The bus ride home goes by too fast. There’s not enough time to process the last few hours, the mind-blowing story of my fake cousin faking his death. I keep feeling like I should cry and be sad, or cry and be happy, or maybe just cry. What I do know, is that I’m not ready to end this adventure and go back to a life that was missing a very important person. I worry that once I walk through our front door, unpack my stuff and fall asleep for the night, I’ll wake up and it’ll be like none of this ever happened.

Ezra holds my hand in the back seat of his friend Rolando’s old pickup truck. We arrived in Telico just after the park’s landscaping crew got off work, so he came to the bus stop to give us a ride home. Rolando doesn’t talk much besides an occasional head nod and “si,” but that doesn’t stop Cece from holding a conversation with him. She’s full of energy, that one. Talking about the mall at The Woodlands, the Bill Bosom Band, and how every time someone left the Greyhound bus bathroom, an automatic spray of air freshener filled the cabin. “It’s so wasteful,” she says. “What if they were just peeing?”

She has the distinct talent of talking about every single thing we did, but leaving out any details pertaining to finding her brother. To an outsider, we’re just three friends who went on a random road trip. And that’s all it can ever be, for the rest of our lives.

I hope I can be that smooth when recalling my memories of this week. The bombshell of Thomas not only being alive, but being not Thomas is so mind blowing that it’s hard to think of anything else.

Cece does a great job, though. I’ve never seen her so brightly lit up, like she doesn’t have a care in the world. And maybe, at least for the moment, she doesn’t. I snuggle against Ezra’s shoulder, enjoying the moment. I’m not ready to ask what we are yet, if I’m his girlfriend or if we’re still figuring things out. Kit’s going to have a heart attack when I tell her I’m sort of dating my dead cousin’s old best friend.

Rolando pulls into our driveway. I’d expected the house to look the same as always, with Dad’s car still gone and no surprise fires consuming the roof or shattered windows from a burglar. But it’s still a relief to see it in real life. There are two UPS packages on the front porch and everything is fine.

We got away with it.

I squeeze Ezra’s hand. “Will you be okay going home? You could stay here a while if you want.”

He brushes my hair behind my ear, his fingers soft on my cheek. “I don’t think we should push the rule breaking any more than we have already. If Mrs. Monroe came home early and saw me, she’d have me shot.”

“That’s not really an exaggeration,” Cece says from the front seat. She turns to Rolando. “Gracias, por el… ride…to mi casa?”

He chuckles. “De nada, seniorita.”

“What about your dad?” I ask Ezra.

He shrugs the hair out of his eyes. “He’ll get over it. He has no idea I took the RV and it’s probably been delivered back to him already.”

“You sure?” I ask, grabbing his arm. I don’t know what kinds of things go on in his household, but I want him to be safe.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Ezra says, placing his hand on top of mine. “My dad can keep the RV. I’ll find another way to move out. Come on, I’ll walk you to the door.”

“That’s okay,” I say, stopping him. Cece gets out and heads to the back of the truck where we’ve tossed our backpacks. I glance at her as I unbuckle my seatbelt. “I think I need to spend some time with my cousin.”

Ezra nods. “I understand.”

I lean into him, wrapping my arms around his neck. His skin smells like the free soap from the gym. It’s hard to believe that shower was just earlier this morning when so much has happened since then. I lift my chin and Ezra is there, waiting for a kiss just like I’d hoped. Our lips are warm, and tentative. We’re not exactly experienced in this kissing thing and it’s weird doing it in the back of someone’s truck. I pull away quickly, heat rising to my cheeks.

He kisses the top of my head. “I’ll call you later.”

“Good luck with your dad.”

Outside, Cece taps on the window. “Wrap it up, lovebirds. I have to pee!”

“She can’t get inside without me,” I explain as I throw open my door. It’s for the best if I’m in a rush to get inside, because leaving Ezra and that adorable grin of his is almost as hard as keeping the secret for Thomas.

“Well, there’s some good news,” Cece says as we get inside and I lock the door behind us, leaving the house alarm off.

“What’s that?”

“Ezra already knows your parents, so you won’t have to suffer through any of the awkward meeting-the-parents phases now that you’ve got yourself an official boyfriend.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll still be awkward.” I roll my eyes. “And he is not my official boyfriend.”

“No worries,” Cece sing-songs as she dashes off to the bathroom. “I’m sure we’ll get to talk all about it in therapy!”

In the morning, we make quick work of turning the house into something that looks lived in. Cece and I grab shirts and sleep clothes, ruffle them up, and then toss them in the laundry basket. I chug a few cans of soda and toss them into the recycling bin in the garage.  Cece lobs a couch pillow on the floor and changes out the hand towels in the kitchen.

We have six meals of frozen casserole dinners, lasagnas and lunches. Mom will expect them to all be eaten and there’s no way we can go through that much food in the one day we have left before they get home. Since they’re all in disposable aluminum containers, I suggest just tossing them in the trash because trash day is tomorrow and our parents will never find out. But Cece’s face crinkles up at the idea of wasting so much food.  We call the local soup kitchen, and not only are they thrilled to get a donation of frozen homemade meals, they send someone to come pick them up from our house.

We spend all of Friday on the task of making sure the house looks believable. It might seem a little insane as I pull off half a roll of toilet paper and throw it away, but my mom has the innate ability to tell when something’s not quite right, and neither one of us wants to deal with her suspicion after the week we’ve just had. We both know it’ll be the task of a lifetime to keep Thomas’s secret a secret, so all of this hard work is completely worth it.

At night, after I’ve showered and cleaned the dishes, I sit on the couch with the remote in my hand. A thunderstorm crackles in the distance, and then soon the sound of rain on the roof confirms that this is a night meant for staying in. Not that we had any other choice, really.

The TV is still off, though. Normally weekends are reserved for hanging out with Kit, but I haven’t texted her yet, aside from a quick yum reply to a photo she sent me of her mom’s famous chocolate cake. Any other Friday night and my parents would be here watching TV, or Mom would have the TV all to herself if Dad was working. All I know is that I wouldn’t be here on a normal week. I’d be off doing normal teenager things, or in my bedroom with my best friend Kit.

But this week has been different in every possible way. Cece comes in, her hair in a towel. Her SpongeBob pajama pants do not match the bright red blood donor shirt she’s wearing, but it makes me smile.

“Hey,” I say.

“Mind if I join you?”

I pat the seat next to me and she sits down, curling her legs underneath her. “I spilled some nail polish on the bathroom counter,” she says, studying her freshly painted nails.

“Nail polish remover should get that off,” I say. “There’s a bottle on my vanity if you’re out.”

Her lips twitch into an evil grin. “I know, but I’m leaving it there. Aunt Carol will see it and flip out.”

“You want her to get mad at you?”

She shrugs. “It’s all part of the plan to make it look like we’ve been here all week. I spilled a different color than what I’m wearing.”

I laugh. “You might be taking the believability factor a little overboard.”

“Witness protection isn’t something to take lightly. We need this to be believable. Aunt Carol can’t suspect anything.”

I turn the remote over in my hand. We’ve been so busy all day, but now that we’ve settled down, the surreal reality of what has happened hangs in the air like a thick fog. “Do you think we can pull this off?” I ask, my voice faint.

“Of course we can.”

“How are you so confident?”

She gives me a pointed look. “If Thomas can fake his own death for this long, we can keep a secret.”

“Are you sure you’ll be able to?” I pick at a thread on the couch pillow. “You know, when you get…manic?”

She starts to roll her eyes and then she stops and peers at me, a serious look on her face. “Lilah, that’s not how it works. Everyone is so scared of me going manic on them, but it’s not like it turns me into some psychotic weirdo. I just get a lot of energy—sometimes I focus so hard on things and I don’t know how to stop. But I’m always aware of myself. Even when I was a kid and I ran off all those times, I still knew who I was and what I was doing. I knew it was wrong, but I guess I just didn’t want to stop. But I could have, if I needed to.” She chuckles. “It’s not like I’m going to suddenly flip a switch and run into oncoming traffic, Lilah. And I definitely won’t ever tell about Thomas.”

My brows pull together. To be honest, I haven’t paid much attention to her bipolar disorder in the last few years. Now that I’m hanging out with her, she doesn’t seem like a threat. Why have I been so damn judgmental?

“I guess it was just easier to stay away from you,” I say, voicing my thoughts aloud. “I was a terrible person to you. All those sessions talking about manic depressive people just made me scared of you.” I swallow and look down at my lap. “I shouldn’t have treated you the way I have all these years.”

“It’s not your fault,” Cece says, but I shake my head because she’s going too easy on me.

“It is. It’s very much my fault.” My jaw hardens and I draw in a deep breath. “It won’t be like that anymore. I’m here for you, always. And when Mom gets back we’re going to have a talk with her. We can bring the stupid therapist into it if we have to, but we’re almost eighteen and you’re not a mental patient who should be locked up. We don’t need these stupid therapy sessions anymore.”

I’m all fired up now and when Cece’s eyes widen, mine do too. “We’re putting a stop to all of it except for when you want to go.”

She snorts. “That’d be a miracle.”

“It will be a miracle because it’s happening. We’re putting our foot down, Cece. You deserve a normal life. You also deserve to be manic or down, but when you’re down I hope you’ll come get me and I’ll hang out with you as long as it takes.”

“And when I’m manic?” She chews on her lip.

I shrug. “Next time you want to dance in the pouring rain, I’ll be there dancing with you.”

The doorbell rings. The clock on the wall says it’s just after seven. “It’s too late for package deliveries,” I say, frowning.

“Maybe you should go check it anyway,” Cece says in this voice that’s clear she’s hiding something. She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Who is it?” I say, narrowing my eyes at her.

She shrugs and looks off into the distance like she’s bored. I rush to the window and peer out. The porch swing is on the other side, but it’s storming so hard outside I can’t see much. The front door is too far away to see who’s there, but a black truck is parked in our driveway. “It’s some truck I’ve never seen,” I say, turning back to Cece. Then a figure steps back from the door and comes into view. He waves at me, his face glowing from the porch light.

“Why is Ezra here?” I whisper in case he can hear me from the other side of the glass. “And why do you seem to know about it?”

“I invited him,” Cece says, making her way to the door.

“Wait, he can’t be here,” I say, rushing over to her.

She rolls her eyes. “They won’t be home until Sunday. We’re fine.”

“But—I was trying to hang out with you. Make up for all those years of being a terrible cousin.”

“There’s time for that,” she says. “Lilah, we don’t know how long we have on this earth. We need to take happiness where we find it. And I happen to think you two are really cute together.”

“And what about you?” I ask, ignoring how her comment makes my toes tingle with the idea of being part of a cute couple.

She pulls open the door. “Come in!” she tells Ezra through the screen door. He’s holding two pink roses and hands one of them to Cece and me.

“Such a gentleman,” she says, batting her eyelashes at me. She puts the rose to her nose and inhales. “You better not mess this up, Lilah.” She turns on her heel and prances off, clearly proud of her little stunt of setting us up.

“Ignore her,” I tell Ezra, but I’m burning from head to toe with embarrassment. This beautiful pink rose marks the very first time a guy has given me flowers. I feel like the event should be commemorated somehow.

“Cece, wait,” I call out to her retreating form. I turn to Ezra. “How long can you stay?”

His shoulders lift. “As long as you want me.”

I grin as I twist the rose stem between my fingers. Cece walks back, a curious look on her face. “Let’s grab some sodas and order a pizza. We’ll break into your old house and throw a party.”

“A party?” Cece says, tilting her head. “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm.”

“Yeah,” I say. “We’ll crank the music and eat junk food and dance in the rain. We’ll celebrate the life of a guy we all used to know.”

“My kind of party,” Ezra says with a grin.

“I don’t know,” Cece says. “That sounds a little unreasonable.”

I inhale the deep floral scent of my rose. “That, my dear cousin, is exactly what makes it a good idea.”