The Neighbor's Secret(32)

“Abe is a great addition.”

“He is?”

“Are you surprised?” Colin’s brow crinkled. He raked his hair behind his ears.

“I’ve never seen him so…” Jen reached for a word that wouldn’t make Abe sound like a total freak. “He’s usually not a fan of big group activities like Fall Fest.”

“Maybe he’s been overwhelmed at other schools? He’s a really good fit with Kingdom. It’s small, which for a kid like Abe can be much easier to navigate.”

“A kid like Abe?”

“Anxious,” Colin said. “Shy. Into his passions. I didn’t mean to assume anything—”

“No, no,” Jen said, “that’s Abe.”

“Creating a five-level video game from scratch is pretty ambitious, but I have every faith he’ll do it.”

“I thought it was supposed to be ten-level.”

Colin grinned. “We’re in negotiations.”

“I bumped into Nan the other day,” Jen said, “and she quoted a psalm that I think was about patience? I worried it meant he wasn’t fitting in.”

Colin bit his lip. “Nan is amazing, but sometimes … I don’t know … the psalms are a little—”

“Vague,” Jen said diplomatically. Inside, she was screaming, Yes, exactly!

“Abe is doing fine. I was like him when I was younger—you know, other kids didn’t know what to do with me—and I would have thrived at a place like Kingdom.”

“Abe might have something called conduct disorder,” Jen said. “We’re still figuring it out.”

“What’s that?”

“He has to work a little harder than others to learn empathy and consequences.”

“Oh.” Colin shrugged. “Doesn’t that describe like half of the people in the world?”

“It might.” Jen smiled.

“I don’t mean to make light. People are complicated, though.” Colin swallowed roughly and forced a smile, but it was wistful. “And folks sure do love their labels.”

“Don’t they just,” Jen said.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN



The weather for Fall Fest was aggressively perfect: sunny with a razor of chill in the air. Annie and the other second-grade parents were clustered in front of the gazebo for the best views of their children, who were being ushered up the steps by their teacher, Mrs. Jalonski.

Hank waved at Annie and she waved back.

“Annie, Hank’s bow tie is adorable.”

“Where did you all find such bright green pants? Seriously, all I could find for Finn was that drab olive, poor guy.”

“Finn looks great,” Annie said with a half glance toward the stage. She scanned the crowd for Laurel and her friends. “All of them do.”

Mrs. Jalonski approached the microphone, tapped it once officiously, and delivered the annual warning about how all applause must wait until after the entire performance.

“I love you, Fall Fest,” a lone voice shrieked from over by the river. “Woo-hoo!”

Light laughter rippled through the crowd. Someone whooped. The two square speakers in the gazebo’s corners crackled and, as if they were zombies controlled by a hive mind, the second-grade parents lifted their phones and pointed their cameras at the stage.

The background music blared through the town square.

Form the corn, form, form the corn.

The moves were pretty simple—jazz hands extended overhead, kick ball change, turn to the side, repeat. Hank was better than a lot of his classmates, Annie noticed with a surprised pride. One of Mike’s sisters had majored in dance in college, and Annie made a mental note to send her the video, ask if Hank was as good as she suspected.

“Dying,” one of the parents said. “I’m dying.”

“‘Form the corn,’ though?” someone whispered. “Are they teaching them science?”

“More to the point: Are our children glorifying GMOs?”

“Shhh.”

Annie snapped a photo and sent it off to Lena and looked around again for Laurel, who really should be here by now.

People applauded as the song ended, then stopped abruptly as they remembered that clapping was forbidden.

An exuberant voice broke through the quiet.

“Live from Fall Fest, the FALL FEST DANCERS. WOO-HOOOOO! WORK IT, Fall Fest dancers! Give us some MORE!”

A murmur surfed through the crowd. Heads craned toward the noise.

“YAAASSS. Shake it, shake it, SHAKE IT, FALL FEST DANCING DANCERS!”

“Yikes,” Finn’s mom said. She arched an eyebrow at Annie, who was too stunned to respond.

She knew that voice.

Laurel was on the bank of the river with one hand cupped around her mouth. In her other hand was her pink water bottle, held overhead like a pom-pom. Behind her, her friends were doubled over in laughter.

The second-grade parents had lifted their cell phones toward the gazebo, where their children were rearranging themselves in a large imperfect circle for the next number.

Annie’s gaze was pinned to whatever the hell was happening on the riverbank.

Sierra was attempting to contain Laurel in a clumsy hug as Laurel wriggled in protest. She broke free, shook her arms overhead in a victorious V, and her T-shirt rode up to expose her belly button.