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I've got a pen.

"What are you doing?" Webb asks.

"Making a list."

He looks at me. "You're making a list?"

"It's what I do."

"Owen—"

"Just give me a minute."

I write RULES at the top, in capital letters. I underline it twice.

Then I sit there for a long time with the pen on the paper.

I thought I'd need a lot of them. Two pages. Both sides. The way I did in Denver, when I thought if I made enough rules, I'd never have to feel anything.

It turns out I only need one.

I write it down. Block capitals. Carefully. I press so hard the pen almost goes through the paper.

I tear the page off and fold it in half.

"Okay," I say.

"Okay?"

"Help me with the crutches, Marcus."

He gets out of the van and comes around to my side. He doesn't say anything. He just holds the door and hands me the crutches, one at a time, and stands there on the sidewalk while I get my balance.

"You want me to wait?" he asks.

I look up at the building. Twenty floors of windows, gold in the long light. One of them is his.

"No," I say. "Go home. Tell Jen I said thank you."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

He looks at me for a second longer. Then he gets back in the van and pulls away, and I stand on the sidewalk in front of Rémy's building on two crutches and one leg, with a folded piece of hotel notepaper in my shirt pocket, over my heart.

I go in the front door. I don't take the stairs two floors first.

I tell the doorman my name, and his.

Chapter Thirty-Two

RÉMY

The buzzer goes at five-thirty-five.

I'm on the orange couch with my skates in my lap, redoing the pink laces for the fourth time, because I can't sit still and I can't think about anything else and it's something to do with my hands. Sorel left an hour ago. My parents are at their hotel. Maman made me promise to eat a real dinner and go to bed early, and I said I would, and I haven't done either.

Before he left, Sorel stood in my doorway with his jacket on and looked at me.