If pretentious, baby-faced sad kid didn’t want to make friends, then I didn’t either. ‘OK. Sorry.’ I slumped back into my chair.

Mom returned and kissed me on the head. ‘All right, baby, you’re good to go. Play nice. Back in an hour.’

I winced in embarrassment as Mom left, the door chiming behind her.

Baby Face glanced at me, then returned his attention to the book. ‘Play nice,’ he deadpanned.

‘You first.’

A woman emerged from the door that led from the waiting room towards whatever other horrors awaited us. She had a worn, kind face, and looked like she’d gotten dressed under the impression that it was 1974 – paisley maxi skirt, long blond hair draped round a cotton shirt. ‘Leo? And you must be Sydney, right? Hello, chickadees, why don’t you come on through?’

Ha. So he had a name.

We trailed behind her like ducklings. ‘You’re a little early but I figured you could come in the office, familiarize yourself with the various sights and smells and auras.’

I rolled my eyes internally.

The office was hardly big enough for the seven chairs it held, all positioned in a circle. This was it? I’d envisioned this being like AA, or something, with twenty people and ample legroom, but this was not like that. Leo followed behind me like we were about to be executed via a swift gunshot to the back of the head. He plopped himself down across the circle from me, much more heavily than necessary, and I lowered my head; I suspected this boy might have been a human bomb and I wasn’t interested in positioning myself inside his blast radius.

Gerry told us to make ourselves at home but I couldn’t because the room was too small and poorly lit and it felt like someone was watching me. Probably Leo. I comforted myself with the thought that Mom was most likely right; Dad would have wanted this.

The next entrants came in a pair, their matching heads of thick, dark hair and wide-set eyes suggesting they were siblings. The boy was older and walked ahead of the younger girl, who was just a wisp, petite and birdlike; she couldn’t have been older than thirteen. She walked with her eyes fixed on her phone, the way she swiped the screen at occasional intervals suggesting she was playing a game. The boy gave me an uncertain, closed-mouth smile, but said nothing.

They were followed by a chubby girl with big eyes and these electric-blue box braids that I wanted to compliment, but it would’ve been awkward, so I didn’t.