That night I lay in bed and stared at the new door on my wall. My portal to the Vine Realm. The room smelled faintly of paint, and there were still streaks in the winding lines of green we’d painted that glistened, as though wet, in the yellow light from the front porch on the other side of my window. I stared at the vines and wondered whether Jasper was staring at the vines on her wall too. I liked the idea that we were staring at the same thing.

Outside, it was raining again, and the sound of the rain was soft and even, whispering against the trees and drumming on the roof. Just the right kind of rain. Only I couldn’t help thinking about Jasper’s leaky roof and the buckets on the floor of her kitchen. I hoped she was safe and dry. I tried hard not to think about the man on Sam’s rock. I tried hard not to think about the door that didn’t lock. I tried hard not to imagine a face at Jasper’s window, peering down at her. A tooth, blinking in the moonlight. I couldn’t seem to stop imagining bad things. I turned over and buried my head in the pillow, but that didn’t help. I flipped back over again and stared at the portal.

Suddenly, I sat up. It was too hard not to see the pictures I didn’t want to see. I shook my head, but the pictures were still there. I checked my phone. It wasn’t really that late. Only about ten. But it felt later. I climbed down out of bed and walked to the door of my room, peered out. I heard voices, faint voices.

Down the hall I padded in bare feet, past the bathroom. At the end of the hallway, I stood at the kitchen door. There was light coming from the crack underneath it. I listened, waiting. Hoping to eavesdrop on something serious. Something about me. I always sort of assumed that when my parents were talking in hushed voices, it was about me.

But it wasn’t, not this time.

They were just talking to each other. About their boring days. Like regular married people.

“So then,” Mom was saying, “the guy who is supposed to be bagging the groceries turns to me and says, ‘Hey, does this look funny to you?’ And he shows me a picture on his phone of his dog. But the dog—get this—has two tails.”

“That had to be some kind of joke,” said Dad. “Right? Some trick? He’s just trying to get a reaction. Has to be . . .”

Mom laughed. “Who knows . . . the world is so strange!”