I take advantage of the fact that Rude actually went the other way, and head straight to Newt's house. The graffiti across the entire front reminds me that this family was once a victim of the guy who just vowed to be against The Fist. I knock on the front door, unsure how to address the issue with Newt now that I had three blocks to cool down. Naming Rude is kind of a taboo in his presence; how am I supposed to tell him that we might all have common ground? This is a stupid idea and I should leave it be, but Newt's mom is already at the door, looking outside before rushing me inside with her usual gentle smile.

"Your name was John, right?"

"Yes. Good morning, Mrs. Newton." I smile back at her.

"You're just in time to have breakfast with the boys," she says, leading me upstairs. She sounds a lot more cheerful than the other time I visited. "Lyle spent the night with Charles yesterday. Isn't that great?"

"It certainly is!" I reply, faking enthusiasm. Lyle is here. But on second thought, this is exactly what I need to stay off the conversation with Rude earlier.

The woman knocks twice on Newt's bedroom's door, and he's quick to open.

"Yes, Mom. What's...?" Newt takes a second to realize I'm there, too.

"Hey there, man."

"John came to visit, too. Isn't it nice?"

"I can see he did," Newt replies, pushing his hair out of his face with a hand and looking over his shoulder. "Hey, Lyle! Speaking of the devil."

"Wait, is John actually here?"

"John Austin Foster, in the flesh," I reply as Newton ushers me inside the cluttered room.

"Even though you should not be here," Newt complains. "Or should you...?"

"I'll leave you guys to it, then," Newt's mom says, closing the door behind her.

I turn to the boys: "What do you mean?"

"So, your mother called home last night," Lyle begins to explain, trying not to sound interested. "She asked me if I was invited to the movies with you."

"Oh?" I mean, of course she did. I'm not even surprised. "Were you?"

"Turns out I wasn't," Lyle replies, sitting over his crossed legs on the bed. "But then again, it's not like I'm invited to a lot of stuff lately."

"A shame," I say, joining him on the bed. Newt takes his desk chair, and tosses me an open packet of biscuits. "It was a really good movie."

"In Preston?" Newt asks, leaning forward on his chair.

"Preston?" I ask back, not sure what he's talking about.

"The next town," Lyle explains.

"Oh, yeah. Totally."

Newt and Lyle exchange a quick glance and then turn to me at the same time.

"Look, John. Here's the thing," Newt begins, leaning back on his chair and crossing his legs. "I can understand that you have things you don't want to share with us. But if you want us to trust you, you should cut with the dung and tell us the truth about last night, because there's no cinema in Preston."

"Wait, really?" I ask Lyle, who gives me an eye-roll. And then I notice I just busted myself.

"Yeah, man. It's like he said," Lyle says, throwing his arms in the air. "You can go ahead and play mysterious if you want, but please try not to involve others."

"And honesty would be appreciated at this point, John."

"Okay, I'll tell you both, but bear in mind that this is a secret," I tell them, scanning their expressions. They both stay silent, so I spill the beans for them. "I spent the night with Abigail Scarborough."

"Yeah, another lie," Lyle says, rolling his eyes, and placing the pillow behind his back. "You're so full of dung, John."

"I am not," I say back. "I did spend the night with her. It's up to you if you want to believe it or not." I grab a cookie from the packet and eat it, and for a good thirty seconds, my munching is the only noise in the room.

"Scarborough doesn't speak to other people, John." This comes from Newt, but unlike Lyle, he doesn't sound accusatory. "But then again, neither do I."

"You believe this BS?" Lyle asks Newt, pointing a thumb at me. "I mean, I know John's definitely into her, but you know how she is. It's not happening."

"And if it's true, you're just asking for trouble, man," Newt finishes, giving me a worried look.

"It's not different from being here with you, Newt," I say.

"Well, you could say that, but I didn't stab Amanda Riggs. Scarborough did."

"Wait, she what?" I suddenly remember that first time she ambushed me at the old factory, how she held me at knife-point and told me I wouldn't be the first one she stabs, but I was convinced she was just bluffing.

"Dude, I TOLD YOU she's whacked in the head," Lyle says, annoyed. "Man, you REALLY need to start listening to us for a change."

"You got yourself into a big mess, John."

"Okay. Let's pretend she did," I try, but Lyle cuts me off.

"She DID, John. She did it in broad daylight, and right after school."

"Ok, but there must be a really good reason for that," I insist, unable to picture the girl who invited me to her safe haven, the one who leaned on my shoulder, the one I talked to for hours last night, actually stabbing Amanda Riggs of all people. "And it doesn't make sense. If Scar actually did that, how come she still gets to go to school and stuff? Shouldn't she be in a reformatory or something?"

"Trust me, John," Newt replies. "We're all wondering what happened there. Scarborough did that, and then she disappeared for a few months. Now I hear she's back to school, but she's just as much of an outcast as I am."

"Then again, it's not like the police here do dung, anyway," Lyle says, looking out the window. "But still. Even if the police didn't seem to get involved in that thing, Scarborough is still dangerous, maybe more than Rude, or The Fist." He turns to face me again. "You need to stop seeing her, right away."

"I second that," Newt says. "Even if she doesn't do anything. If Rude finds out you're dating that girl? There's no telling what he'll do to you."

"She's just another victim like you, you know?" I throw at Newt, and he looks away, silently. "I'm sure she had her reasons to do what she did."

"You're an idiot," Lyle says, snatching the biscuits from my hand and munching on one. "You do what you want, as usual. But if Rude finds out, you're on your own, you hear?"

I do hear, loud and clear. But to be fair, adding all of this to my conversation with Rude earlier? It's a bit too much for me to process right now, so I quickly change topics.

"Sorry about the other day," I tell Lyle, extending a hand. "I was kind of pissed off about those boxes in my room."

"It's fine. I kinda sided with your mother that time," Lyle concedes, giving my hand a lazy hi-five.

"You so did," I scold him, narrowing my eyes.

"Shut up. I wouldn't be so curious about those boxes if you didn't snap at us the way you did."

"What's the deal with the boxes, anyway?" Newt finally asks, wanting in on the drama that Lyle has fed to him for the last few days.

"My stuff from Celadon Bay is there," I explain. "There's stuff I'd rather not deal with. It brings the fondest memories, which only remind me I now live in this hell hole."

"Well, you sound like a wuss to me, no offense," Lyle replies, actually offending me. "This isn't the tough John Foster you have been selling me ever since we met."

"Well, too bad you don't like wuss John," I say, looking away and munching on a cookie.

"Like I said, I mean no offense by that," he says, lightly nudging me with his foot. "What I mean is that you seem to be tough enough to deal with those boxes, no matter what's in there."

"I mean, it's just stuff," I say, trying to make sense out of my situation. "Stuff I'd rather not unpack, sure, but other than that, it's just stuff."

"What kind of stuff, anyway?" Newt asks, leaning forward.

"Stuff like, school notes," most of which have corrections in Vee's small and neat handwriting, "photos," of the beautiful Celadon Bay, and the people I love and cherish who still live there, "and some other junk," aka souvenirs from the many adventures I had there. "You know. Stuff."

And since I already let them into that portion of my life, I pull out my phone and allow them to see the people I cherished the most when I lived there. It's from that day Mom called to tell me Grandma was okay. We had celebrated that day with Vee and Martin, going to Aloha-Aloha for some pizzas. Pretty much my last happy day there. That's when I took the pic, in the basement. It all feels so foreign now, like it happened ages ago, when in reality it was not six months ago.

Lyle and Newt lean forward to see the picture.

"You hanged with quite the flashy crowd, didn't you, Newbie?" Lyle says.

"Man, I feel bad for you now," Newt adds. "Forced to hang out with Lyle and Terry after hanging with these cool-looking kids."

"Man, was that necessary?"

"Sucks to be me, right?" I add, smiling at them.

Lyle frowns for a second, then points at my screen. "Who are they?"

"That's my cousin Martin and... uh..." I hesitate for a second. I was just about to say 'my girlfriend' but, unsavory as this tastes in my mouth, she's no longer my anything. I clutch her silver necklace with my free hand; the only reminder that she was once part of my life. "Veronica."

"Oh. I get it now," Lyle says, examining the picture closely. "She was your chick."

"Don't call her that!" I bark, and Lyle flinches a little.

"My bad, man. Geez!"

Lyle and Newt exchange a look, but nobody says anything for a few seconds.

"Sorry," I say, finally.

"Sensitive topic, I get it."

"Still," I reply, now looking at the picture myself. "The boxes at home have a ton of these pictures and other mementos. That's why I don't want to unbox anything."

"Then..." Lyle says, idly scratching the back of his head. "How about you hide them in my house?"

"What? In your house?"

"Yes! I have a walk-in closet. Plenty of room for you to hide your boxes, both from your mom, and yourself."

Man. This son of a gun. He really goes all out to be nice to me, even though I'm constantly being a jerk to him. I give him what feels like the first genuine smile I've ever showed him. "Nah, it's fine," I say. "But, if you don't mind helping me unpack, I could use extra hands."

And since he agrees to that, we spend the afternoon at my room, sorting out the stuff in those three boxes. For the first time since I moved here, I don't feel like I need to carry my burdens by myself. And that is a welcome feeling in this unwelcoming village. Maybe it's time for me to come to terms with the fact that I now live in Maple Heights. Maybe it's time to let go of Celadon Bay.