Astrid holed up in her trailer and thought. That's what she was good at, after all. If she could think her way through the existence of the FAYZ and all the horrific things within, she reasoned, she could certainly analyze her own motivations and feelings.

She spent most of the time lying on the Murphy bed, listening to the faint sounds of kids and birdsong emanating from the window just above her. She wasn't getting much thinking done, though, as much as she wanted to; whenever she tried focusing on how she felt about Orc, her mind shied away. She found her heart beating fast, felt nervous and constricted. It wasn't that she liked him, though, no matter what Howard thought. But she still worried that if she examined what she felt, she'd find something she didn't like. She'd see herself how Howard saw her, preening and sly and withholding.

Astrid took a deep breath. Howard doesn't know what he's talking about, she thought. He's a completely selfish person.

She thought about Orc. His body was stony and over-large and strange, but his eyes were still human. They were still the eyes of the boy she'd tutored way back when. Her heart panged at the thought. She liked his eyes. She liked the way he looked at her. He was a thug most of the time, but...when he looked at her….

Astrid tucked her hands between her thighs, feeling strange. The way he looked at her sent a shiver up her spine that was just a bit more flattered than concerned. Her face grew hot with guilt. She liked having Orc's attention. She enjoyed the unique effect she had on him. Even Howard, his only friend, couldn't make him as flustered as she could. Was it so wrong to take a little pride in that?

She wondered if Orc ever thought she'd reciprocate his feelings. Just the thought made her face warm with discomfort. He didn't, she was sure. How could he? Astrid tried to imagine wrapping her arms around his overgrown shoulders—surely her arms couldn't fit around his torso?—or tracing the pebbled texture of his face until she met the delicate remaining flesh on his cheek. It'd feel strange, foreign...and it was a crazy idea, besides...

But he'd let her.

A chill ran up Astrid's spine, making her shiver. That was it. Orc trusted her. He trusted her enough to touch him—no other person in the FAYZ could say that. Maybe not even Howard.

Astrid slipped off the Murphy bed and went to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. She felt all knotted up inside. When she looked into the small, circular mirror above the sink, she saw a pale, tired girl with shadows under her eyes. What does he see in me? she wondered. She knew, of course, but it was still somewhat thrilling to think of the answer. Something fluttered in Astrid's belly as she imagined, resting her hands against the sink's cool porcelain. Well, he thought she was wonderful. She could see it in his eyes; he thought she was smart and beautiful and compassionate, even now, after the FAYZ's jagged edges had toughened her skin and sheared off her long, silky hair. Her heart swelled and ached at his innocence.

Orc reminded her of the girl she used to be. He made her want to be that girl again.

That wasn't wrong, she told herself, wiping her sweaty hands on the back of her shorts. Of course that wasn't wrong.

She hurried to Orc and Howard's trailer, feeling a strange thrill of excitement as she knocked. When no one answered, she tentatively opened the door—no one would dare try to rob the place where Orc lived, so there was no need to lock it—and called, "Hello? Charles?"

He was on his mattress, like always. "Astrid," he said, startled, sitting up.

She sat down beside him. They were quiet for a moment. "You haven't come around in a while," Orc said finally, gruff.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"'Cause I was drunk last time." There was a worry in his words.

"No," Astrid said, voice firm. "It had nothing to do with that."

There was a short silence.

"You don't have your Bible," he said slowly.

"No," Astrid replied. "I actually wanted to ask you something."

He nodded his head with a vaguely bewildered look on his face. Of course it was okay. She knew it would be. "What do you, uh, wanna talk about?" he asked.

Lots of things. Why do you look at me the way you do? Why do you touch my hand when you're drunk, and how far would you go if I let you? A chill ran up Astrid's spine, her mouth going dry. "Do you—" She hesitated. "Do you ever feel lonely?"

"Nah," he muttered. "I got Howard."

"I don't mean that kind of lonely." She took Orc's hand. The texture of his palm was strange and alien, rough and smooth at the same time. He stiffened at her sudden touch, but didn't pull away. "I mean the kind where you feel like no one can touch you. Where there's a barrier of glass between you and everyone else." She ran her thumb over the stone covering his fleshy palm. She looked at him, butterflies in her stomach, wanting him to see her. He shied away from her gaze. "Do you feel that?"

He didn't speak for a minute. When he did, his voice was rough. "Yeah."

She moved closer. Orc finally looked at her. "All you want us for someone to reach through and see you. You just want someone to see who you really are." She brought his hand up to her chest. Gently, she pressed his heavy splayed palm against her heart so he could feel the rise and fall of her chest. She didn't feel afraid.

"You know what I miss?"

"What?"

Diana put down Madame Bovary and looked Sam in the eye. "Cigarettes. I really, really miss cigarettes."

"Did you smoke a lot? Before?" Sam asked, ignoring her attempt to shock him. Diana wasn't disappointed—it sort of delighted her that he wasn't going to indulge her.

"No," she admitted. "Only sometimes. I had a couple packs hidden in my room. Whenever I'd leave Coates to go to the convenience store, I'd buy some. Just because." She didn't mention that the twenty-something guy behind the counter was more willing to let her obviously fake I.D. slide if she wore a low-cut shirt, and that was flattering. Sam wouldn't appreciate that anecdote; Caine would. Caine would take pride in her manipulation and beauty. But Sam would probably pity or condescend to her, and that would only remind her of how generous he was, letting her stay at the lake despite her history.

"I smoked once," Sam offered.

Diana grinned. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah. With Quinn, before school started. I choked on the smoke—we both did—it kinda sucked." He smiled as he said it, his teeth flashing, and Diana felt butterflies yet again. They seemed to grow bigger each time, their soft wings batting insistently at her stomach lining.

She wanted to move closer. In the quiet of the houseboat, in the deep twilight, just across the table from his golden-brown hair and boyish smile—so unlike Caine's dark handsomeness, yet so similar at the same time—it was hard not to think of Astrid. Tight-faced Astrid with the holier-than-thou twist of her mouth, Astrid who was sort of, kind of her friend.

More and more, Diana wanted to shoo her image from her mind, to enjoy Sam's presence without Astrid's specter lingering over her shoulder. Part of her wanted to just go for it. What would be wrong about trying? It's not like he would reciprocate. Besides, she thought, I'm a bad girl. Sam knows that. This is what bad girls do.

This was who she was.

"What?" Sam asked.

Diana blinked. She'd been staring, wrapped in her own thoughts again. "Nothing," she said. "Sorry. Just thinking about Caine." The lie came easily. She'd used it time and time again when she wanted to be left alone, and he always backed off.

To her surprise, Sam frowned. "You still miss him?"

Diana frowned. Do you still miss Astrid? she wanted to snap, but held her tongue. "Of course," she said. "What, do you have a problem with that?"

"No," Sam said, abashed. "I get it. I mean, not exactly, but...you know."

"I know," she said, bitter, "that it must be annoying to listen to me pine after the FAYZ's resident sociopath."

"I wouldn't say he's a sociopath," Sam replied. "Astrid and I talked it over, and we figured he's probably just a narcissist." His tone was playful, but Diana wasn't in the mood. She didn't answer. It was too easy to imagine Astrid taking careful and thoughtful stock of Caine's crimes, high up on her Christian pedestal. Diagnosing him, analyzing his patterns like he was a lab rat. She didn't know him—Sam didn't, either—but still, they judged him. Diana knew that they had every right to, but still, her stomach boiled.

"I guess I shouldn't talk about your boyfriend that way," said Sam, looking at her carefully. Evidently, her silence unnerved her.

"He's your brother."

"No." Sam shook his head. "You know him better than I do."

"Yeah." Diana's voice was heavy as she spoke. "He wouldn't be a good influence. A good father."

"He could change."

Diana scoffed, looking him in the eye. "You don't think that."

Sam hesitated. "No," he admitted. "I don't."

"I wouldn't be a good mom, the way I was." Diana shrugged, hoping it gave off a sense of ease she didn't feel. "I'm trying to be better."

She could feel Sam looking at her, thinking about her. "You are," he said slowly. "We all are. Trying to be better, I mean."

They were quiet for a moment.

"How do you think I'm doing?" Diana asked, avoiding his gaze.

Sam took a little while to answer. Then he said, low and even, "Good. I think you're doing good."

She released a breath she didn't know she was holding. "You're just saying that."

"I'm not." Sam was emphatic. "I mean it. You're better than you think you are."

Diana looked into his deep blue eyes. They were sincere, so much so that it was scary. She didn't know how to feel. Her tongue was tied. "You're trying to be better for Astrid, I guess," she said, flustered.

"Yeah." Sam paused, looking embarrassed. "But...you know, I never believed that crap. About you being the...you know, bad girl."

"Even when I said it to your face?"

"Even then."

It was hard for her to fight back a smile. She shook her head, saying, "You're so—"

"Naïve?"

She looked away, her face burning. "Not in a bad way."

He chuckled. "Yeah. I figured."

Diana's heart pounded. She reached out and took his hand, interlacing her fingers with his. Sam stiffened as she looked into his eyes and spoke. "You've been so good to me, Sam," she said. "I really don't deserve it."

"Diana—"

"You know, Dekka won't even talk to me. You know why? It's because back before all this, I pretended to be into girls. She liked me, and I thought it'd be fun to play with her a bit. I barely remembered that before I came to the lake, but it's all she sees when she looks at me. Or it could be the fact that I let her and the other kids get their hands stuck in cement on Caine's orders and didn't do a thing. What did I care? My power was useful." Her face twisted. "Sam, you don't get it. You think I'm this...this delicate, misunderstood girl who was tricked by an evil guy into carrying his kid, but I'm not. I've done awful things." She thought of Panda and swallowed. "Terrible things."

He stared at her. "Diana," he said, "I get it."

"You don't."

"I do. Believe me, I do. You know how many times I've thought the same thing about myself?" He sounded almost angry. "I think about all the horrible shit I've had to do every night before I go to sleep. With Astrid gone, it's even worse. I can't stop thinking about it. It never ends."

"Sam, I didn't mean—"

"But I can't let those thoughts get to me. I can't accept that I've done so much screwed-up shit that I won't be able to look my mom in the eye anymore, I just can't." His voice broke. "I know how it feels. I know how it feels and how much it drags you down, but Diana, you can't keep thinking about what you've done. All you can do is focus on what you'll do now. And now, you're away from Caine. You're safe and healthy and protected. You've got a baby to think about." He gripped her hand tightly, his eyes blazing. "You think you're a bad person. I don't buy that. I think you could be good if you wanted to. That's why you came here. You came here to be better, so be better."

His hand trembled in hers. Diana didn't know what to say. Sam caught his breath, looking at her, frustrated. "I'm trying," she said. "I'm trying. It's just...you've been so...nice to me."

Sam looked at her, confused. Diana couldn't stand it. She felt electrified, helpless, wrung through with feeling. Everything he'd said was true, but she couldn't explain how exceptional his behavior toward her was. He didn't understand.

"You know what?" she said. "You're right. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself."

Sam continued to look at her, his gaze turning wary. She released his hand, surprised that he hadn't pulled away. He looked down at his outstretched fingers, as if he hadn't realized he hadn't. He then stuck his hand in his pocket. "Alright," he said awkwardly. "Fine."

"I'm gonna go to my room," Diana said after a moment. Her hand burned; she felt the phantom sensation of his palm and fingers wrapped around hers. It made her feel restless and flustered. That's how most boys feel around me, she realized dully.

In her room, she sat in the armchair. It felt strange to see her bed from this perspective. Diana noted the rumpled bedclothes and the fact that the pillowcase was half off the pillow. Above the headboard, she suddenly realized, was a tiny wooden cross.

She got up from the chair and crawled into bed.