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When Pete finished the fence, he gathered up the brush and the pot and the rags and headed back around to the shed, trailing black drips along the flagstones. One landed square on Hemingway's forehead, and Pete laughed at the way his nose twitched. "C'mere, old man," Pete said. Hemingway sat still to let him rub at the spot with the cleanest rag, and almost all of the spot came off.

Pete went into the house through the back and found the kitchen empty, except for the twin stacks of boxes still blocking the windows and Piglet stretched out limply between them. "Hang in there, Pig," Pete said. She opened one eye and thumped her tail against the tiles. Pete ran himself a glass of water and drank it in two long gulps. Then he refilled all the water bowls. Piglet thumped her tail again when he set hers down in front of her, and Hemingway butted his head hard against Pete's calf.

He left the dogs slurping and stuck his head around the corner to the living room, but that was even more deserted. The PlayStation and the Wii had both been hooked up, though, so clearly progress was being made.

There were another two empty boxes on the landing, which was even more promising, and as Pete got closer to the open bedroom door he could hear the tinny sound of iPod drumbeats. He grinned to himself and rounded the corner of the doorway.

Mikey was sitting crosslegged on the bed with a lapful of thick black fabric and a pair of scissors in his hand. "Whatcha doin'?" Pete said loudly.

Mikey looked up and tugged his earbuds out. "Hey," he said. "What's up?"

"Fence is done," Pete said. "Should dry in no time with this sun." Mikey gave him a thumbs up. "What are you doing?"

"Look," Mikey said. He gathered up several folds of the fabric in one hand and snipped triangles into them with the other. Then he shook out the whole cloth and held it up. The sunlight from the bare window streamed through the cutouts and threw a scattering of stars onto the wall beyond.

"Dude," Pete said. "Those rock."

Mikey smiled, his small, triumphant smile.

Pete went over and climbed onto the bed, pushing Mikey backwards to lie flat and nudging one knee in between Mikey's thighs. "Tactical error, dude," he said. "You're never getting rid of me now." He started to lean down, but Mikey stuck a hand up against Pete's chest.

"Wait!" Mikey said. "Our curtains!"

Pete raised his eyebrows.

"I worked hard on those," Mikey said. "You're not getting jizz on them before we even hang them up."

"Maybe it'd be your jizz," Pete said, "did you think of that?" But he sat back on his heels to let Mikey tug the curtains free and toss them over onto the nearest box. Then Mikey flopped down onto his back again and threw his arms elaborately wide. Pete looked down at Mikey's dusty face.

"What?" Mikey said.

"Our curtains, huh?" Pete said.

Mikey's mouth curved back into that same fierce smile. Pete bent down and met it with his own.