They stand there a second too long…and then a few more…until, finally, Mum breathes out and says, “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

Their bedroom door closes, and I hear mumbling behind the wall. I could try to listen closer, but I don’t want to know what they’re saying about me. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Instead, I go downstairs, feeling my way through the darkness.

It always takes a while to get used to a new house. But, eventually, if we stay long enough, I’ll be able to move from room to room with my eyes closed. I prefer doing this in the dark.

I feel for the front door and push the handle down once, twice, three times. Each time it holds firm, but only after three can I clap. That’s how I know it’s locked.

Moonlight hovers over the kitchen counters, empty except for a kettle and a microwave. I check the back door four times, then clap. Then I touch the windows one by one. On my way back upstairs, I check the front door again, because, sometimes, the clap doesn’t work. It’s supposed to stop my doubts, to remind me I’ve already done this. But it doesn’t always work.

“Clap,” I say out loud.

Then I take a deep breath, go back to my room, and imagine who slept here before me.

5

Mr. Trafford comes into the common room and asks for a tour guide.

“We have a potential new student,” he says. “She’s here with her mother. Who wants to show them around?”

I keep my head down, hoping someone else volunteers. But they all have the same idea, and, when Mr. Trafford looms over me, I know I won’t be able to escape.

“Tom,” he says, “would you mind?”

Teachers at our school like asking rhetorical questions.

“Mrs. Pearce,” Trafford says, “this is Tom. He’ll be showing you around this morning.”

The girl has her head down. Her mother smiles and says, “Pleased to meet you.”

“You too,” I mumble, but I can’t shake the feeling that I know her.

She looks too neat and tidy, like she’s missing all the messy parts that Mum used to hide until Jay said he loved them.

When the woman frowns, I know I’ve been staring too long.

“You look familiar,” she says, but Trafford talks over her.

“Ready to go?”

I look at the girl, and she glances at me, her eyes filled with a sadness I haven’t seen for a long time, then back at the floor.

“Amy’s a little unwell today,” her mum says.

I suddenly feel an extra layer of nerves on top of the usual ones, but I can’t get out of it, now.

“Have you just moved into the area?” I ask.