“Beanie Babies?” Sawyer’s mother shoveled some chow mein into her mouth and grinned, chewing steadily. “How do you even know what those old things are?”

“I pay attention in history class. Do we have a deal?”

There was a shrug on the other end of the line. “You certainly seem like the old Sawyer.”

Sawyer squinted at the screen. “What are you eating? Did you make your famous call to the Chinese restaurant tonight?”

Angela jabbed at her screen with her chopsticks. “Now I know you’re the old Sawyer. And the deal is you only have to eat vegetables until you’re eighteen. Then you’re a legal adult and can fill up on takeout and Red Bull like the rest of us.”

“Oh, the joys of adulthood. So, vegetables, yes, cutting, no, et cetera. Do we have a deal?”

“About vegetables? We made that deal when you were ten.”

“Mom.” Sawyer felt her nostrils flare, even though deep down her mother’s razzing felt familiar and comforting. Almost like things were normal.

“Okay, okay. But I want you to check in every day, and I want to hear how your appointment goes.”

Sawyer crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Doctor-patient confidentiality, prosecutor.”

Angela smiled. “That’s my smart kid. Oh.” There was an off-screen tone and Sawyer’s mom leaned toward it. “That’s my next client. Love you, baby, be good. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Bye.” Sawyer’s screen went blank and she sighed, closing her laptop. “Bye, Mom, love you too.”

* * *

Sawyer sunk chin deep in strawberry-kiwi-scented suds and blew bubbles, then rubbed her eyes. The house settled—even new houses did that, Sawyer assured herself—with a spine-tingling creak, then dropped into steady silence. Sawyer groaned, leaning her head against the cool marble slope of the tub.

“Note to self,” she said out loud, her voice reverberating through the sterile, tiled room, “unpack stereo ASAP.”

The bathroom was still, the tub water unmoving. Sawyer breathed in and out in long, supposedly calming breaths until there was a soft thump against the front door. Sawyer shifted in the tub, cocking her head to listen; when no sound responded, she cupped her hands and dug into the hot tub water, dripping it over her head.

There was another thump.

Sawyer stiffened, her heart and her mind racing. Probably just a branch, she told herself, or a bush. Sawyer was able to comfort herself with that thought for a breath before she realized that there were no branches or bushes outside—just a desolate wasteland of spray-painted outlines of someday-grass and orange-topped landscape flags.

Despite the hot water, Sawyer felt a chill that covered her skin with gooseflesh. She stood up, snatched her robe from the hook by the door, and slipped into it. Her wet feet left damp imprints on the heavy pile carpet as she stepped out of the bathroom, tiptoeing to the landing, her breathing shallow and forced.

“Hello?”

There was no answer.

Sawyer leaned over the staircase, her fingers wrapping tightly around the banister. She swallowed. “Dad? Tara?”

The silence of the house pressed against Sawyer’s chest and her stomach played the accordion while her breath hitched in a throaty rasp. She silently prayed for the comforting noises of a populated neighborhood—car alarms, children shrieking, a thumping car stereo bass.

But there was nothing but the silence.

Had Sawyer been wearing pants she might have peed them when she heard the knock on the front door. It was determined, insistent, loud. The hollow sound bounced off the house’s high ceilings and half-furnished rooms. She ran downstairs and pressed her eye to the door’s peephole, her heart thundering against her chest the whole time. Finally she sighed—a great, bone-jellying sigh—when she saw the dirt-brown uniform of an annoyed UPS guy, his head enormous and distorted through Sawyer’s fish-eye peephole.

“Yes?” she called through the still-closed door.

She watched the UPS guy check his handheld device. “Tara Dodd?” he asked the door as he gestured to the package he held.

Sawyer yanked the door open, tightening the belt on her robe as she did so.

“Sure,” she said. “Sorry about that. It’s just—” She shrugged.

The UPS man offered an easy smile. “I get it. Pretty freaky around here with all them empty houses.”

You don’t know the half of it, Sawyer thought. Instead, she reflected the man’s smile and said, “Totally.”

He looked over his shoulders. “You the only one who lives here?”

Sawyer quirked an eyebrow, half nervous, half fearful. “Um, no. My dad. And brother. Big…brother. And we have a dog.” She vaguely considered appropriating a growl or yelling, “Stand down, Chomper!” over her shoulder into the empty house.

“No, I meant up here.” He waved his one free arm. “It’s just, I’ve never delivered anything out here before.”

“Oh.” Sawyer swallowed. “There’s people,” she said vaguely, pushing more of her body behind the door. “Tons of people. They probably, you know, use FedEx or something.” She held out a hand, her eyes gesturing toward the box. “Can I?”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” He gave her an embarrassed once over, took her signature, and pressed the package into her hands. Sawyer shut the door and leaned against it, breathing heavily until her heartbeat returned to a normal, nonlethal pace.

Maybe a dog named Chomper wouldn’t be such a bad idea, she thought to herself.

EIGHT

Sawyer blinked in the early morning sunlight as the morning show DJs cackled on her nightstand. She slapped the alarm off and sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes and finally focusing on the spray of baby pink roses on her bureau. They were the same ones from the table downstairs, and Sawyer frowned as she passed them and stepped into the bathroom to get ready for school. When she headed downstairs, Tara was seated at the kitchen table, yesterday’s UPS box splayed open in front of her, packing peanuts surrounding her plate of half-nibbled dry toast.

“Morning, Tara.”

Tara pushed her plate aside, wiping toast crumbs from her swollen belly. “Good morning, Sawyer. Are you feeling any better? You were dead to the world by the time we got home last night.”

Dead to the world?

Sawyer grimaced but tried to hide it with a friendly smile. She nodded. “Yeah, I’m feeling way better. How about you?”

Tara groaned, resting her head in her hands. “Is it that obvious?”

“A little. You don’t usually look so…green.” Sawyer felt bad immediately when she saw the blush wash over Tara’s cheeks. “Sorry. Is—is there anything I can do for you?”

“Short of delivering this baby, I don’t think so.” She began the mammoth job of pushing herself up from her chair. “How about I get you some oatmeal, hon?”

Sawyer felt herself bristle involuntarily. Only her parents—her real parents—called her hon.

“No, thanks.”

Tara’s face fell now that she was standing. “Nothing?”

“I’m okay. You should sit down. Oh, and you didn’t need to bring the flowers to my room. They’re nice, but you should be the one to enjoy them.”

Tara pulled a cup from the cupboard, poured herself a glass of water. “Why? They’re yours.”

Sawyer blinked. “What do you mean?”

“They came for you yesterday.”

Sawyer’s stomach started to roil, and she swallowed hard. “For me? Was there a card?”

Tara frowned. “I didn’t see one. But the delivery kid asked for you specifically. He said, ‘These are for Sawyer Dodd.’”

“It was a kid? Like, my age?”

Tara drained her water glass and shrugged. “Yeah, about your age, I guess. Why? Do you have a secret admirer?”

Sawyer’s eyes went wide, and Tara held up her hands then clapped one on her mouth. “Oh, Sawyer, I didn’t mean—I mean, I know you and Kevin were together for a long time and—I was just being silly.”

Sawyer took a step back, threw her backpack over her shoulder. “I need to get to school.”

* * *

Chloe was sitting on the stone wall that surrounded the school when Sawyer spotted her.

“Hey,” Chloe said, launching herself from the wall. “You didn’t call me last night.”

“What? Oh, sorry.”

“And I didn’t see you after school.”

“I went home early. I wasn’t feeling well.”

Chloe offered her a sympathetic look. “You know you can talk to me, Sawyer.”

“My parents want me to talk to the shrink.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Still?”

“Again.” Sawyer stopped walking and turned to face Chloe. “Hey, do you know anyone who would send me flowers?”

Chloe folded a stick of gum into her mouth. “What kind of flowers?”

“Roses.”

“No, like, romantic flowers or sympathy flowers or, I don’t know, ‘sorry your dad and stepmom are breeding’ flowers.”

Sawyer tried not to smile. “This is serious. And I don’t know what kind of flowers. Just…roses.”

“Color?”

“First red and then pink.”

Chloe waggled her eyebrows. “Two bunches? Ooh la la. Red is the color of love. And pink is appreciation.”

“How did you know that?”

Chloe shook her cell phone. “Information superhighway. So you’re loved and appreciated. What did the card say?”

Sawyer bit her lip and glanced at her friend. Normally, she would tell Chloe everything—every crush, every intimate detail of her dates with Kevin—but her admirer and the notes he left her felt bigger than all that. “No,” she lied. “No note.”

Chloe blew a bubble and sucked it in. “What about that Cooper guy? You said he sent you a flower, right?”