James covered her hand with his own and squeezed back. “I realized tonight … she doesn’t have to use me. She could come up with someone entirely new. And then I’ll just fade out.”

  “That won’t happen,” Anna said. “You’re too lovely.”

  James breathed out a laugh. He rolled his eyes. “I’m lucky you found me in the park. I’d still be wandering around like a lunatic.”

  “Someone else would have helped you. Everyone here is pretty helpful. Even the ones who don’t have faces.”

  * * *

  The next day, they were walking in the fields, and the snake was there. How had Anna forgotten the snake?

  She froze. Just like she always did. Every time, no matter how old she was.

  “What the fuck,” James whispered.

  The snake rattled its tail. It wound its way closer.

  “Don’t move,” Anna said through her teeth. “It won’t hurt us.”

  “Then why are you afraid?”

  The snake slid closer. It wouldn’t hurt them. It would brush over her foot and against her ankle. She just had to stand still.

  It got closer. Anna was just as afraid as she’d ever been. She’d never acclimate.

  The snake was close to her shoe.

  James lifted up his boot—he had boots now—and stomped on it.

  “Mother fucker,” James said, rubbing both hands through his hair.

  Anna took a shuddering breath. “You killed it … You killed it! How did you do that?”

  “Fuck,” James said. “Was that a rattlesnake?”

  “Yeah. You killed it. I didn’t know—”

  “Anna, that wasn’t a setting—that was a scene. Do you have scenes?”

  “A few.”

  “Jesus.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Does it usually bite you?”

  “No, it just touches me.”

  “Fuck.” He pulled her into a hug. “I’m still glad that I killed it.”

  Anna leaned against his chest. He had a distinct smell. Like soap and antiperspirant and beer. (Why did James have a smell? Was he a character or a fantasy?)

  He squeezed her. “I hope it never comes back.”

  “Me, too,” she said.

  “Christ.”

  She laughed. She pulled away. “Let’s get out of here.”

  * * *

  They went back to her house and ate Banquet TV dinners out on the porch.

  “I haven’t had one of these since I was a kid,” James said.

  She was fascinated by his backstory. Anna didn’t have much of a backstory. Even though she had an elaborate setup. She was like a doll sitting in a dollhouse, surrounded by furniture.

  James had memories.

  Anna had memories, too, but they were mostly of this place. Her backstory was only a few scenes long. A few disjointed flashbacks.

  James’s character kept shifting. It was driving him crazy.

  “Oh God,” he said, when they were done eating.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He looked upset.

  “James—what?”

  “I’m not James anymore. I’m Isaac.”

  “But your last name—”

  “Not anymore.”

  “She’s working on you,” Anna said. “It’s a good sign.”

  He sighed.

  “She’s kept all the important parts,” she said. “You’ve still got red hair and nice shoulders.”

  That made James laugh. He rolled his eyes, he tried to relax. “So, your character has shifted a lot over the years?”

  “I mean, I was eight when I started, so yeah.”

  “Have you always been ‘Anna’?”

  “Yeah, but …”

  “What.”

  “Well …” She looked at him for a second, deciding whether to say more. “For a while, I could open portals into other dimensions.”

  James—Isaac—guffawed.

  “It’s not funny,” Anna said, laughing.

  “How did that even work?”

  “I don’t know.” Her shoulders were shaking. “She never hammered it out. My eyes glowed.”

  James—she was just going to keep calling him James—was still laughing. “You really were a Stephen King character.”

  “I had siblings for a while.”

  “And then they faded? That sounds traumatic.”

  “It wasn’t so bad. I’d already been here for years, and they were so sketchy. Like, sometimes there were three of them, and sometimes there were four …”

  James leaned back in the porch swing. He was looking up at the stars. “Do you think people remember this place? After they leave?”

  “No. Why would they?”

  “Maybe some of it sticks,” he said. “In our subtext.”

  “Maybe,” Anna said, crossing her legs, letting him rock the swing. “But I don’t think so.” She looked at his face. In profile. He had strong cheekbones and a strong nose. A dramatic jaw. Everything about him was solid. “Why do you think we want to be in stories?” she asked.

  He turned back to her. “Because that’s what we are?”

  “Yeah,” she said, “but as long as we’re here, we get to keep going. The story is the end.”

  “It’s not the end, it’s the destination.”

  “But everything stops then, right? Everything gets locked down. As long as we’re here, we’re doing new things. We’re changing. But once we’re in a book … that’s it.”

  James had one eyebrow cocked down. Thoughtfully. “Once we’re in a book,” he said, “we’ve landed exactly where we belong, and we get to stay there forever.”

  She smiled at him. At his stolid face and his blue eyes. The red hair falling over his forehead. “You’re very optimistic, James.”

  He smiled a little at the name. “I am,” he said. “Unwaveringly.”

  He made an effort to talk to her parents on the way up to bed. He couldn’t quite look in their eyes.

  Anna said good night to him at his door, and then went to her room and changed into her nightgown. (She had multiple nightgowns. She had a winter coat. She had a hint of backstory about ice-skating.)

  There was a knock at her door. She went to open it. James was standing there, grinning.

  “Anna,” he whispered. “I’m James again.”

  She grinned up at him. “Good night, James.”

  She went to bed, knowing that he was still changing. That he might disappear. She wished that she had a camera. Or a way of keeping part of him.

  “Don’t you get bored?” James asked. They were sitting on the swing, watching the chickens.

  “Not really,” she said. “If you weren’t here, I’d be at the park, meeting the new people and chatting with friends. Everything’s always in flux.”

  “Why haven’t you taken me back to the park?”

  She looked at him. He’d wanted to wear something different today, so she’d lent him an oversized blue cardigan. “I thought it might discourage you,” she said. “To see people come and go.”

  He didn’t argue. They were drinking lemonade. “What kind of book wouldn’t you want to live in?” he asked.

  “A horror novel,” she said. She didn’t have to think about it. “Or a war story. What about you?”

  He cocked an eyebrow, thinking. “I really hate space.”

  That made Anna laugh. “Why do you hate space?”

  “There’s nothing there but death.”

  “And aliens,” she said. “And Han Solo.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “What kind of book are you hoping for?” she asked, leaning her shoulder into his.

  “I think, when I first got here, that I wanted to end up in something like … a dramatization of historical events.”

  Anna snorted.

  “But now,” he said, “I think that’s the kind of book I’d like to read, not live in.”

  “So what do you want?”

  “I just want to grow,” he said. “I want to feel more comfortable in my life. I want more supporting characters.”

  “You might be a supporting character,” she teased.

  “You told me I had leading man written all over me.”

  “I told you you looked like a love interest—there’s a difference.” She was trying not to smile, but she was still smiling. Her lips were twitching.

  James was smiling, too. His eyes were twinkling. “I’ll take it,” he said. Then, “What about you? What kind of book are you hoping for?”

  “As long as it’s a book,” Anna said, “I don’t really care. She better not waste me on a short story.”

  That made James laugh. “Are you kidding? It would take half the story to describe your weird house.”

  * * *

  A week passed, and James didn’t change very much. Anna could tell he was disappointed, that he felt abandoned. But he didn’t storm off again. He told her he wanted to meet more of the people here.

  She walked around with him, dutifully making introductions. “What is he doing here?” a rare unused vampire asked Anna behind James’s back. “He’s practically in 3D.”

  “I know,” Anna whispered. “He’ll probably be gone soon.”

  The vampire shook her head. She had a very distinct sense of humor but only a blur of a face. “The only one around here with that much precise detail is you, Anna.”

  Anna shrugged. She hoped that James hadn’t heard. He wouldn’t like being compared to her.

  When they got back to the farmhouse, James was tired. He didn’t want to sit on the porch, so they watched TV with her parents.

  “What are we watching?” he asked, twenty minutes into the show.

  “Gunsmoke,” her dad said.

  “I don’t think your parents are much older than you,” James said, so that only Anna could hear him.

  “They’ve never been revised,” she explained.

  After her parents went to bed, Anna and James stayed up, sitting on the couch. He seemed lost in thought.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I was just thinking—now that I’m not a sociology professor, I can’t go back to my office and buy ice cream bars.”

  “I’ll bet the vending machines show up somewhere else,” Anna said. “She liked those.”

  “I really wanted to be in a book with those ice cream bars,” James said sadly.

  Anna laughed.

  They were sitting right next to each other on the couch. Her mother had turned off the TV but left on a lamp.

  “I don’t want to be in a book with any of this stuff,” Anna said quietly.

  James lifted his head away from the couch to look at her. “What do you mean? You’ve got great stuff here. It’s all so vivid.”

  “I don’t know what sort of story she has in mind for me …” Anna said. “But it’s not a romantic comedy.”

  He was just watching, listening.

  “This is a story with a little girl who’s supposed to feel scared all the time. I may not feel it anymore—I may not be a girl anymore—but it’s in the bones of this house. It’s why she built it. She put a snake in the field that I can’t run from …” There were tears running down Anna’s cheeks. She wiped them with the back of her hand.

  James helped her, wiping her cheeks with his big thumbs. He looked concerned. And worried. “Anna … Are you hiding here? From your story?”

  She shook her head no. Her voice was very low: “But maybe she’s hiding me here. For a reason.”

  James was frowning. Probably because he couldn’t think of anything optimistic to say. He put his arm around her instead, and hugged her into his side. He was still wearing her sweater. He was big and warm. And temporary.

  * * *

  James woke Anna up the next morning. Knocking on her bedroom door.

  Anna sat up in bed. “Come in?”

  He ducked in. He was already dressed—in a new cardigan of his own. “Up, up,” he said, “we have plans today.”

  “Plans?” Anna never had plans.

  He pulled her quilt down. She folded her bare legs under her nightgown.

  “We’re going to have a picnic,” he said, “by the lake.”

  “James, there isn’t a lake.”

  He grinned. “Oh, there’s a lake.”

  “Do you have a lake now?”

  He nodded, still grinning.

  “Do you also have a picnic?”

  He knelt one knee onto her bed. “No. You’re going to make the picnic.”

  “How?”

  He covered her eyes gently with one hand. “You can do this, Anna. I know you can.”

  James’s hand was warm and real. Anna imagined a picnic. A basket with a red-checked lining. Sandwiches with olives on toothpicks. A green-plaid thermos with iced tea. A cherry pie.

  When she opened her eyes, the basket was sitting on her bed, and James was beaming down at her.

  Anna put on a yellow sundress with white tennis shoes—they were clothes she’d had since she was a girl, but they still fit.

  James waited for her out on the porch.

  Please, she thought, don’t take him. Not until after our picnic. I’ve never had a picnic.

  “Why do you have a lake?” she asked him as they walked through the yard.

  James had taken her hand. He was leading her. “I don’t know yet. Let’s hope it doesn’t disappear before we get there.”

  His lake seemed to be connected to her farm. Anna squealed when she saw it. And James laughed. The lake was small and clear, with a little pier at one end. They sat on the pier and took off their shoes, letting their feet dangle in the water. There were fish swimming farther below.

  “You have your own fishing hole,” Anna said.

  He grinned at her some more.

  “Are you still someone writing a book?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. That feels fuzzier. But I have an apartment now. I can see it clear as day.”

  “An apartment with a fishing hole?”

  “I think they’re disconnected.”

  “Ooh,” she said. “You have multiple settings.”

  He turned to Anna and looked earnestly into her eyes. “I really think she’s working on me.”

  “I do, too. You get better every day.”

  He was still looking in her eyes. His freckles were stark in the sunlight. There was a breeze playing with his peachy hair. He had scruff on his cheeks—that was new. He was smiling at her. He was always smiling at her.

  James brushed his thumb along her cheek. “You have an eyelash,” he said, “just … there.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured.

  “Anna, I …” His hand stayed on her face. It wrapped around her jaw. She could feel his palm. She could feel every finger. She tipped her chin up, hopefully.

  James leaned down to kiss her.

  She’d imagined this a lot. Kissing. Boys and girls. Men and women. Never their faces—they didn’t have faces. Or names.

  James’s lips were soft. His mouth was wet. Someone had given him teeth and a tongue and a soft way of sighing.

  Anna let herself touch his bristly cheek.

  When he pulled away, she looked at her lap—afraid of his reaction, that he might regret it. But he was laughing breathily. He lifted her face up by the chin. He was smiling.

  “That was my first kiss,” Anna said.

  “Mine, too.”

  * * *

  James was made for kissing.

  They kissed on the porch swing.

  In the wheat fields.

  Lying on top of her bed, on her homemade quilt.

  He was soft and gentle, and he never stopped touching her—his hands on her face, in her hair, on her back.

  He smiled while he kissed. He laughed.

  “I shouldn’t,” she said one afternoon between kisses.

  James was holding her face with his thumb on her chin. “Shouldn’t what?”

  “Kiss you,” she said. “You’re meant for someone else.”

  He lowered his eyebrows, thinking. He was leaning on one elbow. His shirt had come unbuttoned an extra button. “You said that we won’t remember what happens here.”

  “We won’t, I don’t think. That doesn’t seem practical.”

  He rubbed her chin with his thumb. “I don’t know what’s right,” he said. “But I know that I’m acting in character.”

  Anna smiled. She felt it all the way up to her hairline.

  James kissed her cheek. “If she didn’t want me to kiss you, she shouldn’t have made you so kissable.”

  Anna laughed. He was kissing her ear, her neck … He was laughing, too.

  “And likable?” she said.

  “So likable. So sympathetic.”

  Anna wrapped her arms around him. “She shouldn’t have left a dream like you sitting around unattended.”

  “I haven’t been unattended,” he said. “Not for a minute.”

  * * *

  James had an English accent for three hours one morning. They both found it unnerving.

  * * *

  James taught her to play double solitaire. It took her ages to imagine up a full deck of cards.

  * * *

  They took walks. They went fishing. They lay on their backs in her front yard, looking up at the stars.

  They sat in her bed, with James leaning back against the head-board and Anna straddling his lap. He took her hair down, and Anna imagined that it had never looked so clean and shiny.

  * * *

  “There’s a new girl in the park,” Anna’s mother said.

  Anna and James were playing cards on the porch. She was wearing her yellow sundress, and she’d kicked off her shoes. His button-down shirt was untucked, and he was holding Peaches.

  “Does she need help?” Anna asked.

  “She seems fine, but I thought you might want to say hello. She’s about your age and clear as a summer day. Hair down to her waist and wearing corduroy slacks. Corduroy! You can see the ribs. A main character if I’ve ever seen one.”

  Her mother went on into the house.

  Anna looked at James. “Do you want to go say hello?” she asked.