Chapter 17: The Stairs

Rory took a long time to answer.

"You," he said at last. "For about a week now."

I opened my mouth, and he held up a hand.

"But you've been looking at the door every time I say it," he said. "You've looked at it for a month. It's not me you're waiting on."

"Rory."

"Eat the soup, Anneliese. Then go home."

He stood and put the patch back in his pocket.

At the door he turned around.

"I'll be fine by Thursday," he said. "Seriously. I name toasters. I recover."

The house on Alder Street was dark at midnight, except for the porch light.

I let myself in with the key I had never given back.

Dane was sitting on the stairs.

He was on the landing outside my old room, in a gray T-shirt, with his elbows on his knees and no crossword.

He had sat there the first night I lived in this house, and I had heard him breathing through the door.

He did not stand up when he saw me.

"Rory said you might come," he said.

"Rory said a lot of things tonight."

I sat down on the stair below his.

For a while we looked at the wall.

"You owe me the rest," I said. "Not who. Why."

"I kept the note," Dane said. His voice stayed even, and his hands did not. "I read it until the paper tore at the fold."

"There were twelve cupcakes."

"I know. Half the team ate theirs, and nobody knew who left them."

I could not breathe properly.

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