“You’ve never brought a boy over before. Are you two…” Mrs. Darling started slowly, casting Wendy a furtive glance, “dating?”

“What?” Wendy almost shouted. “No—we—NO, definitely not,” she stammered, completely flustered. “I only just met him the other day!” She could feel her cheeks turn red.

Oh, God, they weren’t going to have that conversation, were they?

“Okay, okay.” Mrs. Darling held her hands up in surrender. “I was only asking,” she said, an amused look on her face. As she started the microwave, Wendy tried to melt into her chair. “You just seemed nervous when I walked in on you two—”

Wendy slapped her hand on her forehead. “You didn’t walk in on us. We weren’t doing anything—”

“And you kept touching his arm and giving him this look,” Mrs. Darling continued. She was nearly smiling—it was almost there, hiding in the right-hand corner of her mouth.

Wendy groaned and buried her face in her hands. She had only been touching him because she had been trying to get him out of the house! And what look on her face was her mother even talking about? The only look she could have possibly been making was of a girl on the brink of panic! Wendy dropped her hands to the table. “Trust me, there is nothing going on with me and P—between the two of us.”

Mrs. Darling walked over and set a paper plate of chicken and rice in front of Wendy, along with a glass of water. “Well, he seems very nice either way,” Mrs. Darling said as she walked back to the kitchen.

Wendy made a huffing noise as she stabbed her fork into a piece of chicken and popped it into her mouth. She wasn’t the best cook—nothing compared to what her mother used to make when she was little—but the chicken was seasoned with just enough spice, and the rice was gooey with cheese.

“He just seems so familiar, though,” Mrs. Darling continued. She frowned at her plate as she scooped up a portion. “Maybe I used to go to school with his father? Do they look very much alike?”

Wendy took another bite and shook her head. “No, like I said, they just moved here,” she said through a mouthful of food, “from Florida.” Wendy hated lying, mostly because she was terrible at it. “He just has one of those faces, I guess…”

Mrs. Darling nodded slowly, lost in thought.

It was then that Wendy noticed the TV was still on. “I guess you heard about Alex?” she ventured, staring down at her plate as she picked at her rice.

This refocused Mrs. Darling’s attention. Her delicate brows furrowed and a heavy sigh pulled down on her shoulders. “Yes,” she said. “The police were at the hospital all night, checking sign-in sheets and getting security camera footage.”

Wendy coughed. It felt like a piece of chicken had lodged itself in her throat. “Security cameras?” she repeated.