“Picture Tick at twelve years old, on the day he nearly drowns himself to join Mama.

He’s all knees and elbows and goggling green eyes, with fish-belly skin that lobsters in the sun, and greasy black hair that Randall never bothers to make him wash, except if you count all the times he’s held Tick’s head underwater in the bathtub to teach him to keep his mouth shut about her.

Now, picture a hazy June morning. Declan and Tick by the lake. Declan’s blond hair shining like gold in the sunlight, his bronzed skin smelling of soap and grass and black licorice. Tick thinks he’s the most beautiful boy in the world, though he hasn’t quite figured out what noticing that says about him. He will soon enough...”