Mondays must be the most boring days in the history of America, and this Monday is no exception. Turns out Rory’s not here, so I have no idea what her surprise is. Also, Spanish class smells a lot less excellent without her.

Mom didn’t say a word to me before school. She wouldn’t look at me, either. I guess she’s saving up her anger for suppertime, when we talk about what we’re thankful for. She’ll tell us she’s thankful she gets to rip me a new one.

After school it’s time to glide by the Kwiky Pik and check out Monster Brallison. I heard a few comments in the hall, which is good. I want Miss Vixen’s last ghoulie to be the one people talk about for a long time.

From a distance I can see there’s a crowd, which is cool, but maybe not good. And then the cops pull up, which is really not good. Once I get close enough, I can hear yelling. It’s a high-pitched “No! Fuck you! No!” Each yell is followed by a ripping sound.

I glide a little faster.

By the time I get there, the shouting and ripping have stopped. Once I push my way to the front of the crowd, I see Lou swinging a mannequin stand. Monster Brallison is in tatters on the ground, clothes and mannequin pieces everywhere, along with a bunch of ripped-up paper. Lou’s face floats on the top of the rubble pile, her photocopied face, approximately the same size as the photocopied faces I used to make the ghoulies. The face that used to be in my pile of photocopies at home.

And who should be standing on the edge of the crowd but Rory, looking highly amused.

Lou sees me, drops the mannequin stand, and screams, “Frankie! She stole my necklace and she framed me and GET AWAY FROM ME!” The cops are reaching for her while she points at Rory. Lou bursts into tears. My stomach shrivels up.

“Miss, you need to come with us. You need to calm down and come talk with us at the station.” A police officer has his hands out in front of him, looking like he wants to make peace while he’s actually reaching for her arms.

“I haven’t done anything!” Lou shrieks at him and looks at me. “Frankie, help!”

“We’re going to talk once you calm down, miss, and we’re going to do it at the station.” The officer grabs her, not all that gently, while she tries to shrug him off. They put her in the back of their car and zoom off. My throat closes up when I see Lou’s face framed by the cop car window. Everyone watches them go, and then, when the car is gone, like one person’s head, they all turn to look at me.

I look at Rory. She’s grinning ear to ear. “Surprise!” She claps her hands like I’m supposed to join her in celebrating.

I see a glint of gold underneath Monster Brallison’s carnage. When I look closer, I realize it’s Lou’s drama mask necklace, so I dig it out and put it in my pocket. “This is my surprise? You stole her necklace? And her face?”

“Small details.” Rory gestures to the paper scattered around. “You should’ve seen it. She had a complete meltdown.”

“And now she’s been hauled off in a cop car!” My chest is tight, and the guilt arrow is stabbing me everywhere.

“I thought you wanted to make her feel bad.” Rory’s face is mean.

“That’s my biz, not yours. Jesus, Rory, what did you do?” I grab things, picking up the remains, so nobody can see how close I am to tears. A girl hands me one of Brallison’s arms. Out of the corner of my eye I see a few flash robbers—Carter, Matt, Allison, and Sarah. When I turn to them, they glare and walk away in a group, muttering to each other.

Once I really look at the pieces of paper, what happened starts to make sense. Rory made a big paper doll and taped it on top of Brallison. It’s a drawing of a girl wearing a tulle skirt, with Lou’s photocopied face on the top. The girl’s shirt says I’M MISS VIXEN, AND I’M GOING TO THE COPS. FLASH ROBBERS, GET READY.

“You are a complete and utter bitch.”

“Don’t tell me you aren’t happy she freaked out.” Rory’s got her feet planted and her arms crossed, glaring at me.

“Who called the cops?”

Rory smirks. “Probably the people inside. I don’t know.”

“I bet you did that, too. The people inside can’t even see this end of the building.” I keep gathering Monster Brallison pieces, stacking the mannequin parts by the wall and grabbing paper before it blows away. “You’re an asshat, you know that? You fucked with someone who’s never hurt you. Why do you shit on people?”

I need to get to the police station, and I’m picking up litter. What the hell is wrong with me?

“I thought you’d be happy.” Her arms are still crossed.

“This is between Lou and me.” The more I think about it, the angrier I get. “Do what you want with your knitting and with Epic, but the ghoulies are mine. And my sister is off-limits.” The garbage can isn’t bolted down, so I drag it over to the pile of pieces I’ve started. I can’t help Lou anyway.

A hand rests on my lower back, and it feels like a hot coal. “I didn’t know she was going to bust stuff up. I just wanted her to . . . I don’t know . . . be mad. She was the fool for being at the flash rob. She should have expected something like this.”

I shake off her hand. “You wanted to do a flash rob, too. What if someone decided to rat you out? What would you do if you saw yourself made into a giant paper doll, after people had threatened you with violence to keep quiet? Wouldn’t you want to beat the crap out of everything?”

Of course I’ve just described what I did to Lou. Now the guilt arrow has moved from the pit of my stomach to my heart, and it’s stabbing me into little pieces.

If I say anything more, I’m going to lose it, so I just keep shuffling the remains of Monster Brallison and the paper doll into the garbage can. All the other ghoulie faces are still tacked up on the wall of the Kwiky Pik. They’re a pretty stern jury, even with their makeup on.

“I’ve got to go find Lou. Don’t ever talk to me again.” If I could make my words into poison spears, I’d pin her ass to the parking lot.

“Do you even know where the police station is?” There’s a hint of laughter in Rory’s voice. She points. “About six blocks that way, then take a left.”

I grab Ramona and push fast toward the cop shop while I try calling my folks. No answer.

When I get there, I’m out of breath. The woman behind the counter glares at me like I’m going to contaminate her by breathing on her too hard. She’s short and slightly lumpy, with aggressively red hair that complements her stern demeanor.

“I need to find Tallulah Neumann. Can you help me?”

The woman is unmoved. “Is she a minor?”

“Yes. She’s my sister.”

“You’ll have to wait there for her—your—parents.” The woman points to a couple rows of chairs in the ugliest waiting room I’ve ever seen. It’s an excellent place to feel hopeless, so I take Ramona into the corner and kick my own mental ass for a while. Why did I ever start with the ghoulies? Why did I ever think it was a good idea to mess with Lou? Why didn’t I just tell my parents about the flash rob like any other big brother would? Why the hell was it more important to make art? And why why why did I ever get close enough to Rory to smell her? Why couldn’t she smell like a sewer? None of this would have happened if she’d smelled like crap.

I text Lou: I’m here but they won’t let me come see you. They said wait for folks.

No answer. I’d bet they took her phone.

And now I have no fucking idea what to do.

I twirl Ramona’s wheel until the woman gives me a death stare, because it’s not particularly quiet to spin a longboard wheel. But there’s no sign that says I have to be quiet.

I text my dad first, just for the calm factor: Please come to the police station near Henderson High. Don’t freak out. Nobody’s dead.

I can’t think what to do next, so I text David. Rory is a bitch and I’m never doing anything with E again if she’s there. Lou’s at the police station because of her.

He texts back immediately. I told you it might end poorly.

He did tell me. Always listen to a bro. My mistake.

Six smiley faces. 6-pack away from being a bro. Where are you?

Cop shop, duh, trying to think of a way to spring Lou. Can’t get my folks to answer.

Be cool. No worries. Easy for him to say.

I text my mom, since Dad hasn’t texted. She’s gonna blow up anyway. Call me as soon as you get this. Lou is in trouble. Then I put Ramona down on the ground and push her back and forth with my foot. Counter Lady gives me another death stare. But seriously, what can I do? I’ve never been so helpless in my whole life.

Fifteen minutes go by. No text from either parent.

“Yeah.” Can’t believe I drifted. Still going to throw up.

A guy comes into the station, an average-looking guy with honey-blond hair and green eyes, kind of handsome, medium build, not too tall, dressed in pants and a tie and a white shirt. Once he spots me, he makes a beeline for the chair next to mine and sits down.

“Dr. Seuss is god.” He says this calmly, like the entire world understands this fact.

“Whatever you say.” I stand up and move three chairs down. Not interested.

His eyes are asking me to get what he’s saying. “I love Dr. Seuss.” He takes a piece of paper from his pocket. It’s a folded-up Andy Warhol hundred-dollar bill.

So much goes bouncing through my brain. “It’s so not safe for you to be here.” The man’s been anonymous longer than I’ve been alive. He can’t blow that because of me. “You need to leave now.”

His voice is low and composed. “I’m sorry it took me so long. Let’s go find your sister, shall we? This is all you need to know.” He shoves the paper into my hand. The Warhol bill has an address written on it. “Memorize it.” His eyes are laughing, but they’re also asking me not to blow it. Epic is more vulnerable right now than he’s ever been in his life. “Tallulah’s birthday is May 9, 2001, right? There are so many of you kids, I can’t keep you straight.” Big grin.

“How’d you . . .” How does he know that?

“So many, I need my own department at the Bureau of Vital Records.” He’s almost laughing outright now.

“You’re so funny, Dad.” I read the address about ten times. Once I’ve got it, I stand up, grab Ramona, and move to the counter with Epic. “This lady can tell us where to find Lou.” I pray my real parents don’t show up. I’m sure the cops called them, too.

“You’re the father?” She gives me a suspicious look. “He’s not old enough to be your dad.”

“My parents were high school sex fiends, and they had me when they were sixteen. This is my father. We’d like to see my sister.” I try and give her a nasty look in return, for her rudeness.

“Could we please see Tallulah? She’s probably very scared.” Epic is nowhere near rude. In fact, he’s pleasant, like he’s talking about our lovely spring weather. The lady actually gives him a faint smile.

Then it hits me full force: Uncle Epic—THE Uncle Epic—is standing next to me. His only disguise is my silence.

My knees give a little, so I prop myself up on the counter.

Epic’s charm gets some action. She picks up the phone and presses a few buttons, then says, “Juvenile female.” Then she listens. When she hangs up, she gives me another death stare and another faint smile to Epic. “All right. Back through the gate, turn to your right, third door on the left.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Epic nods. I move through the gate and practically run to find Lou. Epic walks with all the confidence in the world, like he’s not aware that every single cop in the place would tackle his ass in ten seconds if they knew who he was.

She’s sitting at a table in the middle of a big room, all by herself. It’s obvious she’s been crying, because her face is blotched out, though the enormous Kleenex pile on the table is a good clue, too. When she sees me, she jumps up so fast she knocks the chair over as she throws herself into my arms.

“Hey! It’s OK! Really, you’re all right.” I don’t know what to do besides pat her back. “Maybe we can go now.”

She raises her head to look me in the face. “They want to know what I know about the sheep.”

“What?”

Epic coughs.

Lou breaks away from me and gives him a scowl. “Who’s that?” Epic smiles.

“That’s Dad, of course.” I kick her foot, warning her to play along. We sit back down again, me and Lou on one side of the table, Epic next to Lou at the end. The cops’ chairs are opposite me and Lou.

I’m scared.

The door opens again. Two cops come in. Both are youngish, somewhere between my age and Epic’s, and neither looks particularly mean. One of them addresses Epic. “My name is Officer Travas. Sir, is this your daughter?”

He nods. “Yes, this is my Tallulah.”

“Could you give me her birthdate?”

“May 9, 2001.” He says this like he was in the room when it happened. Thank god for whoever he knows in Vital Records.

The second cop shakes Epic’s hand. “I’m Officer Kaiser, and we’re concerned your daughter is involved with Uncle Epic and the flash robs he’s been conducting around the city.” He puts a clipboard on the table.

“Uncle Epic isn’t a felon. He’s not involved with the flash robs. At all.” The words tumble out of my mouth.

They ignore me. “Was your daughter a part of these incidents, sir?”

Epic’s face goes crimson as he speaks. “Lou is not involved with Uncle Epic, and Uncle Epic isn’t involved with the flash robs.”

They have to hear me. “I know who did the first flash rob. It wasn’t Epic. I’ll tell you what I know.”

Epic’s face starts to clear, but Lou hunches her shoulders into her ears.

Officer Travas pounces. “That’s a start. Did you orchestrate the others as well? We’ve been watching your ghoulies. What’s your name, young man?” He produces a notebook from his back pocket.

“Me?” My whole body feels like it’s been stuck into a fire. “Frankie. Franklin Neumann. I didn’t do the flash rob. Any of them.”

“But how would you know about the first flash rob if you weren’t there? And what do you know about a guy named Mixt UP?” Officer Kaiser looks smug, like he’s got it all figured out. The tops of his ears are red. “We also know you were part of at least two of Epic’s pieces, because your white delivery truck was in the vicinity of his eyes at the capitol and the sheep in Loring Park. We figure you must mastermind the robberies under Uncle Epic’s direction. If you were involved in Epic’s work, why wouldn’t you be involved in the flash robs?”

“He’s an artist, not a criminal, and I didn’t mastermind anything!” I’m going to vomit on the table. I look at Epic, which he must take as a cue, because he starts talking.

“Officers, could you please tell me why you assume that Uncle Epic is involved in the flash robs? Do you have proof of a connection between him and the robberies?”

Officer Kaiser’s ears are still beet red. “We’re working on it.”

“But you don’t have any direct proof.” Epic’s not smiling, but he’s not frowning either.

“The only thing we have right now is the presence of a white delivery truck at two of Uncle Epic’s pieces and at the Kwiky Pik, the site of the first flash rob. That truck is registered to you, Brett Neumann. We also know that there were sculptures in the parking lot of the Kwiky Pik that referenced words like ‘I know who did it.’” Officer Kaiser looks a little less intense, because he knows he’s just laid out some pretty weak connections.

“Do you have proof the white delivery truck was actually involved in the art pieces or the robberies, or was it just present?” Epic seems to know this line of questioning.

“We know it was present.” Officer Kaiser glares, and Epic smiles.

Officer Travas shakes his head and turns his attention back to Lou and me. “Let’s focus on the flash rob for a minute. Do you understand the penalties for aggravated robbery? Especially one where the clerk almost died as a result of the robbery? If that had happened, we’d be talking about manslaughter. Instead, how does twenty years strike you? That’s what you get when you commit robbery with a gun in Minnesota.”

All the air in the room is sucked up. Up to twenty years for Lou, who’s staring daggers at me, because she now understands who Miss Vixen is. I am dead.

But I’m also an asshole. Yes, Lou made a huge mistake, but I’m the jerk who capitalized on it.

I can’t believe I’m going to say this.

“OK. I did it. But Epic didn’t do a thing. I’ll tell you who robbed the first Kwiky Pik if you believe me that Epic had nothing to do with it.”

“Would you sign a legal document stating Uncle Epic has nothing to do with the flash robs? A document that includes penalties for lying?” Officer Kaiser is making notes. His ears look like they’re going to explode, they’re so red. Officer Travas is watching all of us, trying to figure out if anyone’s being shady.

“Yes. Of course.”

“You can’t confess to something you didn’t do, Frankie.” This from Uncle Epic. “I’m glad you can defend your artist friend, but you can’t confess to a crime you didn’t commit.”

“No, you can’t.” A very small voice from my left.

“Tallulah, we need to get you a lawyer if you want to talk about this.” Epic again.

“Shut up, Lou. I know who robbed the Kwiky Pik.”

“And so do I, so let me tell it. You don’t know everything. I do.” She’s determined.

This gets the officers’ attention. “Start talking, Tallulah.” Officer Kaiser gives her a no-nonsense look as he passes the clipboard to Officer Travas, who immediately starts writing.

“What night was it and where was it?” Officer Kaiser is making sure.

“April 22, at the Kwiky Pik near Golden Valley Boulevard and Highway 12.”

“And how were the flash robbers dressed?”

She looks defiant and angry. And a little bit relieved. “We had on costumes like the court of Louis XIV that we borrowed from the community theater located at 84th and Locust. Matt Havelock’s mother works there, and he took the key to the building from her key ring. We all wore masks. The gun came from Elijah Bush’s house. Nobody fired it. Only a few people actually took things, maybe Brandon Anderson, Carter Stone, Matt Havelock, and Brooklyn Smith. I don’t know for sure. I watched, and I touched the gun, but I handed it off to someone else right away.” And she bursts into tears. I reach over and hug her as tight as I can. Epic comes over and pats her on the back, looking as concerned as he can for a girl he’s never met before.

“Could you make a list of the people who were there?” This request from Officer Travas, who’s still writing things on the clipboard.

“Yes.” Lou reaches for the Kleenex again. Officer Travas passes over the clipboard and a pen after he moves the top piece of paper. She starts to write. Epic gives her one more pat and goes back to his chair.

“Young man, do you know what Uncle Epic looks like?” Officer Kaiser is focused on me again.

“I’m a huge fan, but no, I don’t know him personally.” I keep my eyes strictly on Officer Kaiser, because if I look at Epic, I’m dead. At the same time, I want to shout, He’s sitting right in front of you! My mind seizes on the address Epic handed me. “I can tell you the address of a place where I heard Uncle Epic lives. But it’s just a rumor.”

“Do you know where the sheep came from?” Officer Travas is looking intense again. He takes a piece of paper from his breast pocket and pulls a pen from the same place. “Write down that address here, please.” He slides the paper and pen over to me. Lou is still making a list. I have no idea what Epic is doing, since I can’t look at him. I hear him clear his throat.

“You mean the sheep in Loring Park? The owner’s phone number was on the bottom of the sheep. Didn’t you see that?”

Oh shit. What if they didn’t see that? Ohshitohshitohshit.

Officer Kaiser makes a note on the clipboard. “We did see that. How did you know about it?”

Ohshit.

“A friend took a picture.” Which isn’t a lie, because David did text me photos.

“The sheep’s owner came and took them back pretty early the next day.” Officer Travas crosses his arms. “And his grandson goes to your school, so I’m wondering if you know him. Jess Wistrom?”

“My friend was there before the sheep were gone, around seven a.m. the morning after Uncle Epic did the piece. Running.” David wouldn’t run unless a zombie was chasing him. Maybe not even then.

Officer Kaiser raises his eyebrows. “I see. You’re saying you didn’t help with the sheep, even though we saw a truck just like yours close to the scene. And the eyes at the capitol—you weren’t there, either? How about the penises on Nicollet Mall? Are you prepared to pay a fine for illegal dumping?”

I don’t raise my eyebrows back at him, even though I want to. “Why would I have to pay a fine when you can’t prove my truck was involved with the pieces? And what does Epic’s work have to do with the flash robs? Isn’t that what really matters—armed robbery in five different places around town? Or is ruining Epic more important than public safety?”

“Son, watch your tone. Respect matters.” Epic’s making sure the cops know he’s the dad, but I think he also doesn’t want me to get too carried away.

I write down 7100 Nicollet Avenue and pass it over to Officer Travas. That’s the address that was on the Warhol money.

“You’re sure this is where he is?” Officer Travas reads it and tries to stare into my soul to see if I’m telling the truth.

“That’s the only address I know that’s connected to Uncle Epic.” Which is also not a lie, because I have no idea what the address is for his shop. All I know is that it’s on 34th Street.

Lou pushes her list back to Officer Travas. “Will I get twenty years in jail?” She looks so little and scared.

“No. When people cooperate, we give them lesser charges.” He holds up the list. “We’ll have to see what these individuals say, to see if your story checks out, that you didn’t do anything but watch.”

Lou sags and closes her eyes. “OK.” The stone lifts off my heart. My parents will still flip out, but it’s better than aggravated robbery.

“Did your flash robbers have anything to do with the other robberies in town?” Officer Travas directs this question to Lou.

“No. We only did one. I have no idea who did the others. I didn’t even know there were other ones until you said there were.” Her eyes are still closed.

“So what was up with the monsters in the parking lot of the Kwiky Pik, Franklin?” Officer Travas turns to me again. “What do you know about Mixt UP?”

“It’s a long story.” One I don’t really want to tell right now, because they’ll arrest me for being the shittiest brother on the planet, which Lou is confirming with every nasty sideways look she gives me.

“But you do claim them.”

“Yes.”

“You realize we can fine you for leaving them there. Even though their bodies disappeared, their faces didn’t.”

ZING. The lightbulb goes on. Their bodies. Dr. Seuss. Epic took his ghoulie parts back.

Thank god I don’t owe him any money.

Back to reality. “That’s fine.” I just want this nightmare to be over. I just want Epic to walk out the doors of this place with his freedom and his anonymity.

Officer Travas finally looks satisfied.

Officer Kaiser looks at Epic. “We can release Tallulah to you today, but we have to process her first. And we’ll write Franklin a ticket for illegal dumping.”

Epic nods. “I understand.”

“I’ll wait for you both in the lobby, but I have to go back to Kwiky Pik first.” I stand up. “Am I free to go, Officers? I don’t have any charges, do I?”

Officer Travas shakes his head. “We don’t have anything to charge you with, but you’ll pay for leaving your monsters around. And from here on out, I’d suggest you keep your nose clean. If we ever see your delivery truck close to one of Uncle Epic’s pieces, we’ll ticket you on the spot. Even if he doesn’t do flash robs, he’s still annoying as hell.”

A snort from the end of the table.

“I’ll send your ticket with your dad.” He leaves the room.

Officer Kaiser stands up, too. “Tallulah, will you and your dad please come with me? We should be able to process you within an hour. Then you’ll be free to go until your court appearance, which should be within a couple days. Make sure you have a lawyer when you come to court.”

“Yes, sir.” Epic has on his best serious-dad face. Lou is crying again, but very silently. The tears trickle down, one by one. I move to hug her, but she shoves me away with a black look. They leave the room, and I pray like I’ve never prayed before that they don’t ask Epic for any ID, or to prove he’s her dad. We have an hour to go in this charade.

I push back to the Kwiky Pik and make sure all the paper and scraps are picked up. I don’t know how Lou managed to rip Monster Brallison’s clothes, but she did. Someone’s put Monster Brallison’s face up with the others, so now there are five ghostly ghoulie faces in a row on the wall. I take a picture of all of them, and Miss Vixen tweets it: The last act of the ghoulies. Love these creatures. Thanks to Miss Vixen’s fans.

The mannequin parts and the stand are gone. Maybe Rory took them back to Epic. But why would she do something nice?

I glide back to the police station and wait in the lobby. The counter lady looks less pissed at me, because I keep my wheels quiet this time. Still no texts from my parents, which is incredibly strange, but I’m more worried about getting Epic and Lou out of the police station with Epic’s cover intact. I sweat so much I can smell my armpits after about ten minutes. I’m gross. And petrified.

Epic and Lou come out from behind the counter about fifteen minutes after I get back, and I leap to my feet. Lou looks composed. She’s stopped crying, though her eyes are red and puffy. Epic looks cool as frost in October.

“Ready to get home?” Some impulse makes me hold out my hand to Lou, but she swats me away.

My phone vibrates. WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU AND WHY IS LOU IN TROUBLE? My mom. I text back: Be home in ten minutes. Stay there. Will explain then. Lou is OK. Vibration. Text from my dad: Things OK, Frankie? I text back: Be home in ten minutes. Stay there. Will explain then.

Epic leads us to his car, which is a red ’88 Honda Accord with more rust on it than paint. I know it’s an ’88 Accord because my dad had one just like it in college and I’ve seen pictures.

I blurt it out. “You can afford a better ride than this.”

He laughs. “This is my disguise car. For when I want to look like a nerdy computer programmer or a Dungeons & Dragons player.”

When we’re in the car, me in the front and Lou in the back, she finally lets it fly: “Who the fuck are you? I mean, thanks for pretending to be my dad, but seriously, who are you?” She points at me. “I know exactly who you are, you lowdown fucking jerkoff. You asswipe. You cocksucker.”

Epic answers like she’s not just breathed fire in his presence. “I’m a friend of your brother’s. My name’s Jamie Carlson.”

“How’d you know my birthdate?” She frowns.

“I have a friend at Vital Records.” He smiles. “Thanks for pretending I was your dad.”

“Are you kidding? I’m in so much shit, I didn’t want to add on some charge of impersonating a dad or something like that. Could police actually charge you with that? I have no idea.” And that’s all she says. She stares out the window.

“You were a godsend . . . Jamie. Thanks for helping us. It was crazy stupid for you to do it, but thank you.”

“Thanks for defending Uncle Epic.” He chuckles.

I now know one of the greatest secrets in the world—well, two, if you count birth name and facial recognition as separate secrets. It’s all I can do not to holler like I’ve just won a million dollars. But I keep it cool. Then it also hits me that Rory and I just had a horrible fight. Like a friendship/relationship-ending fight.

“Um, Jamie . . . Rory and I . . .”

He nods. “She told me. You’re still in my crew. She just won’t do the projects you and David do.”

I didn’t even realize I’d been holding my breath until I let it out in one long whoosh. “OK. Thanks. Thank you a million times.”

He points to the dashboard of his car. There’s a HIPPOS: ADORABLE DEATH MACHINES sticker there. I completely missed it when I got in. “I’ve admired your work for a few years. Glad to have you on board.”

I almost faint. “From—”

“Drastic Plastic, on the rack with all the free stuff. Bet you thought nobody ever took one.” He smiles the kindest smile anybody’s ever smiled at me. Then we’re home, so it saves me from more conversation.

Lou looks at Epic. She’s been crying again. “Thanks again for helping, Jamie. I won’t tell.” And she’s out the door and into the house.

I will murder her for real if she does.

I climb out of the backseat and come to the driver’s window to stick out my hand. “Your name and your face are safe with me. And I’ll keep Lou in line.”

He grins. “David was right about you—that you’re a quality guy—and I’m sorry you were right about Rory.” He salutes me and zooms off in his car, which farts some ugly exhaust as he goes. I’m left standing there with my hand out, looking like a dumbass.

As disguises go, it’s a pretty good one.

Mom and Dad are sitting at the table, where hamburgers, baked beans, and salad are laid out for us. Lou’s nowhere to be seen. It’s all I can do not to put my arms in front of my face, to shield me from the shouting that’s sure to start any second.

My mom points at my chair. “Sit. Lou went to wash up. She said there’s a lot to talk about. And we probably don’t want to know.” She pours me a glass of milk while she gives me the eye.

Lou comes back in, and my mom looks between us, her face as stern as I’ve ever seen it. “So. Spill it. You were both at the police station. Are you both in trouble?”

Lou glares at me. “Frankie got a ticket. I, on the other hand, need a lawyer because Miss Vixen ratted me out.”

I’m pissed. “This has nothing to do with Miss Vixen, you idiot. You need a lawyer because you were part of an armed robbery! Even though Miss Vixen ratted out the flash robbers, Miss Vixen didn’t make you go to the Kwiky Pik dressed like a fancy French lady!”

My mom’s mouth is hanging open. My dad manages to get the words out. “Armed . . . robbery?”

“But I’m not being charged with it. It’ll be something less, they said. So we have to go to court in a few days.”

“Why didn’t we know this?” My mom is on her feet and furious. “Who was with you while the police were talking to you? You’re a minor, Lou! You need an adult with you for legal stuff.” Mom’s voice is high and tense.

Lou points at me. “Frankie’s friend Jamie came, and he sat with us while we talked to the cops, and then while they fingerprinted me and all that. The police didn’t ask him for ID, so they never knew he wasn’t my dad.”

“Is this the robbery where Marvin had a heart attack?” Dad’s still trying to process.

“Yes. Nobody meant for that to happen. It was just a bunch of stupid theater people who wanted to do something risky for the thrill. I didn’t take anything, and I only touched the gun once. It was dumb, and I’m sorry. They’ll call us when they have my court date. And we need to bring a lawyer. That’s all I know.” Lou’s eyes are locked on mine. She’s not done.

My mom has nothing to say to this. Nor does my dad. They just look from one of us to the other, then to each other, like their children have been replaced by aliens.

Lou tries to cut me with her stare. “Your girlfriend is going to pay for that paper doll. I don’t know how yet, but she will.”

“Who’s your girlfriend?” My dad’s confused. “What does she have to do with armed robbery?”

“Ask Frankie.” Lou scowls. “Her name’s Rory. They make out in the Target parking lot.”

My mom raises her eyebrows at me. “You were making out in the Target parking lot?”

“Rory’s not my girlfriend. At least not anymore. Probably never was. And we weren’t out in the open. We were in the truck.” I don’t want my parents to know any of this.

Lou scowls some more. “Doesn’t matter if she’s your girlfriend or not, she was a complete bitch to make that paper doll. But it’s nothing compared to how you framed me with the monsters, Miss Vixen.”

The guilt arrow twists in my gut.

My mom leans in. “What did you say, Lou?”

My dad’s looking between us again. He can feel the heat in Lou’s glare of pure hatred. “Who’s Miss Vixen?”

“Is she someone you both know?” This from my mom.

“In a manner of speaking.” Lou stands up, and her composed voice scares me more than anything she’s ever done. “You’re going to regret this. So much.” She turns around and goes to a kitchen drawer, takes something out that I can’t see, then marches up the stairs.

My dad isn’t sure what’s just happened. “Explain all of this, please.”

I can’t look at either of them. “When I found out Lou was in the flash rob, it was just . . . too tempting. She’s done so much shit to me over the years, it looked like a great time to get back at her for some of it. Miss Vixen—that’s me—made some art that got her in trouble with her friends, and I guess it went too far.” That’s the understatement of the world.

Mom shakes her head. “So she was an idiot, and then you were one too?”

“Something like that.”

Dad frowns. “Has she ever done anything that mean to you?”

I think before I answer him. Might as well say it. “She stole you guys from me. I’d say that’s pretty shitty.”

My dad stares at me. My mom frowns with her whole face.

BUMP. I hear it again. BUMP. And then I see Lou at the bottom of the stairs.

I jump up. “That’s not yours. Off-limits.”

How does she know about Donna Russell?

“Oh yeah? My life is off-limits, too. So just suck it, Frankie.” And she shoves Donna Russell out the door.

My parents look at me. I look at them. It takes a second for my brain to work.

Oh no.

I sprint from my chair. “Don’t hurt her!”

Lou’s gotten the gas can from the garage, and she’s put it and Donna Russell on the lawn. She’s shredding Donna, piece by piece, pulling her apart and off the mannequin stand.

“Stop! Stop it!” I screech from the bottom of my gut while Lou pours gas on my best girl. “Don’t do it!”

“See how it makes you feel.” There is venom in Lou’s voice. “Just see how you like it.” Then she clicks the fire stick she took from the kitchen drawer, and the pile of junk that is Donna Russell is in flames.

All the strength runs out of my legs, and I’m on the ground, just like Donna.

“Lou, what are you doing?” My mother arrives in time to see the flames get a little taller. “You can’t light a fire on the grass!”

My dad just turns and runs around the corner of the house.

“HOW DO YOU LIKE THIS, FRANKIE?” Now Lou’s screaming at the top of her lungs. “HOW DO YOU LIKE IT WHEN YOUR LIFE GOES UPSIDE DOWN?”

I can’t talk. I just watch Donna burn. The tears make the whole scene blurry, so the fire looks like it’s made out of watercolors.

SPLOOSH. My dad is there with the hose, and then Donna Russell is a smoking pile of wire and metal and plastic and fabric, stinking like crazy.

My best friend is gone.

“All of you. In the house.” My mom’s voice is barely controlled, and she has one very firm hand on Lou’s shoulder. “Get up, Frankie.”

I try, but my legs still aren’t working. She was the only one who understood.

“Come on, Frankie.” My dad’s voice is soft and gentle. He puts an arm around me and helps me up. “Let’s go inside.”

It’s almost dark, and Donna is destruction personified on the front lawn. It’s hard to walk.

My mother sends Lou to a chair, and my dad guides me to another. Then they both sit down.

“Too much, children, too much. You can’t do this stuff to each other, not to mention to the lawn.” My dad sighs.

Lou crosses her arms. “He’s done way more harm than I have.”

I stand up so fast I almost knock the table over. “YOU DESTROYED THE ONLY PERSON WHO UNDERSTANDS ME. YOU CAN HAVE ANY FRIENDS YOU WANT AND YOU TOOK AWAY THE ONE PERSON WHO LOVED ME FOR ME.” I yell it from my toes. “ALL I WANTED WAS TO BE HEARD. FOR ONCE IN MY GODDAMN LIFE I WANTED SOMEONE TO HEAR ME.” I am an insane yelling machine.

“Frankie, sit down.” My dad is amazingly serene in the face of my screaming. “Can we talk like civil people?”

“NO. SHE KILLED DONNA RUSSELL. You aren’t supposed to know about Donna anyway!” And then all the intensity drains away, just like that, and I’m a sobbing puddle on the floor. My mom gets me some Kleenex and pats my shoulder until I can get up. It’s a long time—or at least it feels like it to me—before I get back up on the chair.

“I’m not apologizing for killing Donna Russell. Frankie killed my social life.” Lou’s arms are still crossed.

“You were with people who robbed a store at gunpoint. You are going to be charged with crimes because you were with those friends. You really want people like that in your life?” My mom’s voice is cool and steely. “Do you understand why Frankie’s angry at you? And at us?”

“No.” She acts like she’s never done a thing wrong in her life.

I fill in the blanks for her. “Let’s see, how about that stupid camp poster, and Pepperoniangelo, and maybe you owe me a skateboard and a bike, and the million other stupid shit things you’ve done to me. Which is all just petty stuff, of course. But you’re the real Frankie, remember? It’s so clear they love you more than me, and THAT FUCKING HURTS. ALL RIGHT? IT HURTS.” My throat aches from all the shouting.

Nobody says anything for a while. My mother comes and puts her arms around me. When she moves back, her face is wet. So is my dad’s when he comes and hugs me after she’s done.

Lou breaks the silence. “OK, fine, but that stupid zip-up banana bus was a long time ago, and I didn’t mean anything by the Pepperoniangelo thing, but you’re an assclown, Frankie, plain and simple.”

“Doesn’t mean you weren’t shitty to claim the banana bus as yours.”

My mom is stern. “Did you steal his poster, Tallulah?”

She sighs. “Yes, all right, yes, I did. The poster was his.”

“I’m sorry I messed up your dumb social life, and I’m sorry Rory was mean, and I’m sorry they threatened you and threw the ghoulie gun in your window. But you just burned the one person who understood me. I’ll never forgive you for that.” An icy stillness has settled over me. On my heart. Ice will freeze out the grief. I am so cold I start to shiver.

My mom reaches out her hand to me. “Why do you think we don’t understand you? That we don’t love you?”

“You don’t. How could you? All of you are the same. You sing, you dance, you’re talented and people love to watch you. It’s a thousand times easier for you to love Lou, because she’s like you. But I’m not interesting. I’m boring. Not like you.” Iceberg. I’m an iceberg.

“We love you the way you are.” My dad’s face has never looked more sincere.

“You like her most, though. That’s always been obvious.”

“Don’t be an ass, Frankie!” My mom never cusses at us. “You will NOT suggest that I love one child more than the other. That is NOT how it works in this house. We love Lou because she’s Lou. We love you because you’re you. THAT’S ALL.” She slams her hand on the table for emphasis.

“All right then.” I don’t know what else to say. She’s never been like this.

“All right then.” She’s still pissed, but it’s fading out and something else is replacing that idea. She’s putting the pieces together. “So all the crap that Lou’s done to you over the years became the reason why Miss Vixen made art about the flash rob.”

“Something like that.” I see an immediate crack in my iceberg, but I ignore it. I have to stay cold.

“I will always hate you for that.” Lou honks her nose into a Kleenex and pushes her hair out of her face. “You still suck for Miss Vixen.”

“I don’t care.” And I don’t. “I’ll always hate you for burning Donna Russell.”

Another long silence. Then I remember Lou’s necklace, and I take it out of my pocket and shove it across the table to her. My parents just watch. I don’t explain.

Lou sighs as she puts the necklace on. “Your monsters were cool, even if you’re a jerk.”

“They’re ghoulies, and it’s not my fault you gave me perfect revenge material.”

“Whatever.” The necklace gleams, and she pats it into place. “Your girlfriend better watch herself.”

I wouldn’t be surprised if some paper doll of Rory ends up somewhere Rory won’t like it. “I already said she’s not my girlfriend. And you’re a bushwhacked stupid thief of a Barbie doll with dumbass friends.”

She stands up. “Can I go now?”

“No. Sit.” My mom sighs. “We still have to eat.”

Lou frowns and sits back down. “I don’t wear tulle every day.”

“You used to. Almost every day, anyway.” I frown back at her.

“Do we have any big boxes?” Now it’s my turn to stand up. “I know we have to eat, but I need to do this first.”

“In the garage.” Dad gives me an odd look. “What do you need a box for?”

“I’ve got to put Donna Russell in something.” I can’t say any more, or I’ll cry, so I just leave. When I get out to the front yard, my dad is there, and he helps me gather up Donna’s remains. The iceberg inside me melts a tiny bit. Her pieces are still warm, and I’m afraid the box will smolder, but nothing happens. My chest is tight and achy, and my throat hurts from holding in the tears. My dad helps me carry her behind the garage, and he gives me a one-armed hug when we get her back there. Even though I don’t want it to, the iceberg cracks. I feel it go.

Dad gives me a funny half smile, though I think he wants to be more serious than he is. “Did Miss Vixen document her work while she was tormenting Lou?”

The iceberg crumbles into ice cubes. I’m still shivery, but maybe I’ll warm up.

“All good artists document their work.” I show him Miss Vixen’s tweets, from the very first ghoulie up through the last. It’s been three weeks since I met David and Rory. Three weeks since Lou’s flash rob. Two and a half weeks of ghoulies. But it feels like it started a million years ago.

Then we go inside and eat. My parents talk about lawyers, how long Lou’s going to be grounded, and how camp has to wait. Lou scowls. I don’t talk.

Before she goes to bed, my mom kisses my cheek. “If you give us some of your art to put up, you won’t have to draw on the wall by Lou’s photos.”

“You saw that?”

She laughs. “I like the Sasquatch painting. He’ll look good over the couch. Good night, Frankie.”

I brush my teeth and go to bed with a book about Uncle Epic, written by this guy who’s done profiles of all sorts of street artists. Then I realize that the next book about Epic will probably include photos of pieces I’ve helped him with. Me. Franklin Brett Neumann. I helped Uncle Epic.

And I was Miss Vixen. And she might not be done yet. There’s a lot to talk about in this big dumb world.

Soft knock on the door.

“Yeah, what?”

Her bushy head pokes around the door. “Can I come in?”

I don’t answer.

“Please?”

“Whatever.” I pretend to read.

Lou moves a few feet inside my door. She’s got a blotchy red face again. “Am I right about who it was that dropped us off?”

I don’t even flinch. “You asked him his name. He’s Jamie Carlson. Just a friend.”

“You don’t have friends, remember?” She frowns. “Especially not friends older than thirty.”

“I have exactly two friends—David and Jamie. I used to have three.”

“Yeah, right.”

“If you ever tell, I will cut off all your hair while you sleep. And hide all your ballet flats. And then murder you.”

She knows I’m serious. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Look, I know I’ve been a shit to you over the years. But you messed with me really bad.”

I don’t say anything.

Her voice is small. “I know it was wrong to burn Donna. People shouldn’t hurt other people’s art. Or steal it, either.” A tear spills down her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

The guilt arrow twists so hard in my stomach I almost gag.

So I say it. “I’m sorry, too. Miss Vixen just . . . got away from me, I guess. I wanted someone to hear me.”

“Yeah.” She’s quiet for a minute, looking at the floor. “I’ll probably find new friends.”

“I’ll probably make more sculpture.”

“She really was cool, you know.” Lou smiles.

“Miss Vixen or Donna Russell?”

“Both, actually. So . . . good night.” She picks up a shirt on the foot of my bed, wads it up, and chucks it at me. “You’re a stupid asshole but not a completely horrible brother.”

I chuck it back at her, but she dodges it. “You’re an insensitive hag but good at apologies.”

“Whatever, Frankie.” She rolls her eyes and leaves.

“Whatever, Lou.” The door clicks shut.

I read until my phone vibrates. It’s two pictures, both from @drseussisgod. The first one is the first four ghoulies, minus their faces: Waiting for you at the garage. Come see us sometime.

That picture’s going in the scrapbook.

The second photo is another pyramid of TVs, with the words BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME painted on them. They’re in an empty room with windows—it looks kind of like another garage space. The caption on this one says Surprise for the cops at 7100 Nicollet Avenue.

After a while, I get out of bed and bring Sid down to the living room. It takes me a while to get him placed, but I hang him over the couch and square it up.