The house had a tidy front lawn, neat hedges and footpath and white aluminium mailbox. From there, in the daylight, you could almost imagine you were in suburbia. Back in Phoenix maybe, if not for the absent heat. From the wide rear porch it was a different story. Tidy lawn, still, but that gave way to dirt, then leaf litter and the forest beyond. Definitely not Phoenix.

After a month of hating it, just on principal, she hated it for another week or so because she was lonely. Then Imogen had called, Imogen that she had left behind, with the news that her family was heading through on their way to Nebraska for the holidays, and suddenly she was excited. Wanted to show off the house and the forest to all her old friends. Went exploring and found knick knacks left behind in airing cupboards and quiet glades full of fairy rings.

Imogen had hated the place. Called it “positively ghastly” and said she was surprised that it even had electricity. It was sweet, really. The sympathy should have made her feel better. But it just made her feel protective, and Imogen seem shallow.

She had never been quick to find friends, but growing up she had always been told “You can’t make yourself lucky, but you can make yourself brave.” So, when school started again – that new school with those new people – she knew she would have to find herself a confederate.