I don’t hug him, because it’s not my place. Instead, we fist-bump, and Aaron grins and says, “It’s my turn to choose the film.”

Whenever he stays, we have a family film night. Last week Mum picked P.S. I Love You because she only watches movies that make her cry.

Aaron will choose Moana because he always chooses Moana, and we’ll joke how we’ve seen it a million times, then smile as he sings every word.

After dinner, while Mum and Jay load the dishwasher and Aaron pretends to look through our DVDs, I turn to Nia and say, “I have a question…about Evie Wells.”

“Are you stalking her or something?”

“No…I…did you hear a rumor about her and someone’s dad?”

She makes a face. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard a story…that Evie was…you know…with a friend’s dad. It was going ’round school, so I figured it was true.”

I have to lie a little bit. Nia is more likely to tell me the truth if she thinks I already know it.

But she shakes her head and says, “I don’t know anything about that. It sounds like bollocks. Some kid at your school probably made it up because it didn’t get as far at ours.”

Nia doesn’t talk about the Academy much, but I know that, when gossip happens, it grows and spreads and becomes more than a few whispered words.

“Evie Wells is not the kind of girl to hook up with someone’s dad,” Nia says. “I didn’t really know her, but I don’t see it.”

I can actually see the moment Nia realizes she’s talking to me in a way she never has before. She catches herself, gives me a funny look, then rearranges her features. But the sharpness flattens as Aaron walks back in, holding the Moana DVD, passes it to his sister and sings, “You’re welcome!”

We all laugh, and she lets me join in the joke.

After the movie, Aaron turns to his sister and says, “Play it.”

“Upstairs,” she whispers.

“No. Here.”

Nia sighs, but she’s not angry. She’ll do whatever her brother wants because he can only ask once a week.

She gets one of her guitars from her room, then sits next to him and says, “You ready?”

Aaron nods, and his sister glances at me, then she plays the tune I usually hear through the wall—the song she wrote for her brother that doesn’t have any words, but is basically perfect.

If I wasn’t here, maybe this would be one of those cheesy family moments you see on TV. But I am, so it’s not. Nia’s embarrassment creeps out between the notes, yet she keeps going.

When she’s done, Mum says, “Amazing,” and Nia’s face lights up the way Aaron’s does when she plays.