By the time Doug’s open house ended, my mood had cratered. This was the guy I’d been friends with through most of middle school and high school. I knew everything about Doug—the good and the bad—and the change in him this past week made me a little sick to my stomach. I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head. Talking to myself in my head again. If anyone saw me, as I walked home from Doug’s, about a mile away, they’d probably think I was nuts. I was glad this Sunday was nearly over. It was late summer and the sun would be up for another couple of hours, but I was ready to go to bed. I was hot, sweaty, and my head ached with the memory how Doug had treated me. Suddenly he was the righteous missionary and I needed to be reclaimed now that his mission started in three days and I wasn’t planning to go. It wasn’t just Doug, though. My parents’ divorce. This lonely, wasted summer. I’d go to bed early tonight and wake up tomorrow to do what? Nothing. I didn’t have a job. My car didn’t run. My mom had disappeared since…