Page 113 of All the way home

Zach’s mouth is hanging open, so he snaps it shut.

“Like I said,” Kieran continues. “It’s been wrong people, wrong time. Who knows? Could be the right time. Just about getting to know the right person.”

Then he presses down on Zach’s fingers—just lightly—and withdraws his hand.

Zach is 90 percent confident that the past few seconds alone have cost him several working brain cells.

He flips through the journal to make sure the pages are intact—they are, all 365 entries, his yearly gift to Mom.

“Come on,” Kieran says, close enough Zach can feel the change in the air his words leave behind, a gust against his cheek. “Let’s drop this off at the gate, and then I have an idea. Are you in?”

He nods, feeling suddenly weightless, like if he doesn’t find a tether right this second, he might end up floating around up by the slanted windows on the ceiling. With a little shiver, Zach tugs his hoodie back on, and then he gets up and follows Kieran, rolling his suitcase behind him.

At the gate, Lucas looks up, one eyebrow raised.

“I found my suitcase,” Zach blurts out before he can stop himself.

Grinning like it’s newsworthy, smacking the tube of gift wrap Kieran repeats, “He found his suitcase.”

Blandly, Lucas says, “Nice.”

Kieran ignores the lack of enthusiasm, takes the handle from Zach, and wheels the suitcase to park it next to his own. “Where’s Rena?”

“Thought you’d know,” Lucas says, darkly. “Seeing as you know everything.”

Abruptly, the energy in the air changes. Zach looks between Lucas and Kieran, all too aware of the sudden resentment simmering hot and ugly in the fleeting silence.

“Is she all right?” Kieran asks at last.

“I haven’t heard otherwise,” Lucas says.

Kieran opens his mouth to object, but before he can say anything, the flight attendant’s staticky voice over the mic interrupts him.

This time, Zach listens to the announcement with only half-interested recognition, texting the family group chat as it goes—word-for-word identical to the last several, except that this time the flight is bumped until 10:30.

A strange little thrill runs through Zach. It’s not even 8 o’clock. That’s more than two hours of whatever all of this is, at least, without even factoring in the four airborne hours to look forward to.

And he is looking forward to them.

The rest of the gate does not seem to agree. A woman with a ruddy complexion a few rows over in an enormous puffy jacket seems moments away from tears. Leaning against the pillar, a pale young teen adjusts their headphones back over their ears with a wide-eyed, vacant resignation, and as though sensing the change in atmosphere, a baby a few rows over starts to cry.

Kieran stares down at Lucas as he slumps forward in his seat and rubs at his temples. He seems to be thinking hard about something, considering Lucas with a solemn air, and then, like a cracked glow stick, he shakes it off and turns to Zach, grinning. “Well. That’s perfect timing, I’d say.”

“Is it?” Zach asks.

“Yes,” Kieran says, gravely serious, though there’s something about the lilting glint in his eye that betrays mischief, “because if you’re interested, I was thinking we could play a game.”

Hour Ten-8:43 P.M. Chapter Thirty-Seven

Zach

“Loser has to tell a secret.” Kieran opens the box of cards and shakes them out into his open palm.

“That’s not a game,” Zach points out. “Those are stakes.”

“Stakes are the best place to start,” Kieran says, as though this were obvious. Then he sighs. “Fine. What’s a game you play with cards? War?”

“War?” Indignant, Zach shakes his head. “That’s barely a game. That’s just chance.”