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we’re being robbed. Let’s play ball!”
    Clonk-ka-junk-ka-jzzz , from downstairs.
    “It’s for a weapon,” Carson whispered.
    “You’re gonna hit them with a Wiffle bat?”
    “What else you got?”
    “Um . . .” I looked around my room. I’d never particularly noticed before how weapon-free it was, though I do consider myself strongly anti-violence. “A pillow?”
    “Exactly,” he said.
    “Maybe we should call 911,” I suggested.
    “Where’s your phone?”
    “Oh,” I said. “Downstairs.”
    There was some very aggressive clattering. It sounded like they were coming closer. Carson stood up, with the bat cocked back. He looked very studly, it must be said, despite the misbuttoned shirt. “Stay behind me,” he whispered.
    “Can I just say that I never knew this about myself before, but weirdly enough this whole protective he-man thing actually turns me on.”
    “Josie.”
    “What?” I asked.
    “Shut up.”
    I grabbed my pillow, just in case, so to speak, and tiptoed behind him around my mussed-up bed. “Maybe we should just hide in the closet.”
    He turned around, rolled his eyes, and kissed me. “Shh,” he repeated.
    I was going to press my point, because I was truthfully starting to get a little scared and hiding seemed like a much better plan to me than confronting real live burglars with a hollow yellow bat and a Minnie Mouse pillow, but then I decided maybe he was right and it would be a good time to shut up, actually.
    Carson opened my door and slipped out. No way was I staying in my room alone, so I leaped out after him and grabbed the back of his shirt with the hand that wasn’t already clutching my Minnie Mouse pillow, mourning all the things I would never get to do in my tragically shortened life.
    By the time we got to the kitchen my heart was pounding and my nose was scrunching. It stunk. It was a mess. No bad guys, just eggshell shrapnel everywhere, and bits of egg, and a burned red pot. It smelled like somebody had died.
    “Oh,” I said, turning off the stove. “Oops. The egg salad.”
    Carson lowered the bat. He turned around and gave me a goofy grin. “That’s some secret ingredient, Josie.”
    “I’m full of surprises.”
    “Yeah,” he said. “I see that.”
    “Help me clean up?”
    “Sure.”
    I grabbed some potholders and brought the pot to the sink. When the water hit it, it hissed. I jumped back. Carson kind of caught me. I spun around.
    “Were you scared?” I asked. “When we thought, you know . . .”
    “No.”
    “Me, too,” I said.
    He blinked slowly, and smiling just a little, reached toward me. “Your shirt is buttoned wrong.” He unbuttoned my shirt.
    “Yours, too,” I said, and unbuttoned his, too. Our shirts hung like that and we looked into each other’s eyes. When he finally pulled me close, I could feel the pounding of his heart through his soft skin.

Five
    CARSON WAS LEANING against my locker when I got to school the next morning.
    “Hi,” I said.
    “Hi.” He didn’t take his eyes off me for a second.
    “I gotta get my stuff in there,” I told him.
    “Your parents say anything about the smell last night?”
    “Not to me,” I told him. “They kept asking each other, ‘Do you smell something?’ ‘Yes, I do. Do you?’” It was weird to try to have a normal conversation with him, as if we were friends.
    “What would you have told them, if they asked you?”
    “The truth,” I said. “But they didn’t ask.”
    “What’s your combination?” Carson asked me, turning to my lock. It was kind of a personal question. I wasn’t sure if we were close enough for me to tell him. Just because I let a boy undo my bra, does that mean I should let him into my locker, too?
    “I’m not going to steal your chemistry notebook, Josie,” he said.
    “You wouldn’t want it,” I answered. “If you try to, though, I should warn you, I have a Wiffle bat.”
    “And a Minnie Mouse pillow,” he said.
    “Exactly. Twenty-five, six,