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was a man, shaking his head. A man I knew. A man everyone knew — in the way everyone knows everyone in this kind of town, but in another way as well. From photos and headlines and whispers behind hands.
    That poor man. What a terrible thing. And that boy . . . oh.
    That poor man? It was his fault! He was lucky they didn’t lock him up.
    Surely he’s suffered enough? A terrible mistake. He’ll regret it for the rest of his life.
    Well, he should! That poor woman. Those poor boys.
    What a thing. What a terrible thing.
    “It’s okay,” I began. “I was just —”
    He shook his head again. Or rather, kept shaking it. He had been bobbing it back and forth the whole time, almost rhythmically, as if he’d gotten caught in a loop and had forgotten how to stop.
    And all the while his eyes were locked on Dad’s pot, and his fingers clenched tighter around my wrist. Something in it was beginning to throb, like a bruise, and I felt my grip slipping.
    If anyone else had grabbed me like that, I would have yelled or pushed back. Maybe taken their hand and peeled the fingers off me one by one.
    But it wasn’t just anyone. It was
this
man, and his head was shaking and his face was flushed, and I didn’t know how to make it better without making it worse, so I did nothing. I stood there out in front of Country Crafts and watched Dad’s pottery slip from my fingers and shatter on the sidewalk.
    “Dad!” There were more footsteps, running this time. “It’s all right. Let go!”
    I turned toward the sound of the voice. Wet hair, long shorts, one hand holding them up, the other reaching toward us.
    Liam.
    “It’s all right,” he repeated. But he wasn’t talking to me. His eyes were locked on his father’s face.
    I felt the fingers loosen their grip, watched the tension drain from his body.
    “Sorry,” Liam began. “I —”
    A bell jangled as the shop door burst open.
    “Cassie?” It was Ellen, who worked the cash register. She stared down at the ground, at the pieces.
    Liam’s face flushed, and he put a steadying hand on his father’s arm. “It wasn’t . . .” he began. “He —”
    “Sorry,” I said quickly. “I was just looking. It slipped.”
    I bent down to pick up the jagged fragments. Some were almost smooth, whole in themselves, as if they were pieces of a puzzle that could be snapped back together at any moment. But others were shattered, crushed.
    Ellen frowned. “Is that one of your dad’s?”
    “Yeah. Sorry.”
    She gestured to a sign on the door. “Well, you know the rules. You break it, you’ve bought it.”
    “Okay.”
    Ellen looked across at Liam and his dad. “Did you guys want something?”
    “I have a package!” Liam’s father said suddenly, a smile breaking across his face. He reached into the bag that was slung over his shoulder and pulled out a thick envelope. “Here.”
    Ellen brightened. “Oh, good. I’ve been waiting for that.” She took the envelope from his hands. On the front it read:
Country Crafts. Centenary Brochures,
in black marker. The handwriting was familiar, and so was the logo in the corner of the envelope: a cluster of tall trees around a lake, ringed by the words
New Lower Grange, Growing the Future
.
    It was Hannah’s writing, a package from the town council.
    Ellen turned to take it inside. “Well, I’d better get on with it.” She waved a hand at me, at the broken pieces in my palm. “Don’t worry about it this time, Cass. Just be careful, okay?”
    I nodded. “Thanks.”
    She smiled and gestured at my wet hair. “Do your six?”
    “Um, yeah.” I flushed.
    She was only being friendly, but sometimes I got tired of everyone knowing my business. Sometimes I wished the town was bigger. I found myself looking forward to summer, when the tourists arrived and I could slip unnoticed through streets full of strangers.
    As the door jangled behind Ellen, Liam exhaled next to me, a long shaft of air that made me realize he must have been holding his