of my face.
“I don’t think I want your energy in the van,” he says, almost yelling now. “Really, not to be rude, but you’ve got to get out of the van.” I move, and he moves his hands again, the rest of him huddled against his door. “Please, okay? I’m asking you. Vacate the van.”
Travis’s head appears between us. “What’s going on?” His sweatshirt is on inside out.
Ed brings his hands in closer to his face, covering his eyes. “Get her out of the van. She’s got bad energy. She’s freaking me out. She’s got to get out of the van.”
“Fine,” I say, shutting my book. “I’m leaving. I’ll walk.”
“Hold on,” Travis says. “We’ll walk with you, Evelyn. But just wait a minute.” He looks at Ed again, who still has his hands over his eyes. “Wait outside.”
I slam the door behind me and walk to the back of the van, watching the exhaust drift up and dissipate into the cold night air. Travis and Deena stumble out, Deena still trying to put on her hat, both of them laughing. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Ed,” Travis says, sliding the side door shut. “It’ll be okay.”
The van pulls away, the back tires kicking up muddy snow. Travis turns in a small circle, Deena orbiting around him, holding his hand.
“I’m over here,” I say.
“Jesus, Evelyn, what’d you say to him?” Travis asks, laughing. But he doesn’t really care. He is preoccupied, trying to help Deena put on her gloves.
I rub my head with my mittens. “It wasn’t me. It was my bad aurora.”
“We’ve got so far to walk,” Deena says, her voice like a little girl’s, singsongy and soft. “I need to sit down for a minute.” She starts to go down into the snow, but Travis stops her, pulling her back up by her elbows. “No no,” he says. “Let me give you a piggyback ride. Come on. We’ll all go together.”
So we stumble through the snow like this, the three of us, Deena up on Travis’s back, me walking alongside, like a camel, or a mule. Halfway through the field, Deena slides down off Travis’s back into a pile of snow. She looks up at Travis, laughing, her hat crooked on her head, still adorable, maybe even more so. He stops and sinks down to his knees and then onto her. They roll around like that for a while, like puppies, pushing snow in each other’s faces.
I keep walking. I will not watch for cars when I get to the highway. If I make it, I make it. If I don’t, I don’t.
“Evelyn! Wait!” Both of them are shouting my name, still laughing, trying to stand up, falling into each other.
But I keep going. I walk the rest of the way home by myself. The stars are out, bright and numerous, but they are all still. There are no falling stars tonight, no asteroids, no flaming rocks hurtling through the atmosphere. The stars stay right where they are, twinkling high above, and none of them have anything to do with me.
“Bullshit,” my mother says, her arms crossed. She looks like she’s been crying. “I called McDonald’s, and I talked to Trish. I know you left at ten, Evelyn. I know you left with two boys, older boys, and I know now”—she looks at her watch—“it’s after midnight.”
I shake my head. Her voice seems shrill, the light from the kitchen too bright.
“Do you have any idea how scared I’ve been for the last hour? What thoughts have been running through my head?” She points at her head. “You’re fourteen years old, Evelyn. Fourteen. I need to know where you are in the middle of the night. Okay? That’s basic.”
I say nothing. Usually I can come right back, say something quick and sharp, but now my tongue feels heavy in my mouth, and I can’t think of anything to say at all.
She shakes my arm. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I step away from her. “You’ll wake up Sam.”
“Don’t worry about Sam. I’m talking to you right now.”
Her face is close to mine, her eyes only inches away. She has such large pores, I think. I’ve never noticed this before, but now that I have, I can’t stop looking. They’re huge. Enormous. I touch my own nose softly, wondering if I have pores this large and have just never noticed before.
“Evelyn? You’re acting really weird.”
“I’m fine,” I say, still looking at her. Her hair has changed too. There are lighter strands, wiry