Even though I'd guessed it when I found the papers in the closet, I was stunned to hear him say that he was responsible for the stories. "You wrote all of them? These, obviously . . . but the ones in the tree, too? The ones we found there at the beginning of the summer?"

Adam nodded slowly, not looking sorry at all.

"You knew the whole time? You put them there and just made me think that we found some weird junk some freak had written?"

"Yeah."

I was really, really annoyed at how much he didn't seem to care. He was just sitting there acting like it was no big deal. Like it was nothing. I stood up. "Why did you do that?" I yelled at him. At that moment, I wanted to kick him. I was getting angry. So what if he hadn't eaten in practically a week. So what if he'd nearly cut off his own ear. That was all his own stupid fault! He had nobody to blame but himself. And it was also his fault I'd gone on believing that those stories in that tree had just come to be, like, by magic. I'd gotten so into reading them and believing what they said, and the whole while, Adam had been acting like he didn't have a clue how they got there or who had made them. He'd known from the start. He'd lied to me the whole summer about them. "What, did you think it was just some joke?" I snarled. "Ha ha, stupid Cole won't ever know? Is that it? You thought it would just be funny to jerk me around for a few months? Well thanks a lot, Adam."

I was mad at more than the fact that he'd lied. He'd made me believe in something. Something that was stupid, I could now clearly tell. He'd written that junk about me being struck by lightning, and I didn't even want to admit to him that I'd started believing that was true. That I had some sort of power because of it. Yeah, like that was realistic. But I'd really begun to think that it was all real. It was easy to trust when I'd thought the stories were written by some greater being. Of course, now I saw how stupid that thought had been, too. In real life, stuff like getting powers and having papers arrive from beyond doesn't happen. I should've known that. I just hadn't counted on Adam lying to me. It's easy to believe something incredible when someone you trust is there believing it with you.

"I meant to tell you," he said, still not bothering to look at me. What was he, a chicken? He was being so weird, so unlike his I-don't-care-if-the-world-ends self. "I just . . . couldn't. I don't know. I thought you'd think I was a nerd for writing all that stuff."

"Yeah? Then why'd you bother showing it to me at all?"

He sighed. "Isn't that obvious? I wanted someone to read them—I just didn't want them to know I wrote them."

"That's the dumbest thing I ever heard," I hissed angrily. "How could anybody tell you what they think of your stuff if you don't tell them it's yours?"

"You have it backward!" he said, looking up finally. "I knew that I'd get the truth if nobody knew it was mine. I just . . . wanted them read."

"Then why did you go to all the trouble of putting them in the tree and locking that trunk and acting like you hadn't read them?"

"If I told you I just found them in my house, you'd know they came from me or my mom."

I was still furious. I wasn't going to go easy on his excuses. "I don't even know who you are, Adam," I told him. I was starting to pace the floor to let off some energy. If I didn't move, I was afraid I'd hit him. "You're like a totally different person. You've been lying to me all summer and you get mad at me for going paintballing with Dylan Doyle? I've hardly seen you at all this whole month, you run off without telling anybody, and now I find you hiding out in a motel like some homeless person! What's your problem? I thought you always wanted to be cool, Adam. You want to play it like you don't care about anything. That's why you fail everything in school. You're not stupid; I know you're not. But you try to act like you are, which makes no sense at all. Don't you want to pass seventh grade? And you hate writing. You've always hated it. But all this time you've written enough stories to fill up a couple of books?! Try and tell me that makes sense, Adam. Just try!"

"I never told you I hate writing," was all he said.

I snorted. "Oh sure!"

"It's reading that I hate. I'm a writer. Not a reader. There's a difference." He was letting his voice turn real soft again, like he was forgetting I was in the room and starting to talk to himself.

I didn't want to lose him altogether. I had to think. If I got too angry, he might shut up. "How long have you been writing these?"

Adam shrugged. "Forever. A couple of years, anyway."

"Why?"

Another shrug. More playing with his fingers. "Because."

"Because why?"

"There was nothing else to do—"

"But why do you write about this stuff?"

"Look, Cole. If you stop asking me questions for half a minute, I can explain, all right?" Part of the Adam I knew came out, but it quickly went back into hiding. "Writing makes me feel better. Like I can control things. Like I can do what I want. You can't feel that way in real life. And there're so many stupid people. People who think they know things but really don't. Like the way they think other people should be treated or the reasons behind the things someone does. I hate people. They think they know everything. They think they know about me. About you. About my mom. You thought you knew about Dylan. Everyone thinks they know about the Ham. But really, nobody knows anything. I don't like that. It makes me feel like I'm not safe. I have to know things . . . so I watch people. I learn about them. And then I know. I know how to think. Otherwise, I'd be like everybody else."

I was confused. "But you treat the Ham like everybody else does, even though you knew what she was really like!"

"I had to! If I didn't, people would guess that I was different different."

"I thought that's what you just said you wanted . . ."

"No. I don't want to be different different. Just different. The me that people see has to be different. The me inside . . . well, nobody sees that me. The inside can be different different."

A hurt was growing in me. I didn't know why, exactly, but I couldn't help it. "How come you never told me, though? Aren't you my friend? I mean, if you knew things, the truth about people, why didn't you say anything? You just let me keep thinking wrong."

"You could've figured it out on your own." Adam frowned. "But also I didn't want you to know I was different different either."

I sat down on the bed. "But Adam, you're my friend. I wouldn't have cared. You know I don't care about that kind of stuff. I think all the people who try to be different are actually all the same. You don't have to put on an act for everybody. Not me, anyway. You're supposed to trust your friends. Like your family. You're supposed to trust them."

I knew that was the wrong thing to say right after I said it. Immediately, Adam took in a sharp breath. He got up off the bed and went over to the TV. He leaned against it with his hands on the top and his face staring down. His back was to me, so I couldn't see his expression. He laughed kind of bitterly. "Yeah, sure Cole. Cause that kept my dad from walking out on me and my mom."

All of a sudden, everything that I'd learned about Adam's dad and Dylan's parents came rushing back into my head. I'd forgotten what I'd been dying to tell him. "Adam! I think I know why he left."

He turned around. "My dad?"

"Yeah!"

"So what." Adam sounded totally uninterested. "It doesn't make things any different."

I shook my head. "Yes it does. Ted Barnes . . . did you find out what happened to him? Why he's dead? Why he's writing your mom?" Adam stared at me darkly. I could tell he still had no idea about what was going on with his mom. That gave me courage to keep talking. "Ted Barnes is the name of a guy I think your dad was friends with. He was with your dad one night, and they got in a car accident. It was with Dylan Doyle's parents."

"What?"

"Yeah. Dylan told me. That's how they died. And your dad's friend—Ted—he died too. But your dad lived. It . . . it was his fault. He ran a light. At least, that's what Dylan said his grandma said. And your mom . . . she told me that not too long after that all happened, your dad left."

Adam was quiet. He was processing everything I'd just said to him, just like I'd had to do when Dylan had said it all to me. Then, Adam asked, "What does that have to do with the guy sending stuff to my mom?"

Before I answered him, I wanted to ask something more of my own. "Is he why you ran? Did you leave because of your mom getting mail?"

Raising his eyebrows, Adam looked like he was about to say no, but then he changed his mind. "Sort of. I . . . I was hating things. I had to get out of there. If my dad could leave, so could I."

That being affirmed, I felt I could answer him. "This is what I've been thinking. The stuff your mom has been getting—the mail, the flowers—I think it's all being written by somebody else. Somebody who's just using Ted Barnes's name."

"Why would someone do that?"

"Because maybe the person doesn't want to be recognized."

"But who—?"

"I think it was . . . your dad."

Adam just blinked at me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. I couldn't read his face; it was too blank. Then he surprised me by saying hoarsely, "You're full of shit, Cole. You're seriously full of shit. Don't say things about my dad anymore. You're wrong about all of it . . . you don't know. So just shut up."

My mouth hung half open. I was totally shocked. The last thing I'd expected him to do was act like I was lying to him. I couldn't believe what he'd just said. "Are you joking?"

Adam's eyes glittered dark and wet as I stared at him. He took a step closer to me. The thunder that had been getting steadily closer for the past twenty minutes suddenly boomed so loud that it rattled the windowpanes. "You heard what I said. Stop acting like you know him. My dad didn't kill anybody's parents. Especially not Doyle's."

"Not on purpose!" I tried to tell him. "It was . . . an accident. But, it still happened. Stuff like that happens!"

"I said shut up!" he cried, shoving me hard in the chest. For as weak as he looked, there was a lot of strength in him. "You don't know about my dad!"

I didn't feel sorry for him anymore. I couldn't. Not with him acting like I was making stuff up. "Yeah?" I shouted. "Well I know more than you!"

"Go home, Cole. Get out of here and leave me alone."

"What, are you going to stitch up your own stupid ear?"

"Maybe I will!"

"You're such a stubborn idiot, Adam!" Fire filled my chest. I didn't want to be angry at him, but he wasn't helping me any. Didn't he see how stupid he was being? "Your dad is probably closer than you even know and you won't even bother listening to me. You're the liar, don't you remember? Not me!"

"Well I definitely don't need your help! My dad's gone, and it's none of your business about him anyway!"

The lights flickered. I stepped closer to Adam, my knuckles tightening into fists. I could see his own hands shaking and getting ready to hit me if they had to. We were inches away from getting into a serious fight.

"I could help you find him!"

He laughed, wiping his dark hair away from his even darker eyes. "Yeah, right. What are you going to do, Cole? Conjure him up with your lightning powers?"

I had never been more furious with him. My whole body shook with how much I wanted to just knock him down. It took all my effort to restrain myself. He might think he was tough, but he was as thin as a rail compared to me. Through my teeth, I gritted, "You're the one that made me believe I had them, remember?"

The fuzzy TV shut off as the lights flicked on and off again and thunder shook the floor. The rain beat against the windows like swarms of birds were flying into the glass.

He grinned like he was laughing at the idiot I'd been. Like I had to be the absolute dumbest person alive. "You really thought you had powers?" he whispered with a snicker.

There was no more holding back. I couldn't help myself. I was so angry, and I was suddenly sweating under my clothes. I was wet with my own boiling rage. All the resentfulness I'd been feeling toward Adam was fueling an unquenchable furnace in me. With every piece of me, I lunged at him, knocking him to the floor. My knee was on his stomach and I was about to hit his stupid face when, to both of our alarm, the power went off entirely. I couldn't see Adam at all, but I knew he was there because I was on top of him. Lightning flashed, illuminating his fearful face. I didn't know whether he was afraid because I was about to beat him up or because the lights had gone off. Whatever it was, I didn't feel like hitting him anymore. I got off of his chest and he started coughing because he could breathe ok again.

The only sound was Adam's coughing. The rain had suddenly slackened, and the wind was totally gone. I knew what that meant. The worst part of a storm, the tornado part, came when everything died down. It was always real calm before the worst part of the weather arrived. I just sat there, my heart beating hard and my head hurting from the rush of adrenaline that had just pumped through me.

When Adam stopped coughing, I heard him say, "Get us out of here, Cole."

"How?" I breathed.

"Just do it."

"I can't. There's no ride. There's no one here."

Adam whimpered. "Make them come!"

A roaring reached our ears. It was a way off but coming toward us. It sounded like a train running over tracks, rumbling and rumbling and creaking and groaning. Just like a tornado sounded as it tore tree roots out of the ground. I was scared, but I couldn't see, and I didn't know what to do. "I can't," I whispered.

"Yes you can . . . Please!"

"No I can't," I said a little louder. But Adam wouldn't quit. He kept begging me. I couldn't take it. Over and over I said no, having to raise my voice because of the wind. It grew louder and louder, and the building started to vibrate around us. There were tears of fright in my own eyes and I had no idea what Adam was looking like. We scrunched up against the wall and curled into balls.

"Just do it!" Adam shouted, putting his hands to his ears.

I had to roar against the wind if I wanted to be heard. I don't know why I said what I did. I don't know what made my response different that time, but for some reason, I screamed, "ALL RIGHT! I WILL!"

All I could remember after saying that was the absolute brightness that was suddenly around us and the door flinging open. There was some dark figure there, standing black in front of the light. And the wind roared . . . the walls fell away . . . Adam was gone . . . and there were hands under my arms, pulling me toward the bathroom.