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passed out. She'd stayed on their couch because she didn't think she could make it to her own rental a few doors down.
       Now she couldn't find them. Were they mad at her? Everything had been fine the night before. How could they have left without waking her? They'd have had to go right past the couch. She usually woke at any strange noise.
       She screwed up her courage – they probably weren't mad at her, she hadn't done anything, right? – and called each of their cell phones. In turn, they chirped, sang, beeped.
       She heard them. None of these girls would ever leave the house without their cell phones. She would never go anywhere without hers.
       She'd spent her life watching too much TV. She wondered if they'd been kidnapped, were trussed up by some serial killer with a bloody dissection in mind. She'd have been taken, too, though. Wait. What if someone was still in the apartment? But, no, she'd checked. She was alone here. All alone.
       A breeze blew in through the screen door. She'd left the door open when she checked outside. A tiny drink umbrella all pink and yellow and blue cheer spun off the edge of the sticky kitchen table.
      It hit the floor and twirled away.

2
    Breaking News
     
 
    Miranda stretched and hit Sidekick with her feet. He was curled up on the other end of the squishy couch. Bright morning light stabbed around the sides of the blue curtain, a harsh wake-up call. Her dad must not have made it home last night. Or had he?
      She got up and opened the door. She wouldn't have been that surprised to find him laid out, snoring, on the concrete porch. But he wasn't there. She let Sidekick slip past her into the yard, leaving the door open so he could come back inside.
      Miranda shuffled down the hall and peeked into her dad's room, just in case. The room was empty of everything besides a rumpled bed and piles of clothes. She tried the bathroom next. He wasn't passed out at the foot of his porcelain master either, so she brushed her teeth and got cleaned up.
      Her dad almost always made it home. The times he didn't were because some rookie hauled him to the drunk tank instead of bringing him here like Chief Rawling did.
      In her room, Miranda dressed quickly. She paired a faded red T-shirt with a denim skirt she'd made herself out of a pair of old jeans, using the ancient sewing machine she inherited from her mom. She paused for a longing look at her little shelf of DVDs scored at yard sales and on eBay (or burned off torrents using free wireless). She wanted nothing more than to hole up for a few hours, visit a faraway galaxy or watch hot boys fight gross creatures on the hand-me-down netbook Polly had given her at the beginning of the summer. She wanted to forget about the drama at the theater the night before, about the ship no one but her had seen.
      Instead she'd make a jail run. This is your life, Miranda Blackwood.
      She gave Sidekick the option of outside or in, and he chose in and a bowl of kibble. As she headed toward Pineapple, she discovered the morning was full of unwanted developments.
      Along the driver's side of Pineapple, thick black letters shouted the word FREAK.
      Miranda closed her eyes and colors bloomed inside her lids. She wished for something to kick. Like Bone and his friends. Something clever, like maybe Croatoan, would've been too much to ask of them. She took a breath, walked over, and tested the words with a finger.
      Shoe polish instead of spray paint. That was a small favor. She considered cleaning it off before retrieving her dad, but she didn't want to leave him sweating in a cell any longer than necessary. She'd just have to park so he didn't see it. Otherwise he'd ramble and rage.
      Miranda's first hint that something was wrong – something bigger than her dad being MIA and Bone being a jerk – came when she turned onto the main highway toward town. The traffic made her wonder if there was a hurricane evacuation. The flow