Fiona

When my dad and I moved into our new house, everything felt strange but exciting. The walls still smelled like fresh paint, and boxes were stacked everywhere, waiting to be unpacked. That first night, we stayed up late setting up my room and laughing about how we couldn’t find the toaster. The next morning, as sunlight spilled through the kitchen window, I looked out into the backyard—and froze. Standing near the old oak tree was a girl about my age, she didn’t look lost, but she wasn’t smiling either.