On Saturday, after a night spent sleeplessly wondering what life at the halfway house will look like without Felipe, Peter corners him in the bathroom.
"Don't do it," he says. "You were the one who told me what an idiot Ryan is, you know he's definitely gonna get caught. Don't go down with him, Felipe, you're better than that."
Felipe spits his toothpaste out, rinses his mouth, and rounds on Peter with more coldness in his expression than Peter could have imagined from his bright-eyed, foul-mouthed friend.
"What the fuck would you know about how good I am, ese?" What was once an endearment now sounds like a taunt. "I knew you weren't a badass, Parker, but I never pegged you for a pussy."
And he shoulders past him.
For the next two days, Peter rediscovers what it's like to be alone. He thought familiarity would have taken the sharp edge off, but it turns out the brief foray into camaraderie makes returning to solitude a dozen times more painful. Felipe's glares over the breakfast table and during social time make his stomach twist almost as badly as the persistent emptiness which Ryan is hoping to rectify with his plan.
As for Ryan—he delivers the punch Peter was expecting the night before in the hallway Saturday afternoon, while the providers are distracted making dinner. Drives his fist into Peter's diaphragm, then grabs Peter by the collar before he can double over, forcing him to look up with streaming eyes.
"You tell anyone," he says, "and you're fucking dead."
He drops him. Peter falls to his hands and knees, gagging as he tries to suck in a breath while his lungs spasm.
Ryan walks away.
"Who am I gonna tell?" Peter groans when he gets his breath back.
Just as he expected, no one replies.
Monday arrives like its predecessors: swelteringly hot, and, for Peter, with a nervousness that is almost as cloying as his sweat-soaked t-shirts. He spends the morning watching Felipe out of the corner of his eye, but Felipe is carefully expressionless, nearly silent while he eats the breakfast Karen prepares for them—half a cup of oatmeal, made with just boiled water—and reads in the ratty armchair while Peter and Arnold play cards during social time.
Around eleven, Ms. Charlise emerges from her office. Crosses the living room without acknowledging any of them, keys clanging. Heads out the front door.
A car door slams in the driveway, followed by a screech as the car pulls away.
Peter sees Felipe glance at Ryan. He sees Ryan nod.
Peter swallows and looks down at his cards.
Peter was half-hoping Arnold might say something to Karen, to whom he has latched like a barnacle. But he also knows Ryan and Felipe promised to let Arnold in on the goods if he kept his mouth shut.
It seems like food is more important to Arnold than the pockets of affection he receives from Karen, because it is with a cheerful smile that the latter walks into the living room alongside Mr. Leonard around noon and announces,
"Yard time, kiddos. It's way too hot in here."
All five boys follow her into the back yard. Peter catches Felipe's eye as they crowd through the narrow hallway, trailing after the two providers.
Please, he mouths.
Felipe looks away.
They crowd into the tiny yard. Karen starts the hose, lets it run to get rid of the water that has been boiling in the coils all morning.
When Mr. Leonard disappears around the corner in a trail of cigarette smoke, Ryan disappears too.
Felipe waits until Arnold approaches Karen for his turn with the hose to make his exit, slipping through the back door into the house before Peter can think of anything to say to try and stop him. He thinks Justin notices, too, but Justin just retreats to a corner of the yard and buries his face in the worn-out copy of Great Expectations he's been reading ever since Peter arrived.
Peter feels sick. Please don't let them get caught, he thinks, watching the screen door. Please don't take Felipe away too.
It occurs to him that Felipe might already be gone. At least as far as Peter is concerned.
He looks at Karen, thinking maybe he should break his own rule, that he should snitch. Because even if they don't get caught, Ms. Charlise is sure to notice if her food goes missing, isn't she?
He can't catch Karen's eye. From the way Arnold keeps jabbering, keeping Karen's eyes on him, Peter thinks he is probably more in on this plan than he'd guessed.
There is a crunch of gravel on the driveway.
Peter's head whips around so fast the muscles in his neck twang. He knows, even without being able to see, that the car that just pulled up belongs to Ms. Charlise.
She's back. She must have forgotten something, or—or—
He looks to the back door, a string of unintelligible prayers tumbling through his head, but the back door doesn't open. Ryan and Felipe didn't hear the car.
Peter hears the car door open, then shut. Around the front of the house, an atonal interlude of car keys knocking against one another.
"Shit," Peter whispers. "Shit, shit."
He runs inside.
Unlike Felipe and Ryan, Peter doesn't have time to be stealthy. He hears the screen door slam behind him, hears Karen call his name, but there's no time to stop and explain, because at the end of the main hallway he can see the front door, see the knob turning—
As the door opens, Peter turns into the living area. At the opposite end of the room, the door to Ms. Charlise's office is open, but there is no sign of Felipe or Ryan. Peter runs, whacking his shin against the coffee table hard enough his eyes water but ignoring the pain, stopping only when he's in the doorway.