I couldn’t have said what my state of mind was by this time. Much like Shaun’s messy room, it was a confusing jumble—of finality, fatalism, and melancholy hope. The only thing I knew I could count on: Lane would notice me. She’d even be glad to see me. On her front porch, I pressed the doorbell. Nothing happened. No ring. No buzz. It didn’t make sense; she had to be here. She always came straight home after school. I pressed it again, but this time held it down, listening intently. I still couldn’t hear anything. Apparently doorbells sometimes work even if you can’t hear them. The knob in front of me suddenly turned, the door opened, and there she was. Lane Henneberger’s lovely face broke into a smile. “Oh! Hi, Shaun. I was just thinking about taking Bailey’s books back.” “You already read them?” “Yes. They’re good. I’m going to borrow some more.” “Bailey will be pleased.” “I’ll get them and we can walk over there together. Just give me a sec; my grandma’s taking a nap and I need to leave her a note.”
