Milo and I have this drinking game about Beth: every time she annoys me, we drink.

She annoys me a lot.

“So what do you think Elizabeth Bathory is doing right now?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Milo says.

I tilt my face toward the sun. Beth stays out of the sun as much as possible. She doesn’t want wrinkles or cancer, but she’s a walking spray-on tan because she doesn’t want to look old either. For her next birthday, I’m going to break into her house and fill it with clocks.

I take a swig from Milo’s flask and hand it back to him. He screws the top back on. He inherited the flask from his grandfather and stole the liquor from his mom. The circle of life.

Or something.

“Do you think she’s gone yet?”

“Beth?” he asks. I nod and he laughs. “No. She’s going to stay there until you get back so she can give you the last word.”

“I fucking hate her.”

“I know you do.”

We’re sprawled out on the dry, yellow grass next to Ford River, which curls through Branford. This summer is so dry, the water barely trickles by the stones that peak far past its surface. It’s painfully low. You could walk across it and never get your feet wet.

“Watch this,” I say, getting up. “I mean, watch me.”

“Twist my arm.”

I give Milo a look. He returns a lazy smile. I stand, slip out of my sandals, and edge my way down to the bank. I place one bare foot on a large, sturdy rock and move to the next closest rock easily, even though it’s smaller. I hop to the next and the next and then I’m in the middle of the river, which seems far enough. I face Milo and he claps.

“Take that show on the road,” he calls.

I bow and make my way back to him. I settle on the ground and ease my head against his outstretched shins, like they’re a pillow. I stare at the sky. It’s clear, no clouds or anything. Just the sun, until it burns out billions of years from now.

“What are you thinking?” Milo asks. I hold up my hands. I don’t even say anything and he goes, “Eddie, please don’t make me feel up your hands again.”

“Why?”

“Because I won’t.”

“I bet if I asked, you would.”

“Probably.”

Milo would do almost anything for me. He’s been my best friend since second grade, when a brief but weird obsession with the original Star Trek got him sort of ostracized at the same time all the girls in our class decided a girl named Eddie must actually really be a boy. By third grade, we weren’t so outcast anymore, but we were beyond needing other people. We still are. Anyone else who happens on the both of us, they’re just temps.

Like that girlfriend he had that one time.

“Tell me about that night,” I say.

He shakes his head.

He would do almost anything for me.

I look back at my hands.

“They are dying.”

He turns his head toward the water and squints, like he’s caught sight of something very interesting, but it’s a lie. The sun is on him and he looks like he just rolled out of bed, but he always looks like that. His longish brown hair is always messy around his head. His blue eyes always look kind of sleepy. I lower my hands.

“So, are you going to be home later tonight?” he asks.

“Later like when?”

“Like, after ten.” He’s leaving me soon. I can feel it. Mostly because he has a part-time job at Fuller’s Gas and it’s getting to be that time. “I have to go to work.”

“I’m crashing early tonight,” I lie.