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Alex takes a sip of her drink. “Yep.”

“Right on,” Brian says, and fist-bumps her. “Ray used to be a decent guy, but . . . you know.” He lays his finger on one side of his nose.

I get it. Decent guys backslide into meth and gang rape. Good guys knock up their girlfriends and flip burgers.

We get up to leave, my tray still half full because all I can think about is vomiting. Brian refuses to let us pay for our food, so that solves my money problem but doesn’t leave me feeling any less of a loser.

“Hey, man.” Brian snags my arm at the door as Alex goes ahead. “Just so you know, Ray ain’t exactly happy about everyone knowing a chick kicked his ass.”

I watch Alex pop open the passenger door of my truck; she has to wrench it a little because it tends to stick.

“Alex can take care of herself,” I tell him.

“That’s for damn sure, but maybe don’t go driving down Central unless you have to, hear me? Ray’s mom lives there, and since you kicked them out of the church, Ray and his guys have been holing up there. I don’t know, just be careful. Can’t ever tell what a tweaker’s gonna do.”

“Truth.” We hug awkwardly before I leave, the smell of hamburger grease sticking to me as I get behind the wheel.

“What was that about?” Alex asks as I pull away.

I should’ve known I couldn’t play it cool with her, act like running into Brian was a casual thing, not a terrifying flash-forward of what my life is going to be if I don’t get the fuck out of here and never come back.

And while Alex might know me well enough to get it, starting the conversation means telling her about how I’ve convinced myself that I can earn it by being a good guy, that getting out and staying out is how karma is going to reward me for not hitting the next joint and turning down every drunk girl who crawls into my lap at a party. And maybe it’ll sound crazy to her that every decision I make, every day, is a choice between right and wrong with my future in the balance.

“Jack?”

I don’t know how to say these things to her. So I go for the simple version.

“You know how the first day of English class, Miss Hendricks had us write an essay on how we define success?”

Alex nods.

“What did you write?” I ask her.

“What was expected. What did you write?”

“One line—getting out of this shit hole. She gave me an A.”

“Oh, Jack Fisher,” Alex sighs, a teasing smile on her face. “Must be hard when everyone loves you.”

I have to laugh at that. Me feeling sorry for myself, with my brain and my looks and my talent. I reach over to put my hand on her knee and she takes it, our fingers entwining as I drive out of town—on Central, because fuck Ray Parsons.

“Define success,” I say almost to myself.

“I didn’t kill anyone today,” Alex says.

I laugh again. “A-plus, babe.”

And I think I could probably tell this girl anything, and she would understand.

34. ALEX

I’m trying very hard to be normal.

This is not easy for me. Jack helps. Claire helps. When I’m with them I can manage myself a little better, filter my environment so that the little things slide off my new shiny facade. But some things penetrate, and when that happens, I go places I know they can’t follow.

We are in the gym. It’s negative fifteen outside, and so many of the buses wouldn’t start this morning that they put those of us who drive in the gym for now, like a holding pen until the rest of the flock gets here. There aren’t enough people for me to fade away, but too many for me to ignore them all. I don’t know what to do with myself even though Claire is beside me, chatting about something to her friend Sara.

Sara doesn’t like me, and that is fine. It’s in the way she watches me from the side, like she doesn’t quite trust me. After seeing me rip Ray Parsons’s nose and part of his ear off his head, that might be a smart decision on her part.