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This tracks. Leah has the same eloping problem I used to, and raised voices always run her out of the house. If it’s tense inside, if both Alyssa and Warren Hanover are pissed, no wonder she’s here. Thank god she’s not across the block already.

Wait. If Alyssa’s dad is upset, does that mean he already—

Beside me, Felicity extends their fingers so they brush mine.

“That makes sense,” I say. “Alyssa can be as mad at me as she wants. That’s totally fine. Look, something really scary is going on, and I think your dad can help. He’s not picking up the phone, though. Can I talk to him?”

Leah hesitates.

Felicity says, “We think Morgan’s mom wants to hurt her.”

I look over to them. Their round cheeks are flushed from exertion and their hair is wild, stuck to their forehead with cold sweat.

Even in the nightmare this has become, Felicity’s still remembering to use my safer pronouns.

Yeah. A better person.

“Her mom?” Leah whispers.

“Yeah.” Felicity nods. “Sometimes people’s parents hurt them, and when that happens, it’s important we tell another grown-up. But we have to be very, very careful to make sure that her mom doesn’t find out she’s here.”

The simplicity of it stings: It’s important we tell another grown-up. When I was little, I hated when people said shit like that. They didn’t know what it was like to understand, on an instinctual level, that it wasn’t true. To look at the innocent faces of your classmates and feel a million miles away from them. To understand that they’d lived a life that let them believe that adults are good, and safe, and can help them.

But Leah believes it. She straightens up. Something sharp flashes in her eyes.

“Inside,” she says, and turns on her heel to lead us into the house. Felicity grabs my hand and pulls me after her.

Leah takes us through the garage, through the door on the other side of Warren Hanover’s car, up the narrow stairs to the first floor.

“What are we going to tell him?” Felicity whispers.

“I don’t know.” I’m struggling to think of anything at all. “We tell him that … Mom hit me, Mom locked me in the basement, she … I don’t know. Mom has a knife and we’re scared she’s going to hurt me.”

“Do we tell him about Daniel?”

At least that reply is immediate. “No.”

“But he—”

“No. I’m not—” My voice comes out harsh before I can stop it. “No.”

Felicity looks sad, like I’ve said something horribly tragic, so I turn away.

The top of the stairs puts us near the kitchen. Nearer, actually, to the powder room where I took that selfie for Daniel. Leah takes off her ear defenders and casts about for her sister or her dad, eyes wide.

She freezes.

Alyssa and her dad are coming out of the foyer across the house, and Mom is clinging to Warren Hanover like he is a buoy and she’s fallen overboard in a storm.

“She—she …” Mom stammers, sobbing, as Warren carries her to the dining table. None of them see us. “She—”

Fuck.

We weren’t first.

And before we can rush forward—cut her off, tell the truth—Leah pushes us both into the powder room and slams the door.

I stare at the knob, but I do not lock it.