In her left hand, Marisol had a large saw. Her hair was covered with sawdust. She almost always smelled like fresh-cut wood.

Marisol loved to build things, especially things for animals and birds and reptiles. She made birdhouses and bat shelters. Dog carriers and cat trees. Hamster habitats and ferret houses.

At the end of her fenced yard were planks, a sawhorse, and a big circular saw. A small house-looking thing was on the ground, half built. It was for one of her cats.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” she said. “You ready for the yard sale?”

“I guess.”

“Aretha brought me that,” Marisol said. She pointed to my Crenshaw statue, which was sitting on the picnic table. “Dropped it right at my feet.”

“I made it when I was little,” I said with a shrug. “It’s lame.”

“If you made it, it’s not lame,” Marisol said. She put down her saw and examined the statue.

Aretha stopped digging and looked up at us hopefully. Her face was covered in sand. Her tongue lolled sideways.

“It’s a cat,” Marisol said, brushing off a piece of grass stuck to the bottom. “A standing cat with a baseball cap. I like it. I like it very much.”

I shrugged, hands in my pockets.

“Was this for the yard sale?” Marisol asked. “How much is it?”

“It’s not for sale. Aretha got into a bag of my stuff is all.”

“I have three dollars.”

“For that?” I laughed. “It’s just, you know. A hunk of clay. Some school project.”

“I like it. It’s … intriguing.” Marisol reached into her pajama pocket. She handed me a wad of money that looked like it had been through the laundry.

“Keep it,” I said. “Think of it as a going-away present.”

Her eyes went wide. “What are you talking about, Jackson? You’re not—”

I waved a hand. “No. It’s probably nothing. My parents are just being their usual weird selves.”

It wasn’t the truth, not completely. But it wasn’t not the truth.

“You’d better not move. I’d miss you too much. Who would help me with See Spot Walk? And anyway, I love your weird parents.”

I didn’t respond.

“We’ve got the dachshunds tomorrow,” Marisol said.

“Yep.” I pointed to the miniature zigzag staircase she was building. “Where’s that going?”

“Antonio’s old room, when he heads off to college this fall. Or maybe Luis’s. His room is just full of boxes.”

“You’re like an only child,” I said.

“It’s kind of boring,” Marisol said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “There’s no one to fight with. It’s too quiet.”

“Sounds nice.”

“I like your apartment. There’s always something going on. Sometimes it’s just me and Paula for days on end.” She rolled her eyes.

Marisol’s dad was a salesman and her mom was a pilot. They traveled a lot, so Paula, an older woman, often stayed with Marisol. Marisol refused to call her a “nanny” or “babysitter” or “caregiver.” She was just “Paula.”

Marisol grabbed a tape measure to check the height of the staircase she was making. “I’m going to attach this staircase to the wall, see? Like so? And then put shelves way up high for the cats to climb to. It’ll be cat paradise.”

“Speaking of cats…” I bent down to fill in the hole Aretha had made. The sand was soft and dry. “Did I ever tell you…” I hesitated, then pushed on. “Did I ever tell you that I had an imaginary friend when I was little?”

“Really? Me too. Her name was Whoops. She had red hair and was extremely naughty. I blamed her for everything. Who was yours?”

“He was a cat. A big cat. I don’t remember much about him.”

“You should never forget your imaginary friend.”

“How come?”

“What if you need him someday?” Marisol reached for a piece of wood. “I remember everything about Whoops. She liked to eat brussels sprouts.”

“Why?” I pretended to gag.

“Probably because I like brussels sprouts.”

“You never told me that. I may have to reconsider our friendship.”

“Because of Whoops? Or the brussels sprouts?” She yanked a nail out of a plank with her hammer. “Hey, new bat fact. In Austin, Texas, they have the world’s largest urban bat colony. Like a million and a half of them. When they fly out at night, you can see them on the airport radar screens.”

“Very cool,” I said. “Ms. Malone would love seeing that.”

Marisol and I both had Ms. Malone for fourth grade. She taught all subjects, but she loved science best of all. Biology especially.

We chatted about bats while we watched Aretha dig another hole. Finally I said, “Well. Gotta go.”

I hooked Aretha to her leash. She licked my cheek with a sand-covered tongue. It felt like a cat’s.

“Did Whoops ever … you know?” I made myself ask the question. “Did she ever come back after you outgrew her?”

Marisol didn’t answer right away. Sometimes she just let a question sit for a while, like she needed some time to get acquainted with it.

“I wish she would come back,” Marisol said, gazing at me. “I think you’d like her.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I guess I could overlook the brussels sprouts thing.”

“Jackson?”

“Yep?”

“You’re not really moving, are you?”

I studied her question the way she’d studied mine. “Probably not,” I said, because it was easy, and easy was all I could manage.

Aretha and I were almost to the front yard when Marisol called, “It needs a name.”

“You mean the statue?”

“Yeah. Something unique.”

“What do you want its name to be?” I asked.

She didn’t answer right away. She took her time.

Finally she said, “Crenshaw would be a good name for a cat, I think.”

38

I crossed the street. Twice I looked back. Marisol waved.

Crenshaw.

It must have been written on the bottom of the statue. By my teacher or my mom or me.

There’s always a logical explanation, I told myself.

Always.

39

That night I sat on my mattress, staring at what was left of my bedroom. My old bed, shaped like a red race car, the one I’d outgrown ages ago, was in pieces. A sticker on the headboard said $25 OR BEST OFFER. Dents in the carpeting hinted at what used to be there. A cube where my nightstand should have been. A rectangle where my dresser once stood.

My mom and dad came in after Robin was asleep. “How you doing, bud?” my dad asked. “Definitely roomier, huh?”

“It’s like camping out,” I said.

“Without the mosquitoes,” said my mom. She handed me a plastic mug of water. I kept it by my bed in case I got thirsty in the middle of the night. She’d been doing that for as long as I could remember. The mug, which had a faded picture of Thomas the Tank Engine on it, was probably nearly as old as I was.

My dad touched the mattress with his cane. “Next bed, let’s make it more serious.”

“Not a race car.” My mom nodded.

“Maybe a Volvo,” said my dad.

“How about just a bed bed?” I asked.

“Absolutely.” My mom leaned over and combed her fingers through my hair. “A bed bed.”

“We’ll probably make some bucks at the sale,” my dad said. “So there’s that.”

“They’re just things,” my mom said quietly. “We can always get new things.”

“It’s okay. I like all the space,” I said. “I think Aretha does, too. And Robin can practice batting without knocking anything over.”

Both my parents smiled. For a few moments, neither spoke.

“All right, we’re outta here,” my mom finally said.

As he turned to leave, my dad said, “You know, you’re such a big help, Jackson. You never complain, and you’re always ready to pitch in. We really appreciate that.”

My mom blew me a kiss. “He’s pretty amazing,” she agreed. She winked at my dad. “Let’s keep him around.”

They closed the door. I had one lamp left. Its light carved a yellow frown on my carpet.

I closed my eyes. I imagined our things spread out on the lawn tomorrow. My mom was right, of course. They were just things. Bits of plastic and wood and cardboard and steel. Bunches of atoms.