He knew most of the people in and around the Hollow thought of his family as the weird hippies. It didn’t bother him. For the most part they got along, and people were happy to buy their eggs and produce, his mother’s needlework and handmade candles and crafts, or hire his dad to build stuff.

Fox washed up at the sink before rooting through the cupboards, poking in the big pantry searching for something that wasn’t health food.

Fat chance.

He’d bike over to the market-the one right outside of town just in case-and use some of his savings to buy Little Debbies and Nutter Butters.

His mother came in, tossing her long brown braid off the shoulder bared by her cotton sundress. “Finished?”

“I am. Ridge is almost.”

Joanne walked to the window, her hand automatically lifting to brush down Fox’s hair, staying to rest on his neck as she studied her young son.

“There’s some carob brownies and some veggie dogs, if you want to take any.”

“Ah.” Barf. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

He knew that she knew he’d be chowing down on meat products and refined sugar. And he knew she knew he knew. But she wouldn’t rag him about it. Choices were big with Mom.

“Have a good time.”

“I will.”

“Fox?” She stood where she was, by the sink with the light coming in the window and haloing her hair. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Mom.” And with Little Debbies on his mind, he bolted out to grab his bike and start the adventure.

THE OLD MAN WAS STILL SLEEPING WHEN GAGE shoved some supplies into his pack. Gage could hear the snoring through the thin, crappy walls of the cramped, crappy apartment over the Bowl-a-Rama. The old man worked there cleaning the floors, the johns, and whatever else Cal ’s father found for him to do.

He might’ve been a day shy of his tenth birthday, but Gage knew why Mr. Hawkins kept the old man on, why they had the apartment rent-free with the old man supposedly being the maintenance guy for the building. Mr. Hawkins felt sorry for them-and mostly sorry for Gage because he was stuck as the motherless son of a mean drunk.