The first time Alberto called him at midnight, Luca was overjoyed to hear from his old friend.

He was sitting at the kitchen table doing his homework - Astronomy 201 was no joke, especially since he was in there with all the eighth-graders - when the phone rang. He fumbled to pick it up. "Pronto. Marcovaldo residence, Luca speaking."

"Hey, Luca."

"Alberto!" Luca excitedly sat on his feet. He'd been so busy his first semester, he hadn't had a chance to really catch up. "Santa Burrata, I missed you. I haven't heard from you in like a month!"

"Yeah, how's it going?"

"It's going great," he beamed. "Giulia and her family have been so nice, and the classes are so interesting. Of course there are a couple bullies, but overall it's been amazing. How've you been?"

"Fine," Alberto said, but his tone was clipped and strained.

"Really?" Luca said. "How's Massimo? How have you been enjoying your time in Portorosso?" Alberto didn't answer right away. "Alberto? Are you still there?"

"No I'm… not."

Okayyy. Luca decided to humor him. "Where are you right now?" he asked.

"… I don't know."

There was a confused honesty to his voice, one that Luca hadn't heard since he'd confided in him about his father in the tower. Then there was a click, and the call went out.

The second time Alberto called him at midnight, Luca got the feeling that something wasn't quite right. The ring startled him so much he dropped his pencil. "Hello?" he said.

"Luca."

"Alberto, what's going on? Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?"

"No reason."

Huh… Luca furrowed his brow. This made actually no sense. "Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because. Something's wrong. Something must be wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," Alberto said but his guilelessness seemed practiced, insincere. "Why would you even say that?"

"I don't know. I'm just trying to help."

"Well, you're not."

"And I don't know... " Luca went on. "I feel like the last phone call was a really weird way to leave things… and I wanted to make sure you're okay."

No answer.

"Come on, you can talk to me," Luca pressed. "We can always talk, you and me." But the more he tried to keep it light and conversational, the more his stomach churned. "Can you just tell me if you're alright?" Luca said. "Yes or no."

Even more stomach-knotting silence. "No," Alberto said, barely audible, then the call was cut off. The third time Alberto called him at midnight, Luca was officially unnerved.

"Okay Alberto, you're really starting to freak me out," he said.

"Why?"

"Because you keep calling me in the middle of the night and you won't tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," he said.

"Alberto I know you, and I know you don't just call me for no reason." It had only been a month, but he typically called every day after school to hear about Luca's life in Genoa, to jabber about the food and fun and adventures he was having back in Portorosso. Not… whatever this was.

But this curiously enough prompted no response. This wasn't Alberto. The whole summer you couldn't get that boy to shut up with a crab stuffed in his mouth, and now… Luca cradled the receiver, turning toward the wall in case the Marcovaldos overheard. "Please talk to me," he begged. "Tell me what's wrong. What's wrong?"

He couldn't even hear the sounds of Portorosso at night: no late night chatter, no dogs barking, nothing.

"Is someone there with you?" Luca asked. "Can you talk?" Sure enough, he heard a sigh on the other line, breaking off into a whimper.

A cold, icy fear gripped the pit of Luca's stomach, similar to how he imagined floating in the deep. He remembered reading somewhere that if someone was in a bad situation, they might not tell everything they know.

"Alberto, who's there?"

"No one!"

"Then what's wrong! I'm just confused… please tell me?"

His friend's voice cracked like a geyser, followed by the heartbreaking sound of sobbing.

Luca froze. He had never heard Alberto cry like that; he couldn't even remember the last time Alberto cried like that in general. But the unbearable sobbing continued, sounding so dry and pained, and it grew longer and louder until it absolutely hurt to hear.

"Don't cry," he said. "Why are you crying?"

No answer. More crying and muttering filled his ear.

"Please don't cry," Luca said. "Tell me what's wrong." Hot tears blurred his eyes as he went down the list of things that could be upsetting his friend: was he lonely? Did Alberto miss him? Did he regret sending Luca on that train all those months ago? "Was it something I did? Did I do something?"

"No… "

"Then tell me what's wrong. Please. I want to help you."

"I don't… " Alberto tried again. "I don't… I'm not… " And that was all Luca could make out before the call was cut off again.

Luca stared at his astronomy problem. He had an astronomical problem, alright.

What in the name of Poseidon was that? He actually sat at the kitchen table for about an hour trying to figure it out.

When I saw him last

He had that look in his eyes

I said, "Do you need to talk?"

He said, "No."

. . .