At least now that I was older I remembered to look straight ahead and not out the window as we went higher and higher up, because watching the drop always made my stomach heave. Don’t ask me why, but I felt safer in those metal chairs swinging down the mountain than in a car as it hugged the bends.

Sam didn’t know not to look, and I didn’t bother telling him. He was sitting behind Luca, who was driving, with his face practically kissing the window while both hands clutched the door handle. From where I sat behind Anika, I could see she was holding her handle the same way, knuckles popping.

“How are we all doing?” Luca asked.

“Good! Great! Are we nearly there?” Anika did not sound excited.

She’s Luca’s girlfriend, but he doesn’t call her that. He’d say Anika was his “partner,” like they’re working on a school project together or riding around in his police car.

Sam is her son from her first marriage and he was ten when everything started—one year younger than me. He and Anika look like copies of each other. They have these dark-green eyes and pretty, long lashes, plus they both wear glasses. Only their hair is different—his is a short mop of dark-brown ringlets, and Anika’s is long and springy-curly.

I look like my mom, too, or at least that’s what Pop reckons—and he’d know, since he was her dad. I’m tall for my age and lanky, with blue eyes and floppy, fair hair with bangs. I even have light-brown freckles just like she did. Luca says they’re like connect-the-dots on our noses.

We took another bend and I watched Luca reach over the center console and give Anika’s leg a pat. He put his hand back on the wheel and said, “Just think about the view from the top—it’ll all be worth it, right, Freddo?”

“Right. So worth it.” But my voice sounded dry and crumbling, like a first-try pancake. Luca caught me in the rearview mirror and raised his eyebrows as though to say, Play nice, be polite.

Ever since Anika and Sam moved in with us two months ago, Luca has kept telling me to be on my best behavior. He’d say I had to mind my manners and be extra polite and welcoming because we’re a family now. Which really didn’t sound like any family I’d ever been a part of. It wasn’t the way we used to be, when it was just Pop, Luca, and me. And even though I can barely remember the time before I was three—which is how old I was when Mom and Luca married—I was also pretty sure it wasn’t that way when it was just Pop, Mom, and me either.