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“Agnes? What’re you doing here?” She didn’t sound angry, just surprised. Like she didn’t think I’d show up. Like she didn’t expect me to come and apologize.

“Colt dropped me off,” I told her. And I hoped saying his name didn’t make me blush. “I’m sorry. I know it’s early. I just … Bo, I shouldn’t have said that last night. The truth is, everything you were saying—all those adventures you had planned—those all sound great. Better than great. And I want to go on all of them with you. But I knew there was no way, so I got mad. And I’m real sorry.”

Bo sighed. “Well, it ain’t like anything you said was a lie.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“Yeah … Me too,” she said. “I shouldn’t have kept pushing.”

“You know if I could go, I would.”

“Yeah … Guess I just don’t know what it’s like to have parents like yours.”

“Ones that smother you half to death?”

“Ones that care.”

“Care too much.” There was a long pause where Bo didn’t reply, so finally I asked, “Do you wanna come back to my house? It’s freezing out here, and Mama always makes a big dinner on New Year’s Day.”

“Uh, sure. I guess. But don’t your folks think you’re with Christy?”

“I called and asked Gracie to pick me up at the church. My folks think Christy’s volunteering there again today. I’ll just tell them you walked by and I invited you over.”

Bo laughed. “You’re getting awful good at the lying.”

She said it like it was a compliment, but I wasn’t so sure if lying was something I wanted to get good at.

Utah followed us to the church. There was snow on the ground, the sidewalks hadn’t been shoveled just yet, and it crunched beneath my boots. Next to me, I could hear Bo’s teeth chattering, and I wondered how many years she’d gone without a real winter coat or boots. But I didn’t think that was the sort of thing I ought to be asking right then, so instead, we both stayed quiet.

We were standing on the front steps, waiting for my sister, when Bo said, so quiet I almost didn’t hear, “Thank you for coming today.”

“Of course. Did you think I’d just say something like that and never come apologize?”

She didn’t answer, and I realized that’s exactly what she thought. That we’d fight and never talk again. That I’d leave her, like so many others had before me.

“You’re the most important person in my life, Bo Dickinson,” I said. “I don’t know if I could make it without you. So no matter what we fight about, I’ll still be around.”

She leaned her head on my shoulder just as a fresh flurry of snowflakes began to fall. “I got a better idea,” she said. “Let’s promise to never fight again.”

“All right. I think I like that plan. So last night was the first and the last fight you and me will ever have.”

“Promise?” she asked.

“I promise.”

Agnes ain’t talking to me.

We’ve been walking for hours, and it’s dark now. Real dark. There ain’t no streetlights on this dirt road, and the mountains block out about half the stars. Even I can hardly see, but she still won’t hold on to my arm. Insists she’s better off just using the cane.

And maybe she is, I think, stumbling over a rough patch of ground.

The silence and the darkness and the hunger are starting to drive me crazy, though. And every time Utah, who’s gotta be starving, whines up at me, I feel like the guilt might eat me alive. I can’t control the dark or the food, but maybe I can get Agnes to talk to me if I try hard enough.

“Seems like I might need one of them canes,” I say.

She stays quiet.

Utah pulls on her leash, lunging after something I can’t see. Maybe a rabbit or maybe just a cricket. She likes to chase both. But I pull her back. “This damn dog,” I say to Agnes. “Walking this long, and she ain’t tired at all. Still trying to chase anything she sees.”

Nothing.

I don’t think I’ve ever been cold-shouldered before. When Dickinsons are mad, you can’t get us to stop yelling. But I think the quiet is worse.

A few minutes later, I give it another shot.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” I say, hoping maybe our old game will get her talking to me.

But all she does is sigh.

“All right … I guess I’ll go first,” I say. “So, when we were kids, Colt nearly drowned me. We’d gone down to the river by ourselves to swim. He was twelve and I was ten. And he dared me to jump off that big wall—you know, the one by the Thomases’ bait shop?”

She don’t answer. Don’t even look at me. Just keeps walking.

“Well, he dared me to jump. He went first, and he was fine. So I did. And I went under the water, but when I tried to come back up, I had a hard time. Colt hadn’t thought about the current. I was so little, it about washed me downstream. Thank God he caught hold of me and pulled me up on a rock.”

I don’t tell her the part about how I cried. Or how I was so mad at Colt for daring me to jump that I threw a rock at his head once we got back on dry ground. How I’m the reason he’s got a scar right above his ear. I ain’t even sure if Agnes knows about the scar. Her eyes probably ain’t good enough to notice it.

And right about now, with how Agnes just keeps ignoring me, I’m wishing Colt hadn’t bothered saving me at all. Maybe we’d both be better off if I’d just washed away that day.

I clear my throat and say, “Your turn,” just as we round a curve and—

Light.

Headlights. Small, twin pinpoints of white way off in the distance, speeding past. They’re far, but they’re there.

I almost shout. Because that’s a road—a real road—up ahead of us. And in a few more steps, I even spot what looks like the giant sign of a Shell gas station. We’re probably still a quarter mile away, but that ain’t nothing compared to how far we’ve already walked.

“Holy shit!” I shout. “Agnes—can you see that? There are cars up there. And a gas station. Oh, thank God. Finally.”

Her voice is flat when she says, “Good.”

“Good? It’s great. If there are cars, then there are people and we can get a ride or—”

“Bo.”

“What?”

Agnes takes a deep breath, and then she plays the game I started. It’s her turn, after all. And with the lights looming in the distance, she takes away all the relief and joy I just felt. She tells me something I didn’t know.

Something I should’ve known was coming.

“I’m leaving, Bo,” she says. “I’m going home.”

I hadn’t spoken to Christy in months. We sat on opposite sides of the room during Sunday school and kept our distance in English class. We crossed paths in the hallway at school a few times—and she bumped into me while I was at my locker once—but after a quick, mumbled sorry, she was gone.

But one day in mid-January, in the bathroom after lunch, the silence was unexpectedly broken.

I’d just turned on the faucet to wash my hands when the door opened. I didn’t bother looking to see who’d just come in. The bathrooms weren’t lit real well, and in the weak yellow light, even people’s hair, the easiest feature for me to see, didn’t look very distinct. But the minute I heard her voice, I knew it was Christy.

“I covered for you on New Year’s.”

I was so surprised that I jumped, splashing a little water on my shirt. And then Christy was next to me, checking her hair in the mirror.

“Your mama called. Said she figured you wouldn’t have reception so it was easier to call my house. Luckily, it was just me and Andrew, so I told her you were in the bathroom. She was very happy you and I worked things out.”

I couldn’t quite figure out the tone in her voice. She didn’t sound mean or threatening, or even passive-aggressive. She didn’t sound like anything, really.

“Oh. Um …” I pumped the soap into my hands. “Sorry about that. And … thank you.”

“No problem.” She was quieter than I remembered. “So … Andrew and I are officially engaged. He gave me the ring on Christmas.” She holds up her hand, and I smile, even though I could never see something as small as an engagement ring.

“That’s great, Christy. Congratulations.”

“Thanks … I almost called you. When he did it. For some reason I really wanted to tell you, but …” She trailed off, cleared her throat, then turned on her own faucet. “Anyway. We’re not gonna get married for a while. Maybe summer after next.”

It was so surreal, after our fight back in the fall, to be standing with Christy, having a quiet, friendly conversation. After a month or two of her ignoring me, I’d eventually realized Christy and me weren’t friends anymore. It sounds silly, but I guess I’d assumed we’d eventually work it out. Not that we’d ever be the way we had been before, but … I hadn’t realized it was over until it had been over for a while.

I never really thought we’d talk again after all this time. And certainly didn’t think she would be showing me her ring and covering for me when Mama called to check in.

Which was a whole other problem. I’d honestly thought I was safe on New Year’s Eve. That telling a simple lie would be enough. Clearly, I was underestimating how close an eye my parents wanted to keep on me. I didn’t even think that was possible.

I rinsed my hands and turned off the water. I was halfway to the paper towel dispenser when I couldn’t hold it in anymore and had to spin around and ask, “Why did you lie for me?”

Christy sighed and shut off her own faucet. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I just … Your parents have always been so overprotective. It used to drive me crazy. And it drove me crazy even more because you wouldn’t do anything about it. I guess I was kinda proud of you for breaking the rules.”

I almost pointed out the irony of that. The big fight we had was about sin, and here she was saying she was proud of me for disobeying my parents. But we’d done so well being friendly, and I didn’t wanna fight with her again. So I just nodded and said, “Well, thank you.”

“But …” She hesitated. “Look, I know I’m the last person you probably care to listen to right now. It’s just … I’m glad you’re fighting their rules because they’re ridiculous sometimes, but lying to them won’t change a thing.”

“Christy …”

“I’m not always gonna be there to answer the phone when they call,” she said. “You gotta talk to them, Agnes.”

I groaned. “Yeah. Bo says the same thing.”

“Wow. Never thought I’d agree with Bo Dickinson on anything.” And I heard that touch of meanness in her voice again, that old Christy was all too familiar. But then she let out a breath and said, “You just got to stand up to them, Agnes. The way you stood up to me.”

I didn’t have a clue what to say to that. I didn’t know if I was supposed to say anything. Luckily, the bell rang and gave me an excuse to keep quiet.

I dried my hands and tossed the paper towel in the trash. “Bye,” I said over my shoulder as I moved toward the door.

“Bye,” she replied. And then, just as the door was shutting, I heard her say one last thing. It wasn’t an apology for the things she’d said about Bo. Or for the way she’d treated me like a burden. I doubted I’d ever get that from her. But I did get something. Three quiet words I almost didn’t hear.

“I miss you.”

And, for me, that was enough.

It was February before I saw or heard from Colt again.

My parents had driven Bo and me to Marty’s on a Saturday, even though I’d assured them we could walk. It was only a quarter mile down the road from our house, after all. And Daddy was always talking about how expensive gas was. But Mama insisted, saying the sidewalks were too slick—even though they’d all been shoveled well since the last snow a few days ago—and that she’d just “feel better” if someone drove us.