I turn more pages, all the way to the back, and I stop dead because there they are—two stick figures, one big and one small. They fill the final few pages of his book, over and over again, just like the carvings in my wardrobe. “Fuck,” I whisper, quickly flicking back to the first drawing I saw, then stepping into the hallway just as Amy leaves her room and stares straight at me.

53

“I got lost,” I say. “There are too many doors in this house.”

Amy doesn’t reply, but the smile falls off her face. And there it is—the same sadness Will drew.

“We should go downstairs,” she mumbles.

She leads the way as I try to figure out what to say. She’s not stupid. She knows I didn’t muddle up the rooms. I was snooping, and she could tell her parents. Instead, she walks over to Will and ruffles his hair until he wriggles away and says, “Stop it!”

I have a flashback to Nia and Aaron on our sofa, goofing around, but Will doesn’t laugh like my stepbrother does. He scowls.

Back at the table, Jane says, “What are your plans, Tom? For when you finish school. Do you have any ambitions?”

I don’t, but people hate hearing that. They always look disappointed, like I’m insulting them just because I haven’t figured out my life yet. Mum says it’s fine, that it’s wrong to think you can map your future out at sixteen.

I don’t know if she had plans when she was at school. But, if she did, I doubt they included a Gary or a Martin. I’m not even sure they included a me.

But that’s what she got—a kid and a divorce and a photo album full of arseholes and then, eventually, Jay. But that’s not all she got, because my mother is making up for lost time. She loves cooking and does evening classes, now. It’s Mum’s dream to open a restaurant, and she’s all the proof I need that I’ll figure stuff out in the end.

“I’m not sure yet,” I say. “I’m keeping my options open.” Chris lets a laugh slip out.

Everyone else pretends they don’t hear it, and Jane says, “Amy wants to be a teacher, don’t you, darling? She loves children.”

There’s another tiny shiver, then a smile as Amy says, “That’s the dream.”

I picture her holding the boy’s hand, leading him farther and farther away, teaching his parents a lesson they didn’t ask for. Then I imagine her standing in front of a whole class.

The person she is, sometimes, would be a great teacher because, she’s kind and funny and patient. But that’s not all she is.

“What about you, Will?” I ask. “What would you like to be?”