our father said. “The fucking irony.” We watched the moving men tie blankets around the dining-room table. The August sky was hard white. I kept my hands in my pockets. “Moving into the city to get—” But Fod didn’t say safer because that wasn’t really the right word. We were moving to get away from the house, from the neighborhood. My parents had chosen Edinburgh Lane in the first place because the public schools were better out there; now nobody gave a crap about schools. When Riley asked, “Where am I going to go?” Mert whispered, “That’s not important right now!” But it was to Riley. And to me, though I didn’t say, because it was embarrassing to worry about a new school when you were as old as tenth grade. Coyote could worry, because he was only starting sixth. He insisted: “What school will I go to?” “I have no idea,” Mert said. “When will you have an idea?” “Goddammit,” she said, “I don’t know.” “But next month is September.” “Riley, this isn’t the time, it really isn’t—”
