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world is celebrated.”
    “Look, I know you hate the Web. But don’t you think this is strange? I mean, posting people’s personal conversations? Sometimes there are five or six posts a day, and it’s just conversation after conversation.”
    “Which was exactly what I was hoping for tonight. Mountain Dew and good conversation with my lifelong friend, Frank, who continues to faithfully mourn his ex-wife every year on their ex-anniversary and then celebrate, with his best friend and a bucket full of wings, the fact that he’s still rolling along.” Damien turned. “So let’s go.”
    Frank sighed and followed him upstairs. “You’re in kind of a bad mood, aren’t you? I’m the one supposed to be sulking.”
    “I’m actually in a good mood,” Damien said, returning to the couch. “I got promoted to investigative reporter.”
    Frank stopped, his hand halfway to the bucket of wings. “You’re kidding.”
    “Why would I be kidding?”
    “Because you love your opinion and you love writing about your opinion.”
    “I know. And I’ll still be doing that. But I thought maybe trying something new would put some life back into my work. It’s not quite as exciting as yours. I don’t get to hang out in school zones and wait for the principal.”
    “You heard about that.”
    “Surprisingly, news also travels the old-fashioned way these days. It’s called gossip.”
    Frank grinned. “It was a fine moment.”
    “I wish I could’ve seen the look on his face.”
    “Back to your big news. So what does this mean? A big raise?”
    “Actually it’s twice the amount of work for the same pay.”
    Frank groaned. “That’s just like you, to get excited about something like that.”
    “Words excite me. What can I say?”
    Frank’s mood dampened. “Maybe I’m not as fond of words as you are.”
    “Yes, well, words on the Internet are substandard words, Frank. They’re like the ugly stepchildren of all things literary.”
    “Just shut up and take a chicken wing before I threaten to destroy all your eight-tracks.”
     
***
     
    Damien arrived home to a quiet house, but he knew Hunter was upstairs by the glow of his bedroom light from outside. He dropped his things and pushed the answering machine button. They had to buy an answering machine because Damien refused to get the voice mail off the phone.
    “Hey, it’s me. Jenna and I are still at the game. Went into overtime. Not sure when we’ll be home. Hope you had fun at Frank’s.”
    The iron wall clock in the living room said fifteen minutes after ten. He climbed the stairs and tapped on Hunter’s bedroom door before swinging it open.
    “Dad!” Hunter shot up, hit his leg against his desk, toppled the chair over, and tumbled to the floor. “What are you—?” From the floor, he reached up to his computer and clicked the mouse.
    Damien froze, his legs spread wide, one hand on the doorknob and the other raised like something dangerous might be flying his direction. But no, all the excitement erupted from a speedy entrance into his son’s bedroom. Which caused Damien to instantly think the worst.
    It was probably showing on his face by the way Hunter suddenly grinned wildly. “Sorry. You just scared me to death.”
    “Oh? How would I do that?”
    “I wasn’t expecting you; that’s all. I was . . . uh . . . concentrating on something here.”
    “What?”
    “Some math stuff. There’s a . . . uh . . . Web site that we can get on for math help.”
    “Need some help right now? I’d be happy to—”
    “No thanks. I got it figured out. I was just going to bed.” Hunter pulled off his socks and hopped onto his bed, fully clothed. “So, good night.”
    A sudden sorrow swept over Damien. It was unexpected and frightening, as if his son were miles away and he couldn’t reach him. He and Kay had discussed not allowing Hunter his own computer in his room, but Kay had argued that they should trust him. Plus, the kid’s life revolved around