I pause outside the bedroom with the yellow hazard sign nailed to the door. Inside, the pop, pop, pop of an automatic rifle mingles with the bloodthirsty cries of young boys.

I rap on the door and silence answers.

Parker opens with raised eyebrows. He doesn’t remember what night it is.

I almost back away. Forget it. But I can’t. It’s tradition.

“It’s movie night.”

Realization crosses his face… but not excitement.

I fidget, scraping at a hangnail with my thumb.

Parker turns to Jacob, who’s smiling as he sits on the lower level of their bunk, facing the TV across the room. I wish I could see whatever look Parker gives him. Or maybe I don’t. The nothingness is already growing inside my chest, and I’m a helpless princess in a floating kingdom, waiting for a little boy to save her and give her a name.

Call my name, Parker.

On second thought, maybe it’s better if I don’t watch The NeverEnding Story one more time.

Parker turns back to me. “I kinda forgot.”

We share a last name, and still he can’t make me feel any less alone.

I shrug. No big deal. I can sit alone in my room and swap stories with this house.

“Why don’t you play with us?”

Jacob’s smile widens, inviting me as well, but it’s too wide to be sincere. He brushes a lock of hair from his forehead and glances back at the screen of frozen men with assault rifles.

Parker’s smile matches Jacob’s. They could be twins.

My brother’s hair is bitter chocolate. Mine is too, but only because I dye it. It’s naturally an almost white blond, but I got tired of people thinking we weren’t related. My brother has my mom’s round face and soft features. You can see the resemblance in the photo he keeps of her—all three of us sitting outside our trailer, the forest tight around us, my brother squirming in her thin arms, and me with my too-big dark brown eyes that mirrored hers. Parker with his deep blue eyes that matched our dad’s. Our mom died two weeks later.

Parker loves that photo, but I can’t look at it without picturing the way I found her body. And it’s already so ingrained in my mind that I don’t need the extra help.

Besides, if I want to remember our parents, I just look at Parker.

People say he’s handsome.

Parker’s staring at me with something like pity in his eyes, and I lock down whatever emotion he’s reading on my face.

“I’m good.” I back away from the door as Parker shuts me out.

The nothingness in my chest grows cavernous and hungry. The floorboards creak.