The Singing Bone by Beth Hahn

have dinner and she’d say something like “Stuart Malloy, where have you been?” when she saw his mud-covered sneakers.
    Stu knew one of Trina’s brothers, Ali. How cool was that? Stu wished his name was Ali—but Ali Malloy sounded sort of lame. Ali Malik. There was a name. Ali was tall and quiet and serious. Stu wanted to talk to him about their sisters, but he had a feeling Ali would look at him like he was weird— Why would you follow your sister? —and then look past him like he’d already forgotten Stu said anything. Trina had another brother, too, who was strangely just called Scott, but he was behind Stuart in school.
    It wasn’t the first time Stu had followed Molly and her friends. He was prepared. He had his dad’s flashlight in his back pocket. He had a roll of Smarties in his front pocket and a Snickers bar wedged in his back pocket in case he got hungry. He usually went home long before Molly did. If his mom couldn’t find him, she panicked. Not so much as before, but still. His mom was always telling him to get home before dark, and if he wasn’t, when he got up to the house, he’d see all the lights on and his mom standing at the back door with her arms folded. It wasn’t fair, he thought, that Molly never invited him anywhere. If Molly said, “Stu’s coming with us, Mom,” no one would worry. Eleven was not exactly a baby. Eleven was not like ten. Everyone knew that.
    When Molly and her friends got to the edge of the woods, Stu watched from behind another tree until they disappeared over a slight hill. When he thought it was safe, he crept out and found himself in a small orchard. On the other side of it, Stu saw a tall wooden farmhouse, like the kind his mother always pointed at when they drove into Connecticut for Molly’s ballet classes, saying, “Isn’t that pretty?” But it was gray and looked like no one really lived there. The front porch was partly caved in.
    Stu didn’t dare go any closer. He had a funny feeling in his stomach that wasn’t hunger and wasn’t sickness. The wind crept up. The sharp crack of a tree branch breaking and falling in the woods behind him made him jump, and before you could say boo , Stu Malloy was off and running back the way he’d come. He didn’t care how much noise he made. He didn’t like the woods in the dark.
    Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â 
    The sun was low and the earth was warm. Alice liked the woody smell of trees, the sound of the wind, and the deep blue of the coming night. She tried to decipher the joke that Molly and Stover shared, their laughter catching her attention.
    Alice looked up and saw a big clapboard farmhouse with chipped white paint and ivy growing up one wall. There were cars in the front yard, propped on cinder blocks, their hoods open. The front porch sagged and a step was broken, and Allegra said “Careful” in a way that sounded bossy to Alice, who didn’t even step on it.
    Inside, Mr. Wyck lit candles. They burned on a wax-laden mantelpiece and in old wine bottles set on the hearth. He made a fire for them to sit in front of while he and Allegra got dinner ready. He brought them big glasses of red wine. He covered them with patchwork quilts. Smiling down at Alice, he said, “Tired?” and she nodded drowsily up at him, taking a sip of her wine.
    They sat on two frayed couches—Lee and Trina nestled together on one, and Stover, Molly, and Alice on the other. They sat like good children, sipping their wine and waiting. Every once in a while, Trina murmured to Lee, or Lee to Trina, or Molly coughed. She had asthma, and Alice knew the smoke from the fire was bothering her.
    â€œDo you have your inhaler?” Stover asked, and Molly nodded.
    â€œBring me my purse?”
    It was like that for Stover—with three female best friends. He was the one who had to go out for munchies. Pleeaassse? they