She wants to hear the truth, she says, but I prefer to lie.

Doctor, will I live?

Yes.

My dear, you'll never die.

You're listening to Spooked. Stay true. Fourth of July, right before seventh grade, I go to a party at my buddy Jeff Shade's

house, fat crib on Sanford Lake right outside of Midland, Michigan.

Almost every one of my class shows, including the girls.

Jeff's dad pulls us on water skis with their brand new boat.

We roast hot dogs, marshmallows, eat watermelon, light fireworks that explode over the lake.

And that night I stay over.

With five of my best friends in the whole wide world, Jeff, Marty, Danny, Sean, Corey,

Jeff's mom makes us pancakes the next morning.

Swimming in butter and syrup, laughing, she unloads a whole can of whipped cream on mine. Especially for me, because, she says, because.

I bank her, say goodbye to everyone. Ride my bike back to my house, and pops helps me pack it inside

I already loaded up U-Haul truck.

Then we drive away from Sanford, Michigan.

And I never see any of those people again.

And I don't know enough to be sad.

Almost 13 years old, I've moved homes 13 different times, 13 different addresses,

eight different schools.

The truth is, sitting in the passenger seat of a U-Haul next to Pops on the interstate, this is my happy place.

Yeah, it is time to go.

...