Nanette glanced up from her phone to sneak a peek at the boy standing beside her. Tommy Novotny was only a little shorter than Nanette, and had wavy dark hair and lashes as long as a girl's. He was an athletic legend at Mahnomen High (though with a student body of five hundred, that wasn't saying much) but Nanette thought there was something vulnerable about the boy she'd shared the bus stop with since middle school.

 Every day, she considered talking to him. Though, what would she say? She was the least athletic person she knew, and she didn't care for hunting, which was what he always discussed with the Sullivan boys (when he bothered talking at all). He was either painfully shy or extraordinarily stuck up, Nanette could never decide. That didn't stop the heat from rushing to her cheeks every time she spotted him at the end of her impossibly long driveway.

"HEY NANETTE! TOMMY! Want a ride?"

Fourteen-year-old Owen Sullivan was hanging out the backseat of his mom's 2001 Accord, filling up the entire window with an oversized lime green coat he'd likely inherited from an older brother.

Nanette sloshed through the roadside sludge and pulled open the Sullivan's car door as Owen scooted to the center to make room.

"Thanks, Mrs. S.," Nanette said, relaxing into the warmth and rubbing at her nose with a crumpled tissue. "Dad had to work early today." 

With the exception of Mrs. Sullivan, whose hair was brown, the Sullivans were each characterized by dark, reddish hair and short, stocky frames. The second oldest son, Alfie, had graduated the previous year, meaning there was enough room in the car for both Nanette and Tommy whenever Owen managed to convince his mom the freezing wait for the bus might actually kill him.

On the other side of Owen, three-year-old Dougie was slack-jawed and drooling, fast asleep in his car seat. In front, Tommy mumbled hello to Mrs. Sullivan and buried his head in his phone once again, making no indication he had noticed the presence of the other people in the car.

"How are you, Owen?" Nanette asked.

"Terrible," Owen said bluntly. "Mom's making me see a shrink."

In front, Mrs. Sullivan sighed, sounding exasperated. "Owen, we discussed-"

"Okay, we 'discussed' it but I didn't have a choice." He crossed his arms, a difficult feat with the puff coat. "They think I'm going off the deep end because of Mitch dying. Which I'm not."

"Mitch Alms?" Nanette was surprised, though she supposed she shouldn't have been. Mitch Alms had been the same age as him, despite the fact that shrimpy little Owen still looked like a seventh grader.

"Yeah. We were friends." Owen closed his eyes, his expression annoyed.

"Oh. I'm sor-"

"Don't say you're sorry."

Nanette reconsidered her words. "I'm... not not sorry, then."

"You're stupid. Wake me up when we get to school."