I turned away as the elderly couple hit the gas with a screech, leaving me standing in a cloud of dust.

The kid stood slightly behind Selena and stared at me in fear.

"You said you’ve known them for a long time," I hissed, turning to the girl and stepping closer.

"Yes," she answered curtly.

"Said you’d already fixed your van at their place."

"Yes, but listen, I’m bad with faces," the girl began. "Maybe it wasn’t them."

"I hope you’re not serious, Selena," I seethed. "Because I’m out of patience, and you—" I jabbed my finger at Oscar, who was pressing himself against her, "—I don’t know what you’re scheming or what you’ve dragged me into, but I’ve had enough."

"Constantin," Selena said, "I’m really sorry, I don’t know how this happened."

"We’ll fix it. Trust us," the kid replied.

Anger washed over me. I completely lost control and glared at the kid through the growing haze in front of my eyes. The word "trust" was already a red flag for me, especially coming from these two.

After blinking a couple more times, I found myself in a pub, leaning over a heavily drunk man, my fist raised above him.

"Has this happened before?" echoed in my head.

"Call the police!" someone shouted in the background.

"This guy’s completely lost it."

"He got hit too—that thug started it first!"

The voices of the unseen crowd blended with the sounds of broken glass and rock music. I looked at my bruised knuckles and back down. The man on the floor was gone.

My mind strained heavily, trying to show how I had gotten drunk from anxiety (but why?) in the pub and picked a fight with a stranger who had given me a sidelong glance. Apparently, I was also looking for an opponent—some way to unleash the negativity.

"But what pushed me? Did they actually call the police?" swirled chaotically in my head.

"Stop!" a woman's voice commanded sharply. "You don’t want this, Constantin. We don’t want this."

I began looking around, twisting back and forth, my body coiling through space.

"Who stopped me back then? Was I even with a girl?"

"Back with us, I see," Oscar said, pulling off his rubber boot and pouring the leftover water back into the lake.

"Where’s Selena?" I asked, staring blankly at the small footbridge where my own shadow flickered.

"She dropped us off and left right away—forgot already? Not surprising, though. In your usual style, you face-planted into the lake first thing. Maybe you should get a floatie, or, I dunno… armbands? Can’t exactly stretch a safety net over the whole lake."

I looked at the kid as he grimaced, pulling the wet boot back onto his foot, then wiped his palm on the leg of his coveralls. The coveralls, oddly enough, were completely dry.

"Oz," I said quietly, "tell me straight—what’s going on here?"

"What does it look like?" he shot back.

The kid’s eyes seemed older than he was. Only now did it hit me—his wisdom didn’t match his naive, childlike face at all.

"Am I dead?" I asked, fighting back nausea.

Oscar burst out laughing and stood up.

"Man, Constantin, you’re something else. If you were dead, how could we have had such a fun time together? Or do you think I’m dead too?"

"I don’t understand any of this," I said hopelessly.

"Yeah, no kidding," the kid shook his head. "You can’t even figure yourself out—no way you’ll get the rest. Alright, here’s the deal. You help me fix the roof and patch up the house before Grandpa gets back. And I’ll… gradually explain everything."

I looked at the kid, then at the lake (its calm surface stretching wide), then back at the kid—and nodded.

I’d already realized I didn’t have a choice.