“Fine. You're right— Dad woulda had me by the balls if I'd have had to pay a mechanic for that shit.”

“Aww, how cute you two. Now kiss!” That was Bailey.

It was always fun watching how Bailey would clamber to seem cool, sometimes, but only ever reached the most generic one-liners at the mountain's peak. But you couldn't help but laugh along. How could you not? She always got Tilly snorting, and Tilly was the Typhoid Mary of laughter.

“There's another!”

We all looked at Mickey. He was down the road, standing at the threshold of the overpass. His hand pointed down the slope.

“What?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

“There's a second cinder-block,” Mickey said.

“Go get it,” Pete said. “We'll start a collection.”

“Guys, come help me lift it.”

“I was joking.” Pete rolled his eyes.

I looked at Tilly. She shrugged.

“Shall we,” I asked.

“We shall.”

The summer air was damp, weighed down by a blanket of May clouds that hung above the South Vienna water tower to the north. The sky was turning gray, and it had been for a while. Traffic under Buena Vista Road had thickened as commuters rushed home.

After joining Mickey, we'd found a can to kick around a spell, and Pete had smashed a bottle with a rock. As much as Mickey wanted him to, Pete refused to help bring the second cinder block up the slope. Moisture prickled my skin and made me wish I'd brought a jacket. I'd have given it to Tilly.