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“I’m not a good person, Micah,” Ava says, and I look up at her. “You keep saying that like I’m some sort of paragon of ethics and morality, but I definitely am not.”

“I hurt someone,” I say, like she’s not getting it.

“I hurt someone, too,” Ava says, her eyes cold and hard. “Badly.”

I sit very still, watching her, not able to imagine this tiny girl inflicting pain on anyone.

“What you did was an accident. Are you at fault, and should you suffer for it? Maybe,” she says, still staring me down. “But what I did was on purpose, and I don’t feel bad about it.”

Her last words hang in the air between us like stones, and I see the girl she was before, the one who stood up and spoke out, the one who I helped silence, and made sit down.

“I’m not the person to stand in judgment of you, Micah Harding,” she says. “Because I’m just as bad and might even be worse.”

“You can’t be,” I tell her. “Nobody is.”

“You’ve got remorse,” she says, her stare flinty. “I just feel vindicated.”

I’m the first to look away, a chill crawling up my spine.

“I’m not good, and you’re not bad,” Ava says, and I reach across the table, taking her hand again.

“Maybe we’re both just humans, then,” I say.

“Maybe.” She nods, a little bit of warmth returning to her eyes.

“Maybe we can be humans together,” I add.

“Maybe,” she says.

Thirty-Eight

Ava

When I get to work Widow sends me to the orchard to collect fallen apples. Drops are free food for everybody at Restoration Acres, which is something we can’t afford to turn our noses up at. The one-eyed horse in particular enjoys them, and I’ve caught Widow scratching him behind the ears and telling him he’s a good boy more than once. When I asked her if that was anthropomorphizing, she said maybe, but he’s also not wildlife, so perhaps the rules are getting bendy around here.

When Micah had asked for my number, I had been hesitant. Sure, we’d both confessed our deepest, darkest deeds to each other—his in some detail, mine more vague—but does that mean we’re friends now? Does it mean we’re . . . something else?

The text from him is simple—Hey.

I look down at it as I try to come up with an appropriate response, while also working very hard to not look at the road. I haven’t been out to the orchard since Panda got hit, and I have a feeling Widow has purposely kept me away so that I didn’t have to think about it. I also don’t have to think too hard about how to respond to the one-word text from Micah, because he follows up.

Didn’t wake up scared for the first time this morning.

Woke up thinking about you.

Also kind of scary, but in a good way.

Thank you.

“Stop being perfect,” I tell my phone as I clear the fencerow, and the orchard comes into view. “Oh, hey, Burt.”

Widow’s tame buck is standing among the trees and raises his head when he spots me, his tail flickering. He immediately comes over, inspects my basket, nuzzles my pockets.

“All the good stuff is on the ground, dummy,” I tell him, but give him a good rub between the antlers. He snorts at me, disappointed in my lack of treats, then returns to foraging the drops. There’s a fresh scrape on one of the apple trees that I assume must be his.

“Marking your territory?” I ask him. “Meet any nice girls?”

In my pocket, my phone buzzes again, reminding me that I haven’t answered Micah. I wave some bees away from the grass before dropping to the ground and tossing apples into the basket, rereading his last texts.