Let’s see. If I were at home, I would be in my room, on my bed, listening to music and browsing my friends’ social media accounts to see what everybody was up to. And my parents and sisters would be alive. So good luck trying, Laura, but I can’t see that happening.

“We only have one rule here, really,” she said. “To respect one another—and the house, of course. I find that if respect is in place, everything else falls into line.”

Doable. “Of course,” I said.

The sides of her eyes crinkled in approval as Mr. Sutton came through the door with a glass of water—not a normal glass, but one made of intricately cut crystal that weighed about three pounds. I thanked him and took it with both hands, sipping as carefully as I could and then resting it on a coaster that Mrs. Sutton slid across the enormous wooden coffee table.

She fidgeted and looked up at her husband, who was still standing off to the side. “I was telling Margaret that I don’t think girls belong in facilities.”

He gave her an impatient look and spoke with an edge to his voice. “There’s time to discuss that later.”

I grabbed for my water like it was a life preserver. The room was totally silent as I drank, and at one point my teeth clanked against the crystal. The sound seemed to echo off the walls.

Finally, when the glass was empty, I set it down for good and looked up at them.

“Thank you, Mrs. Sutton,” I said. “And Mr. Sutton. I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but could I please see my room?”

They exchanged a glance.

“Call me Laura,” Mrs. Sutton said. “And Mr. Sutton is John. We can’t be formal. We’re all going to be good friends. We’re like . . . a team. Working together toward a common goal.”

A goal? Okay, was this the part where they sent me to the maid’s quarters to fetch the broom so I could sweep the house before they tossed me a crust of bread?

The air dripped with unspoken words. I thought I was imagining it until I glanced over at Mr. Albright, whose cheeks seemed slightly flushed. Then, after a peculiarly weighted look from Laura, he lurched into action, walking to the fireplace mantel and picking up a crystal picture frame. He carried it over and handed it to me. It was so heavy I nearly dropped it. Why did everything rich people owned weigh twice as much as normal stuff?