focused. “Hello,” he said. Then he stepped into the house. They followed him in.
“He’s been like that ever since I saw him in his residence,” said Rosemary’s mother. “I found him staring into that book, and I had to shout to get him to acknowledge me. It’s like he has tardive dyskinesia — flat affect.”
Peter blinked. “Huh?”
Rosemary tugged at Theo’s sleeve. “Theo?”
Theo gave her a smile, but his eyes were vacant. “Hello, Rosie,” he said. Then he turned back to his paperback book. Rosemary frowned at it, tried to see if there was a title. She caught sight only of an image of smoke emanating from an open book before he walked away, into the kitchen.
“Drugs?” Mr. Watson blanched.
“No,” said Rosemary’s mother. “I took him to the hospital. That’s why I was late. I had them run toxicology tests. Physically, he’s fine, but I don’t know, Alex, I don’t know. Who’s he?” She stared at Peter.
“Rosemary’s friend,” said Mr. Watson.
“Rosemary brought home a boy?”
Rosemary huffed. “He’s just a friend!”
Peter shifted on his feet. “The squall’s let up a bit. Maybe I should go home?”
“I’ll drive you,” said Mr. Watson. “Let’s get our coats on.”
Rosemary stood in the living room, torn between Peter and her father preparing to leave and her brother in the kitchen. After a moment, she settled on her brother, but froze at the kitchen door. Theo stood, facing the refrigerator, staring at the jumble of coloured-letter magnets as if he expected them to change and spell something. Her mother stood behind him, still in her winter coat.
I’m not supposed to be here yet, Rosemary thought, and she turned back to the living room.
Peter and her father were ready for winter and stepping out the door. Rosemary stopped Peter in the foyer. “Wait!” She clasped his hand in a sort of handshake. “Thanks for rescuing me.” She pulled a face.
“I wasn’t rescuing you, I was rescuing Leo.”
She scowled at him. Then her mouth quirked. She snorted and broke out into a grin.
He smiled at her. After a moment, she sobered. “Thanks,” she said again. “I guess ... see you Monday.”
“Yeah, at school,” he said. “Not much to do till then. You doing anything this weekend?”
She started. “I’m ... I’m working!”
“You work? Where?”
“At the library. I volunteer.”
“Isn’t the library closed on Sunday?”
Rosemary spluttered. Mr. Watson called from the idling car. “Ready?”
Peter nodded. Then he turned back to her. “Your brother’s going to be okay.”
She looked away. “How would you know?”
“I’ve seen worse.”
He turned away, leaving her staring, and got into the car. A moment later, the station wagon pulled out of the driveway and onto the snow-covered road. It crept carefully into the distance.
Rosemary stared after it for a few seconds, then closed the front door. She started for the kitchen, but hearing her mother’s calm, measured tones that Rosemary knew were a few steps away from breaking, she hesitated. Then she went to the closet, pulled on her boots, coat, and hat, and went outside.
Her father had made a rink in the backyard with a garden hose. The ice was covered with new snow, but Rosemary was able to entertain herself with running slides. Her mind went over the day again and again. Folding girls and now Theo.
She hadn’t told Peter about the girl in the library because she wasn’t sure it was real. Theo made it more real. She couldn’t tell her mother — not yet anyway. She didn’t know what she was talking about, and her parents would be scared that not only was Theo losing his mind, but so was she.
The back door banged. Rosemary skidded to a stop. Theo stood on the back porch, slumped against the stone, his eyes on the book in his hands. “Hey, Rosie,” he said, his voice flat, stagnant as a pond, but suddenly she felt years younger, and protected.
She slid across the rink and stumbled on the snow. “Hi.”
They stared at each other. Or, rather, Rosemary stared at Theo. He stared at his book. The silence stretched between them. Rosemary opened her mouth to say something, but Theo spoke first.
“I — I heard you were in a fight.”
Rosemary gaped. “Did Dad tell you?” How did Dad know?
“You shouldn’t ... let them get to you,” he said, still not looking at her. “They’re ... only words.”
“Theo, are you all right?”
Theo stood silent a long moment. She could see no change in his expression, but somehow Rosemary sensed that he was considering his answer very carefully.
“Of course I’m all right,” he said at last. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Theo, look at me.”
He looked at her. His eyes were glazed and unfocused, as though she were in a fog.
“Theo, I know something’s wrong. Is it — is it like high school? Are you sick?”
“No.”
She bit her lip. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Rosie, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not!” Her voice cracked. “I hate to see you like this! I hate —” She halted. “Snap out of it!”
“Rosie, please —” And she was reminded of him in his hospital bed, unresponsive as she tried to reach him.
“It’s not fair!” Rosemary shouted. “You’re not supposed to be like this! You’re the one who protects me, gets me out of fights. You’re supposed to be strong!”
His eyes glanced down at the pages as she spoke. He closed them, in pain. “Rosie, please, I’ll handle this. I’ll be all right. Just ... stay away from the books.”
She stuttered to a stop. “What?”
“The books.” He took a deep breath. “Stay out of this.” He turned and stepped back into the house.
“Theo, wait!” She struggled through the snowdrifts after him and scrambled up the back porch. She banged her way into the kitchen and ran into the front room. It was empty. Upstairs, she heard Theo’s bedroom door click shut.
As she debated
