It’s okay seeing all the rooms, but it’s better outside. The sun makes the water look like tinsel, and there are gardens with flowers so red and orange and yellow it’s as if they’ve been painted. You can sit in a boat while someone pushes you along with a stick, but we don’t do that because Will is saying, “Maze…maze…maze.”

“Come on, then,” Dad says, scooping him up and doing Superman until my brother is too tired to laugh.

Sometimes I think Will needs a leash like a dog, because he always likes to see what’s next. He’s always running around corners and charging ahead, but at least he’s safe in the maze.

“It’s not that way,” he says, and, “Come on,” and then, when the fun wears off, “We’re lost.”

That’s when Dad puts Will on his shoulders, and he can see the people at the top. They point, and my brother guides us. And, when we climb the steps, the maze looks like a beautiful pattern, not just bushes.

This was a good way to celebrate getting into St. Gregory’s, even if I’m scared of what comes next. They reckon you have to be supersmart to keep up, and I’m not. Mum says I’ll be fine, but that’s just what parents say. Some lies make you feel better, but that one doesn’t.

When we’re in the restaurant, Mum tells Will that he needs to be on his best behavior, and he nods. He isn’t naughty, though. He’s just energetic.

Dad holds his glass up. “To Amy. We’re so proud of you.”

“To Amy,” Mum says, and we clink glasses. Will giggles, and a few people look at us and smile.

Our parents have their lovey eyes tonight, which means they look at each other like there’s no one else in the world. I think they always looked like this before I was born, but now they save it for special occasions.

When we’re done, we walk back to the car in our line. Mum is on one end, Dad’s on the other, and I’m in the middle with Will. We can only do that when it’s quiet or we’d take up the whole sidewalk. But it’s one of my favorite things, because it makes me feel strong.

“Look,” Dad says. “A star.”

“It’s a plane,” Mum says.

“Make a wish anyway.”

“You don’t wish on a plane,” I say.

And Dad says, “Well, maybe you should.”

So we all say a wish, one after another, out loud because our secrets are safe with each other.

IIII

I’m frightened because today’s my first day at St. Gregory’s, and it doesn’t feel exciting anymore.