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  For Emily

  One

  Hadley saw the house on Orchard Drive for the first time the day she moved in.

  It was set far back along a sloping dead-end street. Tall and looming, the red brick was faded, the wood trim weathered with age. Through the haze of August heat, it appeared blurred, like an old photograph, ghostly, out of focus. The neighboring homes were smaller and newer. They reminded Hadley of shiny white mushrooms springing up around a great decomposing log. It was only a short drive from their old apartment in the city, but it felt like another world.

  Her arms ached under the strain of the box she carried. It was piled high with her books and knickknacks. She adjusted the weight and then climbed the creaky porch steps, pausing a moment at the door, its black paint blistered and chipped. She took a deep breath, nudged it open, and stepped inside.

  “It’s a dream come true!” Her mother’s voice echoed from the kitchen down the long empty hall.

  “Sure is,” said Ed.

  Her mother whispered something and then giggled. She never used to giggle before she met Ed. Now she giggled all the time.

  Isaac’s head peeked over the upper railing. “Hey, Haddy! There’s an attic full of junk! And an old root cellar around the back! Wanna check it out?”

  She forced a smile and nodded. “Later.” And then he was gone again. Isaac was six, exactly half Hadley’s age.

  Hadley’s gaze curled up the dark oak banister and lingered near the high ceiling. Her grin melted like warm wax down the side of a candlestick. She should be in love with the house. Crazy in love with it. Like Mom and Ed and Isaac. Only something about it felt odd. A heaviness in the air seemed to press down on her. And, despite the August heat, it was cold and clammy, like a years-unopened tomb. She set the box at her feet, turned on her heels, and raced back outside.

  Her mother’s car was crammed with everything they’d been able to squeeze into it. Still, it seemed like so little. Hadley couldn’t help but think of all the things she couldn’t fit into a box—her school, her friends, all the familiar people and places. Their tiny apartment had been so full. How could twelve years of memories, mementos, and meaningful moments be reduced to a couple dozen boxes and a handful of suitcases?

  Ed’s white van was parked behind Mom’s car. Bulky duffel bags spilled out of the rear. Inside, between the various ladders, tarps, paint canisters, and brushes, there was a set of golf clubs, a greasy tool kit, countless pairs of running shoes, a fire extinguisher, a jumble of cables, and a blue cooler. All his and Isaac’s things would soon mingle with hers and Mom’s. Hadley couldn’t bear the thought.

  She backed away from the driveway and slunk to the edge of the lawn, plunking herself at the curb. She picked up a stick and began etching a circle into the dry dirt while more snippets of excited conversation drifted toward her through the door she’d left ajar.

  “… Lovely Linen … or how about Desert Dusk? That’s the color Hadley and I painted our old place…”

  Hadley gripped the stick tighter. She added a sad mouth to the circle. “Our old place,” she muttered, poking two deep, cavernous eyes.

  Suddenly, a cascade of spiders rained down around her. She yelped, sprang to her feet, and flung the stick aside. She danced in circles, shaking her scraggly brown hair, slapping frantically at her stomach and bare legs.

  “Quit stomping,” said a voice. “You’ll hurt them.”

  Hadley stopped jumping long enough to see a bulky boy with sandy brown hair standing close behind her.

  “Don’t just stand there!” she shouted. “Get them off me!”

  He reached for her shoulder and gently cupped a spindly legged creature in his hand. He placed it on the ground and let it amble away. He examined her thoroughly and then nodded. “That was the last.”

  “Who are you?” demanded Hadley, still flicking her hair and patting down her T-shirt. “And what are you doing here?”

  “I’m Gabe,” he said, extending a hand. “I live five houses down. With my grandma.” He grinned sheepishly.

  Hadley studied the boy’s filthy fingernails, his sooty cheeks, and his button-down shirt two sizes too small. Then her eyes grew wide as they settled on the empty glass jar at his feet and the lid dangling from his fingertips.

  “You!” she said, pointing an incredulous finger. “You threw them on me!”

  Gabe’s cheeks flushed. “Did not.” He narrowed his green eyes and raised his chin. “The lid came loose.”

  Hadley gritted her teeth and frowned. “Well, even if that’s true, what were you doing hanging over my shoulder with a jar of spiders anyway?”

  “I saw you digging,” he said quietly. “I thought you might be looking for grubs.”

  “Grubs?” she spluttered. “Why would I be looking for grubs?”

  “It seemed like a logical conclusion at the time.” He reached over and lightly brushed another tiny spider from her T-shirt sleeve.

  “For the record,” said Hadley, “I have zero interest in spiders, grubs, or any other insect you care to drop on me.”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, technically, spiders aren’t insects. They’re arachnids.”

  Hadley threw her hands into the air and huffed loudly. Before she stomped back toward the house, she caught sight of the face she’d drawn in the dirt. Though somewhat trampled, it was still clear. Except the frown she’d drawn had somehow morphed into a smile.

  Over her shoulder she heard Gabe call, “I hope you stay longer than the others!”

  Two

  “Give it a chance, Haddy,” said her mother. “It’s only been a week. We’re going to be happy here. Very happy. You’ll see.” She set two grocery bags at her feet and stretched her arms.

  Hadley kicked at the heavy wooden door. It slammed shut with a hollow thud. She sighed loudly for dramatic effect, then noticed her mother had already picked up a bag of groceries and disappeared into the kitchen.

  She snatched up the other bag, raced after her, and dumped the contents onto the counter—a loaf of rice bread, a jar of soy butter, some polenta cookies, and five cans of green peas. She plopped herself into a seat at the table and sighed again.

  After her mother cleared away the fruit, vegetables, meat, and various packages, she retrieved two slices of rice bread and opened the jar of soy butter. She began making Hadley a sandwich. Isaac was allergic to peanuts, tree nuts, eggs, shellfish, wheat, and dairy. They couldn’t keep any of that stuff in the house.

  “I can’t even taste the difference,” said her mother, smoothing a large glob of yellow-brown paste over the cardboard-like crust.

  “I can,” mumbled Hadley.

  She began tapping her foot to the rhythm of one of her mother’s favorite songs.

  They’d always made a game of it. She tapped and her mother had to guess the song. Only this time her mother didn’t seem to notice, so Hadley stood and began stomping her feet loudly, flapping her arms like a net
tled chicken.

  “Don’t scuff up the floor,” said her mother over her shoulder.

  Hadley’s limbs wilted. She slouched back into her seat while her mother poured a tall glass of orange juice. Orange was Isaac’s favorite.

  “Hey, wanna do each other’s nails?”

  “Great idea,” said her mother without looking up.

  Hadley sprang into action. Her mouth and feet moved at the same time. “I’ve got some of that purple crackle polish you like and a bunch of the tiny jewels you gave me for my birthday. I saved the blue ones for you. I can probably dig them out of one of the boxes…” She made it halfway to the hall.

  “Oh,” said her mother, glancing over her shoulder. “Did you mean now?”

  Hadley turned slowly. Her body deflated like a punctured bicycle tire.

  “I can’t right now.” Her mother picked up the plate and the glass. “Ed and Isaac are trying to get that kite to fly. And I’m going to help.”

  She said it matter-of-factly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, when she had never expressed the least interest in kites in the past.

  The past. That place that seemed so far away. That place when it was only Hadley and her mother. No stepdad named Ed. No stepbrother named Isaac. And no big old creaky house that smelled like a closet full of musty clothes.

  Hadley tried to swallow her disappointment, but like a red rubber ball it bounced back up. “Can’t they do it on their own? It’s not exactly rocket science.”

  “Come out with us,” said her mother. She placed the sandwich and the glass of juice on the table. “It’ll be fun.”

  Hadley glared at the allergen-free sandwich, willing it to explode. She shook her head, blinked hard, and then did a quick about-face.

  “Your lunch,” said her mother.

  Hadley headed for the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.

  “We’re a family now,” called her mother. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to get used to it.”

  Hadley reached the upper landing, raced into her bedroom, and collapsed onto her bed. “Family,” she echoed. The word was thick and syrupy. It seeped into the chalky walls, leaving a stain of silence. She closed her eyes.

  Things weren’t so bad, she told herself. Isaac was kind of cute—when he wasn’t barging into her room, asking her silly questions, and messing with her stuff. And Ed wasn’t an ax murderer or anything—he just had the personality of gelatinous zooplankton. The house was big. And they had gotten it really cheap in a bank auction. And it had come completely furnished. Hadley’s mother claimed that was the luckiest part, though it made Hadley feel like a guest in someone else’s home.

  Suddenly, goose bumps skittered across Hadley’s arms, and she got the distinct feeling she was being watched. Her eyes snapped open and swept the room. Nothing but her new-used furniture and her unpacked boxes of junk filled the space. Carefully, she leaned over and peered under the bed. Dust bunnies scampered in all directions.

  She was about to hoist herself up when slowly, steadily, out of the darkest corner, something rolled toward her. It made a long drawn-out rumble against the old hardwood floor, stopping just below her face.

  Staring up at Hadley was an eye.

  Three

  Hadley picked up the eye and dusted it off. It was smooth and cold, like a stone long buried beneath ice. It reminded her of a cat’s-eye marble—only instead of being clear with colored swirls, it was white with a pale blue iris that contained a million silver folds. It might belong to a stuffed animal, she decided. Or a doll.

  Hadley searched her room, but there were no mysterious one-eyed toys lurking in the shadows of the closet or hiding deep inside the dresser drawers.

  The side door slammed. Faint sounds drifted in through the open window.

  A tiny voice inside Hadley whispered, I should go out with them. She turned the eye over and over between her fingertips. I don’t want to go. But I should. I should go. But I don’t want to …

  The argument whirled inside her mind like a carnival ride until she felt dizzy. She tucked the eye into the pocket of her denim shorts and flopped onto her bed, silencing the voice and steadying her thoughts.

  Hadley missed her apartment in Pittsburgh. She missed the white noise of the traffic that lulled her to sleep. She missed the city people who minded their own business. And she especially missed her best friend, Sydney, who’d promised she’d come by just as soon as she got home from Camp Greenly Lake. Hadley even missed Crazy Grace, her mother’s kooky friend from the apartment down the hall.

  Grace called herself psychic. Others called her batty. She was always warning people not to step on the gnomes in her front garden. Thing was, there was no front garden in the narrow hallway of the old building, and Hadley could say with a fair amount of certainty there were no gnomes. Still, she always made a point of tiptoeing a wide berth around Grace’s door frame just in case. The last thing she wanted to be accused of was trampling defenseless invisible gnomes.

  Grace would get these premonitions. Like the time she’d whispered to Hadley, “Don’t drink the milk.” Hadley had no clue what Grace had meant until three weeks later when she got a carton out of the fridge and poured herself a tall glass of cottage-cheesy lumps.

  The day they had moved out of the apartment, Grace had stopped Hadley in the elevator. She’d held her shoulders with a firm, almost frightening grip. “Trojan horses come in many shapes and sizes,” she said in a low, velvet-drape voice. “Beware of chocolate ones.”

  Hadley had nodded fiercely. “Chocolate Trojan horses. Gotcha. And hey—say bye to the gnomes for me.”

  Yup. Hadley sure did miss her old life. Invisible gnomes and all.

  The idea of chocolate Trojan horses made Hadley suddenly regret leaving her lunch behind. Instead of the soy-butter sandwich, she envisioned a plate of chocolate chip cookies straight out of the oven, with the chocolate still warm and glistening.

  Whenever she and her mother had an argument and both were too stubborn to apologize, her mother would sneak a few premade lumps of cookie dough into the toaster oven and then leave them on a platter for Hadley to find. It was her mother’s way of saying she was sorry.

  “I wish I had a plate of those cookies right now,” she muttered, swinging her legs around the side of the bed. She shivered lightly. The house was always so cold.

  Laughter crept in like a thief through the open window. It was Mom and Ed. Hadley’s fingers drummed nervously on the mattress. The tiny voice inside her began niggling again.

  Maybe I should take a peek. Just a peek to see what they’re doing. Just to make sure they aren’t having too much fun. Without me.

  Hadley’s bedroom window faced out the side of the house. She flattened her cheek against the cool glass and could see the driveway leading to the garage, which was detached from the main building. There was a room above it where a tenant lived. Some old lady Hadley hadn’t yet met.

  She lifted the wooden frame higher, stooped, and stuck her head out. Craning her neck as far as it would go, she still couldn’t see the backyard. Then Hadley remembered the attic had two tiny octagonal-shaped windows. One that faced out the front of the house and one that faced the back. From either end, the house looked like a giant Cyclops. The back window was perfect. She could spy on the yard from it and remain unseen.

  Hadley slipped out of her room and crept across the hall. Between her bedroom and Isaac’s was what looked like a closet. The old hinges sang a chorus of complaints as she swung the door open, revealing a narrow flight of stairs. She stepped inside.

  The air was thick and stale. It smelled of dirty socks and moldy cheese. Behind her, the door slammed shut. Hadley jumped.

  “Drafty old house,” she muttered to herself, and quickly climbed the steps.

  The attic was small, made tighter by slanted walls. It hadn’t been used for anything other than storage. Dust was thick as a rug and the cobwebs solid as curtains. Boxes containing books, candlesticks, and ot
her ancient-looking things lay half draped in yellowing sheets. A rocking chair, a rusted lamp, and a broken tricycle were among the abandoned treasures.

  Hadley sliced at the cobwebs with her bare arms as she waded through the clutter. Her eyes shot daggers in every direction, warning lurking spiders she would not give up without a fight. She made it to the far end of the room a bit grimy, but otherwise intact.

  The window facing the back provided a perfect view of the garden. She leaned against the sill and peered out.

  The sky was a lazy shade of summer. Fluffy white clouds hung in the air like ornaments on a tree. Below, the yard seemed to stretch on forever, dropping off into Hays Woods, which sprawled all the way to the Monongahela River. The canopy of trees was like a rolling green carpet. A light breeze fanned the weeds and wild grass Ed hadn’t gotten around to mowing.

  Hadley felt as though she were watching a secret silent movie. Isaac held the blue-and-orange kite above his head while Ed ran with the spindle. Ed was tall and gangly—like a daddy longlegs.

  The string pulled tight and the kite caught the wind. It soared upward for a second, but Ed turned to watch it at the wrong moment and got tangled in his own legs. He performed a clownish pirouette before dropping to the ground. The kite dove, landing inches from his nose.

  Isaac was laughing so hard he fell to the ground, too. Hadley’s mother and Ed were laughing at Isaac. Everyone was having a great time. Everyone. Except Hadley.

  That’s when it hit her—she was the only Jackson in a house of Crenshaws. Why did her mother have to change her name when she married Ed? She’d never changed it when she’d married Hadley’s real father, the father Hadley had never known.

  Hadley let go of the sill and turned. She yelped as ice-cold fingers gripped her ankle and yanked.

  Her legs came out from under her and her arms spread wide to cushion the fall. She landed with a huge thunk on her behind. A cloud of dust exploded from beneath her. She coughed and sputtered, waving at the air. Her ankle was caught in the spokes of the old tricycle.