“Thanks,” my stepsister says, watching as her brother burns off the last of his energy.

It’s only when I’m brushing my teeth that Nia stands in the bathroom doorway and asks, “What’s going on?”

I can’t reply without spraying her with toothpaste, so I just shrug and she says, “Where did you really hear about Evie Wells?”

I slowly rinse my mouth, figuring out what to tell her, but, before I can, Nia says, “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

35

Amy’s new house is twice the size of ours.

If you go online, you can see the photographs taken before the builders started work. That was the house Amy’s parents bought, but it isn’t the one they live in, now.

I only got a glimpse of the hallway, but it’s all white now, the light switch and sockets sparkling chrome, the carpet so perfect I felt guilty for wearing shoes.

I look around our house at how lived-in it looks. How could they go from this to that? I can’t imagine ever living in a house that looks like a space station with walls I’d be afraid to touch in case I marked them.

I watch Amy’s house from mine, putting words to the silent scenes that switch from window to window.

Again, as always, her parents sit on either side of her brother in the living room, their faces lit by the TV’s glow. But she’s not with them.

She doesn’t talk about her brother, and I wonder if it’s because he’s the favorite. He looks about eleven, and I make a note on my phone to look out for him at school. Would he tell me something different if I asked about the holes? Or would he think I’m a weirdo and report me to the principal?

Their house is so far back from the street, with a massive driveway and that sliding gate, that they probably don’t worry about being spied on. Mum closes the curtains as soon as the lamp goes on because she hates the idea of people looking in. But Amy’s parents act like they’re invisible.

I see a curtain twitch, then Amy is looking out, staring directly at me. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t wave. But my light is off, and I’m crouched down low, only my forehead and my eyes poking above the windowsill.

I’m not spying. I’m just making sure…that she’s safe…that I’m wrong…that their house and the people in it are as harmless as ours.

Amy isn’t looking at me, anyway. She’s watching a moon that fills the sky, making the night feel almost safe. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, puffs her cheeks and blows out. Then the curtain falls back into place, and she’s gone.