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Pulling on my mask, I take off after her. By the time she’s in full view of me, she’s taking out keys and going into a house.

What is my plan, exactly? Even if she hadn’t gone inside, I wouldn’t speak to her. I don’t even know what I’d say. I’m fourteen. I’m not exactly good at talking to anyone, let alone girls. Xavier’s better at it than me. Maybe he should be here instead.

Still, I approach the house, passing by it once to look through the window. The girl moves through what looks like a living room, tying her hair up as she goes. Her arms are bruised, too.

Does she do sports or something?

She looks too frail for that, though.

Double-checking that I’m not being watched, I sneak down the side of the house, to a kitchen window, and I watch her.

She’s warming up a TV dinner, shoulders low. Now I’m closer, I spot bruises on her neck, too. Small ones, but they look painful.

I lean closer, eager to see her eyes, to find out what color they are—and my forehead connects with the window.

“Shit.” I drop down, pulling my legs in and tucking myself under the window ledge.

Great fucking job, Yale.

A few minutes pass, and I’m sweating, wondering if I’m about to get arrested or the crap beaten out of me for looking through a window.

It’s weird. Why am I being weird?

The light goes out, so I pop back up, moving around the house to try and spot her again. I’m all the way on the other side of the property when I see her. She’s in her bedroom, sitting on her bed, TV dinner on the nightstand. She’s scribbling in a notebook, tongue between her lips, pencil moving fast.

She’s so pretty.

Like, really pretty.

I can’t believe I’ve never seen her before, but we’re never really on this side of town. I might come back, though.

She tucks her hair behind her ear and chews on the end of the pencil, wearing down the eraser until a pink chunk of it is sitting on her bottom lip.

I swallow, my throat drying, because I wonder what it’s like to kiss her.

I’ve never kissed anyone.

Her bedroom door flies open, and I drop to my knees, banging my head in the process. I wince, touching the spot, hoping it’s not bleeding.

My pain is forgotten when I hear her scream.

I stand so fast my head spins, and I watch in silent horror as a man grabs the girl by the hair and pulls her off the bed. He’s screaming at her, shaking her notebook in her face.

“Why do I bother training you if you eat this shit!” he bellows, kicking her nightstand over, the TV dinner splattering across the carpet. “You’re special, Silence. You’re special, and you’re wasting your fucking life!”

He slaps her. The sound feels loud even from here, and I wince, looking away.

My gaze fixes on nearby shrubbery, but it feels almost like I’m abandoning her by not witnessing her pain. Whoever she is, she’s clearly alone, and she shouldn’t be. I drag my attention back to her and watch as he seizes her hair and yells in her face.

This doesn’t happen in real life. It’s a movie thing, right? My parents have never hurt me. They yell, sure, and I get grounded, but … he’s hurting her.

A lot.

I sprint to the front door and start hammering on it.

I’ve got no idea what I’m gonna do or say. He’ll probably beat me up, too. But I know I need to stop it, ’cos no one should get hurt like that.

The door is wrenched open, the man breathless and furious. “Who the fuck are you?”