I sag back onto my bed, trying to even out my breathing. I’ve always had a hair-trigger response to stress or danger, but my heart seems to be beating even harder than normal.

“Hi, Mason,” Zoe says. They’re wearing matching Disney Princess nightgowns, and Audrey has made an attempt at bright red lipstick. The effect is a bit more slasher movie–esque than I’m up for at the moment.

“Hi, guys.” I rub my eyes aggressively. I was dreaming about something in outer space, a deep, empty void that was oddly enjoyable, but daylight has landed me squarely back in reality, and I can’t say I’m terribly happy about it.

I yawn, hoping they’ll take the hint and scamper off, but when I remove my hands, the girls are still staring, wide-eyed.

“Um? You can draw in your notebook?” Audrey says, pointing to where I’ve left my star log on the nightstand. My heart rate quickens again, my eyes darting over to it. I’ve had kids weaponize it before, stealing it or trying to read it to get a reaction out of me, and I have to remind myself that Audrey and Zoe are little girls. They aren’t after my notebook. I scoop it up just in case anyway.

“I mostly write,” I say.

“Let me see it,” Zoe says firmly, and I reluctantly pass it to her. I don’t think she can read, which makes this mostly safe, but it’s still hard to have it out of my control.

She begins flipping through the pages, her brows furrowed, while Audrey stares at me with owl eyes. After a few painful few moments, she passes it back, disinterested. “Okay,” she says.

I still can’t get over the sheer number of girls. There are girls on the stairs, in the kitchen, and occasionally in my bedroom, where none of them are supposed to go. The second night, there was a girl literally swinging from the banister until Emma came home and yelled at her, and then there was no TV for that girl that night. And even though names have been a struggle, they’ve distinguished themselves pretty quickly.

Nova is a dark storm cloud of pure teen angst, and her headphones appear to be surgically attached to her head. Hazel wears glasses and is in a constant state of making things. Zoe is the most extroverted extrovert to ever extrovert, and Audrey is the littlest one. She almost never says anything, but when she does, it’s always a question in a tiny high voice and it always begins with “Um?”

“Do you guys need something?” I ask weakly.

“Um?” Audrey says. “You can… eat bwekfast?”

Zoe shoos her away. “Mason, we have an important question.” Maple syrup is dribbled down her nightgown, and when she leans in, I get a big whiff of it. “Why did your mom have to go to jail?”