Dead Ends by Erin Jade Lange

she were on her skateboard. The graceful movement didn’t match her tough, punky exterior.
    â€œWhere’s your board?” I called out.
    She yanked a thumb over her shoulder. “I just live across the street.” In her other hand, she was swinging a plastic bag full of something colorful. As she got closer, I saw it was candy, wrapped in shades of pink and purple.
    â€œEaster swag,” she said, holding up the bag. If we didn’t get a day off from school, I would have forgotten all about Easter. Outside of Christmas and birthdays, Mom and I didn’t celebrate much. She tried hiding eggs for me when I was a kid, but I always found them too easily. One year, she was so determinedto hide them well that even she couldn’t remember where she’d stashed a few of the hard-boiled ones. Months later, when a rotten smell led her to discover the nasty old eggs inside an unused flowerpot, we called off the egg hunts forever.
    â€œWhat are you guys doing?” Seely asked.
    â€œFighting,” I said, at the same time Billy said, “Looking for our dads.”
    Seely’s eyes flipped back and forth between us.
    â€œI’m teaching the kid to defend himself,” I said, hoping Billy wouldn’t speak up again.
    â€œYeah, we fight. Then we talk about our dads,” Billy said.
    So much for hoping.
    â€œYour dads, huh?” Seely sat down next to Billy in the grass, where he was already pulling out the atlas. Before he zipped the backpack, I noticed the yearbook was still inside.
    Seely unwrapped a piece of chocolate and passed one to Billy.
    â€œNo candy. Mom says.” He opened the atlas, ignoring Seely’s outstretched hand.
    Seely offered it to me instead. I took it. It was the good stuff, with nuts and caramel—not the cheap junk from the Buy & Bag.
    â€œSee,” Billy began. “We figured out
my
dad is in one of the towns on my maps.”
    I didn’t correct Billy’s “we.”
    â€œWhat are these riddles on some of the pages?” Seely asked. She read one out loud. “
Everyone thinks he lives in the North Pole, but he really lives here.
Santa?”
    â€œSanta
Claus
,” Billy corrected. “That’s in Indiana.”
    Seely munched on piece after piece of candy while Billywalked her through the atlas, showing her the clues. He struggled reading a few, and Seely helped him without being a mush about it. But most of them he rattled off without even looking at the page—not so much reading as reciting from memory. He babbled on about which ones he needed help solving and which ones he’d figured out all by himself. By the time he was done, Seely had a pile of wrappers at her feet.
    â€œWhat about
your
dad?” she asked me when Billy finally took a breath.
    I waved a hand. “I’m just helping Billy D.”
    My dad was none of her business.
    Seely shrugged off my answer and went back to inhaling candy.
    â€œThese names are great,” she said with her mouth full. She pointed at the atlas in Billy’s lap. “Crapo, Maryland? That’s hysterical.”
    I sat on Billy’s other side, and he flipped through the pages, pointing out his favorite funny names. Some of them were in his dad’s neat handwriting and others were in Billy’s big, childish scrawl. We all smiled at Toad Suck, Arkansas, and Bummerville, California.
    I stopped him at Dickshooter, Idaho. “That’s where Mark should live.”
    Seely burst out laughing, and Billy joined in, even though he probably didn’t quite get it.
    Seely grabbed the atlas from Billy. “Sandwich, Massachusetts,” she said, her mouth half full of candy. “And Cheddar, South Carolina. This book is making me hungry!”
    We were already cracking up when she turned the page and shrieked, “Chocolate Bayou, Texas!”
    Billy and I just lost it, leaning into each other we were laughing so hard. The sugar high from the candy