Orc set out before dawn. When he waded into the lake, letting the icy water submerge his shoulders, he could see the fishing crew's rowboats bobbing in the distance like toys. He closed his eyes and splashed water on his face, pressing his palms to his heavy eyelids. The cold was a bitter shock, but it felt good at the same time. Like he was getting clean.

The soiled mattress was out in the back already. He dragged it out before leaving. No need for Howard to see anything, know anything. He was still asleep when Orc left, his feet half hanging off the top bunk.

Orc stared at the horizon without really seeing it. Underwater, his canvas shorts floated around his legs. The water was clear enough that he could see the fabric shivering underneath the surface.

A million years ago, there'd been a particular type of kid that was easy prey for Orc. He was the kind of kid it was fun to beat up just because it was just too easy. When Orc was really pissed—really looking for someone to grind into the dirt—it was always the seventh-grader who'd flinch and beg to be let go, who'd twist futilely in Orc's grip even as he was tightening his hold on his skinny little forearms.

There was something satisfying about beating up someone like that. Something that lingered in Orc's gut long after those days were gone.

He looked at his hands underneath the water. He turned them over, studying the crags of his knuckles and smooth, pebbly palms. He flexed his fingers and imagined cupping the back of Astrid's head, stroking her soft, silky hair.

He then stared at the horizon again, at the boats swaying far out, and tried to think of something from the Bible, because that's what seemed like the right thing to do. After a few moments, though, he couldn't think of anything soothing—Leviticus seemed like just a bunch of laws. He'd once asked Astrid when they'd get to the part where God started being all about love and peace and crap, and she said the New Testament. It'd been a long time since they read together; he'd asked that weeks ago, and they were still on that same book.

Orc rubbed his eyes wearily. He didn't want to think about Astrid right now. He wanted to go back to bed—no, that wasn't true. After those dreams, he always wanted a drink.

He hadn't had any dreams like that before the FAYZ. Did that mean anything? Orc thought it had to. It went like this: one day, he was just a normal kid. Then he killed somebody. Then he got turned into a monster and started having perverted dreams about a girl who never did a thing to deserve it. It was another thing God sent him as punishment, that was all.

Orc closed his eyes. If it was a punishment, he thought, it was a pretty sick one. He remembered the way her short hair fell around her face, framing it like a pale, soft halo; he saw her delicate ears and the curve of her neck and the bump of her collarbone in his mind's eye. He remembered the rabbity, wide-eyed look on her face.

He'd wanted to tell her it would be okay. But he didn't. A little fear is better than no fear. She looked delicate before him. Fragile. But he put his massive arms around her anyway, crushed her so close his gravel skin bit into her soft, naked flesh….

Orc finally stood up, cold water streaming down his wide legs, and lumbered onto the shore. Self-loathing settled on him like a second skin. Some kids walked around near the dock, probably on their way to work. Sinder and Jessie were going to be starting work in a few hours, too, but he felt too sick to sit around while the girls weeded.

After wandering for an hour, he found what he was looking for—an unoccupied house far from the lake with some of the windows already broken. Orc finished the job with a few easy swings of his fists, relishing in the tinkling sound of the glass flying into the darkness inside. He did the door next, ripping it off its rusted hinges and watching it spin in the misty air until it crashed nearby and fell to pieces.

He thought through the anger humming through his mind that, if his dreams had been gentle towards Astrid, he wouldn't feel so disgusted. But they never were gentle—only desperate and rough, almost angry, with no warmth but an animal heat. Dirty, he thought as he punched in the brick foundation with the ease of punching through soft clay. Sinful. Disgusting. If you aren't a monster, why are you dreaming like one? Huh?

It's not my fault. I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask her to kiss me. He barreled inside the house and tried to pry up the wooden floorboards with scrabbling fingers. Failing that, he slammed a fist into them. The wood buckled and crumbled.

After, Orc stood in the center of the wreckage, breathing hard. He was thirsty. He sat heavily on the ground and swiped a hand across a forehead that couldn't sweat—old habits died fast.

Of course, now that he'd brought up the kisses, he couldn't stop thinking about them. About how nice Astrid treated him, cupping his chin and her other hand stroking the human part of his cheek. She'd kissed him like he was someone worth kissing, two dry kisses and one long, sweet one that made him ache to remember—she'd pressed her warm, wet tongue against his lips, against the invisible seam where gravel and flesh met, and he'd opened his mouth, his body a sizzling live wire….

That's why, Orc thought. That's why, you idiot. You moron. She kissed you and now you can't stop thinking about doing more—even though you're a monster. Even if it would hurt her. You want to anyway. You want to so bad you dream about it—you sad, sick disaster.

But it's not my fault, he thought again, his throat constricting. I didn't kiss her, she kissed me.

Why? Why did she have to make him feel so good?

Orc swore loudly into the cool morning air. He listened to it echo. His stomach was knotted with anger and frustration that he couldn't relieve, and Astrid was probably still sleeping, not knowing that he was tying himself into ratty emotional knots because of her. Probably thinking she got out just in time, he thought, spite ringing dully through his brain. Now she can go back to kissing Schoolbus Sam.

"Hey, big guy." Orc swiveled his head to look at Howard, who stood nearby with his hands sunk deep in his pockets. He nodded at the house's remains. "Sam's gonna be pissed. I think he was saving that for somebody."

Orc peered at the other boy. "You got any beer on you?"

"Nope." Howard stepped closer. "Let's go home, man. It's too early for this." He reached out and touched his gravel forearm with his usual gentleness. Orc stood and followed his lead after a moment. His head was beginning to hurt. He hadn't had anything to drink since the night before. Not for the first time, he wished there was still Pepsi. Lukewarm soda would be better than water.

The walk home was quiet save for the thud of Howard's falling-apart sneakers in the dust. "You need to get new shoes, man," Orc muttered.

"I'll look into that. What was all that about?"

"Huh?"

"Come on, Orc. Why're you out here so early? And why are your shorts wet?" Howard looked at him, dark eyes narrow. Orc cast his gaze downward instead of doing what he really wanted, which is to hit him.

"It's none of your business."

"You woke me up. It's easy for people to cheat me if I don't sleep at least seven hours. I think I deserve an excuse, at least."

Orc didn't reply right away. He thought Howard was probably lying, but he wasn't totally sure. "I had a bad dream," he muttered. "It's no big deal."

Howard looked at him. "Come on," he said. "We'll go home and have a drink."

Orc resisted answering for another minute, wanting the pause to stretch on until the conversation dropped off completely. But Howard was eyeing him, wanting an answer, so at last he said, "Yeah. One drink."

Sam paced the floor, sidestepping the five or six colored pencils rolling gently under his feet. "Sorry," said Roger as he bent down on one knee to collect them and place them back on the easel.

Sam assured him it wasn't a problem, though it'd been the third time his concentration had been thrown off by his and Justin's art project. Consisting of a plastic kiddie easel lined with half-filled tubes of paint and a table full of various crayons, colored pencils, and pastels, it seemed to fill the whole booth.

"Hey, let's switch, little man," said Roger to Justin, who was currently standing at the easel by Sam. "We don't wanna bother Sam."

Justin looked at him, his eyes impossibly big in his young face. "Sorry. This boat keeps rocking."

"You'll get used to it," Roger said. He looked at Sam, apologetic, as Justin clambered out of the booth and he took his place. "Edilio should be back soon."

"Don't worry about it," Sam said quickly. "He's got responsibilities. I totally get it." He smiled, trying not to look as awkward as he felt. The Artful Roger was a cool dude, but Sam had only spoken to him a couple of times, and only with Edilio present. He'd spoken to Justin even less. Despite leading the FAYZ almost on his own for over a year, he still didn't feel entirely comfortable around young kids.

Edilio, Roger, and Justin had only recently started living together on Edilio's houseboat. From what little Edilio said about it, the arrangement was more practical than evidence of romantic commitment—Roger had a kid with him, after all, and Edilio had room to spare. Still, there was a homey energy to the way Roger and Justin worked together. They were a unit, them and Edilio, a little makeshift family. Like Astrid and Little Pete and him used to be.

Sam swiped at his eyes, though they were dry. It was more on instinct. He remembered Little Pete lying ill in bed, nose crusty with dried snot, thankfully asleep, and Astrid sleeping beside him with her mouth partly open and her hair spread on her pillow. He thought about Little Pete blinking out of existence before he became prey for the Darkness's sick insects. It was painful to think of Astrid's little brother going that way—a mass of atoms and energy just disappearing into nothing—but Sam knew it was true. He knew it was true in the same way he knew the blistering sting of Drake's whip hand. It hurts, Sam thought, but that doesn't mean it isn't true. That's what Astrid didn't understand. Maybe she still doesn't. He watched Justin bite his lip and carefully draw something hard enough for the paper to crease.

Sam walked around to face the easel. Justin appeared to be drawing something with teeth that jagged across the paper in deliberate black slashes. An appendage that might have been a tail sprouted out of one of its four legs. "Is that a coyote?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." Justin drew a figure with spirals of curly hair coming out of its head, its long spindly arm outstretched down toward the monster. "And here's Mother Mary," he added, "up in heaven." He drew a halo in yellow pastel.

Sam digested this. Poor Mary. He wondered if Justin knew of the story of Mary taking the poof. Surely he had. He thought of the other littles Dekka had saved from the cliff, remembered their small bodies held aloft by invisible hands as Mother Mary vanished. Then he pointed. "Don't forget her wings."

Edilio looked tired when he finally arrived home. When Sam mentioned it, he waved him off. They were in the houseboat's spacious kitchen, sitting at the counter on tall stools bolted to the floor. Edilio poured them each a drink, and Sam felt a pang of pleasure as the crisp, sweet taste of apple juice hit his tongue for the first time in over a year. He clutched the glass and downed it.

Edilio watched with a grin. "John provided the apples," he said, refilling his glass and topping off his own. He was referring to the orchard John had started near the daycare. "The littles are even helping out. John can't stop talking about it."

"God," breathed Sam. "I've missed this. Why isn't Sinder helping out? With her, we could have enough apples to feed the whole FAYZ by now."

Edilio shook his head wearily. "She can't be everywhere at once. She works good with Jessie. Take it up with her. I'm done sorting stuff out for today."

"Bad day?"

"Well, Caine's not causing trouble, so no. I'm just tired." Edilio drank his juice and shook his head. "But you know how it is. How's Diana?"

"She's good. She sleeps a lot." Sam paused, feeling guilty, then added, "Actually, to be honest, I think she's been a little depressed."

Edilio sipped his juice and waited. When Sam didn't elaborate, he said, "Does it have something to do with what's been going on with Astrid and you?"

Sam nodded. Edilio set his drink down. "I'm not picking sides, remember?"

"I know." Sam passed a hand across the back of his head. "I just figured you might give me some advice."

"I can try, I guess…but why me?"

"We're friends, right? Why not?"

Edilio looked a little sheepish. "I don't know anything about relationships, Sam."

"You're joking." Sam gestured to the doorway of the adjacent room, where inside the Artful Roger and Justin could still be heard.

Edilio shook his head. "Doesn't count. I got lucky." But Sam spied a smile beginning on his face nonetheless. "Okay," he said with a sigh. "Go ahead."

With that, Sam began to tell Edilio what was going on, feeling a swell of appreciation for him the longer he talked. He'd missed this. Being trapped in the boat with Diana had been unbearable since they'd kissed, and it'd been too long since he'd hung out with his friends…even as the one in front of him grew more and more disappointed.

"I know, I'm an idiot," Sam said once he'd finished. "I just don't know how I can fix it."

Edilio furrowed his brows. "You could apologize," he said.

"I've tried," Sam sighed. "Diana keeps saying I shouldn't."

"Maybe that's a good idea."

Sam scoffed and leaned back on his stool. "So what should I do?"

Edilio exhaled through his nose, then scratched his head again, running his fingers across the dark bristles of his uneven crew cut. After a moment of looking pensive, he said, "You want my honest thoughts?"

"Yeah. Hold on, wait." Sam poured himself some more juice from the pitcher. "Okay. Shoot."

"I think you need to talk with Diana and get straight with her. Tell her she's just a friend. Then you have to go to Astrid and apologize. Don't try to defend what you did or say why you did it. If you try to say anything else, it'll just lead to an argument."

Sam looked down at his hands. Against all odds, he still fostered the idea that if he only expressed himself in a certain tone and with certain phrasing, Astrid would come around and everything would fall into place. Even now, he had to hold his tongue to avoid telling Edilio that no, she had to understand why he kissed Diana. That was the most important thing. But it's not, Sam thought. I need to remember that.

Edilio invited him to play Monopoly a few minutes later, citing that they hadn't hung out in a while. Sam accepted the invitation immediately, grateful that Edilio seemed to have missed him, too. He spent the next two and a half hours absorbed in fighting Edilio for ownership of the railroads and snickering at the Artful Roger's habit of unlucky dice rolls. For that period of time, he didn't think once of Diana or Astrid, and felt happier than he'd been in a while.

Dekka made sure to have a nice day before heading to Sam's. She achieved this by spending time with Brianna. Together, they walked around the lake and skipped rocks across the water and talked. Dekka hunted for the smoothest, shapeliest stones while Brianna grabbed the smallest ones and skipped them as fast as she could. They watched some kids put on an impromptu imitation of a Friends episode while they ate lunch—in Dekka's opinion, the boy playing Chandler was pretty good. Same with Phoebe, who she thought she recognized from the FAYZ's makeshift army.

When the performance was over, Brianna said, stretching her arms above her head, "Is Friends like that for real?"

"Sort of," Dekka admitted, "but with a laugh track. And slightly better jokes."

Brianna shook her head, making her pigtails bounce. "These guys should stick to SpongeBob."

"They'd probably get a bigger audience that way."

"Did you like it?"

"It was okay."

Then, Brianna brushed off her jean shorts and got to her feet. Dekka felt an inevitable tightness in her chest. "See you later?" Brianna said brightly.

Dekka lifted her hand in goodbye. "See you," she said, and just like that, Brianna was gone, a cloud of dust kicking up in her wake. Dekka drained her cup of water and stood up from her folding chair. For a moment, she watched the kids, actors and audience members alike, chat amongst themselves. After tiring of that, she began heading toward Sam's houseboat. She had very little hope for reconciliation on her part—if it wasn't toying with her feelings the solidified it, it was Diana's role (or non-role) in the cementing at Coates.

Dekka still remembered how her hands looked after Sam burned that awful solid block off her. She remembered her hands being numb. They hung lifeless at the ends of her wrists—nerveless, fleshy things that looked like dead starfish, so alien she had to remind herself that they belonged to her. Before that, Dekka remembered the hunger, the fear, the darkness. The heaviness of the cement making her back and arms ache. The hunger cramps in her belly and her parched tongue growing heavier in her mouth by the hour.

She'd suffered worse, but it was hard to forget your first FAYZ-related trauma. Especially when one of the sick creeps that condoned it was now on the side of right. Her side—Sam's side. Dekka still couldn't quite believe it.

She kept Sam in mind when she rapped on his door. This was a favor to him, nothing more. He welcomed her inside, looking subdued.

"It's been a while," Dekka said, sitting at the kitchen table. She gazed at him, wishing she could think of something comforting; she finally added, lamely, "I heard what happened with Astrid. I'm sorry."

Sam shrugged. "Thanks." He hesitated. "And…thanks for this."

"No problem, boss." Dekka's tone was light, but she turned her head too soon, and Sam spied the look in her eyes. Damn it, she thought, here it comes.

"You don't have to forgive her," he said, a little more softly. "I just want her to get a chance to get it out."

Like she's flushing out some virus. Dekka kept her expression stoic. She suddenly felt tired. "Okay," she said, and Sam led her to Diana's room.

Inside was dim. Dim and stuffy. Dekka squinted, her eyes slow to adjust. She softly closed the door behind her. "Hi," said Diana, who rose into a sitting position. Dekka could only make out her silhouette. Her expression was unknown, but her tone was as subdued as Sam's. One might even call it meek. Dekka folded her arms across her chest.

"Thanks for coming," Diana continued.

"You're welcome."

A heavy pause. Dekka brought out a rubber band from the back pocket of her cargo pants and began to play with it, biding her time. She stretched it around her fingers and twisted it around until the rubber pushed grooves into her fingers. Brianna had found two rubber bands; she kept the orange one and gave Dekka the green one. Brianna had asked her to teach her to do cat's cradle earlier that day with string. Dekka remembered the feeling of Brianna's warm, callused fingers touching her own and felt a familiar flutter in her stomach. She tamped down the feeling—she could remember that later.

Finally, Diana spoke. She began with rehashing the past. Dekka listened, avoiding the urge to shut down—take her ball and go home, as her dad used to say. She was successful at it until Diana said something about that caught her attention. "What?" Dekka said suddenly, coming closer to the bed.

Diana repeated herself, sounding fumbling and reluctant. "The…cement thing. I would never—I didn't know. Drake thought of it, and I guess…it just didn't seem…."

Dekka just stared at her, incredulity and anger sweeping over her in a dark, terrible wave. "Well," she said, making considerable effort to keep her voice steady, "it felt real enough for me. And Brianna, and Taylor, and all the other kids who had the bad luck to get powers when your boyfriend ruled Coates."

"I know." Diana bowed her head.

Taking her lumps. That's the least she can do. Dekka didn't want to stop. "You know what the first thing I thought when the FAYZ started running out of food was? 'This'll be like that time Caine didn't feed us for days. But hey, at least this time we we can use our hands and we won't be locked up in the dark.'" Her eyes stung, and tears began to brim. Dekka didn't want to cry—she prided herself on rarely doing so—but the tears came nonetheless. "That was hell for me. That was my worst nightmare, until—" She cut herself off. The bugs…Sam's burning light…. She gave a brief shake of her head and continued, quiet in her anger, "And it didn't seem real to you?"

Diana replied with surprising evenness. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for all of it. I really, really am. And…and that's all."

Dekka just stared at her, her lips tightly sealed. She wanted to say so much more, to really tear into her. The anger and frustration that she thought had dissolved as the traumatic events piled up seemed to still be in her, somehow.

Oh, well, she thought as she roughly wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her varsity jacket. More ammunition for Dad when I see him again. Her father had wanted to send her to therapy when she got to Coates. Just "to get to know herself better" (though he might as well have said "straighten her out"). Every once in a while, she'd imagine telling her dad about the FAYZ and visualize his eyes grow bigger and bigger behind his wire-rimmed glasses. It was a way to cope—store it away until a later date. More ammunition, that's all it is.

Diana broke the uncomfortable silence. "I don't expect you to forgive me."

"Great. Glad you could use me to ease your guilty conscience." Dekka turned and exited the room. When she closed the door, she breathed in a lungful of fresh air.

Sam was in the living room, sitting on the couch, fidgeting with a Rubik's cube and staring into space. Dekka sat on the couch next to him. "Hey."

Sam looked at her. "Hey," he said, his voice soft. "You okay?"

Dekka used her sleeve to dry her eyes again. "Yeah."

"I guess it didn't go well."

"No." Dekka breathed in deep. "I can't do it. I just can't. I wanted to go in and be completely above it. I wanted her to—to get it all out and then I could just...walk away." At the concerned look on Sam's face, she said, "But after all that she's done...that she's stood by and watched happen...I don't know."

"I didn't know she affected you so much," Sam said softly.

"I didn't, either." Dekka thought for a moment, then continued, "I guess that's the FAYZ. All the dark, spiteful stuff just gets amplified."

"You're not spiteful," he said firmly, putting the Rubik's cube down beside him. "That's why I was surprised. I guess I thought, with Diana apologizing, the stuff she's done would, I dunno, roll off your back. Like most things do."

Dekka sighed. "That's me. Calm and collected Dekka Talent." She twisted her mouth before adding bitterly, "Sorry I can't always live up to my reputation."

"No one can." Sam hesitated before spreading his arms.

Dekka accepted the hug. The warm solidity of his arms around her made her heart swell. After a moment, she stood up from the couch, muttering with a slightly abashed expression, "Don't wanna go all soft on you, Temple."

"Course not." Sam smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Take care of it yourself, Dekka."

"Yeah." Dekka made a tiny, tight smile that was equally ingenuine. "You, too."

Diana was tempted to burrow into her bed and sleep when Dekka left. She could hear her faintly talking to Sam through the wall. She adjusted herself amid her blankets and closed her eyes. When she was sure Dekka had left the houseboat, she opened them again and saw Sam in the doorway. She sat up slowly. "You were right," she said.

"Yeah. I'm sorry." He didn't come over to the bed. Earlier, before the kiss, he would have. The thought made Diana sad. "Did it help, though?" He brushed his chest to illustrate, a brief gesture that struck Diana as endearing.

"It did," she said, unintentionally mirroring him, palm pressed against her heart. "I feel…not better, but…." She shrugged. She mostly felt tired, in truth. Tired and sad and wishing Sam would put his toned arms around her and kiss her like Caine used to, smiling with a mixture of slyness and sincerity as he leaned in.

"Okay." Sam cleared his throat. "I mean, good."

"Thanks for arranging it. She wouldn't have come if it weren't for you."

He rolled his shoulders. "No problem. I know this has been bugging you, so."

"Yeah." Diana picked at the corner of her blanket, avoiding looking at him. The past week had been awkward; neither of them wanted to get too close. Every time Diana thought about Sam, Astrid followed. She put her hands on her distended belly and forced herself to look at him. "Want to feel?" she asked.

Sam looked worried. "Why? Is it…kicking?" When she delayed answering, he picked his way over to her bedside. He reached out before withdrawing his hand. Wary. Looking at her with a sense of caution that made her desperately sad, his ocean-blue eyes fixed on her own. "Diana," he said, realizing..

"It's fine," she almost snapped. "I'm not gonna jump you. You can touch me." Please touch me. I just want you to touch me, that's all. Lonely keening, that's what she felt her mind was full of. If it wasn't Astrid leaving her bed, it was the guy who never entered it in the first place.

"I can't."

"Astrid isn't here, Sam. She's gone." Diana touched his arm. "I'm here."

Sam looked at her, Adam's apple bobbing. "That's what I'm afraid of."

"You're a good guy, Sam. And I get it. But Astrid's not exactly…being faithful."

Sam swallowed again. For a terrifying moment, Diana thought he might cry. Then he said, lowly, "Maybe."

She patted the spot beside her, and, to his credit, he didn't hesitate, the bedsprings faintly squeaking as he climbed on. "Astrid hates me," he said morosely as he settled in beside her. Diana got goosebumps when she felt his body heat. His elbow brushed hers ever so softly.

"Me, too," she said quietly.

"I don't blame her for…cheating, or whatever she's doing with Orc," he continued, his voice flat. "I can't complain. I can't."

Diana didn't know what to say. She felt slow and stupid in these situations. Caine had never been so reflective—but, then, neither had she. At the moment, though, she was tired of being reminded of her past mistakes.

"I know what'll help," she said, and took his hand with a sad little smile. A smile that said, I might be making a big mistake, but screw it—a smile she wore well. "Little spoon or big spoon?"

Sam stared at her. Apprehension and guilt flashed across his face, but a deeper longing fought for dominance. Diana assured him that it would be completely platonic. "It might just be hormones…or Dekka…but I really just want to be held right now," she said frankly. At that, Sam's longing won out.

"Big spoon," he replied, and soon his arms were wrapped around her and his warm hands rested carefully on the side of her stomach like she was a balloon about to pop. Diana pressed her face deep into the pillow, thinking unwittingly of Astrid's cold stare and the chilly tears seeping from them like condensation on an icy glass. You have a boy to spoon, damn it, Diana wanted to tell her disapproving face. Or something like it. You have Orc, don't you? Leave me alone!

Sam's warm breath huffed like slow clockwork on her neck; the tip of his nose brushed her skin. She turned and looked at his face, the stillness of his features. He was trying to relax, to fall into a doze, but there was a telltale furrow to his brows—the result of endless days and nights of worrying and stress, juggling responsibilities beyond his years. Diana again thought of Caine and his cool, calculating gaze, the eerie pale smoothness of his skin. Smoothness that, in the FAYZ, was weirder than ever, because seven-year-old kids had worry lines here. But Caine worked hard to maintain his collected, coiffed image…and he never worried about anyone but himself.

Well, and her.

She relaxed into Sam's arms, closed her eyes, and breathed deep; soon Astrid, Dekka, and Caine felt far away. She dreamed of the Coates' janitors' closets, musty, sweetish, and dark, with the taste of mint on her tongue.