If I thought my parents were weird, I think, now, that Evan's were weirder. I never understood why he had problems with them. Not until now. When I've had all this time to think about everything. And it all fits in. I could tell his parents were kind of scared of him. That was why they let him do things, but then they'd feel like bad parents and restrict something minor. Like his driving. They let him do it without a license, but then they'd tell him he had to stay home on the weekends. Or weird stuff like that. They were always out of town, though—his parents—which was also strange. We'd hang out over there and drink his parents' alcohol, and they never seemed to care, but then they'd tell him he couldn't have a cell phone?

I never heard Ada complain much about her mother, but we were friends when her dad left. So I wonder if she did things because of her mother. She forgot me; she used me. She talked to me only when she felt like she had to let something out, but she never actually explained anything. Maybe her mom was like that.

I can hear the birds. They're still waiting for me. I hear them moving around out there, trying to get in at me. Pecking. Scratching.