Past Midnight. Mara Purnhagen

in Charleston, which I thought was merely my sister venting. I honestly didn’t think she would take action.

      Before anyone could respond to her request, Annalise held up her hand.

      “I know that may sound strange. But I have my reasons, if you’ll just hear me out.”

      She went on to explain that college had proved to her how important it was to have some stability in her life. She had loved traveling when we were kids, but part of her always wanted to stay in one place longer, to make friends and join teams and just generally be a part of something.

      “You were part of something,” Dad protested. “You were a part of our crew.”

      “Are you saying we’ve been terrible parents?” asked Mom, her brow furrowed with worry.

      “I’m saying that I want Charlotte to have a chance at something a little more normal.” She smiled at me. “And no, I don’t think you’re terrible parents.”

      Mom and Dad were obviously perplexed. Dad said he had always thought traveling was the best education you could get.

      Mom turned to me. “Is this what you want, Charlotte? Are you unhappy?”

      It was strange how quickly the conversation had turned. I fidgeted nervously.

      “It would be really nice if we could stay somewhere for a year,” I said. “I think I’d like that.”

      Over the next few days, my parents seemed to forget about their research as they tried to come up with a plan that would make us all happy. They found a small town about two hours north of Charleston with a good school system. They planned trips to nearby cities with locations they could easily drive to. All that was left was to buy a house. That’s when I stepped in.

      “I have one condition of my own,” I told them. They were looking up homes for sale online, and every picture on the screen showed some kind of dark Victorian. They weren’t thrilled when I told them I wanted to live in a new house, but in the end, they agreed.

      “We’re doing this for you,” Dad said with a shrug. “Might as well go all the way.”

      Mom smiled. “We’re doing this for all of us,” she said, touching Dad’s hand. “We want everyone on our team to be happy.”

      That was how I ended up sitting on the clean, brand-new floor of my clean, brand-new bedroom at the beginning of August. I was enjoying the empty space and the sun on my face when Mom came upstairs.

      “I see you’ve claimed a room,” she said, sitting down next to me.

      “Isn’t it perfect?” I asked. “I’ve always wanted something like this.”

      “Well, I’m glad. This house may not have much personality, but it certainly has a lot of light.”

      “I could sunbathe right here,” I joked.

      Mom patted my knee. “Enjoy. Then come downstairs. We have a lot of unpacking to do.”

      I groaned. Unpacking was the worst part about moving, especially since my parents always insisted we do it ourselves. They didn’t trust anyone with their expensive equipment. Instead of putting it off, I decided to get the hard labor over with and followed Mom downstairs. Outside, Dad was surveying the open back of the moving truck.

      “Do we have more stuff than before, or does it just seem that way?” he asked.

      “Just seems that way,” I said. “Hand me a box.”

      Over the next few hours I made a thousand trips up and down the stairs. My legs were feeling sore and I was ready for a break. I was happy, though, that my room now held a bed and a dresser, as well as a dozen different cardboard boxes marked with my name. I noticed one of the boxes was smaller than the others and was labeled in my sister’s handwriting. I knelt down next to it and peeled off the thin brown packing tape. On top of everything was a single sheet of notebook paper.

      Dear Charlotte,

      I hope you’re having fun settling into the new house (ha ha—I know how much you love to unpack). I just wanted to let you know how great it was to spend the summer with you. I’ve enclosed some things I thought you might need this year. Have a great time at school, and see you soon!

      Love, Annalise.

      I folded the note in half and smiled. It had been difficult leaving Annalise behind in Charleston. I had given her a wordless hug before getting into the car, but I refused to look out the window as she waved us off. Even though this would be her second year away at college, I still had not gotten used to the emptiness that came with her absence from my daily life. And now, after having spent the summer with her, I knew it would take me a while to readjust.

      I sifted through the box and found a new alarm clock, some notebooks, a pack of multicolored pens and, at the very bottom, Annalise’s pink sweater. I lifted it out and held it for a moment.

      “Charlotte! We need your help!” Mom called from downstairs.

      “Coming!” I yelled back.

      “Charlotte.”

      I spun around. It sounded like Mom had whispered my name from right behind me, but no one was there.

      “I need something to eat,” I mumbled. My stomach was obviously impairing my brain. I set Annalise’s sweater on top of the nearest box.

      “There’s no residual energy in a new house,” I said out loud. I waited, as if I might get a response. Nothing. I turned and went downstairs.

      “Oh, good.” Mom motioned me over to the truck. “I don’t need to remind you to be careful with this,” she said as she gingerly placed a TV monitor in my arms.

      “Living room?” I asked, drooping under the weight of the monitor.

      “Next to the others,” Mom confirmed.

      We never really had a living room in any of our houses. My parents converted the largest room of each home into their office, which meant pushing long tables against the walls and filling every square inch with equipment and computers. The dining room held the sofa and TV, and we ate our meals in the kitchen.

      After all of the equipment had been safely stored in the living room/office, I returned to the truck, determined to get everything cleared out before dinner. As I was pulling out a floor lamp from the back of the truck, I spotted a girl about my age standing across the street. My first thought was to wonder how she had managed to put a guinea pig on a leash, but when I looked more closely I saw that she was walking a very tiny dog. She waved, so I set the lamp down on the sidewalk and crossed the empty street to say hi.

      “Moving in?” she asked. Her microscopic dog began to bark wildly. It was more of a high-pitched squeak, a sound like something a rabid mouse would make.

      “Yeah. Hi, I’m Charlotte.”

      “I’m Avery. And this—” she motioned to her pet “—this is Dante. Shh, Dante.”

      “What kind of dog is he?”

      “A very naughty one. Dante!” She smiled at me apologetically. “He’s normally friendly. And quiet.” She scooped him up and cradled him in her arms. He stopped barking, but his eyes remained on me. I’d never seen a dog so protective of its owner.

      “So, where are you moving from?” Avery asked. Her light brown hair was pulled into a ponytail and she wore a blue T-shirt with “Vikings” across the front.

      “We just came from Charleston,” I said.

      “Oh! I have friends who go to college down there.”

      “My sister goes to school there! I wonder if she knows any of them?”

      Avery nodded. “Maybe. It’s a small school.” She looked around. “Just like this is a small town. In fact, nearly half of last year’s senior class is going to Charleston.” She frowned as if