I wake up even later than Billy. I can hear her humming in the bathroom; the water is wildly running and bumping against walls and a plastic curtain with a typical fshhhrrr sound. My sister is definitely in a good mood, and my yesterday words didn’t hurt her feelings at all.

The magical events of the last night seem distant and unreal like a fantasy dream or a flu fever nightmare. But our luggage that is in a small lounge outside the bedroom I can clearly see now says otherwise. I’m about to knock at the door and get into the bathroom to talk to Billy, for the loud noise of running water will not support our conversation. I am hesitating. She’ll probably give me a million reasons against my magical theory or, which is more likely; just kick me out of the bathroom screaming something about personal space and privacy. And she has a super-bad weapon: a showerhead. I have no chances to be heard or let in even for a couple of seconds.

Still weak after the sleep, I am sluggishly flowing from one step to another like a dreamy sloth.

“Hello, Billy!” says a slightly squeaking voice.

“I’m not Billy. I’m Sarah,” I answer, wandering about her mistake. Billy and I have never been alike. Not two drops of water I must say.

A funny face with plump lips and big brown eyes is looking at me confidently and amiably as if we are good friends and have already known each other for ages. The girl has two messy rusty-colored buns resembling Bunny Tsukino’s hairdo. She looks Billy’s age, maybe younger. It was hard to say, for she is diminutively skinny, especially in her summer romper with short sleeves showing her sun kissed thin arms and bony shoulders.

“I’m sorry! I’m always confusing with people’s appearance,” she apologizes, but her eyes are glistening mischievously.

A rusty haired girl keeps standing on the porch and leaning against the windowsill.

“Are you looking for Billy? She’s in the bathroom upstairs, but I can hurry her up.”

My slothfulness has left me, and I’m about to run back to Billy, but the funny face stops me.

“No need. You’ll do too. Astrid told me about your arrival.”

“What’s your name?” I asked meekly. I have never been good at greeting people or making new friends. Anton and Rina just happened to be in the same class with me: we never had an “official” introduction, and I was small enough to make everything easier and more natural.

“I’m Nina,” the girl scratches the elbow of her scrawny arm. “I live in that forest,” she points at the dark mass of trees I could hardly see from the distance. The dark-green pikes of fir trees are cutting the sky and some soft clouds just across the field.

“Oh, it must be lovely to have a house in the forest!” I try to be friendly, as I want to get to know someone from the neighborhood. I don’t remember having played with any kids here or talked to anyone in general except for Billy, grandma, and Astrid. “Would you like some turkey sandwiches?” I ask nervously, for Mom always tells us to be hospitable, and she usually gives our guests sandwiches and appetizers while she or Dad is cooking something more substantial. Why did I ask her about sandwiches? I have no idea whether Astrid and grandma have any in the fridge. I don’t even know how to make them! Do I need mayonnaise or salad leaves? I foolishly copied Mom’s behaviour, and Nina will, no doubt, think that I’m Astrid’s weird relative from a big city who is so sissy and urban to cook simple village food. And she’ll definitely go away, finding any pretext... or...or worse: befriend Billy!

“Nahh! I don’t eat sandwiches with turkey or any other sandwiches. What about sweets? Will you give me sweets?” she quickly licks her lips and taps her thin flexible fingers against the wooden window frame as if in anticipation of a treat.

It’s an unbreakable rule for Astrid to keep sweets, candies, chocolate bars, and other nice things as many as seashells on the beach; colorful and lovely like a rainbow they are scattered around the house, and you come across them unexpectedly and pleasantly as hidden chocolate Easter eggs. But now I have no time for long egg hunting.

“Will you invite me?” asks Nina pouting her upper lip.

“Sure! You are welcomed! The front door must be opened...” Hardly have I finish the sentence when the girl puts her hands on the windowsill, makes a fast move, and gracefully jumps into the kitchen. “Or you can do it this way, of course...”

My neighbour turns out to be a little bit taller than I expected and undeniably muscular. I immediately imagine her running and jumping like a wild squirrel in the forest the moment she jumped out her baby swaddling clothes.

I desperately look at the kitchen shelves, having no idea where to start when Nina stirred her nostrils making them wider for a moment, and I could swear I saw azure glow in her eyes.

“What about the upper left shelf?” the girl asks as if naively.

“Ok, I’ll have a look.”

I am tiptoeing and hardly reaching for an old cookie box with chubby cherubs on its lead. She’s right! It is full of sweets. I am giving the girl the box, and she rapidly takes and rustles noisily a red wrapper of a chocolate bar.

It’s so hilarious to watch her nibbling the bar: Nina is holding it with two hands like a real rodent.

“What are you doing?” Astrid gasps in irritation. “Why are you giving her a chocolate bar, Sarah? You can’t treat her with sweets.”

“I didn’t know she’s allergic,” I’m stammering. “She didn’t tell me. Right, Nina?” I’m turning to the girl, but all I can see is a sneaky brown-rusty tail in the window, and it disappears too.

“You can’t give sweets to rodents, Sarah,” Astrid adds, being less irritated.

“Did she just turn into a squirrel?” I said in pure amazement.

“She’s a shifter and sometimes they shift,” she looks at the porch and smiles tenderly.

“Am I still sleeping? Shifters don’t exist!” I want to tell her about last night events, but bite my tongue. If I tell her about it, she’ll think I was spying on her and her lion tailed boyfriend.

“You are so funny. Nice joke! When you visited us last time, she came to our house almost every day.”

I’m standing dumfounded and gazing at her, trying hard to understand if she’s joking or not. But Auntie Astrid looks endlessly serene and trustworthy.

“Sarah, be a love and call that naughty girl.”

“Squirrel?”

“Not squirrel, silly, your grumpy sister. Fat chance you can catch Nina till late dinner. She got what she wanted. Now she’s probably deep in the woods,” Astrid rubs her neck absently. “Is Billy still upstairs? I’m going to make some breakfast; ma will join us later too. Just go and bring her to the living room,” she pecks a light kiss on the top of my head.

With a straight back like a tin soldier, I climb the stairs, but internally I feel as if my legs are made of clay. Billy was posing and making faces and duck lips for her cheesy selfies. I notice pricing in her right eyebrow.

“Mom will kill you,” I state a fact.

“Unless you tell her,” she says, making another selfie with her eyes shyly watching behind long curvy lashes.

“When did you have your eyebrow pierced?” I asked in surprise. I have no idea she did it.

“Three months ago,” Billy yawns indifferently.

“How did parents fail to notice this?”

Actually I like a tiny little silvery ring. She looks cheeky like a rock star, but I’ll never confess, not after our quarrel.

“Forget it, sis! Mom is too busy with her work and Dad is too busy with you. I was covering it with my bangs and, surprise-surprise, nobody noticed! Hee-hee-hee!” she is giggling and rubbing her hands, pretending to be an evil witch or a dark queen. “Mike has the same ring,” she says proudly.

“What if he makes a huge tattoo on his face, will you repeat the trick like a monkey?!” I sound like Mom again, and I hate myself for this. I think I’m building even a taller wall between me and Billy. And I’ve just put one more brick saying these words.

“I will if I want to. Don’t doubt about it, Sar.”

“The breakfast must be ready. Astrid wants us to join her and grandma downstairs,” I inform her sadly. “May I ask you a question?” I said it almost spiritless.

“If you want to tell anybody about my piercing, I’ll promise to make...”

“Don’t bother to threaten me, sis. I don’t care about your stupid style. Do you remember anything strange about this place when we were here last time? Do you remember Nina, a red haired girl?” I hopelessly was waiting for her answer.

“Everything is “strange” here!” She made quote marks with her well manicured fingers with rose pink polish on her neat nails so contrasting with a metallic pierced eyebrow. “I mean, look at this prehistoric mirror; they don’t even clean it. Dirty. Ugh! I can’t see my own reflection!” Her nose crinkles when she says it.

Not dirty. I would say “misty”. I almost tear my eyes from the old grayish surface that was like a magnet:

“Bring a duster and wipe it if you have any problems with this mirror,” I sniff and show my back. She, obviously, remembers as much as I do, and I am not sure she heard my question about a squirrel girl or bother to answer.

I must find her myself.