But she was wrong. Nothing could change me wanting to be her friend. And I was tired of waiting. Something inside me needed to know more. So I followed her, even though I could tell she was upset. I shifted the strap of the grocery bag higher onto my shoulder, and winced as it cut into the skin under my T-shirt.

Then silently I followed her along Woodland for a few blocks, and I was surprised when she turned onto the rocky gravel of Mercer, back toward the farm, where we’d first met.

“Mercer? But I know everyone who lives on this street!” I said, running to catch up to her. “And I thought you said you lived farther away.”

Jasper didn’t answer me. She just kept walking. So I followed along silently, kicking gravel. I didn’t say anything when we entered the farm. I didn’t say anything when Jasper headed down toward the creek and straight into the kudzu jungle, through the scratchy green tendrils that raked at my arms and legs. I was silent as I watched her stomp along the creek. Then she came to a wall of vines and stopped.

She lifted aside a sort of curtain, a veil of vines, to reveal a gap in the green. Through that gap Jasper crawled, and I followed as she scrambled up an embankment overhanging the creek. I had no idea where we were going, but I pushed my own way through and clawed at the red clay and tree roots, trying to keep up, the heavy bag dragging at my shoulder.

A moment later, I burst through all that green, through the kudzu and ivy and honeysuckle, and found Jasper standing in front of a tiny house I’d never seen before. A house I’d never noticed. It was tucked way back in the trees at the edge of the farm, buried in all the vines, pines, and shrubs. I could barely make out the weathered tan color of the clapboards, so overgrown it was in green. Situated like that, the house was blocked from view on all sides, hidden and buried in overgrowth. It was a cottage, really, a tiny miniature house, obviously abandoned and neglected. But it had gingerbread trim and broken stained glass set into the windows. I could tell it had been beautiful once, like something from a fairy tale. But vacated long ago by the elves or hobbits or fauns who had once lived there.

A bright blue dragonfly zipped past my head, and I ducked, startled, almost lost my balance. “Wh—where are we?” I stammered.

“This is where I sleep,” said Jasper, turning to face me.