Emma pushes the screen door open. “Hi.” She’s looking past Kate/Kaitlin at me, and she doesn’t smile, so I don’t smile either. Instead I sort of nod and shuffle my feet. Her eyes travel up my full height. I brace myself for the question that every six-foot-three teenager with limbs like a daddy longlegs endures: Do you play basketball? No? Maybe you should. Every new school I’ve ever been to, a coach spots me slouching through the halls and thinks I’m going to be their new golden ticket to a winning season. Luckily, all it takes is thirty seconds of watching me gangly and uncoordinated on the court for their dreams to be dashed. People act like I’m wasting a precious national resource: How dare you be tall for no good reason.

But Emma doesn’t say anything about my height. She’s doing a different kind of inventory. Tallying me up, finding the sum, exactly like she did at the meeting. And I have no idea what she thinks of her assessment. What is she trying to figure out? Also, I have literally never seen such big eyes before. I feel Little Red Riding Hood looking at the wolf. What big eyes you have!

“Mrs. Morgan, so great to see you again!” Kate/Kaitlin chirps. “I’m sorry we’re so late.”

“You can call me Emma. And you aren’t late,” Emma says, her gaze still on me. Several piercings line both her ears, and she has a tiny gold nose stud. “How was the car ride?” There’s a hint of my mom’s accent in her voice, a slight softening of the R in “car” that makes my breath hitch. How was the cah ride?

The wave of missing hits me so hard, I have to look down at my feet to make sure they’re still connected to the porch. She probably calls drinking fountains “bubblas” and the remote control the “clicka,” just like my mom does.

“The ride was okay,” I manage, and Emma nods, like that’s what she expected me to say. Her eyes travel to my book tucked under my arm, and then back to mine, and now I’m battling with some serious self-doubt. Is she having second thoughts?

This place is emotional quicksand.

Kate/Kaitlin shifts uncomfortably. “Not a bad drive at all. My goodness, Salem is charming. These old houses! And these decorations are fun. What a welcome.” Up close, the banner is even worse than I thought. It has been painted with a bunch of silver stars that vaguely resemble the Big Dipper constellation, which lets me know that Kate/Kaitlin has told them that I’m into astronomy. I hate that there is a little folder of knowledge about me that gets passed around to every adult that interacts with me. It makes them think they know who I am, when actually they know nothing.