The Hendersons’ house remains dark and still. I try to shout, but I can’t. I try to get up to run, but I can’t. I want to cry, but I can’t. The only movement I see is the flames licking at the roof. Nothing else. Only when I finally struggle to my feet do I find a crowd gathered in the side yard. Lost is here. Watching. Waiting. Silent. At the forefront stands Mr. H. He stares at me, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. He doesn’t move to help me. He doesn’t move at all. In his hands, he holds Kyra’s scarf. The scarf that had been tucked inside my backpack.
