Free Through to You by Emily Hainsworth

away from her friend’s house. I think about Viv’s missing shrine.
    I trip up the uneven front walk, trying to decide what I’ll do if this is the wrong house. Do I run? Try to explain? I have no idea what time it is, either too late or too early. I’m halfway to the door when something catches my eye—a light in a window at number 26. It’s turned on downstairs, at the back of the house. I glance at the dark front steps ahead of me, and back to the glowing window next door. At least if I try there first, I won’t be dragging anyone out of bed.
    I cut across the lawns to the neighboring walkway, all the way to the front door. But when I place my thumb over the doorbell, I second-guess myself. What if this isn’t her house and I’m about to harass some random family? What if she is here? Will she act like she knows me? Pretend not to? I won’t let her get away with that this time.
    I’m startled by a loud chime inside the house. I pull my hand away from where I leaned too hard against the doorbell.
    Run? Explain?
    It’s an eternal moment before I hear shuffling inside, and I realize how stupid this is. It must be three, maybe four o’clock in the morning, and I’m ringing a stranger’s doorbell. If it were my house, I wouldn’t answer, or if I did—
    The deadbolt slides inside the door.
    I swallow, step back.
    The door opens a crack, and someone peers out.
    The porch light comes on, and I blink against the glare. The brown eye staring up at me widens. There’s a gasp. A handheld video game clatters to the floor.
    “Owen, what are you—” a girl’s voice says.
    The door swings open and Nina stares at me, open-mouthed.
    “Cam—”
    She’s not wearing an apron. She isn’t laughing. And she isn’t green. Her eyes are like saucers. There’s a kid in pajamas holding the door open. He looks about ten and he’s white as a sheet. She glances at him like she just realized he’s there, and closes the door in my face.
    So far this is going better than it did at the diner.
    I hear murmuring voices through the wood, and when the door finally opens again, Nina’s alone. She turns the porch light off, glances up and down the street, and ushers me through the door. She turns the deadbolt once I’m inside, looks at me like I’ve got the plague or something, then lunges for the light switch. The dim entryway goes black. She sweeps in front of me, brushing my arm. I jerk away—and feel dumb. She’s tugging at these lacy curtains on either side of the door, but the moon is shining through the windows so brightly, I don’t know why she bothers.
    She stops and stares at me like she’s evaluating some problem. I’m shivering, but I don’t think it’s because of the cold. I can’t shake the memory of her at the diner, the pitying look in her eyes. Pity for a stranger.
    “Tell me what’s going on,” I demand.
    “What?”
    “What is that green light thing? What does it do? And what’s with pretending you didn’t know me at the diner?”
    She starts to speak—but I cut her off.
    “How did you know my name before I ever met you? If you live on Mike’s street, why don’t you go to our school?” I think about the tattered ribbon on the empty pole. “And what the fuck is with taking down my girlfriend’s memorial?”
    Nina glances up the stairs to a darkened hallway. She hustles wordlessly out of the room, and I follow her to the source of the only light in the house—the kitchen. She closes the door behind me, and we’re in a yellow room. Yellow cabinets, yellow counters … even these white-and-yellow plastic chairs that look like they belong in a spaceship conference room. She crosses the room and closes the door to another narrow staircase.
    “I don’t want my brother to hear you,” she snaps. “You’ve scared him enough.”
    I notice for the first time that she’s fully dressed in jeans and a sweater. Either she’s up ridiculously early or she hasn’t been to bed tonight.
    “What’s the