“Better than Eileen’s, I suppose. I’ve been running through under-eye patches like nobody’s business, draining all my youth away worrying that a long-lost relative would claim the place.” I sigh. “Could I at least have the Aston Martin?”

His eyes grow large and eager. “What if I told you that you could have something ten times more luxurious than an Aston Martin?”

“A Rolls-Royce Sweptail?” I know a lot about luxury cars. Every night, I climb into bed and add two or three of them to my Aspirations Pinterest board.

“Cover your eyes.”

“I really do not like the sound of that.”

Hall slips his hands over my eyes, and I suppress a shiver. This will probably sound sad, but I haven’t been touched by another person in a very long time, and the (sort of) human contact is both jarring and more comforting than I would’ve expected.

He bumps me into every conceivable sharp corner on our way outside. “Aaaaaand, you can open them!”

I do.

Parked out front, passenger-side wheel propped up on the curb, is a bulbous, old-fashioned red pickup truck with a Christmas tree poking out of the bed. The license plate reads MMWCT for reasons unknown to me.

“No!”

“The glovebox dispenses Linzer raspberry jam cookies,” he reports exultantly. “Find that in an Aston Martin.”

“I would rather find myself in an Aston Martin!” I feel my nose scrunching. “This isn’t what I wished for.”

The new neighborhood attraction has attracted gogglers. A few of the neighbors, and Town-Hall-walk-around-ers from across the street, have assembled to argue over how long both the house and truck have been here. Nothing gets missed in a town as small as this one—which is my largest gripe with it, aside from my relatives up the mountain and the fact that I’ll have to show my face there soon.

If it weren’t for Grandma and Grandpa’s nearby residence and the fear of being spotted by them or someone who can tell them they spotted me, Teller City is an okay town. I appreciate the grocery deliveries on Wednesdays, which have pretty much kept me alive. Once a week, I look forward to the box of sauce, dry pasta, canned vegetables, batteries, and toilet paper on my doorstep. It’s delivered by a kid named Rudy who also delivers the newspapers, and I tip him in a new cryptocurrency that I made up.

“I don’t remember seeing any construction,” one elderly lady is saying.

“Oh, it was built months ago!” one of her friends exclaims. “Don’t you remember?”

The other one shakes her head.

“It’s been around for ages,” another one adds. “I pass that house every morning when I’m walking my dogs.”

Then they notice me.

I feel myself shrink back, but it’s too late. One face lights up, followed by another, like a strand of Christmas bulbs. “Oh! You’re Bettie and Lawrence’s granddaughter, aren’t you?”

My mouth falls open to say no, but Hall declares proudly, “Yes, she is!”

The gogglers are magnets for more gogglers. My name is tossed around in the air like a volleyball. They chirp questions at me, but it’s like my mouth is stuffed with cotton, heart pounding. It’s only a matter of time before my current living situation is discovered and all of my lies revealed. It would have been one thing for my family to find out I gambled away my millions two years ago, when I went into a tailspin. But now, it’ll look so much worse. They’ll know that everything I’ve said to them about my amazing, spectacular life has been a lie—and I haven’t been easy on the boasting. Last month, I told Athena I was having an affair with the king of Aldovia.