He’s around our age—good-looking, but not in the golden-haired and square-jawed way those Church boys always are. This boy has long fingers and soft, messy brown hair. He wears black-framed glasses and uses the same tricks I do for blending in to a crowd—he keeps his red plastic cup close to his mouth so he can drink from it to keep from talking, and he’s found something in this abandoned house to read.
