Lincoln Loud came home and went upstairs, back from another day of school. The first thing he did was knock on Lucy's door. No answer.

His younger sister had, apparently, been sneaking out. When he and Lana found out, Lincoln thought of telling his parents, but quickly decided against the idea. They discussed it, and decided to first talk to her before ratting Lucy out to anyone. They didn't know what she was doing or why, and wanted to find out the details before getting her in any sort of trouble. After all, she might have had a legitimate reason.

Lana was still at school, so Lincoln took out his phone and shot her a text.

Lucy's still sleeping. We should talk to her later tonight.

Soon after, she replied.

Sounds good

Putting his phone away, Lincoln went into his room, thinking about how he would spend the next few hours. He'd probably start with his homework, just to get it out of the way. He didn't have a whole lot, but it was best to take care of it right away so he wouldn't have to be worrying about it all evening. After that, maybe he'd hit up Clyde. They could—

Lincoln almost jumped when he went in his room to find his father sitting on his bed.

"Hey, Lincoln," he said.

"Uh, hi."

There was a pause. "I was thinking maybe we could spend some time together tonight. Get some dinner or something."

"With me?"

"Who else? I just wanted some father-son time," he explained. "I can't remember the last time that just you and me did something."

Lincoln nodded slowly. "Oh. Alright."

"We can go to a fine Italian place or something. I'll pay, of course." He stood up from the bed. "Sound good?"

"Yeah, that sure does."

Lincoln's father chuckled and surveyed his height. "You're going to be taller than me."

"You think?"

He nodded. "At the rate you're going lately, sure seems like it."

He made his way out of the room, ruffling Lincoln's hair a bit as he walked out of the closet-bedroom. "Whenever you're ready."

When he was gone, Lincoln stared after him with a puzzled frown. Though it had been awhile, Dad made time to bond with each one of his children often enough that his asking to go out to dinner wasn't abnormal, however, and maybe it was Lincoln's guilty conscience, Lincoln couldn't help but think his father had some horrible piece of news to give him. I'm dying, son, he pictured him saying, I wanted to tell each one of you in private. I have six months to live. He didn't know exactly why his mind would go to such a morbid possibility, but coming right now, when Lincoln was trapped in the middle of what might just be his darkest hour - lovesick, confused, and unsure - it seemed a bad omen rather than the opening salvo of a friendly father-son get together.

He pulled out his phone, and sent a final text to Lana.

You might have to talk to Lucy without me, I'm going out with dad.

Shoving those thoughts away, he tossed his backpack onto the bed, then took out his homework and laid it on the desk for later consumption. Should he change? He wore these clothes all day, should he really wear them out? He looked down at himself: Jeans, orange button up open to reveal a white T-shirt beneath, tennis shoes.

It occurred to him how strange his line of reasoning was. Not once before had he ever thought to change because gee, I wore this to school. He was a practical boy, and to him, it made sense to wear one outfit from the time you put it on in the morning until the moment you took it off in the evening. Unless of course something happened to it, like a major food spill or an up close and personal meeting with a mud patch. Even so, here he was, worrying over his dress like an especially vain girl. If he happened across Lucas, would it look bad that he was still in the same shirt and pants?

Lincoln sighed, put his hands on his hips, and stared down at his feet. This was stupid and it was beginning to irritate him. Regardless, he took off the button up and replaced it with a light brown sweater. Checking himself in the mirror (turning left and right to make sure he looked decent from every angle...just in case), he went out into the hall and started down the stairs, but altered his course at the last minute and hit the bathroom instead. He'd never been persnickety about his personal hygiene, but a quick brush and gargle couldn't hurt.

Turning on the sink, he grabbed his toothbrush, wetted it, then squeezed toothpaste on. He hurriedly brushed his teeth, making sure to get every square inch he could, then finished with Scope. He turned, but stopped. Better put on deodorant too. He grabbed his Old Spice from the medicine cabinet, slipped it under his shirt, and slathered each armpit with a liberal amount that left him feeling squishy but clean. He started to leave again, but stopped. Maybe some cologne too.

Satisfied that there was no way he could possibly smell anything but good, Lincoln closed the cabinet, snapped off the light, and went downstairs. Dad, clad in a gray coat, sat stiffly in his armchair, waiting, and when Lincoln came in, he nodded. "Ready?"

"Yep," Lincoln said.

"Alright, then," Dad said. Splaying his hands on the armrests, he pushed himself up and winced. "Getting old," he said and rubbed his lower back. They went outside and down the walk, Dad sniffing the air like a rabbit searching for signs of danger. "That you?" he asked.

Lincoln flashed a sheepish smile. "Yeah," he said, suddenly and inexplicably self-conscious, "I didn't want to smell bad."

Dad chuckled wistfully. "I remember those days. I had really bad BO when I was your age." His smile fell a little and his eyes took on a distant, haunted quality, like a vet gripped in the throes of a 'Nam flashback. "Very bad BO." He shook his head to dispel the lingering trauma. "When I was dating your mother, I kept a stick of Brut in my back pocket at all times. I went through at least three a week."

Wow. "Really?" Lincoln asked. They were in the van now, both pulling their seatbelts on.

"Yeah," Dad said, "it was a nightmare." He started the engine and threw the van into reverse. He backed into the street, swung left, and set off for town. "What are you in the mood for? Italian or something else?"

Lincoln lifted and lowered one shoulder. "It doesn't matter to me," he said.

"Alright," Dad said, "Italian it is. I have a hankering for stuffed raviolis that just won't go away." He chuckled again.

From there they drove in silence, Lincoln staring absently out the window and fighting back thoughts of Lucas and Dad tapping a steady tempo on the wheel. Squat suburban houses framed by dead wintery trees lined the sidewalks and kids in heavy coats and caps played in tiny front yards. Lincoln went back to him and his sisters doing the same thing when they were young, and keen loss pinched his chest. At the time, he hated Lynn dragging him into one-on-one trouncings masquerading as football or basketball games, and constantly being tackled into the mud by Lana ("Flying squirrel attack!"), but right now, he realized he missed those days with a deep ache like cancer.

A vision of Lucas Norman's face flickered across his mind's eye, and his lips turned sharply down. A rush of resentment went through him, and he turned away from his sour reflection. Until he met Lucas, he was normal and had nary a worry in the world. Since, then, however, he had been locked in a life-or-death struggle with himself, a struggle that he feared he could never win because, in a way, he didn't even know who he was anymore. Once he did, or thought he did, but these strange new feelings robbed him of even his identity. He was like a man cast adrift on a raft, the sea vast and unbroken around him...and a storm was beginning to blow in. Lost, that's how he felt, lost, alone, and a little afraid.

He glanced at his father. His profile was craggy, the skin around the corners of his mouth and eyes beginning to wrinkle and his hair fading slowly to gray. He was barely forty-six but the stress of having eleven children to support, and the long hours he had to work in order to do so, had taken its toll on him. Lincoln, like any teenage boy, secretly looked up to his father with the adoration of a child - he was a firm, loving, fair, and wise man who always did what was right and who would go to the ends of the earth for his family. Lincoln hoped to someday be half the man his father was.

Would he, though? He thought he was on track to be, but Lucas Norman came along with his heart-stopping eyes, messy hair, and delicate features and threw a wrench right into the gears of Lincoln's life. He didn't know anything anymore, couldn't even guess.

Dark pressure pressed down on his chest like a steely hand and he sighed. Normally, when he felt this way, he confided in his father, but he didn't know if this was an issue he could bring himself to talk about. Dad...I think I'm gay...or at least bi. Mom and Dad were fairly liberal, and he had no reason to fear them shunning him, but even so, his stomach rippled with dread at the prospect and an iron band tightened around his chest like the arms of a vise. His parents would love and support him no matter what, of that he was sure, but would they look at him differently? It was only logical that they would. You can have all the equal rights you want, but gay people, or bi people, have a different world experience and are seen differently. Lincoln didn't want to be different. He wanted to be what he had always been. His life would irrevocably change and even if it wasn't necessarily a change for the worse, he didn't want it.

But he also didn't know if he could keep this inside much longer. It was building and building like steam in a pressure cooker and at some point, it was going to reach critical mass.

Presently, Dad pulled into the parking lot of St. Mark's Bistro, a tiny building off Main separated from the town bank by a wide alley strewn with trash and cardboard boxes. A red awning hung over the door and wrought iron tables dotted a patio, all empty and forlorn in the February chill. Dad guided the van into a slot between a pick up truck and a red sedan, and killed the engine. Warm, ambient light shone in the front windows like a pleasant memory, and happy diners sat at red vinyl booths, eating and chatting with the ease of normal people doing a normal thing on a normal day. Their lives were not in turmoil, their sense of identity had not been shaken, their feet were planted firmly on the ground and though in the back of his mind Lincoln knew it was wrong, he resented them.

"It looks kind of crowded," Dad worried and threw the door open. "You don't mind waiting, do you?"

Lincoln forced a snicker. "I don't mind. You really want those raviolis, huh?"

"Darn right I do," Dad said, and they got out. "I've been craving them for a month."

"So that's what today was all about, huh?" Lincoln teased as they walked to the door.

Dad opened it. "No, I'd come here alone if it was. I just wanted to spend time with you."

Inside, people waited for a table, some leaning against the wall with their arms crossed and impatient expressions on their faces. A hostess in a white button up and black slacks hurried about like a chicken with her head cut off, and Lincoln pitied her. He worked as a host for one week at Jean-Juan's and it was hell.

The din of many voices and the warm smells of authentic Italian cuisine washed over Lincoln like the gentle caress of a lover, and he imagined Lucas standing next to him, a cocky smile on his face and a boyish glint in his eyes, and a shiver raced down his spine.

After what felt like an eternity but couldn't have been twenty minutes, the hostess lead them to an out of the way table covered by a red and white checkered cloth. A candle jutting from a bulbous glass vase provided a low, flickering glow. She took their drink order, then hurried off, leaving them alone with their menus. Dad rubbed his hands crisply together. "Now we're in business," he said with a grin. "Know what you want?"

Lincoln scrunched his lips. "Not really." He opened his menu and scanned the selection, going by pictures alone. "I'll probably just get a personal pizza."

"Best in town," Dad encouraged.

Shortly, a waitress came over with their drinks, and took their orders. After she was gone, Dad looked around the dining room. "So, how's school going?" he asked.

"Okay," Lincoln said. "I'm working on a video project right now." He paused. "No drama or anything in the social scene. At least right now."

"That's, good," Dad said, leaning back in his chair. "You're getting good grades, too. Most parents have to get on their kid's case about schoolwork, but you seem to sort all of that stuff out on your own." He flashed a smile. "I'm lucky to have such responsible and independent kids. All of you are amazing."

Lincoln, too, smiled, and he felt comfortable. Warm. The problem that was Lucas Norman started to seem a bit less significant.

It begins to rain lightly outside, and rivulets of water distorts the view on the window next to Lincoln. The gentle tap tap tap of the downpour is calming, almost like ASMR.

"Dad," said Lincoln, "there's this boy that goes to my school. His name is Lucas Norman. I feel weird around him, and thinking about him makes me feel weird too, and now I think I'm in love with him. In fact I'm almost sure of it. I guess that makes me bi, and I didn't know it was possible to discover that you are bi at 17 years old, but I guess it is because here we are now. You're a loving and kind person and I know you won't throw me out on the street or anything, and for that I am endlessly grateful and appreciative of you, but regardless, it was pretty hard for me to tell you this. I don't know exactly what it is about Lucas that gives me such a proclivity to him, because, I mean, I've barely talked to him in my life, and when I did it was about small stuff, but I'm in love and that's that. I just thought you should know."

Only he doesn't say that. Lincoln sat silent.

The waiter eventually came and took their orders, Dad putting in for his long-awaited raviolis and Lincoln requesting a pizza pie, half sausage and half sauerkraut. A weird combination, admittedly, but one he'd come to enjoy over the years.

"How are things?" Dad asked as they waited for their food.

"Like, in general?"

"Yeah. What's going on with you? We don't get to talk like this much."

Pause. "Oh, not much, I guess." Lie.

"You still seeing that Stella girl?"

"...Yeah. Sort of." Lie.

"Sort of? That's not really something you 'sort of' do. You either see someone or you don't." Dad sipped his drink. "Do you like her?"

"I think I do." Lie.

"Well, what's stopping you from going after her then? I'm not saying you should or shouldn't - I just want to know why you might not want to."

"Uh, well, I—"

"Is there someone else?" Dad cut in.

Brief pause. "No." Lie.

Dad crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, relaxing. "Alrighty then."

The urge came to Lincoln to tell him. To tell his father the truth. The words began to form in the back of his mouth. Wait, Dad, actually… But they died before reaching his lips.

It wasn't usually like this. If Lincoln had something to say to someone, he spoke up. This indecisivity was bothering him. If he couldn't tell his own father, the man whom he trusted most in the world, about Lucas, who could he tell?

Their food came and they began to eat in relative silence save for the occasional small talk. Lincoln pretended to enjoy himself but the gnawing feeling inside of him of dishonesty prevented him from really having a good time, and he frowned.

"Dessert?" Dad asked about halfway through his meal with a mouthful of fine italian.

"Sure. Sounds good."

Dad swallowed. "I mean, I know that we're getting dessert." He chuckled. "I was asking what you wanted."

It turned out that Lincoln wanted a slice of double chocolate cake and Dad wanted fried ice cream.

"That looks good," said Lincoln, eyeing his father's ice cream from across the table.

"It sounds like a weird dish, but it's actually really good. It's ice cream but with a yummy, crunchy shell."

"Can I have a bite?"

"Sure." Pause. "Actually, why don't we just get another? How often do we do this?"

Lincoln had no problem with that.

After staking out the school for a few nights, Lucy soon settled into a routine. She made sure never to get sloppy; there was a lot of risk if she was caught by her family, and if she got too used to checking the halls, putting a fake Lucy in her bed, and leaving through her bedroom window, she'd eventually overlook a step or make too much noise at one point or jump the gun and leave the house early, finding herself caught. Each night she went through a mental checklist, making sure to hit every mark, and that she left the house absolutely undetected.

But soon this became boring, especially so because she was finding literally nothing hiding in the tree. Lucy admitted to herself that there was something very fun about running alone through the town at night alone (sometimes, she was able to pretend that she was the only person left alive in the world), scurrying along to her school under the moonlight, but once she arrived at her tree and settled in, things got old fast. Reading and writing and thinking were things Lucy loved to do, but to do them hours on end every night, and in the cold, was becoming monotonous and unappealing.

A few nights in and Lucy considered stopping. She thought about going to sleep on time in her warm bed and need not worry about getting caught. It was the easy way out. Several of the incidents occurred during school hours, and it stood to reason that more might happen in the future. If so, she could point out to the administration that she was not there, thus could not be responsible. They would see the error of their logic, readmit her, and continue their search - perhaps they would even bumble into catching the real vandals, though Lucy seriously doubted it. She could pick up the shattered pieces of her academic career, put them back together, and rejoin the literary club. But there was one problem: Sheldon J. Plankton of Spongebob fame might be content with winning by default, but she was not. After everything she had gone through - the indignity of being wrongfully accused, having the one social activity she enjoyed snatched away from her, being treated like a criminal by her own parents - she wanted closure, and the only way she could really get it was by bringing the fiends down herself.

On the sixth night, Lucy completed the day's schoolwork around nine, showered, and returned to her room just before 9:30. Her mom was in bed, her dad was still out with Lincoln, and Lola and Lana were absorbed in their own matters elsewhere - Lola doing her homework at her vanity and Lana, perhaps, in the garage tinkering with whatever project she was currently engaged with. In her room, Lucy dressed in a pair of jeans and a black turtleneck sweater, pulled her socks and shoes on, and shrugged into her coat. The weather had been comparatively warm over the past few days - daytime temps in the low forties and nighttime lows in the mid-thirties - so she didn't need her scarf, but put it on anyway.

She propped the pillow under her blanket, put the wig on, and snapped the light off. Making as little noise as possible, she crossed to the window, knelt down, and lifted the sash; cold air rushed over her face and numbed her cheeks, the scent of wet earth rolling into her nostrils like a not unpleasant memory. She stood, ducked, and threw one leg over the sill.

Without warning, the door opened and the light came on. Lucy's heart dropped into her stomach and her body went rigid. Lana poked her head in and started to speak, but froze when her eyes met Lucy's. "What are you doing?" she asked sharply.

For the first time Lucy could remember, her mind blanked. Normally she could pull a lie effortlessly from the ether and tell it with a straight face and utter confidence. Right now, however, she was dumbstruck, caught like a doe in the onrushing headlights of a tractor trailer. "Nothing," she blurted.

Lana's gaze went from Lucy to the pillow made to resemble Lucy, and her brow angled down in a stern V. "You're sneaking out again, aren't you? Where are you going?"

Again? Lucy thought. Had Lana known before what she had been doing each night? "Nowhere," Lucy said, hating the stricken quality of her voice. How could she let this happen? She was Lucy Loud, easily the most intelligent fourteen-year-old girl in Royal Woods, perhaps even the most intelligent person in Royal Woods.

Sigh. That really wasn't saying much. This town was full of rednecks, conformist sheeple, dullards, and the terminally braindead. She might as well crow about being the smartest one in her special education class because she could halfway tie her shoe.

Lana pushed the door all the way open and filled the frame, her arms crossing over her chest. Though she was younger than Lucy by two years and a good four inches shorter, she was solidly built with toned muscles and the beginnings of hips that could one day be termed "ample." She wore jeans, Timberland work boots, and a red and black flannel shirt over a black T - like lesbian. In that moment, with her physical density, messy, shoulder length blonde hair, and demanding scowl, she bore an uncanny resemblance to their mother and Lucy couldn't help chafing under her glare.

What should she do? Straddled on the window sill, her leg dangling twenty feet off the ground and the wind stirring her black hair, she was in the most incriminating position one could ever hope to come across, the proverbial smoking gun clutched in one hand and a body freshly dead at her feet. Lana was not as cerebral as Lucy, but she was by no means stupid; even dear, absent-minded Leni would not be as empty-skulled as to not recognize what was so clearly in front of her - Lucy stealing clandestinely into the night for a rendezvous with vice. Why else would a fourteen year old girl slink away from home and hearth at 10pm? The dictionary definition of the word nightwalker was: a person who roams about at night especially with criminal or immoral intent. Girls her age didn't run off in the middle of the night to do charity work, they did it to smoke cigarettes, drink alcohol, or have sex with boys.

She could lie, she supposed, but Lana would never believe it and rightfully so. Thus, she was put in the untenable position of having to come clean and tell the truth, a proposition she did not relish.

Lana lifted one brow and tapped her foot on the floor, looking even more like their mother now. "You were gone the other night," Lana said, "so I checked on you tonight and, sure enough, you're sneaking out again. Where have you been going?"

Lucy sighed. "I'm looking for the people who vandalized the school, okay?"

"I thought you vandalized the school," Lana said. The incredulity in her sister's voice grated Lucy's nerves, and hot rage bubbled up in her chest.

"I didn't," Lucy said tightly, "and I'm really sick of everyone thinking I did."

There must have been something in her eyes, or her face, that betrayed her deep and abiding hurt, for Lana's features softened a little. She glanced cautiously over her shoulder, then slipped into the room and closed the door behind her. "Look, if you did it, I don't care, whatever," she said.

"I didn't," Lucy repeated.

"They caught you on camera."

"They caught me walking away and slipping on an egg after the real culprits ran off. That's it. There is no other evidence, no other proof, nothing. I was punished for something I didn't do, I lost the club that meant everything to me, and Mom acts like I'm a monster. She doesn't even talk to me anymore." Lucy was shocked to feel a lump of emotion welling in her throat, and downright flabbergasted at the sudden tears filling her eyes. The last one hurt more than everything else combined.

A sympathetic frown touched Lana's lips and she laid a comforting hand on Lucy's knee. "I swear I didn't do this," Lucy said, "I just want to find out who did and move on with my life."

For a long moment, tense silence fell over them as the cogs and wheels of Lana's mind turned, processing the information, weighing what she knew to be true against what she had only been told and forming a new and fragile judgement like ticker tape spitting from a teletype. "Alright," she said finally, "let's go."

"What?" Lucy asked dumbly.

"Let's go," Lana said, "I wanna help."

Lucy opened her mouth, to say what she didn't know, then closed it again. Keen earnesty twinkled in Lana's eyes, and Lucy had no doubt that she honestly wanted to assist in clearing her name. Lucy could certainly use it - two people could keep a better and more complete watch than only one - but Lana would be better utilized here. "If you want to help," Lucy said, "stay here and keep watch. Make sure no one comes in my room."

Bitter disappointment flickered across Lana's face. "Oh. I kinda wanted to help. You know. The real way."

"You'll be better off here," Lucy said, "plus, Lola would miss you."

Lana perked up. "That's it, we can have Lola watch for us."

For the second time that night, Lucy's heart sank. "No," she said quickly, "we…"

But Lana was already up and out the door.

"Lana!" she called in a hissing whisper.

Great, she thought and hanged her head. Lola was a tattletale and a first class blackmailer; she would lord this over Lucy for the rest of her childhood. Remember that time I covered for you? Well, my chores aren't going to do themselves, sweetie.

Sigh.

Lana returned with Lola in tow. When they were younger, Lana and Lola were virtually indistinguishable, but time and life had worked diligently to pull them apart. Whereas Lana was squat and dense, Lola was thin and slender, her skin clearer, her hands seemingly much smaller and much more delicate. Each had grown into their respective role, Lola as the cheerleader and Lana as the gearhead, one graceful and feminine and the other rough, tumble, and almost boyish in nature. Lola, clad in a silky pink robe, looked annoyed. "What is this about?" she asked.

She looked at Lucy, saw her mounted on the sill, and furrowed her brow. "What are you doing?"

Oh, just preparing to sell you my soul. Do you accept personal checks?

Looking even more displeased, Lola shot Lana a dirty look. "What's going on? I have homework to do."

Lana glanced at Lucy. "Luce?"

Speaking my own eulogy. Sigh. She quickly and succinctly told Lola what she told Lana, and Lola listened intently, her mask of irritation slipping. "That's why I have to find who really did this," she finished.

For a long time, Lola didn't reply, and Lana and Lucy watched her with hopeful suspense. Finally, she drew a deep breath and nodded. "Okay, fine, I'll watch for you guys."

Lucy waited for the addedium under one condition, but it never came. She opened her mouth to ask what Lola wanted in return, but the beauty queen simply waved her hands. "Go on. I promise I won't let anyone know you're gone."

There was a certain sincerity in her eyes that told Lucy she wasn't doing this in expectation of being reimbursed, she was doing it to help her older sister.

Perhaps Lucy was in a compromised emotional state, but that touched her deeply, and the peclar urge to hug Lola came upon her like a tidal wave. Instead, she swung her other leg over the sill, sitting now high above the ground, and glanced over her shoulder to confirm that Lana was behind her; Lana flashed an encouraging smile, and Lucy returned it.

Tensing, Lucy sprang and grabbed hold of the tree, then shimmied down while Lana followed. On the ground, Lana looked nervously around. "That was pretty good. You've done this before?"

"A lot," Lucy answered. Then, she asked, "does anyone else know I've been sneaking out?"

"Just Lincoln," Lana replied, "but he's not gonna tell anyone. I'll talk to him tomorrow and make sure of it."

Lucy shook her head. So that made another sibling that was aware of her sneaking out. At least it was Lincoln, someone whom Lucy had a deep trust in and knew he wouldn't run ratting her out to mom and dad.

"So," Lana said, "we're not gonna get caught, right?"

"Of course not," Lucy said instantly, more to allay her little sister's fears than because she actually believed that. She looked up at the window, and Lola gave her a thumbs up. "Come on."

Together, they picked their way across the nightland, guided by the ethereal light of the bulbous moon. In the forest, Lana scanned the tall trees flanking the path with something approaching wonder. "I've never been in here after dark," she marveled.

Lucy watched on as Lana looked around her with wonder, and smiled. Lucy had often ventured out into the night before her suspencion; there was something peaceful and tangible about the darkness. The silence of the woods during nighttime was something pure and wonderful, and watching Lana experience it for the first time brought her a keen sense of joy.

Fifteen minutes later, they reached the school and climbed into the tree overlooking it. The branch Lucy had claimed as her own was a little small for two people, but they made it work, albeit just barely; they were so close, Lucy could reach out and give her sister a passionate kiss if she were so inclined, but she absolutely was not. She read the occasional incest fan fiction, but there is a distinctive difference between fantasy and reality. Siblings licking tongues in literature didn't bother her (though it didn't particularly excite her either), but in real life, it disgusted her. Only hillbillies and European royals do that, not normal people.

"How long do we wait?" Lana asked.

"All night," Lucy replied.

Lana sagged a little then lifted her head resolutely. "Alright."

"You can go around back," Lucy said, "stay in the shadows and keep out of sight. There are cameras all over the place."

Lana nodded, then climbed down the tree. She darted along the side of the building at a crouch, and then Lucy was alone.

Over the next two hours, Lana established a routine of walking the parameters of the school, then coming back and spending five to ten minutes with Lucy. In the dark and alone, Lucy found that she as well as Lana opened up the most to one another. With five siblings in the house, and with five more frequently calling and visiting home, getting one on one time with any single sister wasn't exactly commonplace. It was as if the pure and silent night evoked honestly and forthrightness. Nobody could hear what the two discussed except for the stars.

"Are you interested in any boys?" Lana asked quietly at one point.

"No," said Lucy. "And even if I was I don't think I'd pursue them."

Lana gasped as if what Lucy said was shocking. "What? So if a boy liked you and you liked them back and he asked you out you'd turn him down?"

"Probably, yeah. I'm just not interested in that kind of stuff right now."

"But that seems like such a waste!" Lana whisper-yelled. "How many times do you have an opportunity like that in high school?"

"Now many," Lucy admitted, "but I just don't really like the idea of having someone claim me as their own. I'll still love them and let them know that I love them, but I don't want anyone at all right now to be my girlfriend or for me to call them my boyfriend."

Lana paused. "I guess I understand… you just like being independant, huh?"

"Independence has always been important to me, yeah. Even growing up with as many siblings as we have, I never have wanted to rely on anyone. At least not wholly. I want to grow by myself, not alongside some other person. Because what if they're ripped away from me? I have to grow all over again."

Lana nodded slowly.

Just past midnight, Lucy was alone again and reading Infinite Jest by the stinging white glow of a penlight when the sound of many footsteps rent the night. She reflexively turned the light off and leaned over the branch. Below, six figures in black scurried past, and Lucy tensed.

Got'cha.

They spread out and along the front wall, pulled out cans of spray paint, and started to deface the brick. Outrage bubbled up in Lucy's stomach and her eyes narrowed to predatory slits. She wanted to swoop down on them like an angel of vengeance, but this required stealth and finesse. She looked around in an attempt to spot Lana, and saw her crouching behind a dumpster to the left, watching the vandals with the coiled air of a spring ready to snap.

Lucy stared at the wall, interested to see what they were drawing, but couldn't owing to distance and darkness.

When their ballasts ran dry, they flung their cans to the ground and took off at a brisk walk. Lucy watched them pass below, then climbed down the tree. Lana hurried over and glared at their retreating backs. "Assholes. Let's get them."

She started after, but Lucy grabbed her shirt and brought her to heel. "Wait," she said, "we don't want to get too close."

At the intersection, they split up, and Lucy picked one out of the group to follow; tall and slim, he (or she) moved down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace, his (or her) hands shoved into their hoodie pockets. When they were far enough away, Lucy nodded. "Let's go."

She and Lana took off down the sidewalk and followed at distance. The houses lining the street were all dark, and the only sound was the wind in the trees. Ahead, the figure turned right and went down a narrow lane flanked by large brick houses with wide front lawns. It wasn't the wealthiest section in town, but it was up there.

Halfway down, he left the sidewalk, followed a flagstone walk, and went into a large house with dormers and gables. Lucy and Lana stopped and looked up at it. "What's the address?" Lucy asked.

Lana went over to the mailbox, pulled out her phone, and typed it down, then brought it back. Lucy took it and stared at the screen.

1028 CLEVELAND.

And below that, a name.

NORMAN.