When he went by that night I was outside with my father, who was home early for once. I told my father Sergei was following me, how he had this thing for me and wouldn’t leave me alone. I was pretty sure he did have a thing for me, but I wanted to be completely sure. I wanted his complete attention.

My father signalled to him to stop. He started blasting him. Sergei looked at him and said, “I live down the road, dude. You can’t tell me what to do.” Then Sergei drove away really fast. My father was so pissed at Sergei and at me. It was so funny. But how was I supposed to know Sergei lived on our road? Later, when they questioned him, my father told the police how Sergei was obsessed with me. He didn’t tell them how it really happened, how Sergei was just going to his house. They didn’t need that fact.

At school the next day Sergei came up to me. “Isabella,” he said, “I think you’re trouble.”

“Oh, I’m trouble, am I?” I smiled and tossed my hair back. I had this new stuff in it which enhanced the curl.

He shook his head and smiled back. “Why did you tell your father I was stalking you?”

“Well, I thought you were. I never saw you on our road before.”

Then he started laughing again. “It’s not your road. We’ve been living on the Brow of Mountain Road since way before you moved there. It’s kind of sexy, your tunnel vision. The way you revolve around yourself like you are the sun and the moon,” Sergei said. He started laughing again. He has these big soft lips and chocolate-cake eyes.

“Want me to come visit sometime when Daddy’s away?” He leaned toward me and I could smell his warm skin.

“See, you are stalking me,” I said, and I gave him the little smile I do in the mirror at home.

“Everyone wanted to know who was building that big-ass house. What was it, like, five years ago? You were just a little girl then.” He smiled with those red lips. “Are you all grown-up now?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I said in a soft little voice. I gave Sergei a wink and then walked away, saying, “See you around sometime.” The kind of voice my mother used to use on my father when I was in bed and they didn’t think I could hear. They put the back deck too close to my room. I’d never make that sort of mistake. I’d put my kids’ rooms in the basement so they couldn’t hear anything.

After my mother left, I told my father I wanted to have the guest room as my room, at the front of the house on the ground level. It was supposed to be a sitting room, but they didn’t need it so it became this extra guest room and no one used it. He didn’t care. We had the room all done up and he got me a new canopy bed. I’ve got an amazing bedroom. We used Cinderella Pink on the walls. Pink is the colour of pure love. The ceiling is Iced Violet. It’s supposed to be calming. Sergei told me in Russia it’s the colour of the dead.