“Enough. Cut that out.” The booming voice above them belonged to Mr. Cunningham. When he stabbed the snow with his shovel, the boys flew apart like bits of debris after an explosion.

“What the hell’s going on here?”

The boys looked down at the snow, at their hands and feet, anywhere but at each other or Mr. Cunningham. When their bodies finally sighed like factory machines at the end of a shift, the only sound was their heavy breathing.

“Sorry, Daddy. We were just fighting over a stupid girl. That’s all,” Corey lied, not looking at his father.

“Son, girls aren’t stupid. Don’t let me hear you say that again.” Mr. Cunningham’s eyes scanned all of them. “And next time, remember that real men settle disputes with their words, not their fists.”

By this time Mrs. Cunningham stood on the porch in a brown wool coat wrapped tightly around her with the hem of her white flannel nightgown hanging below it. Everything about her seemed simple, like she’d walked out of the pages of their social studies lesson on the Pilgrims, except she didn’t wear the white collars and cuffs or cover her hair with a bonnet. She looked the part of a librarian, which made sense since she worked part-time at the library. She looked as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it.

“It’s all right, Verna. They’re just being boys.” Mr. Cunningham gave them a sharp look that telegraphed, This better be the end of the fight.

Soon, the boys huddled side by side on the porch, sipping cocoa with whipped cream floating on top. They were eleven now, too old for sleepovers, but the cream reminded Midnight of one time he stayed over at Corey’s house and Mr. Cunningham let them lather their faces in shaving cream while he taught them the proper way to shave.

Just as he always did, he asked each of the boys, “Are you saving your allowance money?”

Midnight nodded and said yes like always, not wanting him to know he didn’t get an allowance anymore now that Daddy wasn’t working. Mr. Cunningham patted his head and said he was glad to hear it, that he was proud of him for developing a savings habit early.

He had a fancy title, vice president or something like that, approving loans at the Heritage Bank, so he appeared in pictures in the Ganton Beacon, cutting ribbons and presenting big checks to people.

Somewhere far off a car moaned trying to push its way through the ice. The tree limbs shook, skinny and naked, trembling under the wind. When the Cunninghams went back in the house, Corey grabbed a handful of snow and packed it between his hands.

“I want it to always be winter with snow every day,” Corey said.

“How come?” Pancho said.

“I don’t know. It’s fun to play in,” Corey said.

“It never snows down south in Loos-i-ana, though,” Sebastian said, glancing at Midnight, stirring waters that were just beginning to settle after the storm.

“Why are you looking at me?” Midnight said.

“I don’t know. I heard stuff.”

“Like what?”

A neighbor’s snowblower sputtered in the distance.

Pancho snapped his head back and forth between the boys as if he were watching a prizefight.

“You’re always starting something. Geez.” Corey pulled his arm back and threw his snowball, watching it land with a thick thud in the hedges.

“Well, my mom said Midnight’s moving to Louisiana.” Sebastian put his mug of cocoa to his lips and blew into it hard enough for bubbles to overflow the rim, like a small volcano erupting.

A raw feeling tugged at Midnight’s gut, a scab ripped off a sore that hadn’t even started to heal. Granny hadn’t said where he might have to move. Or he just hadn’t been able to hear over little Nicky’s cries.

“Your mom’s lying then.” Midnight wanted to scream or maybe disappear into the mounds of snow.

Sebastian spoke softly, muttering under his breath. “Well, if my mom’s lying, then your grandmother must have been lying, too. She told my mom at the post office.”

Louisiana. Hearing Sebastian talk about Granny’s plan made it real, and it turned his stomach. With a stick, Midnight made lines in the snow, saying nothing. What could he say? Leland Ford moved to Indiana from Louisiana in the middle of fourth grade. He talked funny and told stories about his daddy teaching him how to kill things there—deer, ducks, and wild alligators—anything that moved. But that wasn’t the bad part. Daddy had taken Midnight hunting before and that didn’t scare him. The stories Leland told, though, were about all the things down there that hunted you, like deadly spiders and rattlesnakes.

In social studies class, they called Louisiana part of the Bible Belt, maybe because people there read the Bible a lot even on days other than Sunday. Granny kept a Bible on her nightstand, but he rarely saw her open it. She kept it next to her whiskey, or cough syrup as she called it. The few times he tried to read it, he got stuck when people with weird names begot other people with even weirder names.

The front door to Corey’s house opened and Mrs. Cunningham beckoned them inside for lunch. Following behind Sebastian, Midnight kicked a dusting of snow onto the boy’s jeans as they marched up the porch steps. This house reminded him of ones he’d seen on TV. It always smelled good, too, like whatever Mrs. Cunningham was cooking. This time, she served beef stew. The boys ate quickly, and she refilled their bowls with extra helpings of carrots and potatoes. While everyone looked at Mr. Cunningham as he told another corny joke, Midnight buried his face in the bowl and licked it.