September 5. Tuesday. 4:10 p.m.

Adam didn't make it to school. Dylan was there, so I sat with him in classes and at lunch. I'm sure it made him uncomfortable, being so shy and all, but he never said anything against it. When I asked if he knew why Adam was absent, he couldn't tell me. Said he had no idea. I figured he'd know, since he's Adam's best friend and they're so close they're practically brothers. But maybe there are some things Adam doesn't even tell Dylan.

   Yesterday's encounter with Tate has been lingering in the back of my mind. I've been on guard all day, but no trouble came. Maybe they just had to test me since yesterday was my official first day.

   I've started the walk home, having no one to join me anyhow, when something inside me says to go through town. I should get home and maybe eat something, but the cry of my gut is stronger than that of my stomach. And yes, they are two completely different things.

   I can't stop thinking about what Adam said yesterday when we were talking in front of my house.

   "As for playing guitar... You doing anything tomorrow?"

  "Not really, no."

   "Cool beans. I've got an idea. Come along with me when school's out and I'll show you something."

   What is it he wanted to show me? Why didn't he come to school when we made plans? Is he sick? Did he oversleep and decide there was no point going to school after that?

   Maybe I should see if he's working. He might've had an early shift or something.

   My first stop is the music store. After inquiring within only to find out he's not there, I consider checking the hollow from which he is known to appear and disappear. If I don't find him there, well... I'm not sure. But I'll come up with something. It just doesn't feel right not seeing him, and I've only known him for about a week. Besides, if I have to be honest, I'm worried about him. He was emotionally disturbed yesterday. I could sense that. And it was as if he wanted to be alone, yet he didn't seem to mind having me around. He did his best to remain civil to people, mostly by avoiding interaction as much as he could. I think Tate's behavior was really what pushed Adam over the edge, though. The way Tate was talking about me made Adam very upset. He told me so countless times yesterday. He also told me countless times that if Tate ever tries anything again, or says anything again, I'm not allowed to keep it secret from him, and is that clear?

   It kind of scared me when he said that because I don't want him to know about what Tate did to me. Adam doesn't I've been bullied in the past. No matter where I've gone, no matter how many schools I've attended, I've always been picked on and pushed around. Not sure if it gave me a thick skin, and I can only recall a handful of times I ever stood up for myself. Anytime I did, things only got worse. So I kind of gave up.

   Well, here's the hollow. I can either stand here and unrealistically wish for him to suddenly materialize, or I can go into the darkness and see what lurks within.

   The drizzle of rain decides to ramp it up, pouring freely. There's no time to think twice about ducking into the hollow of hedges.

   As I walk, I realize I'm descending a hill on a dirt path, and that this is really just a deep valley full of trees and sparse houses. A forest neighborhood of sorts. The rain still gets through the leaves, but it's not as bad down here as it was up on the sidewalk. Still wish I had an umbrella, though. It might be wise to purchase one next time I'm in town. Maybe I can get one tomorrow after school.

   A dark figure is behind me. My pace quickens. I pull my hood up closer around my face. The figure gains on me, then falls into step. It's Dylan.

   "Uh, hi," he says softly.

   "Dylan. Hi." My monotone is irritating even to myself.

   "You live down here too?" He asks.

   Right to the point, eh?

  I glance up at him. Those shy but bright blue eyes, like glass marbles of blue sky on a sunny day. His shorter, fluffier black hair. He still looks a lot like Adam to me. If I didn't know better I swear they could be brothers.

   I can hear him struggling to breathe.

   "No. I don't live down here. I'm looking for Adam. He...he promised to show me something. We made plans yesterday. But then he didn't show up. Does he do that a lot?"

   Dylan shakes his head. "He's loyal. Very loyal. Sticks to his promises even if he probably shouldn't." He looks at me very seriously, and we both stop walking. What he's about to say is clearly very important.

   "I know he asked me not to say anything, and to tell you I didn't know if you asked, but I can't help being honest. He thinks a lot of you, so I trust you with this. I can't expect him to be too upset."

   My eyes widen expectantly.

   Dylan takes a deep, labored breath. "Adam's been going through some...really tough personal stuff the past couple of years. I mean, he's dealt with things his whole life, but recently it's been more difficult. I'll let him explain it all to you in his own time, but if you're wondering why he didn't come to school it's because his caseworker found some very promising leads and he doesn't know how to feel about it all. It could change everything for him. For better or for worse, no one can say for sure."

   "But why does he have a caseworker?"

   "He's fostered. Has been his entire life."

   "But I thought he had a family. He talks about them."

   "That's his foster family. They've raised him, but they've also worked tirelessly to get hold of his actual parents so they can adopt him. But time's running out, especially since he'll be an adult soon."

   I think about this. I think about how Dylan doesn't seem so shy now. Protective of his best friend, more like. And eager for me to be on the same page.

   He thinks a lot of you.

   "I shouldn't have spilled so much. But I had to let you know. Besides, you'd have to know sooner or later."

   "Are you saying I shouldn't look for him?"

   "No, I'm saying we both need to find him. He needs one of us, if not both. He might think he needs to be alone, but he's had all day for that, and he's struggling. He needs company, and he needs music. That's why I'm going. I'll bring you with me. He'll be surprised. Maybe it'll cheer him up."

   It warms my heart hearing Dylan knows exactly how to handle this sort of thing.

   Solemnly, he leads me through the woods. Neither of us say a word. I guess it's because I don't know what to say, and he doesn't appear to talk much. He's always quiet. Also, too many thoughts are filling my head. Worried thoughts, curious thoughts, everything in between. I have to put them aside when we stop in front of a very large residence, much like a log cabin. Rather old, with a deep, low front porch.

  "Big place," I find myself whispering, awed by it.

   He shrugs. "It's got to be. He has a lot of siblings."

   "Lot of sisters, I know. He told me that. Are they all fostered too?"

   He shakes his head. "Nope, just him."

   "But why?"

   He sighs. "You'll find out. But I'm not going to be the one to tell you. That's his job."

   We stand silently, staring at the house, and I feel something inside me that pulls.

   I turn to Dylan. "He's not in there, you know."

   The boy frowns and looks at me as if I'm crazy.

   Then he steps onto the porch and knocks on the door anyway. I hang back in the rain and shadows, getting soaked and knowing my gut is right.

   A tall woman answers, a pleasant smile on her youthful face. She looks to be in her late thirties to early forties, though very fit and still lovely. The long, wavy hair cascading over her shoulders and onto her white jacket is the rich color of dark roast coffee.

   "Hello, Dylan," she greets kindly.

   "Hi. Um, is Adam home?"

   Her brow crinkles worriedly. "No... I thought he'd be with you."

   "Does he work today?"

   "Not that I recall." She bites her lip.

   Dylan turns slightly, obviously intending to go. But she stops him. "Oh, come inside. It's been awhile, and you're soaked. Adam'll turn up. This isn't the first time he's disappeared."

   I'm shocked to hear those words in that tone from such a sweet lady. In a way, her tone reminds me of Adam's. Such apathy. Doesn't she know how troubled Adam clearly is? I could sense that the minute I met him. Maybe that's why he and I seem to be so close when we haven't known each other that long. I feel like I've known him forever.

   Maybe she knows but doesn't know what else to do. I couldn't blame her for that. But there's got to be a way to help him feel better.

   The lady steps back, allowing Dylan to enter the house. Hood covering my face, I remain where I am, feeling like a creeper, sopping wet and unsure whether to follow him or just go seek out Adam on my own.

   Consideration for others must be a policy where those boys are concerned, as Dylan has not forgotten me and turns in my direction. "You coming?"

   I shrug, half wanting to and half not.

   The lady smiles. "Come on inside, sweetheart. You'll get sick if you stay out there too long."

   She's right, especially since I've lived most of my life indoors, thus hardly being inconvenienced by all this incessant rain. I step onto the porch and walk into the warm foyer, daring to peel my soaked hood back from my head.

   Dylan has removed his shoes and jacket, and set his backpack aside. The lady has handed him a towel to dry off with. I just stand here, trying not to stare at everything in sight, dripping puddles on the tile floor.

   "So you must be Amber." The lady smiles, draping a large, fluffy white towel over my shoulders. My eyes grow wider. She knows who I am.

   "Uh, yeah. At least I think that's who I am."

   She laughs lightly at my response, and while normally I'd be offended, I decide that I like her. She's energetic and sweet.

   "It's a pleasure to meet you, hon. I'm Mrs. Hunter. Adam's mom."

   You mean foster mom, lady.

   "Now, once you two are dry enough I'll have you come sit by the fire and get you something hot to drink."

   A good cup of tea sounds delightful. I shiver in my wet clothes, knowing I'll need more than one towel before I'm dry enough to move.

   As if reading my thoughts, Adam's mom hands me another towel in exchange for the one I had before, which is now soaked. This time I rub myself as vigorously as possible, and through the corner of my eye I can see Dylan smirking at me. He gets up and walks quickly out of the foyer, into the very large living room. The ceiling in the living room is very high and airy. I love the open rafters. Makes me feel like a free bird.

   Adam's mom smiles at me, patiently waiting for me to finish. I hand her the towel and follow her into the living room to stand next to Dylan in front of the huge fireplace. The heat is intense and wicks away the wetness of my clothes. At first it just warms them and my discomfort increases, but as I begin to figure out that turning slightly helps all sides toast evenly, I dry quickly.

   "How does hot cocoa sound?" Adam's mom asks sweetly. "Or do you prefer coffee?"

   "Tea, actually. Black tea with spearmint." I'm amazed that I don't feel shy around her. Most new people terrify me, especially parents. I guess that's because I've had too much experience with judgemental parents.

   "And you, Dylan?"

   "Coffee sounds great."

   "Coming right up. You two just keep right on warming yourselves." She departs to the kitchen and I just keep staring at everything. It's so cozy. Everything looks like a resort, not a home. So clean and yet so welcoming and imperfect.

   It's not long before she brings in a tray containing two steaming mugs, a sugar bowl, a small pitcher of cream, and a plate of biscuits. I know most people refer to them as cookies, and I'm not British, but I'm fond of calling them biscuits. Particularly when I enjoy them with my tea.

   "Thank you," I almost whisper, lifting my tea mug. Dylan nods, excited to have coffee.

   Adam's mom is pleased. "You're most welcome, you two."

   Dylan looks up after taking a draught from his mug. "When we're finished here, we'll have to be going. Need to find Adam."

   "I wish you wouldn't. You're finally dry and warm. Adam will return when he feels like it. He always does," she protests. Part of me agrees with her. This feels good, so much better than that awful wetness outside. But I also know we do need to find Adam. I know he won't come home unless we go looking for him and convince him to return. I don't know how I know. I just do.

   I stir some sugar into my tea and take a careful sip so I don't burn my mouth. Mmm. Just the thing to take the chill away.

   Dylan's next words shock me, as they express the very feeling that my gut has been harboring.

   "Not this time, he won't. He isn't going to return because he doesn't feel like it. He'll catch pneumonia, and he won't even care. We need to go look for him."

   "Borrow his slicker, then. He left it hanging up. Amber should stay here where she'll be safe from the cold."

   Dylan shakes his head firmly. "I need her to come along. Just in case."

   "She's such a little thing, Dylan. I don't want her to get sick."

   I down my tea and jump to my feet, eager to reassure her. "I'll be alright. Honest. If I do get sick, I won't blame you, and you can tell me you told me so." I smile at her.

   She sighs. "Alright. But you'll take my slicker, alright?"

   "Yes ma'am."

   "And Dylan, bring Carl's raincoat for Adam to wear when you do find him. At least it'll keep him from getting any wetter."

   "Sure thing, Tris. C'mon Shortie, let's get going." He swiftly shoves the slicker on, hands one to me, grabs another for Adam, and takes an umbrella. Opening the door, he nods for me to exit first. I duck through, zipping the large slicker to my chin and pulling the hood over my head. The sleeves are so long they cover my hands, and I'm worried the hem of the main part of the slicker will get all muddy. I'm worried I'll step on it. I'm just too small. Or the slicker is too big.

   Likely, a combination of the two.

   Dylan is trying not to laugh at me struggling in the oversized slicker. I didn't expect him to be so easily amused, but then again, he is a lot like Adam. Doesn't take much to make Adam laugh.

   Hey, maybe this will make him laugh when we find him. Maybe it will help him forget what's bothering him. I know things like what he's going through are not easily forgotten, but one can hope.

   I, too, am quite skilled at being amused if it's necessary-anything to hide the pain.

   "She should've given you one of the girls' slickers," Dylan comments.

   I flap my arms, the rain making loud pelting noises on the waterproof material. "I don't think many things in this world were designed to accommodate my size."

   He smirks, and it reminds me of Adam and how much he needs us right now.

   "Did Adam tell you where he is?"

   "No."

   "Does he have a favorite place to go when he's struggling?" I know he must; anybody who suffers has a place. One of my places is the garden behind my house. The garden Mama planted.

   Dylan's eyebrows raise, again surprised at me. "Yeah, he's got a couple."

   "Thought so. I do too."

   He just blinks.

   "So, where should we start looking?"

   "Uhhh...maybe the depot. It's not used anymore and nobody's brave enough to go there, so we basically own the place. That's where we do our concerts. He likes it there."

   How intriguing. I nod to him. "Lead the way."

   Through the rain and slick sediment, he guides me along a very narrow path into a ravine. And in this ravine is a small, decrepit village, completely abandoned and lifeless. It's kind of spooky. Small buildings of gray brick, overgrown with ivy and other various trailing plants. Moss, mold, ashes. A few skeletons-framework, not human bones-where buildings burned but once stood. A few snakes slithering here and there, maybe a salamander or two skittering about. Apart from these and the plants, there is no life to the place.
   A pleasant shiver racks my spine, throwing it into a frenzy of needle-like pains, reminding me of yesterday, and today without Adam.

   "You said this is his favorite place? It's so gloomy."

   Dylan shrugs. "He finds pleasure in that sort of stuff. Can't say I blame him. Lot of poetic qualities and potential to a place like this."

   I take a sweeping glance of it all, and as a musician and poet myself, I have to nod my agreement. I can definitely see Adam deriving inspiration from these surroundings. It's the perfect place to be alone with your misery.

   "Where does he tend to hang out when he's here?"

   "The station. It's kind of our sanctuary of creativity, and our stage. It was the best fit for our needs. He found this place when we were little. Never really told anyone about it till we started performing. But even then, it's just a small group that knows. And I mean small." He steps up onto a heap of scattered, moss-laden brick fragments, umbrella in one hand, beckoning me to follow with the other. I scramble clumsily after him, mouth open and dripping from the rain on my face as I fight with the oversized slicker's slippery hood, my head flooding with questions as though each raindrop has penetrated my skull, infusing my mind with curiosities and wonderings. Dylan shakes his head in amusement as I cautiously tread behind him, attempting to scale the slippery piles of clay and concrete. But my slicker's too big and keeps getting in the way, and the hood is either covering my head completely or not at all. The sleeves are too long and flap everywhere. I know I probably look hilarious, but I can't help feeling humiliated. Is it not enough that the rest of the world sees my life as a joke? I don't need a new friend to behave that way, too.

   Maybe he's using me as a distraction from the thoughts in his own mind. Goodness knows I've done it often enough myself. He's worried about Adam. Really worried. Perhaps my embarrassing slicker plight is just a way for him to not think too much about it.

   Still, that doesn't make me feel any better.

   "Hey, can you...not laugh, please? I'm trying to stay balanced."

   "Sorry. I just... I...." He puts his fingertips to his temples. "I need some comic relief."

   I was right about him. Wow.

   "It's alright." I flip the hood back so he can see me smiling. "I just need to concentrate. I don't want to fall."

   "You can do it," he encourages quietly. I love how his voice is always so quiet. There are times I'm not sure if I'm hearing him correctly because he's almost mumbling, but that just means I need to tune in more and be a better listener. It's hard because I've spent my whole life doing the exact opposite: tuning out people's words so I don't get hurt. Dylan's words don't hurt. He doesn't talk a lot, but when he does, there's a special gentleness in the way he speaks to me. Like he's being careful, stepping onto new territory, unsure where his boundaries are, testing the waters, getting comfortable. Learning how to behave. Figuring out what subjects are okay and not okay.

   Is he checking me out?

   Better not be. Lord knows Daddy would have a fit if he found out I started dating some emo kid while he was gone. Not that I'd date Dylan anyhow.

   "We're getting close now. Not so dangerous." Dylan glances at me the way my brother used to when he was worried about me, and my cheeks burn hot with shame from the thoughts that just cycled through my head. What can I say? I can't help having thoughts like that. They come and go, they probably don't mean anything. Nothing means anything. I've just always lived with my guard up. I let it down once. Never again.

   He's right; the way has become less dangerous. My feet have found some grip now on the soil and grass. Dylan runs ahead a bit, waits till I catch up, then points to the station. A dark figure is sitting by a high wall stained with generations of graffiti. Soggy wooden crates and cardboard boxes litter the stage-like platform near the wall. Rain drips on everything. Wind starts to pick up. Dylan doesn't move, nor do I.

   "We found him," I whisper. "Now what?"

   Dylan bites his lip, won't look at me as he proffers the umbrella and extra slicker. I take a deep breath and grab them before stalking over there and draping it over the lonely boy. He glances up when the slicker falls upon him, and I see such sadness in his big, wonderful eyes. Such anger, too. And confusion.

   "Can I sit with you?"

   He just gazes at me with those sad eyes, eventually nodding. I sit close to his left and make a face as water from the platform seeps through my pants. We are both silent. Through the corner of my eye, I see Dylan quietly walk away.

   So he's just going to leave me here with Adam? What if something happens that I don't how to deal with? He's known Adam longer than I have. He knows his struggles. Oh, wait...

    "Adam's been going through some...really tough personal stuff the past couple of years. I'll let him explain it all to you in his own time. It could change everything for him. For better or for worse, no one can say for sure."

   Perhaps this is Dylan's subtle way of letting Adam explain things to me. I love how he wants me to know what's going on. He wants me to be aware, to share in their lives, so they in turn can share in mine. Although, I'm not sure mine's worth sharing in, honestly. But what do I know?

   Setting the umbrella aside, I take a deep breath and try to calm the questions pounding in my head.

   "So...what did you wanna show me? We made plans yesterday, remember?"

   He stares at his feet, black canvas high tops soaked completely through. Clears his throat. "Yeah, I remember."

   "So what was it?"

   He shrugs. "Doesn't matter."

   "Adam, come on. If you don't remember, just be honest. If you do, why aren't you telling me?"

   When he frowns, he looks so hurt and broken that I instantly feel horrible. This probably wasn't the best way to start a conversation, but I had no other grounds to stand on. And I wasn't about to talk about the rain. I wouldn't be caught dead doing that, not to him. Not when he's suffering.

   "Forget it." He flops onto his side, curling into a ball and pulling the slicker around him. He starts shaking violently, and I hear him sob. "Why can't they just leave it alone? What does it matter? I don't need to know who they are. Why can't they leave me the hell alone?!"

   Something inside me breaks and I want to take a warm blanket, wrap Adam into a tiny burrito and hold him inside of me. I want to keep him safe from everything that's hurting him. I want to see him happy and energetic. I want to see the boy who so enthusiastically embraced being my buddy and tour guide.

   "Sometimes life is really cool. Sometimes everything is in perfect harmony. Then someone doesn't tune up and their notes are flat. They break a string. Forget their measures. Lose tempo. Or someone's just plain tone-deaf. The conductor doesn't have rhythm. And then the symphony falls apart." Somehow he manages to kick a chunk of brick across the stage and into the wall. "I wanna die. I just wanna freaking die."

   I'm not sure what's come over me, apart from this overwhelming surge of sympathy. I touch his back reassuringly, scared at first that he'll recoil. But he doesn't. He lets me touch him. Calms a little, even. I manage to get my hands under his shoulder that's planted against the cold, wet, rocky ground, and I heave him up and envelope him in my floppy slicker sleeves. He buries his face in my shoulder, shaking as he practically crushes my body in his arms. Like myself, he's thin to the point of almost being ungainly, so it comes as a surprise that he has such strength. Then again, dynamite does come in small packages. That's what my brother Ian always used to say.

   "I want to die. I want to die," he sobs over and over.

   "Ssh, it's alright, it's alright," I soothe, gently rubbing his back as best I can while those ridiculous sleeves inconvenience my hands.

   After awhile of going between his death wish and my calm response, he inhales deeply and rests his chin on my shoulder.

   "How'd you find me?"

   "Dylan told me you might be here. He was looking for you too. He's worried."

   Adam's head pops up, big sleepless eyes taking in the gloomy, wet landscape. "Dylan... Is he here?"

   "No. He went home."

   "Home? He came with you?"

   "Found me, really. Took me to your house. I met your mom."

   "You met my foster mom." At the word "mom" his eyes cloud with anger, but he does his best to suppress whatever storm is brewing within.

   I ignore this. "And then he left me here. Wanted us to be alone, I guess. I dunno."

   Adam shakes his head, smiling a little. "What a man, Dyl. Well. Maybe we should head back so he knows we're okay."

   I meet his gaze. "Really? We're okay? You're okay?"

   He nods, swallowing hard. "For now." He hugs me again and buries his face back in my shoulder. "Thanks for coming out here. I needed you today."

   "Wanna talk about it?"

   "He told you why I was out here, didn't he?"

    "Yeah."

    "Then you know."

   I shrug. "Some. I'd rather hear it from you."

   He takes a deep breath, like he's trying to remain calm. "I'm not ready to talk about it. He should've known that. He thinks I wait too long."

   How many times has Adam had to tell people?

   "Are you mad that he told?"

   "No. Annoyed."

   "Was I not supposed to know?"

   "I was gonna tell you on Monday. Remember? I said we'd play hooky. I was gonna bring you here. Dylan beat me to it. I'm not ready."

   "Why not?"

   He lifts his head, looks me directly in the eyes. "I need to know that I can trust you."

   Trust is something that must be proven, not spoken. I know this. So I'm not going to tell him he can trust me. I would never betray him, but he doesn't know that. I need to show him that he can confide in me. I need to show him that I will always be there.

   My only response to his words is a small nod. He ducks, resting his forehead against my shoulder, exhausted. I pat his back gently, wishing I could put him in my pocket and carry him home with me. Then he wouldn't have to go home to a big noisy  foster family with "parents" who prod a painful wound by insisting on finding out who his real parents are. And he could meet my cat.