The doorbell rings at precisely noon. I have checked, and, oddly enough, there is no doorbell. And yet, it rings, I wonder how Flanna does it.

We've been texting since I first arrived, three days ago, and she's offered to help me with the boxes in the attic.

In any case, I let her in. She's changed out of her usual outfit, big sweater, and bleached jeans, into something more... Practical, I suppose. She wears an old rock T-shirt and a pair of shorts, with a bandana to hold back the wild mess of red curls she calls hair.

"Hiya, Edlynne!" She chirps, grinning at me, her startling blue eyes sparkling in the sun. No, seriously, her eyes are a startlingly bright blue. They look as if they don't belong there, especially not with her red hair, and yet, they suit her.

"Hello, Flanna. How are you?" I reply.

"Good as ever! Are ya ready ta sort through some old lady's boxes?" She replies, walking past me, into the house.

"You really don't have to do this, you know."

"Nonsense! It gives me something to do! Besides-" She looks back at me, her eyes shut tight from how widely she's smiling. "I like hanging out with you."

There's a sharp pain in my chest. Just one throb, probably indigestion. I shouldn't have had that second slice of pie last night.

I lead her up to the attic, and after a few seconds of just staring at the piles and piles of dusty boxes, Flanna whistles. A long, low, sharp noise.

"Wowee. Ms. Attlebrum sure did have a lot of stuff." She observes.

"Exactly. And I feel wrong, throwing away or selling all of it. So, I need your help to sort through it. A second opinion of sorts."

"Cool! So, where do we start?" Flanna asks eagerly, rubbing her hands together.

"I was thinking we start at the front, and work our way to the back."

And so, we sort through hat boxes, cardboard boxes, and jewelry boxes, gushing over vintage styles and old photo books.

Ms. Attlebrum was very pretty. But never married, we think. Nothing, not even the photos, have any writing on them. There's no wedding photos or any man that appears several times. That we can find, at least.

"Ooh! Lookee this!" Flanna exclaims, holding up a cute skirt, 40's or 50's, I think. She twirls it around, laughing.

"Careful with that."

"I am!" She replies, indignantly. "I think it's a keeper, how 'bout you?"

"Of course." She nods, and folds it carefully, placing it back in its box.

Shortly after, I find a book. It's old, leather-bound, with cracks in its spine and wears around the edges and colored cloth sticking out at odd angles, like markers.

"Flanna, come look at this," I say, and she's hovering over my shoulder within a second.

"D'ya think it's a diary?" She asks.

"Quite possibly." I open it gently and find that the writing inside isn't English.

"Aww, man. I wanted ta read it!" Flanna whines, backing off a bit with a sigh.

"It's Russian."

"I- what?" Flanna asks, surprised, coming back over, hovering inches from me.

"I can read this. Ah, let's see... Тили-тили-бом... Oh, I know this. It's a song, Tili Tili Bom."

"Can you sing it?"

"Ah, yeah, sure." I clear my throat and rest the book in my lap. Straight posture, clear throat, breathe in... I repeat to myself, just as I was taught.

"Тили-тили-бом

Закрой глаза скорее

Кто-то ходит за окном

И стучится в двери

Тили-тили-бом

Кричит ночная птица

Он уже пробрался в дом

К тем, кому не спится

Он идет... Он уже близко

Тили-тили-бом

Ты слышишь, кто-то рядом?

Притаился за углом

И пронзает взглядом

Тили-тили-бом

Все скроет ночь немая

За тобой…" I finish, and find Flanna in a trance-like state. She snaps out from it seconds later.

"How can you sing like that?! Uh- wait, no. More importantly, how do you know Russian?!"

"I have a knack for languages," I reply, thumbing through the book carefully, reading a line here and there. "It's a songbook, hand-written. She's bookmarked her favorites."

"No, no no no no, no... You're not gettin' outta this that easy. You're 13! How do you know Russian?"

"I also know Gaelic, Spanish, Italian, French, Chinese, Japanese, and Korean."

"You're 13!! Who are you?!"

"I'm a 13-year-old, living by myself, in the house of an old Russian woman."

Flanna groans, wandering off to sort through some more boxes.

What seemed like a huge undertaking took us only 3 hours. We're keeping most of it, only getting rid of her ugliest jewelry, clothes, and furniture. We'll sell them, and Flanna'll get half. Who knows, she might get rich.

"I'm going to drop off my school forms tomorrow." I begin. "I could use a tour around town. Care to join me?"

"Sure! I could show ya 'round the rest 'a town, too!"

"We'll make a picnic of it, then," I reply.

"Sure! See ya tomorrow at noon, Edlynne!"

"Goodbye, Flanna." She walks away, waving, and I close the door with a sigh.

What am I going to do with the attic now? I wanted to turn that into my bedroom. I contemplate, going to my bed and laying down.