Jules and the Runaway Twins: Chapter Two.

Later that evening, Jules walked home, exhausted from the day of sinusoidal functions and sixties hairdos. He glanced at his phone— no new messages. No gossip, no selfies, nobody to commiserate with about his miserable summer. It felt as if all of Jules' friends had abandoned Mill-Heights for the break. Kyle and Mickey were back at the dance camp where they’d first met last year. Jeremy was staying with his dad for the summer. Anthony and Johnny were traveling through Alaska on a teen tour. Even the Full Moon boys had disappeared for family trips and study abroad programs.

And then there was Dylan, who had waited until the night at Jules', the night they shared their very first kiss, to announce that he’d been accepted to an internship all the way out in Los Angeles. Dylan and his friend Kevin were staying with Kevin’s dad—a big-shot director in Hollywood—and learning to make movies.

Earlier in the summer, Jules and Dylan had exchanged a few texts and calls, mostly about how sunny it was in California and how boring it was in Mill-Heights. But now, it had been over a week since they’d talked. Then again, why would Dylan want to hear about Ms. Jensen and the county fair, when he was probably surrounded by glamorous celebrities at fancy parties? Jules was happy for Dylan— he was off having the summer of his life. But he couldn’t help but feel like, once again, they were stuck in some kind of in-between.

As he turned down his street, Jules sighed and looked around his neighborhood. Row after row of nearly identical houses stood empty, hardly any cars in the driveways, few lights turned on. The power lines crackled in the heat, and he could hear the faint sound of a jet engine, the plane cabin probably filled with people going somewhere way more exciting. Outside of old Mrs. Simpson’s place, an unfamiliar station wagon was parked too far from the curb. Mrs. Simpson had been Jules' neighbor his entire life. Growing up, the old woman had always babysat Jules and Roy—until last year, when Jules finally convinced his parents he was old enough to stay home alone. Jules passed the car, hoping it meant Kyle or Jeremy had hitched a ride home early. But the plates read North Carolina. Weird, Jules thought, as he headed up his driveway. Who would ever take a trip to Mill-Heights?

Jules opened the front door and kicked off his shoes. He plunked down on the comfy ottoman, staring out the window. The fireflies hadn’t come out yet. At least I still have my family. They’ll hang out with me, Jules thought. In the summers Jules and his family would walk to the town green, laying out a picnic and catching the shimmering insects in Mason jars. Roy never wanted to let them go, but Jules always liberated the insects, for fear that their lights might go out forever. Jules smiled. Maybe there were still things to look forward to that summer. His mom’s chicken salad. Iced tea. He’d even be willing to sit on the back porch with his dad and his telescope, as he droned on about Scorpius and Lyra and all of the other summer constellations. Just then, Jules' father came barreling down the staircase, looking totally frazzled. Jules noticed a pile of suitcases sitting by the landing. “What’s all this?” he asked his dad.

“Didn’t Mom tell you?” His dad looked exasperated. “Here, can you sit on this to get it to shut?” he said, gesturing at a bulging bag.

“Are we going somewhere?” Jules asked hopefully.

His father, a slight, serious man with brown eyes like Jules', looked guiltily at the floor. “I’m sorry, son, but Roy’s rehearsal schedule moved up two weeks.” Jules stood still for a second, and then turned away from his father, already knowing what was coming. “Your mom and I need to take him to LA tonight, and we won’t be back until Labor Day.”

Before he could respond, Jules' brother sashayed down the stairs. Dressed to the nines in a turquoise shirt, black pants, and white sunglasses, Roy's curly hair was straightened past his shoulders. “No photos, please,” he cooed at his older brother. “I’m simply not camera ready.” Jules rolled his eyes. Their mom, following in Roy’s footsteps, rushed to hold the door, as if the precocious nine-year-old was a really big deal.

The problem was, Roy was sort of a big deal. That spring, he had been discovered by a casting agent in Malibu for a new TV show called Hotel Mystery. Playing a kid detective named Jesse, Roy had filmed a pilot episode earlier in the summer, to see if the network executives liked the idea. Apparently they were so impressed with his acting that they were bringing Roy back to film an entire season. Jules could only imagine how much his tiny brother’s ego would balloon once the show actually started airing on TV.

It took over an hour to pack up the car. By then, Jules' dad was in a sweat, and his mom was huffing and puffing about missing their flight. Roy, meanwhile, lounged in the back seat, firing off texts to his cast-mates. Suddenly he was using phrases like babe and sweetie. When he wasn’t applying lip balm, with exaggerated, pouty smacks, Roy fired off orders to their parents. “I wanted the plaid shirt!” he screeched through the open car window, hardly looking up from his phone. Before they drove off into the sunset, Jules' parents came over to the stoop, where Jules had been sitting in a daze.

“Look on the bright side,” said Jules' mom, as she pulled her dark brown hair into a bun. “Mrs. Simpson has a diving board, and if you want to have any of your friends stay over, you officially have her permission.” She smiled at Jules' dad, who nodded with encouragement. “You’re staying at Mrs. Simpson’s,” his mother said, as if he had already told Jules this. Which she definitely had not. “It’s perfect, actually. She broke her hip this spring and is still having some trouble getting around.”

“WHAT?! I thought we decided I could stay home by myself last year!”

“Not overnight, dear,” his father said, shaking his head as if it were ridiculous. “Mrs. Simpson’s doing us a huge favor.”

“Why can’t I just come with you?” Jules said, not bothering to listen to his parents lecture him once again on school and the library and “responsibility.”

“You know we would bring you if we could,” his dad said. “But if you don’t pass your exams in the fall, the school said you might have to repeat a grade.”

“So that means studying with Ms. Jensen,” his mom chimed in. “Here’s some pocket money in case you need it, though I happen to know Mrs. Simpson is an excellent cook.” She handed Jules an envelope stuffed with dollar bills.

“Don’t spend it all in one place!” his dad laughed. Jules rolled his eyes.

“Remember to thank Mrs. Simpson,” his mom added. “And to help with Louie!” Jules had almost forgotten about Mrs. Simpson’s yapping Boston terrier.

“Great. Another chore. Just what I needed,” Jules tried to say, pocketing the envelope, which felt more like a bribe than spending money. But his parents had wrapped her in a bear hug, muffling his complaints.

“We’ll call you every day before bed!” his mom said, as they hurried off to the car. “Love you!”

Jules stood to watch as the car pulled out. Through the open window, Roy blew him a series of kisses.

So much for butterflies, Jules thought. Across the way, he saw that the station wagon in front of Mrs. Simpson’s had vanished. It hadn’t taken long for the unknown visitors to realize they were better off in North Carolina. With a sigh, Jules sat down by the rose bushes that separated his house from Mrs. Simpson’s.

Inhaling deeply, Jules paused and pulled out his phone. Quickly, he typed up a text to Dylan. “Hey. Roy and my parents are on the way to LA Maybe u will see them.” For a long moment, he waited to see the three dots that told him he was writing back. But there were no dots.

It had always been like this with Dylan. Maybe yes, maybe no.