“After you,” he said.

“I will kill you,” she said in a low voice.

“I’m telling you they are serious about that policy.”

She walked around to the other side.

All four of them were off together in the Bell family minivan, down I-89, as the dark fell over the land. The ride into Burlington was quick. They rode through the university section, got stuck on the waterfront road along Lake Champlain, and turned back onto one of the many small and charming streets.

The entire order of the world was now thrown. There should be no David here, with her parents, in this place. Though the volume was turned low, Stevie could hear the familiar mumble of her parents’ favorite talk radio show—the one that always talked about how “those people” were trouble, the one that proselytized about Edward King. They switched it off, which was something.

There were many fine restaurants in Burlington, and fine restaurants tend to be expensive. Stevie had looked up a place off Church Street, the main shopping and social area, that looked like it had good sandwiches and salads and didn’t cost too much. There were free places to park as well. The restaurant was the kind of place where you ordered at the counter and paid and took a number back to any table you liked.

Stevie’s mom and David ordered first. Stevie’s dad took longer to examine the menu, and Stevie considered impaling herself on the potato chip display rack.

“Vegetarian roast beef sandwich,” her father said. “I wonder how that works.”

“They use a substitute,” Stevie said in a low voice.

“Then it’s not roast beef, is it?”

Stevie’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

“Don’t make that face,” he said. “I’m just making a joke. Can’t I make a joke?”

Don’t make that face, Stevie. Don’t be smart, Stevie. You think you know so much, Stevie, but wait until you get into the world you’ll see things don’t work that way. . . .

“We came up to see you. Can’t we make this a good visit? We can always take you right back home.”

Don’t react. Don’t give in. Just get through this, go back.

The moment settled.

“I like him,” her father said. “Very polite. Opened the door for you.”

“He’s a treasure,” Stevie said.

At the end of the line, down where you picked up your order, David appeared to be entertaining her mother to no end and . . . oh no. He was getting out his wallet. He was insisting, clearly insisting that he pay. There was the credit card. Another joke. She was laughing away, charmed half to death.

Stevie distinctly felt part of her soul die. She hoped it wasn’t an important part.

They took a table by the window. The cold air penetrated the glass, and Stevie invited the chill. It suited her mood. She examined her overstuffed chicken sandwich, found it was too heavily stuffed to ever pick up and eat, and so tipped it to the side and ate the component pieces with a plastic fork while her parents quizzed David.

David, for his part, was all dark hair and eyes and waggling eyebrows on the other side of the table. He managed to get his massive sandwich in his mouth and conduct a conversation at the same time. His speaking voice was clearer, she noticed, like he was putting on a show.

He was messing with her head.

“So what do your parents do?” Stevie’s father asked.

“My mom is a pilot,” he said between bites.

Stevie looked up. David calmly ate a fry and then stacked the remainder into a Jenga pile.

“A pilot?” her father repeated. “That’s very impressive. Must be hard to have a family when you do that kind of job. What does your father do?”

“Well,” David said, breaking a fry in half and examining the fluffy insides. “He runs a fertilizer plant.”

Stevie looked up at him sharply. Was he making fun of her parents? A pilot and someone who ran a crap plant? Stevie felt a wall of rage building inside of her. She may not have agreed with her parents on things, but they were her parents, not for anyone else to taunt.

“Very impressive,” her dad said.

Her face was burning. She put her cup on her cheek for a second to cool her skin.

“So,” her mother said, “we need to talk about what happened. This is a pretty serious conversation we need to have with Stevie, David.”

“Sure,” David said. “I had it with my parents too.”

“And what did they say?”

He leaned back in his chair with that ease that only guys are supposed to possess and that Stevie intended to master.

“It’s horrible,” he said. “But accidents happen.”

“How did the school let this happen?” her mom said. “That stuff should have been under lock and key.”

“It was,” Stevie said. “He broke in.”

“Couldn’t have been that well locked up, then,” her dad said.

“Some people go to a lot of effort to get into locked places,” David said with a long, steady look at Stevie. “He stole someone’s pass.”

“He was famous,” her mom said. “The news is making him out to be a nice kid.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” David said. “The news can’t tell you what people are really like.”

“That’s the truth,” Stevie’s dad said.

Stevie tensed. Please don’t start.

“Stevie and I don’t see eye to eye on some things,” her dad went on. “But the media . . .”

She felt her resolve slipping. Her eyes were going to roll back into her head and she was going to exit via the window and escape. She could live in the mountains and eat rocks.

“. . . tells us what we want to hear, generally,” David said.

Stevie felt her heart stop for a moment. Also, now her father was going to go for him, which would be something to see.

“Interesting,” Stevie’s father said, nodding. “You’ve got a smart one here, Stevie.”

It was like she’d been punched in the gut. Stevie said stuff like that all the time and was told she was wrong. David said it once and he got a nod and a compliment.

Oh, the magic of dudes. If only they bottled it.

“We got a call, Stevie,” her dad said, picking a bit of tomato out of his sandwich. “Edward King called us. Well, his office. His people.”

“Edward King is our senator,” her mom explained to David. “He’s a great man. But Stevie is not a fan.”

Stevie clasped her hands together into a knot and pressed them into her solar plexus.

“We’ve been asked to become the volunteer coordinators for the entire state,” her dad said. “I know you won’t like this, Stevie . . .”

Turn to stone, Stevie. Become a mountain.

“That’s amazing,” David said, slapping on a huge smile. “Congratulations.”

Her parents were both looking at her. This was the test of fire. She could explode. That was her instinct. That mountain she had become was really a volcano. But . . . if she could swallow it—if she could handle this—she would appear to be changed in a way they liked. And if she could do that, then maybe the door was not shut. Maybe, just maybe . . .

It hurt. It genuinely hurt. The muscles of her face resisted. Her throat wanted to close.