And then I go to my window and watch the people I’ll be spending tomorrow evening with. I see Amy in the living room doorway, saying something to her mother. Her brother looks around, but Amy ignores him. She’s doing all the talking while her mum looks concerned. I try to lip-read, but I can’t make out anything. All I can see is the worry on everyone’s faces.

Her dad appears from the back of the room and touches Amy’s shoulder, and she flinches. Then he sits on the chair opposite and points at something unseen.

This is the first time I’ve seen Amy in the same room as them. She’s usually hidden away, which is either her choice or someone else’s. Tomorrow I’ll find out, if they agree to something that I think Amy has decided on her own.

I keep watching until her mum nods, then pulls her brother into a hug and stares back at the TV.

Amy stands for a few seconds, as if she wants to say something else, before disappearing. Then the light goes on upstairs and the curtains close, but not before she stares directly at me and smiles.

51

Sometimes you have to be brave or stupid.

I’m not sure which it is, but I push the buzzer, then hear Amy’s voice say, “Hi.”

The gate slides back, and I think about going home. But I don’t want regrets as well as questions, so I walk up to her front door and knock.

Amy is wearing a dress and the biggest smile, and she looks beautiful.

I was going to ask why she invited me when I’d just caught her doing such a bad thing. But something else breaks through the confusion, something that swoops and soars in my head and my heart, and all I can do is stare at her.

“Hi,” she says again.

“I nearly didn’t come.”

“I know. But I want to show you there’s nothing wrong. You thought all the weird things in your house had something to do with me, but they don’t. You’ll see.”

“What about that little boy?”

Amy’s smile shrinks but clings to the corners of her lips. “I’m not a bad person.”

“Do your parents know?”

She shivers. “Of course not. They wouldn’t understand.”

“And I’m supposed to?”

“I hope so. Because, if I can make one parent pay more attention and cherish what they have, it’ll be worth it.”

Amy’s mum walks up behind her and says, “Here’s our guest.”

She’s smiling, too, but it looks awkward on her, like she’s read about smiles in a book but never actually seen one.

“Hello, Mrs. Pearce,” I say.

“Call me Jane. And this is Chris.”