What I did the next morning was try to sneak out of the house. I got up around six, which wasn't hard because I couldn't sleep anyway. So I dressed and got to the bottom of the stairs when I realized my mom was already up and in the kitchen. She heard me on the steps and caught me just as I was trying to leave.

"Where are you going so early?" she asked me.

I spun around and stared at her. She was in a housecoat and held a mug of coffee like she was trying to warm up her hands. There was no reason to lie to her. I'd just hoped to get out of the house without having to talk about Adam. "Outside," I admitted.

"To look for Adam?"

"Yeah, so what if I am?"

Normally, my mom would've been mad if I talked to her that rudely. But I think she knew what kinds of things I was feeling, so she didn't get angry. "I was just watching the news," she said to me, pointing back toward the kitchen where we had a little black-and-white TV set on the counter.

I saw her meaning in her face. "They still haven't found him?"

"No." She shook her head.

I was actually kind of surprised that she'd be up and watching news about Adam. She couldn't possibly have been up all night worrying like I'd been. He wasn't her friend. I didn't know what to say to her.

"This is the third day, now, that he's been gone," she added.

There was something on her face. I guessed it was nervousness, but I didn't like seeing it. My parents were supposed to be solid; they weren't supposed to get afraid about things. Her face shook me up. I knew I had to leave. I just turned and went back to the door. "Well they haven't found a body, so that means he's still alive." My hand was on the doorknob and I was pulling the door open when my mom called to me.

"Cole!"

I paused, but I didn't turn to look at her. "What?"

"Come home for lunch, will you?"

Shrugging, I answered, "Whatever," and left the house. Mom knew she couldn't have kept me from going even if she'd wanted to.

I looked everywhere that I could think of. I checked all the places we went. The gas station, the school, the tree in the field, the creek, the routes we walked, the pool hall we weren't allowed inside of. The only place I didn't go was the trailer park, but that was because I knew even Adam wouldn't have been crazy enough to go up there. The closest I got was Pug Hill. I kind of looked over toward the trailers, but nothing seemed to be happening. I didn't find any trace of Adam anywhere. There were no cops, either. I guessed they were taking a break until the sun was up higher and they could see better.

The whole morning was about biking around, looking for Adam. It seemed like all of Goldenrock was asleep, though, because hardly any people were out. Maybe that was my imagination, but it sure felt empty around town.

About twelve-thirty, I went home for lunch, because I knew my mom would want me to. I hadn't had breakfast and my stomach wasn't hurting at all anymore, so I figured I could handle something to eat. When I got home, I found Corey at the table eating a sandwich. He looked up at me when I came into the kitchen, and then he cried, "Mom! Cole's home!"

Then in came my mom, looking kind of sparkle-eyed to see me. "Great! Cole, honey, sit down. I'm going to make you some soup. That won't be too hard on your stomach."

"I feel fine."

"Well, even if you do, your stomach could still revolt against something too solid. Go on then, have a seat with your brother. It'll only take a minute."

She was acting weird. She hardly ever made my lunch anymore, unless it was during the school year. I sat down anyway, though. Soup didn't sound half bad. The only thing I didn't want to talk about was Adam, and I think both my mom and Corey got that message right away. Neither one of them mentioned him. "Where's Dad?" I asked.

Corey dropped the scrap of sandwich crust in his hand. "Duh, Cole. He's at work. It's Thursday."

"Oh yeah."

Corey started talking to our mom about stupid stuff, like football and Scuzz and his own little friends. I just sat and let my mind wander until my soup was ready. Then I slurped it up and let my mind keep on wandering.

"I almost forgot to tell you," said my mom, sitting down next to me and breaking my concentration. "Your friend called." Real quick, she added, "Dylan. Your friend Dylan," like I would've thought she meant Adam. "He said he wanted to talk to you."

I nodded my head. When I was done with my soup, I tried to call Dylan, but his line was busy. I got impatient waiting for it to be free, so I told my mom I was going to his house and left again. It was a good thing I did, too. Staying in one place for too long made me start getting nervous. It was a hot day, and I thought my brain was going to melt by the time I reached Dylan's house. I still felt kind of nervous going to his front door and ringing the bell. I mean, I'd been in his house about three times, but his grandma was weird, and I was kind of unsure whether she even really knew who I was. Like Dylan said, sometimes she remembered things, sometimes she didn't, and sometimes her memories' wires got crossed and she might think I was some kid she went to school with or some rotten prankster or who knows what.

Luckily, Dylan himself answered the door. When he saw me, he looked relieved, and he told me to get myself inside. "I've got to talk to you about something," he said to me. He looked serious, too, which made me wonder a whole lot. "Come on upstairs to my room."

"I tried to call you, but your line was busy," I said.

"That's because Mop's been on the phone since about ten. She's not even talking to anyone. She's making it up. I picked up the phone upstairs and nobody was on the line but her."

I raised my eyebrows. "That's kind of weird."

"Yeah, but it keeps her happy," he said with a shrug.

We passed the living room on our way to his room, and there was his grandmother with the phone receiver at her ear, talking away like she was on the line with an old friend. She smiled and waved when she saw me. I waved back, but I would've bet money that she had no idea who I was. At least she wasn't in a bad mood, I thought.

When we got to Dylan's room, he closed the door. I'd only been in it once, and it was a weird place. Not weird like there were strange things in it, but weird because it didn't look anything like I'd expected his room to be. From the way Dylan was, I thought his room would be a mess. I thought I'd see clothes all over and pizza crusts under his bed and ripped up dolls in the corners. Anyway, his room was so neat and organized that I thought my eyes would pop out the first time I saw it. And there were things in it like a telescope and advanced math books and posters of Einstein. It was just totally unlike what I thought it'd be. He didn't act like a brain at school, that was for sure.

"Ok. Sit down," he said, pointing to his desk chair.

I sat down. He looked kind of nervous, and that made me nervous. "What is it? You're being weird."

"Gee, thanks," he sarcastically replied. Then he plopped down on his bed and started batting on the mattress like he was trying to think of what to say. "I wanted to just tell you this because of Adam and everything. I probably should've said it a while ago, but it's like, I started feeling bad about it and all and . . . well, now that he's missing, I just feel like I need to say it."

I half stood up from my chair. "Do you know where he is?"

"No!" he said fast, waving at me to sit back down. "No. Don't get all excited or anything. I have no idea where he is. I just know he's your friend and all." He hesitated for a minute, looking at me with narrowed eyes as if he was reconsidering telling me whatever he had to tell. "It's the reason I was always so mean to you."

I frowned. "There was a reason you were a jerk? I just thought it was because you didn't like me."

"I didn't even know you."

"Yeah, but most people who are mean don't need a reason to be."

"Well I had one."

My shoulders sagged as I thought about that. What possible reason could he have had for always picking on me? Of course, now that I'd seen how normal he was, I kind of did begin to wonder how he could make himself into such an idiot at school. "What did I ever do to you?" I asked him.

Dylan folded his hands together and looked at the floor. He was so short his feet didn't touch the carpet as he sat on his bed. "It wasn't you. It was Adam. I hated Adam."

That sunk in. It took a minute. Dylan gave me time to think about it and waited for me to respond. "You hated Adam?" I repeated. "Why didn't you pick on him, then? That would make more sense."

"Because . . . well, I just couldn't. You're different. I couldn't be mean to him because he probably wouldn't notice. Or he'd just be a jerk back to me."

"Wait. I know what you're saying. You couldn't be rude to him because he's not a wuss like I am, right? That's what you mean. Adam isn't afraid of you and he probably never could be. Adam was too hard for you to be a jerk to, so you decided to take on his chicken friend, didn't you?" I could feel heat rising up from my chest into my neck and cheeks. Dylan, still staring at the floor, nodded. He was frowning half-stubbornly, half-sadly. I wasn't done talking, yet. My voice lowered as I said, "So you were really the wuss, huh? You were too scared to get on Adam's nerves, so you decided to go for me, who you knew wouldn't be a challenge. But now that I showed you I wasn't scared of you, you stopped. That's the only reason you stopped, because I was mean back to you. Thanks, Dylan. That makes me feel so great, knowing that you were such a jerk to me just because you knew you could be."

"It wasn't for that reason," he said, lifting his head back up and staring at me. He was kind of angry-looking now. "I told you: It was because I hated Adam."

I'd forgotten he'd said that. The heat in me came to a standstill as I thought. "Why?" I asked, totally subdued all of a sudden.

Dylan shrugged again. A guilty expression shaped on his face. "I don't really hate him anymore. I did up until recently, when you and I started to hang out. I don't care about it now."

"Yeah, fine, but why did you hate him to begin with? I mean, you have to have hated him for a really long time."

"I did. Because I've known for a really long time that his dad was the one that killed my parents."

I was totally stunned. Entirely shocked. The words were knocked right out of me. I couldn't even ask Dylan what he was talking about. Had he just said Adam's dad killed his parents? I wasn't understanding that. The words had gone past my ears too fast. They were getting mixed up in my head. I just sat there with my mouth half-open and my eyebrows lowered and eyeballs staring off into some space they couldn't quite focus on.

Dylan started talking again, and I was glad he did. I wanted a better explanation but I wasn't able to ask for it. "Hardly anybody knows that, because it was all hushed up. But my grandmother told me about the accident that my parents got killed in. She told me when I was in second grade. She told me all about my parents going out for dinner and then them driving home late. Some guy fell asleep at the wheel. He ran a red light. Smashed into my parents' car. Killed them both. My mom, instantly. My dad died in the hospital. The guy was going too fast. It was around midnight. Two people in my parents' car, two people in the guy's car. That guy was Adam's dad. He was the driver."

I found my voice, but it still sort of choked a little when I said, "Wait a second. Two people in Adam's dad's car. You told me when we were at Sloppy Soldiers that the driver's friend was—"

"Killed too. Yep. Adam's dad lived, but his friend on the passenger side didn't. He died too. At the scene. My grandma was there when he died. She was the only one. She got there real quick, and she actually saw his dad. He wasn't out of it enough to not know what was going on. She said he was crying like a little kid."

"Stop," I ordered him. It was all too weird. I couldn't think of anything but how I hadn't ever known any of it. How Adam hadn't ever been aware of it. "Not even Adam knows that. And it was his own dad."

"I know. But . . . all I could think about after I found out was that . . . Adam still had both his parents but I didn't have either of mine, and it was all his dad's fault. He was living happily and I had nobody. So if you . . . that's why I always hated him. That's why I couldn't pick on him. Not just because I knew it wouldn't bother him, but also because I . . . I hated him too much. Too much to go near him. To talk to him. To touch him. I couldn't get to him because I couldn't let myself. But I knew I could get to you, and you were his friend, so I guess I figured if I could get to you, it would get to him in some small way. That sounds stupid, I know, but for some reason, that's how I saw it."

Suddenly almost everything in me was feeling really sorry for Dylan. I could understand. I could see what had happened to him. Some piece of me was still mad, but not even really toward him. Toward something else. Some unfairness that only he'd been able to see for the past several years, him living alone with his nutty grandma. My bones seemed to weigh a hundred times more. I felt like a lump of coal sitting there at Dylan's desk. "It doesn't sound stupid at all," I said so softly that I wasn't sure he heard until he turned to face me again. I kept my own eyes on my knees. Rubbing at my nose, I added, "It all makes a lot of sense, actually. But do you want to know something? You were wrong about Adam. He wasn't living happily. Even if his dad didn't die, he might as well have. His dad's been gone for so long that Adam can hardly remember his face."

Dylan scratched his forehead. "I know. I know he left and all. And now Adam's missing. That's why I wanted to tell you . . . because he's your friend."

I nodded. That was it. Neither of us had anything else to say, really, and I had a lot of new information to think about. I got up to go. Dylan stayed where he was. Then one last thing popped into my mind. "The name of the guy with Adam's dad that night . . . was his name Ted Barnes?"

Dylan looked at me, surprised. "Yeah. It was."

I could tell he wanted to know how I guessed that, but I didn't want to talk about it anymore. Leaving the room, I said back over my shoulder, "I'll talk to you later, when this is all figured out," just because I wanted him to know I didn't hate him.