to him.

He glances down at it like he’d forgotten it was there.

“It’s a hammock. I found it at the top of my closet today. Thought it would be better than rowing out to the middle of the lake.” He points at the little copse of trees that are growing away from the rest of the forest. “I’m gonna tie it up between those trees, and we can lay in it under the shade while we read.”

“We’re going to lie in that?” I ask skeptically as he unfolds a thick piece of canvas.

“It’s really comfortable. We can try different spots until we find one that we like the best.” He starts walking over to the trees, and I have to run to keep up. He’s almost twice my height, and I have to take nearly three steps for one of his.

“Have you ever done this before?” I ask him, not convinced that we’ll be safe in a piece of cloth hanging between two trees.

“It’s been a while. I used to do it with my sister.”

I gasp in surprise. “You have a sister?”

“She died.” He shoots me a quick glance and does a double take.

“Why are you smiling like that?” he asks, not angry but more like surprised and confused.

“I don’t … mean to smile.” I bite my lip. “I, uh … my sister died, too,” I say.

His eyes widen. “Oh,” is all he says before he turns around and starts tying the hammock up.

“Don’t you see? We both lost our papas and our sisters. We’re meant to be best friends, don’t you think?” I ask him.

“I guess,” he says and tightens the knot he’d just tied.

He makes it look so easy. I didn’t even know how to tie my shoes myself until I was eight. I can’t imagine what it must be like to know how to do stuff.

He pulls a huge thick book out of the waistband of his shorts and throws it into the hammock.

“Toss that in there first.” He nods at my backpack. I walk over and stand on my tiptoes to try and drop it in.

“Gimme that, short stuff.” He plucks it from my hand and drops it in for me. “Come on, let me boost you up.” He starts to grab hold of me, and I panic and take a step back

“It’s kind of high.” I eye the hammock. “You sure it can hold both of us?”

He grabs my shoulders and turns me around to face him. “I promise, if it wasn’t safe, I wouldn’t put you in it,” he says. His eyes are serious. “Do you believe me?” I can tell he really wants me to say yes.

I glance back at the hammock and then look at him again. This is the boy who saved me yesterday. Who carried me on his back to keep me safe from snakes. “Yes, I do. I'm just a chicken,” I confess.

“That’s okay, you’re a girl. You’re allowed to be scared,” he says.

“Boys are allowed to be scared, too,” I tell him as I turn back around and grab the edge of the hammock.

“If you say so,” he mutters. He puts his hands around my waist and boosts me up without any warning.

I tumble into the hammock and gasp in relief and excitement when it doesn’t collapse and only sags a little under my weight.

“See, I told you,” he says right before he vaults himself in beside me. It swings a little, but I can tell it’s not going to fall.

I open my backpack and pull out the book I brought for him and hand it to him.

“So … This is good?”

“It’s great. It was the first book my Papa ever gave me.” I smile at the top of his head and watch him trace the worn black and gold spine of D’Auliere’s Book of Greek Myths.

“The Hobbit.” I read the title of the book he brought and flip through it. Its spine is even more worn than my book.

“You’ve read this a lot, so I’m guessing this is your favorite,” I say.

“Yeah. It’s the first book my mama ever gave me, too.” He looks up and smiles at me. It makes a warm glow spread across my chest.

“Thank you for sharing it with me. I’m excited to start reading it,” I say, then slowly lie back into the hammock. My body sinks into the fabric, and I decide this might be the most comfortable reading spot in the world.

A few minutes later, Graham sits up and nudges my foot with his shoulder.

“Hey, Apollo?”

“Yeah?”

I sit up, and he’s looking back and forth between me and the book. “Did your daddy really name y’all after these twins in this book? Even though one of them is a boy?”

“Yes. I told you that already. Apollo is the god of light, truth, music, and a whole bunch of other stuff. Artemis is the goddess of the moon and the hunt.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense.” He shrugs and looks back at the book.

“What makes sense?”

“The part about the light. You’re always smiling, like a little ray of sunshine … in fact, that’s what I’m gonna call you. Sunshine.”

“Is that my best friend nickname?” I ask, excited at having a nickname.

“I guess, do you have another one?” he asks like it’s not a big deal.

“No, everyone calls me Apollo, except for Arti—ooh,” I gasp as I remember something. I reach for my backpack.

“What are you looking for?” Graham asks when I start rifling through it.

“A picture.”

“Of what?”

“One sec.” I feel around until my fingers find what I’m looking for. I pull out the picture I always carry with me. “Here, look.” I hand it over to him. “We were in London for our birthday. Daddy took just Arti and me. We had so much fun. He took us to a fancy hotel for tea. And then, we went to this big museum. That statue, it was right outside, and we begged him to let us climb on that lion. That’s the last picture we ever took.”

“I wish I had a picture of Ellie,” he says without looking up from the picture. My heart squeezes. I can’t imagine not having pictures of Artemis.

“Y’all look just alike. Well, except for your hair.” He looks up at me, and for the first time since we got here, he’s smiling at me, and it makes me feel good.

I giggle. “Sometimes we would play tricks on people, switch places. One day we did it to our language teacher, and she quit. Papa said he was going to make sure we couldn’t fool anyone again. And since I had the boy’s name, he said I’d have the boy’s haircut, too.” I laugh a little as I remember how Artemis and I had clung to each other like the world was ending on the drive to the salon.

I run my fingers through my hair.

“I still keep it short, even though sometimes, I miss having it long. But, it reminds me of Papa every time I look in the mirror.”

“What’s that?” he says, looking down at the hammock.

“What’s what?” I look down at my lap to see what he could be talking about.

“A mirror,” he says quietly.

I lift my head and look at him really closely. I’ve noticed how skinny he is. Now, I notice how thin his T-shirt is. The spot where his big toe rubs against his shoe is white and cracked compared to the rest of his shoes.

“Forget it,” he says quietly.

“No, I’m sorry. I was just trying how best to describe it …” I say a quick prayer for forgiveness for my lie. I think Daddy would forgive me for not wanting to hurt his feelings.

“Well, I’ll bring one to show you next time, but it’s a special kind of glass, and when you look at it, you can see yourself.”

His eyes widen. “You have one? There’s something like that in that book.” He nods at The Hobbit I’m holding in my hands.

I start to tell him that most everyone does, but I think saying that would make him feel bad. I just nod. I can’t wait to see his reaction when I bring it.

He finally looks up from the picture, and his smile is still there.

“Thanks for showing me this.” He hands it back.

“I always have it with me,” I say, taking one last look at the picture of Arti and me on top of the big black lion.

“I guess the way you carry it around is the way I carry around that book. I used to read to her. So, every time I open it, it’s like she’s there … you know?”

“I know. I want to go back to London one day. Mama won’t take me. She thinks the whole world outside of our apartment is dangerous.”

“Sounds like my stepfather,” he says and shakes his head.

“Adults are so strange.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.” He lies back down and opens his book.

My head falls back into the hammock, and I turn it to look at his topside clad feet that are resting beside my head. Like the rest of him, they’re big. The soles of his shoes are worn so badly that a hole is forming in the left one. I look at the rest of his shoes and see that they’re worn like that all over. Tante has told me that some people don’t have money for things like that. She’s always scolding me to be grateful for everything. And I am. I think about how he ate that cake, at the way his shoes look. I wonder if maybe Graham is poor.

I sit up to ask him what his parents do. I raise my torso off the hammock and grab the sides to steady myself and then sit up. But instead of holding steady, the hammock swings wildly.

I scream as I pitch to the side, then I grab hold of his legs and press my face into them.

“Whoa, whoa, it’s okay. Stop wiggling around, it’s not gonna tip over,” he says in a calm voice. But I’m sure if I let go, I’m going to fall out and land face-first on the ground.

Even though the hair on his legs is tickling my face, I hold on even tighter.

“Apollo,” he says more forcefully, but I can tell he’s trying not to laugh.

“Don’t laugh at me,” I say in a voice Papa described as petulant.

“Don’t be a scaredy-cat. It’s only a few feet to the ground. I don’t think you’d die if you fell out.” He doesn’t try to hide his laugh this time. He reaches down and pulls my arms off his legs.

I sit up cross-legged and frown at him. “If I get hurt and Tante sees it, she won’t let me go out and play anymore,” I warn, and his smile fades a little.

“Well, I’m not gonna let you get hurt,” he says.

The sun cuts down across his face, and the blond in his hair glows like honey, and I forget all about the swaying hammock.

“Your hair’s a pretty color.”

“You shouldn’t call boys pretty,” he says, but I can see that he’s blushing and trying to hide his smile.

“Well, it’s true. You should grow it.”

“No, only sissy boys have long hair,” he says and lies back down.

“My papa had long hair. And he wasn’t a sissy,” I tell him.

“Okay.” He says it like he doesn’t believe me.

“It’s true. Ask your hairdresser next time you go get it cut. They’ll tell you that lots of men who aren’t sissies have long hair.”

His smile falls, and he glances up at the trees and says, “My stepdaddy cuts it.”

He says “daddy” the way I say “snakes.”

“Why does he cut it instead of your hairdresser?” I ask.

He laughs, but I can tell he doesn’t think what I said was funny.

“We don’t have hairdressers in our town. It’s a really small town.”

He puts his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.

“Well, Fredericksburg is kinda close to here. Tante and I drove there this morning to get some stuff she needed, and it didn’t take us that long.”

“We don’t go to Fredericksburg,” he says quietly but I can tell he’s annoyed and my stomach drops a little.

“Oh, okay.” I look down at my lap and try to think of something to say that might make him smile.

“It must be nice living in a small town,” I say and watch him hopefully. “Sometimes, I wish I had been born in one instead of Las Vegas where it’s so crowded and loud.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and I wish I’d just kept my big mouth shut.

“Sunshine, the only reason I’m out here right now is ‘cause my stepdad is at a meeting. I’m supposed to be in my room praying.”

“Huh? Why would you be praying now?” I ask confused.

“Because that’s the only thing I’m still allowed to do on my own. I’m not even supposed to be here.”

“Why can’t you be here?” I’m confused by what he’s saying.

“Our town, Cain’s Weeping … my stepdad is the head of it. There’s a lot of rules. The main one being that no one is allowed to leave. Except for him and some of his men. And sometimes my mama. But that’s it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he replies. He shrugs and presses his lips together like he’s thinking hard.

“I wasn’t born there. We moved there when I was four and Mama married him.”

“Where’d you live before?”

“A city called Austin. It’s where Mama’s from … I don’t have a ton of memories. But, I remember my house. It was bright, and we had a yard. My bed was blue … but, that’s all I remember.”

He points at the book in my hands. “That book? It’s my only book. Mama brought it with her when we came here. She had a bunch, but he threw them all out after we got here. This one was the only one she was able to hide. She only gave it to me when I was ten. Before that, I didn’t read anything but the Bible.”

I want to cry. Not just because he looks so sad, but because I can’t imagine life without my books.

“We used to read it together at night after he went to sleep,” he says quietly, still looking at the book.

“Now, Mama thinks Ellie—that’s my sister’s name—died as punishment for her giving it to me. She won’t read with me. She barely even talks to me.” He’s still staring at the book, and from his voice, I can’t tell if he’s sad or mad or both.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t be happy living out here. I wish I was just visiting. I wish I could go visit somewhere else,” he says and finally looks at me.

His eyes are sad, and he’s breathing hard. I reach out and grab one of his hands and put it between mine. I rub the top of it slowly, the way Papa used to rub my back when I was scared or sad. No one does that for me anymore, but it feels nice to do it for someone else.

“When you grow up, you can do whatever you want. That’s what I’m waiting on,” I tell him.

“I don’t even think about growing up, Apollo. Sometimes, I feel like I’ll be stuck like this forever.” My heart squeezes.

He looks away and his fingers fiddle with a thread that’s hanging loose on the edge of the hammock.

“Ellie was only four, but I’d been planning on teaching her how to read … and then, she died. I never got the chance.”

A new pain blooms in my chest because I know exactly how he feels.

“You know what I do when I miss my sister?” I ask him.

“What?”

“I think about all of the things we wanted to do together, and I promise myself that one day, I’ll do them.”

“Like what?”

“Well, Artemis loved art. As much as I love books. She and I used to talk about traveling around collecting art and books, and how one day, we’d open a store and sell all the stuff we bought. I’m still gonna do it. Even though I won’t have her beside me, it’ll be like doing it together.”

Just thinking about it gives me a small surge of happiness that makes me smile.

I squeeze Graham’s hand. “I know you can’t teach your sister how to read, but maybe one day, you can teach someone else.”

“You really think that?” He’s not smiling, but his eyes aren’t sad anymore.

“Of course. You’re smart, and you can do anything you’re willing to work for.” I echo the words Papa used to say.

“Hmm … I like that idea,” he says, and when his eyes come back to my face, the smile on his lips reaches all the way to them.

“Really? Sometimes, I think all my ideas are weird.”

“Nah … besides the whole jumping off mountains thing … you’re cool. Now, you really gotta stop talking. This book is starting to get good.” He flops back down, and I stare at him holding my book over his face.

I don’t remind him that he’s the one who sat up to talk to me. I don’t care about being right. Not right now, anyway.

My heart is doing cartwheels.

I have a friend.