When I make it to my truck on Tuesday after school, which I drove because it was supposed to rain today, but it didn’t, Rory’s propped herself up against the door, looking like she does this all the time and aren’t I happy to see her? And of course I am, even though I just left her in Spanish class about five minutes ago.

“Can I come to your place?” She hugs her bag to her chest. “I want to see where the magic happens.”

“The magic?”

“You know, with the monster zombie creatures.” She smiles like she wants in on the joke and lowers her voice. “I know David helped you with the last two ghoulies, because I recognized his skirts. Can I help you too?”

“You can’t tell people it’s me. Not anyone.” I’m close enough to smell her again. I spent all of Spanish class catching whiffs of a spicy, musky perfume that’s new. Now there’s leather mixed in, from her bag, and the smell of spring on the wind. It’s a bit head-rushy.

“Hey! Frankie! Hey! I need a ride!” A voice that’s like a sharp stick in my ear bounces off the truck and makes Rory look up.

“Then get your ass in here.” I sigh. “Rory, this is my sister, Lou.”

Lou arrives, out of breath, and gives Rory the look she reserves for those who just don’t understand how phenomenal she is. She’s obviously recovered some swagger. “Nice to meet you.” She reaches around Rory and opens the door to the passenger seat, then climbs in.

To say that Rory is stunned is an understatement. “Where am I supposed to sit?”

Lou hooks her thumb over her shoulder. “Plenty of space back there.”

I slide into the driver’s seat, keeping my eyes down, not making eye contact with anyone. The Rory/Lou bomb could blow any second.

Lou clicks her seat belt shut. “We have to go to Target. I need stuff.”

“You don’t get to order me around.”

“Look.” She fixes me with a stare, and I hear a cough of amusement from behind my seat. “I need to go to Target, so take me to Target.” She turns to face the front again. “Please. Now.” She’s straight and proper in her seat, just waiting for the truck to move.

“Be a good brother, Frankie, and take Lou to Target. I’ll keep you company while she’s in the store.” I can’t see Rory’s face, which is probably a good thing. I’m grateful Lou’s looking out the window.

I pretend to be pissed. “Whatever.” We fight the stupid traffic out of the parking lot. “Where are Mom and Dad? Why can’t they take you?”

Lou sniffs. “You know they’re working. You can take me.”

We turn a corner, and there’s a big thump from the back.

“Hold the straps on the wall. It helps.” Lou’s voice is cheery.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Rory’s not appreciative of the advice, judging from her voice.

“Don’t blame me. I told you that the last time you rode back there, when David was with us.” I make a mental note to be more careful.

“You pulled away too fast for me to grab on.” She is not happy.

Lou snorts.

Silence for a while. Then we’re at Target. Thank god it’s close.

“I won’t be long.” And Lou slams out the door.

“Take your time, drama girl. We’ll be right here.” Rory says this loud enough that Lou hears her through the window, and I see Lou flip her the bird as she walks away.

Rory comes up front and stands between the two seats. “You really bounce around back there.”

I swivel around, point to the strap on the wall, and give her a “duh” look.

“Never mind that right now. C’mere.” She grabs my hand and pulls me into the back of the truck.

“What?” I let her pull me back there, of course, but I’m also just a little concerned. And also very, very happy that nobody can see in.

“Just . . .” She turns to face me. “This.” And she kisses me, full force, grabbing me and pulling me to her.

I pull away. “You want to make out? Here?”

She sighs. “I want to make art. Right here. We’re kinetic sculpture.” And she kisses me again.

It’s intense. Immense. And all I want is a couch.

“Look, Rory, we’re in a parking lot. We can’t be doing this.” I can barely get the words out in between kisses.

“Nobody can see. And she’ll get lost looking at a pair of sparkly ballet slippers or something.” Her mouth is so hot on mine. On-fire hot. Soft and wet and hot. I’m gonna fall down.

“Can we . . . are there blankets in here?” Rory pulls away and starts looking around.

“Nothing but that.” I spot the towel I used to wrap the ghoulie gun in. It’s still got gold glitter from the paint in it. When I pick it up, the towel flakes gold onto the floor.

“Never mind, then.” Rory pulls me down to the truck floor, and I can’t get there soon enough. She is my vice. My hand is up her sweater and her breast is so warm, so squishy but firm and warm, and I am squeezing and moving and feeling, and her hand is on my jeans, I hear the zipper go, and then her fingers close around me and I almost lose consciousness.

“Oh. Nice. Let me help you with that.” Her hand is squeezing and moving, and I am a limp noodle and a razor-tight wire all at the same time. I cannot kiss her hard enough and I cannot find where my hands should go, because I know nothing about what to do when the hottest girl on the planet has her hand on you and it’s so amazing that all the world is exploding supernovas.

Rory is instantly up and I scramble off the floor, zipping up as I go in the hopes that my jumble of getting-up noise covers the sound. Rory sits down on the floor and grabs a strap. I hobble to the driver’s seat.

Face redder than I’ve ever seen it before, Lou stares straight ahead in the passenger seat with her Target bag on her lap and proceeds to fill the silence.

“You’ll never guess who was at the cash register. Remember mean old Mr. Larchmont, the guy who used to live next to us when we were little? He was there, in a wheelchair, and his daughter was with him, and they started talking to me. I have no idea how they recognized me, but they did, and . . .”

It takes about ten years to get to our house, and I work on restoring my breathing and my heart rate while I drive and Lou talks, which sort of works. When we get there, Lou bolts inside as quick as she can go.

I turn to Rory, not exactly sure what to say. “So. This is my house.”

“Where I’m assuming you have a bedroom?” The smile is back, the one that says she’s not embarrassed that my sister caught her with her hand on my dick. Me? I’m embarrassed. But not enough to take her home.

“Um, yeah, of course, but . . .”

“Let’s not talk.” She kisses my lips like she’s the breeze in the trees. “Let’s go find your room and pretend we’re doing Spanish homework.” She holds up her schoolbag.

She doesn’t have to ask again. We sneak past Lou’s door, then we creep up the stairs to Donna Russell, where she’ll have blankets and a big floor waiting for us. Nobody will interrupt.

Maybe an hour later we pull apart, and Rory finally looks around to see where I’ve brought her. “This is your bedroom?”

“It’s a storage room. It used to be a ballroom.”

She’s on her feet, straightening out her clothes, buttoning and zipping. “There’s so much to play with.” The pile of fabric catches her attention, and she starts digging through it. “Some of this stuff is super old. And so cool.” She holds up a piece large enough to make a dress—at least I’d guess it’s large enough to make a dress. “This is from the seventies, maybe even from Europe, judging from the pattern. Maybe Sweden. Can I have it?” She spins to look at me.

“Sure, I guess.” I fix my clothes so it doesn’t look like we just had the world’s most intense mash session, which would have been different if a person could make condoms appear out of thin air. “I don’t know who else wants it.” What can it hurt to give her some fabric?

Rory puts it into her bag, which is lying at Donna Russell’s feet. Then she sees the stack of photocopied face pieces. “What’s this?” She starts sifting though them.

“Those are the flash robbers’ faces. Pieces of them, anyway.”

She pulls out the life-size face for Lou and puts it over her own, then starts talking. “Hi, my name is Lou. Do you know me? I’m so self-involved, I created Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, Snapchat, and Twitter profiles for myself for good days AND bad days! I don’t need castmates when I do a play, because I do all the parts myself! I’m so awesome I shit rainbows and glitter!” Rory is giggling, but I’m not.

“Put it back, all right? I need it.” I’m the only one who gets to say bad things about my sister. A thought suddenly arrows through my brain. “You’re not the one taking the ghoulie bodies, are you?”

She levels a look at me. “What would be the point of that? And what are THESE?” Suddenly Rory is across the room and down on her knees, getting close-up to Sid the Sasquatch and the sea monsters. “Did you do these?”

“David did the one with the robot in the open field.” My mind’s still processing what she said. I think she’s telling the truth about the ghoulie bodies.

“Epic would love these. You should bring them over sometime and show him.” She reaches out and touches Sid. “I’d hang this one over my couch, no problem.”

A large BANG echoes up the stairwell.

“What the hell was that?” Rory looks at me. “Someone’s blowing off hand grenades?”

“I have no idea.” I move as fast as I can down the stairs.

Lou’s door is wide open. When I look in her room, she’s by the window, looking out. The mirror on her wall is shattered, and there’s another glittery piece of wood on the floor. It’s the second half—the barrel—of Ghoulie Sarah’s gun.

“You OK?” I move toward her, watching where I’m stepping, because my shoes are up with Donna Russell and Rory.

“Assholes!” She gasps through her tears. “They almost hit me in the motherfucking head!” And she dissolves onto her bed.

I cross carefully to the window and look out, too. It must have been Carter—Mr. Football himself—who threw it, because Lou’s window isn’t that big, though it’s easier to get things through it since there’s no glass. Carter made a huge hole in the plastic Dad covered it with. My folks weren’t too pissed about the window—they believed her story about accidentally kicking it out—but they’re making her pay for the glass replacement. She didn’t complain when they told her, which is a miracle.

“You should tell Mom and Dad someone’s trying to hurt you.” This is bad.

“No!” She sits up on her bed. “They can’t know. Just . . . just help me pick up the mirror.”

“Lou, this is serious. Really serious. You have to tell them.” My stomach is in knots.

“Just shut up, Frankie. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.” She’s still crying, but she’s pissed, too.

Yes, I do know. The knots get tighter.

“Let me go get my shoes.” I turn around and take the stairs two at a time. Rory’s back to shuffling through the ghoulie face pieces.

“Someone threw a chunk of wood through Lou’s window, and it broke her mirror. I need to help her clean it up.” I find my shoes over by the stack of fabric. I don’t even remember taking them off. “Can you do your homework for a while?”

“I guess.” It’s clear she’s not happy I’m deserting her.

“I’ll be back soon.” I lean down to kiss her, since she’s on the floor, but she moves away.

Max Ledermann, the kid she left sobbing in the caf at school, is suddenly front and center in my brain. This is how it goes, buddy. Just wait.

Lou and I get the mirror picked up and pitched into the trash can behind the garage. My folks still aren’t home, which makes me wonder why they’re working late, but I’m more concerned about Rory in the ballroom. I sprint back up to Donna Russell, and Rory is plopped in the middle of the floor, working on a couch painting. She’s got a Godzilla-ish guy coming out from behind a very peaceful country cottage, and there are sheep and people running in all directions. It’s the canvas I was going to paint next.

“Excellent monster choice.” I sit down next to her. “Run out of homework?”

“I never do my homework.” She gives a sheep another fluff of white wool. “Well, I never do it until after supper and after I’ve done everything but homework. I hate school.” She paints one last flourish on Godzilla’s head, one last point, and she hands me her brush. “There are a million interesting things in the world, and I intend to try them all. That’s why I love hanging out with Epic. I’ve been to seven different countries because of him.” Rory stands up, grabs her painting, and leans it on the wall with the other ones. “Mine is way better than David’s. My Godzilla is actually scary. His robot’s just dumb. But really, what’s not dumb about adding monsters into thrift-store paintings?”

“I think it’s pretty hilarious, actually.” She can’t just insult Sid like that, or David’s robot.

“I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant . . . well, never mind.” She turns to me again with one of those I’m-the-sexiest-girl-on-earth smiles. “Today was fun. We should do it again sometime. Soon, in fact.”

She’s more beautiful than Miss America and Miss World combined, and I can smell her again. Slightly sweaty. A little flowery, a little spicy, with undertones of my aftershave. My heart does a little jump-hop when I smell it.

I am going to be chewed up and spit out. I know it. But when she leans in to kiss me, of course I kiss her back. This moment may never come again.