"When do classes start?" El asked, glancing at Mike. He kept his eyes fixated on the ground, hands buried in the pockets. His toe dislodged a pebble, and El watched it roll, clanging as it struck the metal side of the train tracks. They'd made it a habit—walking down the tracks, like this, when neither he nor El were busy. Which was almost never, it seemed, with both of them tied up with jobs or schoolwork. In Mike's case, a part-time gig at the Radioshack and more than a few advanced science classes. When El wasn't busy fighting her way through piles of homework assignments, she was at the police station, answering phone calls and organizing case files. Luckily, summer allowed them to spend more time together, and El and Mike weren't keen to pass up the opportunity. They stole minutes, sneaking off to his basement, or to catch a movie, or to walk the tracks. Summer had been kind to them, but all good things come to end. And nothing gold can stay, El thought, as she watched Mike, cascade of dark curls falling over his forehead, constellations of freckles dusting his nose and cheeks, dark irises cast away from her, so dark they were almost black.

It was early August. They'd graduated from high school the previous June, and the clock kept ticking. Ticking away the days, the hours, the minutes . . . And El mentally kicked herself for neglecting to spend more time together. She'd never taken him for granted, almost sure she'd wake up back in that lab, skeleton-arms wrapped around that patchy stuffed tiger, under those artificial lights. Sure she'd wake up in some alternate timeline, one where she hadn't escaped. One where a freckle-faced dork hadn't pulled her out of the rain and gave her a home and a name and eggos. But she had her obligations, and he had his, and now he was slipping through her fingers.

The past six months weren't without fits and jumpstarts. College was always a topic they danced around, knowing what it meant. Knowing it meant they'd have to be apart, after almost six years attached at the hip. But they couldn't ignore it forever, and so all the ugliness they kept inside came bubbling to the surface, until they were screaming at each other from opposite sides of the room. And El tried to figure out how that could be. They were fighting because they loved each other, not the other way around.

El wasn't quite ready for college. She'd barely scraped by with passing grades in high school, not because she wasn't smart, but because she had the disadvantage of being raised as a lab rat instead of a person. She'd missed out on almost eight years of public education, not to mention deprived of all the social intricacies that came with simply interacting with another human being on a daily basis. Because they couldn't even give her that. She'd spent days upon days locked in that cell, her only meals shoved through a slot in the wall, her only companion a stuffed animal.

Mike had offered to stay. The day he got his acceptance letter, he called her at the station, telling her he'd take classes at the community college, so they could spend more time together . . She'd cut him off, unable to keep the tears from bleeding through the phone. Refusing to be anyone's burden, even his. Refusing to deny him a chance at a future, at a career, at life. He'd given her nothing less, and she intended to return the favor. He'd begun to cry, as well. She could hear it through the static and the void between them. She'd hung up when she could no longer speak for the sobs that wracked her body, and Flo let her go home early, but not without a plate full of homemade cookies.

They talked about it, later. They got burgers at the drive-through and headed up to the junkyard. They ate in silence, and Mike teased her about dipping french fries in her milkshake, a habit she'd picked up from Hopper. But the humor fell flat. It all felt wrong. Cardboard. And there was this wall between them she couldn't get through. Mike had always been the conversationalist. She wasn't good with words, and so he filled in the blanks, for her. He must've seen it in her face, knew they couldn't avoid the conversation forever. Not after their breakdown over the phone. So he brought it up, and they began to argue, and then Mike leaned forward and kissed her, so deeply it made her mind go impossibly blank. And it felt so good and familiar and yet ethereal, almost like time and space and some higher power had aligned to bring them to this moment, together. She gave in, kissing him back, which was better than arguing. And then they had sex in his car, which was way better.

"The twenty-eighth." Mike said, derailing her train of thought. "But I leave next Sunday, to unpack and settle in." El's breath caught in her throat. Ten days. That gave them ten days together. Now it was her turn to avert her eyes, swallowing panic. She sensed his gaze flick over her face, testing her emotional waters for any disturbance. She did her best to keep the surface calm. She couldn't let him know how much this was killing her. If he knew, he'd never leave. And she'd never forgive herself. That was just the way he was. Selfless, loyal to a fault. The same qualities that led him to jump off a literal cliff for his friend. El refrained from rolling her eyes at the memory. He was such an idiot, sometimes. If she hadn't been there . . . Her stomach turned at the thought. They would've had to pull his broken body out of the quarry. That would've been the end of Mike Wheeler.

"That gives us ten days." She said, after a while, trying to sound positive. Mike nodded, weakly. They lapsed into tense silence, again, and El bit her lip, despairing. Was it always going to be this way? Each one missing the other, and, when they did get to spend some time together, both of them dreading the moment they'd have to let go. She hoped not.

El fished in her pocket for a cigarette and placed it between her lips. She stole them from Hop, occasionally. She lit it and inhaled. Mike cocked an eyebrow. She shrugged and took another drag, watching the smoke curl from the end and dissipate in the warm, August air. She offered it to Mike, who eyed it with some hesitation before giving in, raising it to his lips, looking every bit a kid playing at being older. He exhaled and coughed, eyes beginning to water. El laughed.

"Amateur."

"Those things'll kill you." He coughed, handing it back. El didn't respond. She dropped the cigarette into the dirt and crushed it under the toe of her Chuck Taylor. Mike offered his hand and El took it, her small, slender fingers immediately enveloped in warmth. He lifted their entwined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss on each one of her knuckles. Some of the tension, the dread, drained from her body, then, leaving an empty, fuzzy lightness behind. She sighed, leaning into his chest. She tipped her chin back, gazing into his face, letting her fingertips wander. She traced his brow, the bridge of his nose, ran her thumb over his bottom lip. His eyes swallowed her, brewing with a distant storm. The light in them had dimmed, somewhat, and she knew his thoughts dwelled elsewhere. El felt that familiar, heavy dread settle back into the pit of her stomach.

"What?" She asked. Mike blinked, surprised.

"What?"

"Tell me what you're thinking, right now." She said.

Mike shrugged.

"You're beautiful."

She could almost ignore it. She could almost go about her business with the inevitability of his leaving stuffed in some dusty closet in her mind. She could almost accept it. If he was happy, that's all that mattered. They'd figure it out, like they always did. Until she began to see his cracks beginning to widen. Until she realized just how much he was trying to hold it all together. Until he began to lie to her.

"Mike." She said, quietly. "Friends don't lie."

Mike looked at her like she'd begun to speak in tongues.

"I'm not lying, El."

She looked at him, helpless. Every instinct urged her to probe him, to widen those cracks a little more, to let it all spill out, so she could begin to pick up the pieces and glue him back together. He'd always been her pillar of strength. Her light in the darkness, after so many years of dark closets and cold shoulders and sandpaper hands. She would defend that light until her dying breath.

She would die for him.

She thought it as she looked at him, this boy, who'd been nothing less than her home, in every sense of the word. When he brought her to the cabin in the woods, he told her it was home. But that didn't feel like home, at all. It was a prison dressed up like a home. It still felt cold and small and unforgiving. She'd looked up the dictionary definition and tried to reconcile it with that little shack he'd built for them, but it just didn't add up. It took her a couple years to find a true definition for the word. It took her awhile to realize she'd found a home long before Hopper found her out in the snow, that night. And she'd found it in Mike. In his scent, in the way his eyes lit up and his eyebrows disappeared under his unruly mop of dark curls when he talked about his plans for D&D campaigns. She'd found it in his basement, underneath a canopy of blankets, the first place she'd ever felt safe. She'd found it in his voice, in his definition of friend and promise, in his hands and his lips and the dusting of freckles on his cheeks.

She would die for him.

She averted her eyes, glancing at the blended shades of gold and green in the leaves above them as the midday sunlight filtered through the trees. She opened her mouth, closed it again, picking at a loose thread in the hem of her t-shirt. Why ruin a happy moment? One of the few they'd share, over the next ten days. Too few, but there was no point in licking old wounds. She looked at him.

"C'mon, let's go back to your place." She said, changing the subject. He took her hand, once again, and they continued on, following the curve of the tracks.

She returned home late, that night. Hop was asleep on the couch. She could hear him snoring. She tiptoed past him and went into the kitchen, rolling her eyes. She grabbed a snack from the kitchen and snuck up the stairs, to her room. It was hot and stuffy in there, so she opened the window, letting in a rush of lukewarm air. She settled herself on the bed and unwrapped her energy bar, memories tugging her thoughts astray.

"I've got a surprise."

Hopper turned the key, shutting off the Blazer's engine. It flickered and died. The chattering of crickets and night creatures, restless in the warm air, rushed to fill the silence.

"Close your eyes." Hopper said. El craned her neck, peering out of the car window. She didn't recognize the street. She looked at him.

"What are we doing here?"

"Just close your eyes, El." Hopper said.

"Dad . . ." El said, exasperated. She'd perfected the infamous Mike Wheeler Eye-Roll. Nonetheless, she closed her eyes, sighing in annoyance.

"It's worth it, I promise." Hopper said, shutting off the headlights. He jogged over to the passenger side, helping El out of her seat. He led her up the walk, down a block and around the corner. For a while, their breathing and the crickets' song were the only sounds. El tugged on his sleeve.

"This is stupid." She said, bluntly. "I don't even know what you're . . ." She trailed off, as Hopper's footsteps on the crumbling asphalt came to a halt.

"You can open your eyes." He said, and El didn't miss the note of excitement in his voice. Her belly swooped, low. She peered through the cracks in her fingers. For a moment, she didn't get it.

"It's just . . . a house." She said, blankly, lowering her hands. She peered at the front, the wrap-around porch and the white picket fence and the windows, glowing with soft light. The front door was painted bright red. "Hop, what're we doing here?"

He looked at her, grinning. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette, idly. He hunted for his lighter, and El glanced back at the house.

"I don't understand." El said, as she always did when things weren't clear. When she required a further explanation. And Hopper was usually more than willing to provide one. Not this time, apparently. He lit his cigarette and dragged, still grinning his stupid grin, biding his time. El huffed and folded her arms across her chest, flicking a piece of hair out of her face.

"Are you going to tell me what this is about?" She asked. "Who lives here?"

Hop's grin widened.

"As of two days ago," he said, pulling a mysterious object from the folds of his jacket, pressing it into El's palm. "We do."

El glanced at her hand.

Keys. A pair of keys.

Her head snapped up, eyes locking on his face.

"No."

"Yes."

"But . . . the cabin . . ." She said, dumbfounded.

"I think we can both agree you've outgrown the cabin." Hopper said. "You need space. I need space. And we need a place with a damn air conditioner."

She couldn't help it. Her face broke into a smile. She threw her arms around him, immediately consumed by the fabric of his coat and the scent of smoke and the steadiness, the safety, of his arms, around her shoulders. He pressed a kiss, roughened by stubble, on her forehead.

"Welcome home, kid."

He led her up the steps, and they paused outside the big, red door. Hopper glanced at El, and she took his hand, squaring her shoulders. Both seemed to realize the enormity of the moment. The first of many firsts. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and together, they stepped inside.

The entryway was wide, with a stairwell to the left and a bare coat hanger to the right. It opened into an empty room, absent of any furniture. El smiled, feeling impossibly full and light.

"Can I pick my room?" She asked, and Hop smiled.

"Of course, kiddo."

She dashed up the stairs. She opened every door, peering into the rooms, footsteps soft and silent on the carpeted floors. Finally, she settled on a bedroom near the front of the house. It had a big window, and an A-frame ceiling that slanted above the place where her bed might be. She'd plaster the walls with posters, put a dressing table there, by the door, and a bookshelf here . . . El paused, standing in the middle of the empty rooms, pressing her palms to her face, feeling her smile, the heat in her cheeks, flushed with excitement and joy.

It was hers. All hers. El had never lived in a house. She'd been in Mike's house plenty of times. And Will's, too. But she'd never called one home. Now, they had a house.

"Ellie?" She heard Hop call, from the stairs.

"In here." She said, surprised to find her voice thick with unshed tears. Hopper appeared in the doorway. He cocked an eyebrow, stepping inside.

"You okay?" He asked, concerned.

El laughed, at the absurdity of the question.

"Yes." She said, closing her eyes. Hop stood there, unsure whether to go to her, to comfort her. She made the decision for him, crossing the room, wrapping her arms around him.

"I'm happy." She said, and she meant it. "Thanks, Dad."

Hop's mouth twitched, and it was his turn to blink back tears.

"Sure, kiddo." He said, and his voice broke.

She called Mike the minute they returned to the cabin, tripping over her words to tell him the good news. He pretended to be surprised. The truth was, he'd been in on the secret for a while. The new house was situated a few blocks down from the Wheeler's. Walking distance. Five minutes on foot, two or three by bike. Hopper wondered if it would bite him in the ass, someday. Probably. Christ, those two couldn't keep their hands off each other if they tried.

They spent the next week moving in, slowly but surely. El collected her things and put them in boxes. She didn't own much, but the few belongings she had were packed up with care, labeled with a sharpie. She took some time to comb through everything, turning over Nancy Drew and Anne of the Green Gables over in her hands, blowing the dust off the covers, running her hands over the binding and the pages. She packed up her turntable and records, her Star Wars action figures and her Super Com, given to her by the party as a first-ever Christmas present. A pile of comics, mostly X-Men. The boys kept her in steady supply of them. Her favorite sweatshirt. A blue one, which belonged to Mike. It smelled like him. Her one-eyed stuffed bear, which belonged to Sara before it belonged to her. These little treasures, which she didn't lend much thought to, most days. Which made her choke up with a fresh wave of tears as she held them in her hands before stowing them away in their proper box.

Hop rented a moving truck, and the boys came by to help with some of the heavy lifting. If El gave the squashy old sofa or the oak china cabinet a telekinetic nudge to aid their efforts, they pretended not to notice. She swiped a hand under her nose. No blood. Mike noticed this gesture, caught her fingers in his hand and pressed them to his lips, while Dustin and Lucas pretended to throw up and Hop yelled at them to stop fucking around and help me lift this . . .

El smiled, feeling as if her heart might burst.

When most of the furniture had been moved in, El and Hop opened the door to the basement, where El had found the file about her mama. Where the box labeled Sara lived, gathering dust. She helped him lift the boxes, stacking them in a big pile in the middle of the empty cabin. Hopper shut the door, eyeing the boxes as if they might come to life and eat them. He rubbed a hand over his chin, scratching at his beard. He looked tired and old, a few more lines had appeared in his face.

"We'll tackle that tomorrow." He said, wearily. He looked at her, the corners of his mouth reaching skyward. The tiredness disappeared. "You hungry?"

They ordered a pizza and ate it on the kitchen floor, sitting with their backs against the cabinets, legs sprawled over the linoleum. The cheap, plastic fold-up table they'd used at the cabin hadn't made it onto the moving van. Hop cracked a beer, and El sipped a 7-Up. They listened to the chatter of the night creatures out the open window, eating in comfortable silence.

Hop got up, dug the old radio out of a cardboard box, and set it on the counter. He fiddled with the dials, searching for a station. Eventually, an old, bluesy song floated into the room. He took El's hand, and she laughed, exasperated and amused, letting him pull her to her feet, half-eaten slice of pepperoni pizza long forgotten. He took her hands, turning her in slow, graceful circles. And they danced, barefoot, around the kitchen, until the song dissolved into static.

"What's this?" El asked. She sat on the floor, cross-legged, leafing through a large box full of photos and files and junk. She held up a large, manila folder. Hopper took it and licked his thumb, flicking through it. He frowned and shook his head.

"It's not important. Toss it." El did, turning her attention to a pile of photos. A smile broke over her face as she thumbed through the fragments of their lives. Fireworks, on the Fourth; a candid shot of Nancy, laughing; Sara, holding a butterfly in her palm; The party, passed out on the floor after a twelve-hour D&D campaign; Steve, mussing Dustin's hair; El and Mike, asleep on the couch, arms slung around each other; Hop and El, decorating a tree with tinsel and ornaments, during the holidays. El's smile grew wider. She tucked them in the Keep Pile and moved on to the next box, lifting the lid. She stiffened, reading the name scrawled across the side.

"Hop?" She asked, and swallowed. "Dad?"

"Mmmmm?" He said, not looking up from a fat binder full of insurance papers and whatnot.

"Sara." She said, quietly. She returned the lid, carefully, so as not to disturb the ghosts. The tiredness returned to Hop's face. He looked at her, brows knitting.

"It's okay, El." He said. "We gotta go through it, sometime. It's just a box." The words were meant more for himself. "Come here."

She obeyed, settling beside him, carrying the box on her lap. She set the lid aside, and together, they sorted through it. There were a couple files, a copy of her birth certificate, medical bills, and the like. There was a scrapbook full of baby pictures, which Hop set aside. Among the scrapbook and the files, there were a couple of toys and puzzles, not much else. Tentatively, Hopper lifted the scrapbook onto his lap and brushed the dust off the cover, opening it. He flipped through the pages, peering at the photos. El reached for him, took his hand. He looked at her. She offered a small, sad smile. His mouth twitched, looking down at their hand. s. His large hand enclosed in her small one. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaning his forehead against her temple.

He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Something passed between them—silent, yes, but as sure and tangible as words, spoken aloud.

He took her to the store, to get some things for her room. El chose some deep purple curtains for the window, and sheets and pillowcases to match; the vivid color combatted the stark whiteness of the room. Hopper invested in a rug, for the living room; a bookcase; a waffle-maker. El talked him into bringing home some potted plants, to decorate the porch. She hung a wind chime out there, too, and the soft, tinkling melody would forever accompany their memories of that house.

El suggested they invite everyone over for a housewarming party. Hopper agreed, begrudgingly, because, let's face it, he was no match for those brown eyes. Those brown eyes, they could kill you with a glance.

He set up a buffet of sorts in the kitchen, mostly hamburgers and hot dogs and chips and dip. El pushed two, long fold-up tables together, in the backyard and set up chairs for everyone. All of the party, plus Joyce, Jonathan, Steve, and Nancy. Mike arrived first, arms laden with grocery bags. He earned his driver's license a few months before and offered to pick up plates, napkins, and other commodities. El rushed to help him, stealing a kiss. Joyce, Jonathan, and Will arrived, next. Joyce shoved a home-made casserole into Hopper's arms and swept El into a hug. When the rest of the party, accompanied by Steve, arrived, El ushered them inside and hugged them each in turn. Steve grinned, mussing her hair.

"Hey, Weirdo."

"Hey, Loser."

Of all their friendships, formed over the past few years, El and Steve's remained the oddest. He liked the kid, superpowers and all. He appreciated her candor, her childish interest in anything and everything, her willingness to sit around and listen to him, for hours, while he entertained her with stories of all the stupid shit King Steve did, during his high school career. Steve worked at the station, with Hopper, so El saw a lot of him.

He wandered off to join Dustin in the kitchen, and Mike seized his opportunity to pull El away from the party.

"So . . ." he asked, "can I see your room?" He smiled, sheepishly. El grinned, taking his hand, lacing her fingers in the spaces between his own, a gesture as natural as breathing. Together, they went upstairs, and El led him to her bedroom, showing him the curtains and the gargantuan Star Wars: A New Hope poster, hanging above her bed. She found herself standing very close to him, in the center of the room. His fingertips traced patterns over her palms, then found the small of her back, the strip of bare skin where her shirt lifted as she stood on tip-toes to reach his lips. She shivered. And then they were kissing, and there wasn't enough oxygen in the room, and she felt that familiar swoopy, dizzy feeling whenever she was near him, whenever she kissed him. It started tentative and soft and slow, at first, but the kisses got needier, hungrier. They were growing into themselves, getting older, after all. The chaste kisses and shy smiles had turned into something . . . more. She fisted a hand in his wild mess of dark curls, inhaling the scent of him, like syrup and rain and autumn. Unmistakably him.

A sharp rapping on the door's frame interrupted them, and they sprang apart. El turned, heart hammering against her ribcage. Hopper stood in the doorway, wagging a finger at them.

"Busted!" He said. "In case you've forgotten, El, you've got guests to attend." He shot her a pointed look.

"Dad . . ."

"I don't wanna hear it. Out." Hopper snapped, shaking his head. "Wheeler, keep your hands off my kid."

"Yes, Sir." Mike said, weakly, blood flooding his cheeks.

Hop gave a short harrumph, stomping off.

"This conversation isn't over, El." He warned, over his shoulder.

El caught Mike's eye, and they burst into laughter.

Everyone took a seat, in the backyard. El and Mike played footsie, under the table, and Max flicked bits of Joyce's casserole at Dustin. Will doodled on his napkin. Hopper and Joyce sat at the end of the table, talking, and El stole glances at them, feeling her chest grow lighter. Joyce was good for him. Once again, El ran through the scenarios in her mind. The image of the five of them, Joyce and Hop, Will and Jonathan and herself, a family . . . it was so clear and real and reachable in her mind, it stole all the breath from her lungs and filled her with giddy, childish happiness.

Halfway through dinner, the sky split open, and rain began to pour. A warm, summer rain, drenching everything. El leapt to her feet. The others did the same, grabbing their plates, sprinting toward the house.

They crammed into the kitchen, out of the rain, and Jonathan and Steve found extra chairs in the garage. They all squeezed around the tiny plastic table, and El wedged herself between Hopper and Mike. She wrapped an arm around Hop's shoulders. Her opposite hand found its way into Mike's. Hop looked at her, smiling. Mike squeezed her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. And El glanced around, at their faces. Her family. A strange, broken, haphazard family, but a family, all the same.

El smiled, at the memory. This place had become a more permanent definition of home. Hop bought it the summer of her fifteenth year, and it had been home ever since. It's walls had seen its fair share of happy memories, some of the best in all of her eighteen years. Sleepovers and holidays and meals, stolen kisses and rainy afternoons. But it wasn't the house, really. Just the people in it.

She finished off her energy bar and tossed the wrapper in the trash. She grabbed a book from her bedside table and leaned against her headboard, searching for the correct page. It followed the story of a police officer trying to solve a missing persons case in Paris, during World War II. She began to read, trying to not to think about everything else, which was, in itself, a form of thinking about everything else. It was futile. She kept losing her place, mind elsewhere, until she read the same sentence four times. She closed the book and tossed it aside, letting her head fall back onto the pillows. She stared at the ceiling, letting her thoughts bounce around her skull until they dulled to a low drone, like radio static, and she slipped into a shallow, uneasy sleep.

She went over to Mike's house to help him pack. It was a Wednesday, and the sky hung heavy with clouds. It looked like it might rain. They spent the day upstairs in his room, sorting through books and belongings. His walls were bare, stripped of posters and photos. Stacks of cardboard boxes sat on his bed, along with a large suitcase. A pile of discarded items grew in the center of the room—a heap of clothes that didn't fit, books he no longer read, and toys he hadn't touched in years. El frowned, turning his Yoda action figure over in her hand, heavy with nostalgia.

This week had been the hardest. Dustin left yesterday. Lucas, the day before. Will's classes started about a week after Mike's. And El wondered if things would ever be the same. If they'd still gather on Saturday nights to watch Star Wars or Ghostbusters. If Mike would still plan campaigns, if Max would still skate, if Lucas would still hike down to the creek, looking for pollywogs. If Dustin would still embark on curiosity voyages and hoard candy in his pockets, if Will would still draw. Would they grow up and grow apart or stay together? Would they still be as close as they are, now, or would they grow distant and detached. Would there be the same camaraderie, the jokes and innuendos and arguments that came so easily, so naturally it was like breathing, for them? Or would the words exchanged on holidays and special occasions when they finally saw each other again be reserved and formal, maybe even a little tense? El wanted to believe it would be the same, whether they were on opposite corners of the globe or just down the street, but she wasn't so naive. She knew distance was a hard thing to trump. She knew people grow apart. But she also knew you don't fight inter-dimensional monsters together without sharing a lifelong bond. And they'd fought a lot of monsters. They were her family, and the family that fought inter-dimensional monsters together stuck together, so why was this idea of all of them heading in opposite directions such a hard thing to swallow? These thoughts hung like dark clouds over El's mental sky, so she shoved them away, into that dusty closet.

"Take a break, should we?" El asked, in her best Yoda voice, brandishing the action figure at him. He laughed, nodding.

"Make us peanut butter sandwiches, I will."

They went downstairs, and El sat on the counter as he retrieved a jar of peanut butter from the cabinet. She snatched it away and opened the lid, digging a spoon into it. She smacked her lips, humming appreciatively.

"Chunky." She said. "My favorite."

They grabbed a blanket from the living room and went outside for a picnic in the yard, and Mike lay with his head in her lap as she combed her fingers through his hair and decorated his curls with dandelions.

She looked at him as he grinned up at her, feeling the world slowly reeling out of her control. She saw the past six years condensed into a single moment, saw time as some tangible thing falling through the cracks between her fingers like sand. She saw a little girl with a shaved head and bruises under her eyes. She saw a boy with a scrape on his chin, screaming "Let her go! Let her go, you bastard!" as she lay in Papa's—no, Brenner's—arms, clinging to consciousness. He was so scared. They both were. And all she remembered was his hand clutching hers as they ran through the hallways, as the sound of gunfire and dying men echoed around them. He asked for a promise, and she broke it. They were older,now, but were they so different, really? They were still Mike and El. Still the same kids who'd met on that cold, rainy night. They were still spinning in each other's orbit. They'd lived through some weird shit, but they got through it together, and El counted her lucky stars.

And there had been the good times, the endless summers spent under a blanket of stars. The campaigns and the jokes and the times they were allowed to be children. Their walks down the tracks, their swims in the quarry, their shared cigarettes and shared dances and shared kisses. How was it that time moved so fast? They'd grown up too quickly. How was it that El hadn't noticed until now?

She sucked in a breath, forcing herself back into the present. Dipping her toes in, it was too easy to get caught in the undercurrent.

After lunch, they went back to his room, but neither of them were in the mood for packing, anyway, so they just lay on his bed, wrapped in each other's embrace. El felt exhaustion weighing on her and began to drift off into the gray space between being awake and asleep, letting the sound of his heartbeat drown out everything else, until the creak of the front door's hinges woke her and and Mrs. Wheeler rapped on the door and asked if El wanted to stay for dinner.

Mike left midday, on Monday. They said their goodbyes on the front porch of the Wheeler household. His parents were driving him to Indianapolis.

He stood on the steps, hands cupping her elbows, not looking at her. She opened her mouth, closed it again. There were a million things she should say, but she couldn't get the words out. She just looked at him, drinking him in—the curve of his brow, the slope of his nose, the corners of his mouth and the dark pools of his eyes, which held so much and gave so much away.

He'd spent the night, and she could still feel the sensation of his lips on her skin in all the places he'd kissed her and touched her and held her. She still smelled like him, and she found herself dreading the moment it would begin to fade.

He met her eyes. Without a word, he enfolded her in his arms. She began to cry, and she could feel him shaking in an effort to hide his own tears, but they came, anyway. And he was pressing her to his chest so tightly she thought she might dissolve and become a part of him, and he was saying "I love you, El. I love you. I love you. I love you. I'll call you when I get there. And the day after. And every day. I love you." And she was saying it back until her brain and her words got so muddled with sobs she shut up and just breathed him in, hating the way her face felt so hot and puffy. Hating the way her throat and her chest ached. Hating the way she felt so out of control, and falling apart at the seams. She promised herself she wouldn't do this. She was supposed to hold it all together. He kissed her, long and deep, and then Mrs. Wheeler's Station Wagon was pulling out of the driveway. And he was gone.