She tries not to laugh. “Was that your dad on the phone?”

“Yeah. They’re treating me like I’m still seven. I can’t go anywhere without them knowing where I am. They’re currently threatening to ground me if I don’t come home immediately.”

“Ah,” Cami says. She’s eyeing me.

“Plus I need to thank your mother for the cookies from a couple weeks ago.”

“They were brownies.”

“Right.” I smile as sweetly as I can. “Please?”

She steps back, shaking her head but waving her hand at the coat hooks. “Fine,” she mutters.

I go inside and spend a few minutes with Cami’s parents, catching up. Which means they tell me things I used to do and I smile and nod and pretend to be delighted about playing Easy-Bake Oven and Barbies with Cami. And then we go downstairs and hang out in the rec room. It’s really nice and cozy down here, kind of like how I’d want our house to be.

Cami flops into a chair, leaving me the couch. She’s not taking any chances.

“So,” she says coolly. “You want to explain what the hell you were doing, kissing me?”

“Uh . . . ,” I say. “I was being an ass.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously being an ass, yes. I’m sorry.”

“A big, big, gigantic ass.”

“Yes. That.” I nod.

She seems satisfied. “I’m not going to tell Jason, in case you’re wondering.”

It sounds like a threat, and I’m not sure I like it. “Okay, good,” I say. “Then I won’t tell him you kissed me back.”

She explodes. “I did not!”

I smile. I know she did. That’s all I need for now.

She relaxes a little. “You know,” she says, as if she’s suddenly remembered something, “that’s not the first time you kissed me.”

I sit up. “No?”

“You kissed me when we were six.”

“See, I was a smart kid.”

“Well, you sort of didn’t have a choice.”

I cock my head to the side. “I’m listening . . .”

“Jeremy Winger’s big sister tricked you and me into going inside their dog pen to feed Spotty, and then she slammed the door and locked us in there.”

“Jeremy,” I say, thinking. “Did we call him Jermy? Like germs?”

Cami frowns. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh.” So much for that almost-memory. “Anyway . . .”

“So, yeah, then she said she wouldn’t let us out unless we kissed.”

“I like her.”

Cami props her bare feet on the coffee table. Her toenails are painted purple. “Stop it. It was horrible. There were tons of bees in there.”

“Was I a good kisser back then already?”

“Shut up.”

I stare at her toes for a minute, and then I look over at her face. “Aren’t your feet freezing?”

She shrugs. “Sort of.”

I get off the couch, move her legs, and slide under them so I’m sitting on the coffee table and her feet are in my lap. I wrap my arms around them, hold them to my chest. And then I give her my most innocent smile.

She raises her eyebrow suspiciously but lets me stay like that, and we talk about all kinds of things. Like what happened at dinner tonight with Blake, and which Barbie doll was my favorite, and what might happen when I finally make my way home.

One kiss was definitely not enough.

After a while, Cami’s mom yells down the stairs. “Ethan, are you still here?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say. Cami’s toes are toasty warm now.

“Your mother’s on the phone wondering if you’re here, and she wants you to come home now.”

I roll my eyes and Cami cringes in sympathy. “Thanks,” I call out. “Tell her I’ll be home in a few minutes.”

I stand up and set Cami’s feet gently on the floor, and then I offer her a hand and pull her out of the chair. “Thanks for forgiving me,” I say.

She gives me a hug. “How could I not forgive my long-lost BFF?”

It’s not where I want it to be. But I’ll take it. For now.

CHAPTER 28

The wind has stopped and the snowplows are out, throwing the snow impossibly high along the sides of the roads. It feels like I’m in a tunnel, walking down the street. Mama said earlier that if the plow trucks make it to the neighborhoods, school will be open tomorrow. And my mind turns back to that old worry. I squinch my eyes shut. My eyeballs feel frozen.

When I get home, I find my parents in the living room, pretending like crazy that they aren’t worried, like they have it all together, but the curtains are still open wide, even though it’s long after dark.

Blake is nowhere to be found, and Gracie’s probably asleep in bed already. I sit down in the chair across from the couch, where Mama sits.

“Hey,” I say. I’m so uncertain. Are they mad at me about dinner? Do they think I’m just a troublemaker, like Blake does? And are they really going to ground me for not coming home right away? I think about making a joke, but then think better of it and just keep my mouth shut.

They’re quiet, just sitting there, looking at me, and it worries me. It does. It’s probably some parenting technique or something. Whatever it is, it’s working. I shift in my chair and clasp my hands to keep from fidgeting.