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“Um … I brought you something,” I said. “Can I come in?”

“Well … Mama’s not here, so yeah. Sure.”

I noticed the way she said it. Like, if her mother had been there, I wouldn’t be welcomed in.

Bo stepped aside, and I walked into the trailer. First thing I noticed was how cold it was. Barely warmer than the December air outside. When I looked back at Bo, I noticed she looked wider than normal. Layers, I realized. No telling how many she had on.

The second thing that caught my attention was the soft sound of talking mixed with static coming from down the hall.

“What’s that sound?” I asked.

“Police scanner,” Bo said. “I keep it on all the time, just in case …” She trailed off. “You said you brought me something?”

“Oh, yeah.” I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the book from Goodwill. “Thought you might like this. Merry Christmas.”

She took the book from my hands, but she didn’t say anything. Not for a long second.

“Do you like it?” I asked.

Her voice cracked when she answered. “I can’t take this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I ain’t got nothing for you,” she said. “I wanted to get you something, but I just don’t got the money to—”

“That’s all right.”

“No. It’s not.”

“Bo,” I said. “It’s a book from Goodwill. I didn’t spend a lot. And …” I hesitated. “Honestly? You know what I’d like in return? And it doesn’t cost a thing?”

“What?”

“Can you read me some of those poems?” I asked. “I’m still not real good with poetry. Still don’t get it most of the time. But I love hearing you read it and explain it. That’s all I want from you.”

Bo seemed to think on this for a second before saying, “All right. I reckon I can do that.”

“Good.” I folded up my cane and tucked it under my arm as I looked around. The trailer was pretty dark, and the windows looked like they were covered with sheets instead of curtains.

Bo must’ve seen me looking, because she said, “It ain’t real nice, I know. Not like your house. But—”

“Can I see your room?” I asked.

She hadn’t given me an answer yet when the front door burst open and Utah let out a startled bark from somewhere in the living room.

“Oh, shut up, you damn mutt,” a woman’s voice snapped.

“Mama.” Bo sounded just as surprised as the dog. “What’re you doing here?”

“Live here, don’t I?”

In the pale light, I could barely even make out her outline, though I still had a pretty good memory from the day when I’d first seen her in the front yard, screaming at the trees. “Who’s this?” she asked.

I guess she didn’t remember that day quite as well.

“Uh … Mama, this is Agnes,” Bo said. “Agnes Atwood.”

“Hi,” I said, giving a little wave in her general direction.

“Atwood,” Mrs. Dickinson repeated. “Your daddy owns the hardware store, right?’

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I see a lot of people going in and out of there. Y’all must make a lot of money off that place.”

“Mama …”

“What? I’m just saying—it’s great for her dad. Probably a pretty penny. Ain’t it, Agnes? Y’all do pretty well for yourselves, I’d imagine.”

There was something strange about her voice. She sounded jumpy. Like she was teetering on the edge of something. And whatever it was, it made me nervous.

“You’re friends with Bo now, huh?” she continued. “She’s always at your house these days. I hardly ever see her. You might as well be family. And since we’re family, maybe you and your folks can help us out.”

“Mama, don’t.”

“I’m only kidding!” Mrs. Dickinson said. “Agnes knows that. Right, Agnes?”

“Uh …” I glanced at Bo and wished I could make out her face in this light.

“But,” Mrs. Dickinson continued, “friends do help each other out, don’t they? And we ain’t had heat almost all winter. I’m just pointing out that they could help us, since y’all are so close now. A hundred bucks or so could go a long way. And that probably ain’t nothing to y’all, Agnes. With the store doing well.”

I just stood there, not knowing what to do or say. Nobody had ever asked me for money before. Not even in this roundabout way. Where we lived, we grew up being taught never to ask for things like that. Never to put people on the spot. You waited until it was offered, and even then, you were supposed to say no at least once. I wasn’t sure why. That was just the way it was. It was a rule everyone followed.

Everyone but Bo’s mama, apparently.

“You oughta go to bed,” Bo told her. “You seem tired.”

That’s when it shifted. When the ledge Mrs. Dickinson had been teetering on crumbled.

“Are you telling me what to do?” she yelled.

Bo, who’d moved to stand next to me, flinched. “No. I’m just trying to help, Mama.”

“Bullshit! Don’t you act like you’re taking care of me. Why’re you trying to get rid of me, huh? You embarrassed?”

“Mama—”

“Because I’m the one who oughta be embarrassed,” she hissed. “You think I ain’t heard? I know you been whoring around town, Bo. I ain’t stupid. I’m the one who oughta be embarrassed of my slut of a daughter.”

Bo’s hand closed around mine. “Let’s go, Agnes.”

“Wait a minute,” Mrs. Dickinson said. “Is that why she’s here? You fucking her, too? Gone through all the men in town, so you gotta start sleeping with girls, too?”

“Come on,” Bo said to me. She tugged my hand and started leading me away, down a hallway I hadn’t even noticed before.

“Don’t you walk away from me!”

There was a loud thud and the sound of glass shattering behind me.

Close behind me.

Bo yanked me harder, and we started running toward the trailer’s back door.

“You leave, you better not come back tonight! You hear me, you little dyke?” Mrs. Dickinson hollered just as Bo threw open the back door and we tumbled out, down another set of cement stairs, with Utah at our heels.

Bo didn’t even bother shutting the door behind us, so we could still hear her mother yelling as we ran, fast as we could, into the woods.

Our shoes slapped against the frozen ground and the December wind stung our faces as we bolted through the woods. We didn’t stop until we reached the clearing, the place where Bo had come across me lost in the grass the day my parents drove Gracie to college. So much had changed for Bo and me since then that it felt like a lifetime had passed, not just a few months.

Bo let go of my hand and I slumped against a tree, panting to catch my breath. It was light out, but the sky was overcast and gray. Still, I could see Bo standing a few feet away, unmoving, arms wrapped around herself while Utah sniffed at the ground around us.

We were quiet for a long time, just standing there, shivering. I felt like I ought to say something, but I wasn’t sure what. I had lots of questions, lots of concerns about Bo and her mom, but it felt wrong to ask. Still, the quiet was getting to me. So I said the first thing—the only thing—I could think of.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

She hesitated, and I wondered if maybe she’d get mad at me for trying to start our game at a time like this. But after a second she said, “You first.”

“Um … Sometimes—not too often, but sometimes—I trip people with my cane on purpose, then act like it was an accident, like I didn’t see them, so they can’t get mad at me.”

She chuckled. Just a little. Short and quiet.

“I did it to Isaac Porter last week.”

Her laugh was a little louder this time.

“In church.”

She really cracked up then. It only lasted a second, but her giggle filled me with relief. And I told myself it was gonna be okay. As long as I could make her laugh, make her smile, everything would be okay.

“You’re going to hell,” she teased.

“What? No. Don’t you know? Poor little blind girls never go to hell. We’re all angels.”

“Oh, that’s right. I must’ve forgot.” She walked over to the tree and leaned against the large trunk, her shoulder brushing my arm. “Guess it’s my turn now, huh?”

I nodded.

“I … have been in foster care before.”

I turned to look at her, surprised. “Really? When?”

“Summer before eighth grade. Mama got arrested. Possession, I think. Don’t really remember. But social workers came and got me in the middle of the night. I begged them to take me to my dad, but they said they didn’t know where he was at. I ain’t sure how hard they really looked, but … they took me to this house about an hour from here … I was only there a couple weeks, until she got out on bail, but … it was awful.”

I felt the dull ache of dread in my stomach, and I groped for her hand, squeezed it. It was bare and felt cold, even through my glove.

“There were a lotta kids there. Some, like me, were only there a few days. Some had been there for years. There were a couple babies, too. They cried all the time. And the older kids were always fighting. I saw one of them pull a knife on the other. But the foster parents didn’t do nothing about it. They wanted nothing to do with us. Well, except the dad. He was always walking in on the girls while we were changing or …”

She trailed off, and as awful as it sounds, I was glad. I didn’t think I could hear any more. I already felt sick, just trying to imagine what living like that might be like. And, deep down, I felt guilty. Guilty because I’d always had a safe home, because I’d never had to worry about knives or creepy dads. And I’d never even thought to be grateful for that before.

“Living with Mama’s no picnic, but I’m so scared, Agnes. That’s why I’m always listening to that police scanner. I’m always waiting to hear her name. I’m so scared she’s gonna get arrested again. If she does …”

When she didn’t finish the sentence, I pushed. “What?”

“I can’t do it again,” she murmured. “If she’s arrested again, I’m taking off. I ain’t gonna stick around and wait for CPS to come get me.”

“Oh …”

We were both quiet again, then Bo said, her voice shaking, “You know … what she said … about me and you. Agnes, I don’t—just because I like girls, too, don’t mean I—”

“I know.”

“I just don’t want you worrying that I—”

“I don’t,” I assured her.

And it was true. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about Bo’s secret. We hadn’t talked about it since that first night in my bedroom. But as uncertain as I felt, this was not something that had ever crossed my mind or made me uncomfortable. I knew her better than that.

“I just—”

“Bo, you don’t have to explain to me. Ever.”

“Good.” She sighed. “That’s just another reason I can’t tell nobody but you. Everyone around here already thinks I’m a slut. If they got wind I liked girls, too, they’d think I was going around trying to fuck everybody. Even my own mama thinks so.”

“Bo …”

“It’s all right,” she said.

But it wasn’t. It definitely wasn’t all right.

Bo was always so strong, so tough, that hearing her voice shake like that, hearing the pain and the fear, just about killed me.

I wanted to hurt everyone who’d ever hurt her. I wanted to go back to that trailer and cause her mama the kind of pain her words had caused Bo. I wanted to hunt down and punish every goddamn gossip who’d ever spread the rumors about her, called her names, made her feel ashamed and alone. Even if that was just about everyone in Mursey.

Even if it included me.

The thought made my heart drop into my stomach. I’d only been friends with Bo for a few months, but the memory of standing with Christy on the steps of the church, being one of those town gossips myself, felt like a different lifetime. And now, the idea of her going anywhere, of her leaving me, was about the scariest thing I could imagine.

“Bo … would you really run away?” I asked after another long, quiet stretch.

“I don’t want to,” she said. “But … yeah. If I got to, I’ll run.”

There are sirens blaring by the time we get back to the car. I toss Utah into the back while Agnes dives into the front seat. It ain’t a second later that our tires are squealing and the car is speeding into the dark.

For a while, the only sound in the car is our heavy breathing. And as I drive, I can feel my eye starting to swell.

“Well,” Agnes says after ten minutes or so. “What’s next?”

“That wasn’t enough for you?”

She laughs. “That’s not what I meant. But it’s late and we can’t just show up at your dad’s house in the middle of the night. We ought to park somewhere and find some place to sleep.”

I almost argue, because we ain’t gone very far today, but I don’t. Not because showing up at Daddy’s after midnight is such a bad idea—it don’t really matter what time I show up—but because, even after what just happened, I ain’t ready for all this to end just yet.

So I find a gravel road that seems real deserted. It weaves like a thread through a thick patch of woods. I follow it about a mile in, the car bouncing along, tossing us around a bit, before I pull off to the side. We park beneath a small patch of moonlight that’s bleeding through the leaves.

I shut off the car and we lean our seats way back. Utah shifts in the backseat, trying to get comfortable.

“Bo?”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”