Back home, I was top of the class. Here, I’m one of many. I’m not even qualified to be in their AP classes.

Paula, of course, was excited. “Look on the bright side: new friends!” she remarked cheerily. Yet another thing to make me a new person. A different person. Not me.

I walk downstairs to an empty kitchen. I forgot to ask what the morning routine is around here during the week. Craig and Sarah were gone by the time I got downstairs yesterday.

I open the refrigerator and pull out items to make myself lunch. I feel like an intruder opening drawers trying to find sandwich bags and utensils. I was told to make myself at home, so I make a turkey sandwich and grab an apple, and some leftover chips from Sunday.

“Good morning.” Paula’s dressed in a nice blue-and-green wrap dress. She’s going back to work today at the hospital. Everybody is getting back to their normal lives. “I was going to give you money for lunch.”

“I like to bring my lunch,” I state, although I did get to see the cafeteria during the tour. It was—no surprise—huge. I already planned on taking my lunch outside to sit under a tree and read.

“I can make eggs for breakfast.” Paula opens the fridge. “Or do you want cereal?”

“What do you usually do?”

“We usually watch TV and do our own thing,” Sarah says as she walks into the kitchen wearing her middle-school uniform. I’m a tad jealous she doesn’t have to think about her school outfits in the morning. I didn’t know what to wear today. The students I did see yesterday were all stylish: colorful dresses, fitted tops, tight jeans, heels. It was all jeans and sweaters back home. I settled on a new outfit from the other day: a pair of dark skinny jeans and a short-sleeved cotton-and-lace T-shirt.

Sarah opens a drawer and pulls out a box of Honey Nut Cheerios. “You want some?” she offers.

“Yeah. That would be great.” I go into the fridge and get the milk. Sarah pulls out the bowls while I find the spoons.

We’re so busying pouring ourselves cereal, milk, and juice that it takes us both a few minutes to realize that tears are sliding down Paula’s cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“It’s something I never thought I’d ever see. The two of you. Together. In my home.”

I give her an awkward pat on the hand. Will there ever be a time when she can look at me and not be sad? I inadvertently hurt her by going missing for years, and I sometimes feel that maybe having a walking reminder of what happened hurts her just as much.

“I’m making toast,” Sarah states as she ignores her mother. “You want some?”

“Yes, please.”