Towering

pretty small. I’d think I’d have heard of everything in Gatskill.”
    “It’s okay.” I tried to hide my disappointment. “My mom and her friends used to go there when they were teenagers. It’s probably closed now. She used to date a guy who played guitar there, a guy named Zach.”
    “He’s not your long-lost father, is he?”
    “No, nothing like that.” Though that would be a good cover story. “She just wanted to find out if anyone had heard from him.”
    “Zach Gray.” The old man with the TV suddenly came up behind us. “That’s Rebecca Gray’s grandson. He came to town eighteen years ago, then left.”
    “Eighteen?” It seemed pretty exact.
    “Yup. I remember because that was the year of the big snowstorm.” And then, he started in on a long, irrelevant story about the storm itself, the height of the snow, the number of days it fell, and how long it took for the flowers to come back afterward. But I was thinking eighteen years was right before Danielle had disappeared. Maybe he’d run away with her. Or maybe he’d killed her and gone on the lam.
    The old man finally concluded his story, saying to Josh, “Will you take twenty for this TV?”
    I thought he’d be lucky to get five, but Josh said, “I’ll have to ask my dad. He only authorized me to sell for thirty. And he’s not here today, so if you want it for the bowl games . . .”
    “You drive a hard bargain, son.” The old man took out a faded wallet and extracted some folded, soft-looking bills.
    After he left, Josh said, “I don’t know if you have plans for New Year’s.”
    “Oh, yeah.” I nodded. “I’m going to Times Square to celebrate with Ryan Seacrest.”
    “Whatever, man. If you don’t have plans, a bunch of us are getting together. My family has a place on Grouse Lake. It’s a three-season house, so it’s almost inaccessible right now. Good for partying. I could pick you up if you’re interested.”
    I nodded, realizing at that moment how much I really did miss hanging out with people. “That’d be great.”
    We made plans for the next day at ten, and Josh said he’d call when the hinges came in.
    When I got home, Mrs. Greenwood was asleep on the sofa in front of the TV. An old rerun of Star Trek was on, the creepy theme song that sounded more like a theremin, this weird instrument, than a human voice. I wondered if that was what I’d heard earlier, the voice I’d heard on the wind. But it seemed unlikely that the old lady was a Trekkie. I figured her experience with science fiction was more along the lines of H. G. Wells. I tried to tiptoe past her, but she woke up.
    “Oh, there you are. I can’t believe I fell asleep during Star Trek .” She picked up the remote and started rewinding. At least she had a real television. “I got cable just so I could still see William Shatner. That is one handsome man.”
    I grinned. “He’s about your age now too.”
    “Well, I know. He was my age back then. Are you a Trekkie?”
    “I can’t tell a Vulcan from a Romulan.”
    “I could teach you.”
    I smiled. “Maybe later. I want to check out the connection.”
    Of course, I didn’t do virtual school. The week between Christmas and New Year’s was sacred, even for the virtually bored. Instead, I went on Facebook. They’d made Tyler’s page into a memorial one with hundreds of messages, all talking about how they’d loved him, from people who wouldn’t have loaned him a pencil when he was alive. I checked my own. No one was posting on it, only a few invitations to play CastleVille and Texas HoldEm, from people I didn’t really know. Bored, I looked through my duffel bag and found the notebook from last night.

Danielle’s Diary
    I saw him again today! It has been three days since I first saw him. I haven’t been able to get out, but today I was, and I went, pretending to walk Ginger, limping to the road. And by some miracle, he was there! He smiled. I noticed his eyes again, a shade of blue I’d never seen before.
    “I couldn’t come before. I’m sorry.”
    “I know. I came anyway, in case you made it today.”
    He walked around to open the car door. So polite, so different from the rude boys at school, who joked about how their “women” had better be ready at the door when they honked. I almost wished I could tell Mom about him. She was old-fashioned and liked stuff like that.
    “I brought a picnic,” he said.
    “Every day?”
    “So I’ve eaten a few picnic lunches. It was