"This is me." I said once we'd reached the end of my driveway. I threw the new backpack over my shoulder and looked towards the house. "Probably smaller than you're used to, right?"

He rolled his eyes at my speculation. “You think I live in a mansion or something?”

“Well, I mean…” It seemed logical that a wealthy and successful family that could afford to live in the lap of luxury would do so. Right? “You’re parents are the co-writers of-”

“Right.” He wrinkled his nose at the mere thought of his parents. “I live with my sister. Not them. They don’t even have a house. They rent in whatever city they happen to be researching for their next book. The characters go to different times places and in history. They like that authentic feel so they immerse themselves in the history and culture.”

“Oh.”

He let out a long, heated sigh. He looked particularly drained after talking about them. Almost like the mere mention of their existence alone was strenuous. “Well…” He hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “Thanks for helping me out. See you at school tomorrow?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

My hand reached for the door “Oh, and happy birthday to your nephew. Hope he enjoys his tea set and dress.”

He smiled, then looked ahead of me and cocked a brow. I followed his gaze up the driveway to my doorstep. Sitting there, looking over to us, was a girl in about early teens. She jumped to her feet when her eyes caught with ours. She nervously shoved her hands into the pockets of her floral dress. “Someone you know?”

“Yeah… Uh, I’ll see you later.” In the last four years she really hadn’t changed much. Apart from gaining a foot or two, and her usual curl straightened, she was the same. I slipped out of the car quickly and ran towards her.

“Hey, Pete…” She tried to force a smile, but turned her eyes awkwardly to the concrete at my feet.

I stared at her for a moment. “What are you doing?”

“Um… I didn’t know your number so I just came here instead.” She glanced towards the house. “I knocked, but no one is home.”

“Huh?” That couldn’t be right. I looked around my pocket for my key and stuck my head in the front door. “Mom?” Silence returned my call. Mom must have been out with Grace, in that case. I turned back to Malory. I cocked my head towards the open hallway. “Come in.”

“Okay.” She slowly walked into the house. Her eyes wander for a bit before she took a seat on the couch. “So, um…” She pursed her lips as she made an awkward glance at me. “What?”

She was acting a bit strange, I thought. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Oh. Uh, milk please?” She played with her the hem of her dress.

“‘Kay.”

There was definitely something odd about her behavior. Or maybe I had just been so out of touch with her I’d forgotten her usual mannerisms. I poured some milk into a red plastic cup and joined her back in the living room.

I sat down in the chair across from the couch. She continued to fidget. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh… Well.” She cocked her head. Then she sighed and chugged down the milk in one gulp. “My brothers anniversary was yesterday.”

“I know.”

“You went to the grave. Didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“I saw the lilies.” She looked down at her cup. “But actually… I wanted to show you something.”

“What is it?”

“When Lucas died, mom left his room exactly as he left it.” Her eyes darted around the room as she let the story unfold. “Last night I was doing a project and I didn’t have a black pen. It had to be black, for the project, and I spent hours looking all over the house. I couldn’t find one. So I just… took one from Lucas.”

“Okay?”

“There was this really pretty pen. Mom never goes in there so I didn’t think she would notice. I took it and tested it to see if it wrote in black, but it was empty.”

I frowned. “Does this story have a point?”

“I was getting to that.” She snapped. “Let me finish.”

“Fine.” I sat back.

“It’s one of those fancy, refillable pens. I opened it to see if I could put the ink from the other ballpoint pen I found into it so I could use the cute one instead. And then I found…” She paused.

“Found what?”

She held up her pointer finger for a moment. I watched her as she rummaged around the inside of one of the pockets of her messenger bag. She pulled out a very small, rolled up piece of standard ruled notebook paper and handed it to me. “Here. It was inside the pen.”

I took it from her. Was this a joke? Like some kind of message in a bottle?

“I have no clue what it means.” She relaxed in her seat. “I was just going to throw it away because it didn’t make any sense but… well, look at the corner.”

Deciding that I could play along with whatever the hell she was trying to get at, I unfold the notebook paper. Immediately I noticed the meaningless decimal number written in bold in the center of the scrap paper. My attention peeked when I saw what was written in the corner. Simply one word.

Shaultz.