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and saw that they still had Lego or princess bedding, then would I know everything I needed to know about them? Eryn wondered.
    She remembered Mom’s question at the dinnertable: Really, Eryn, how much information is enough?
    She didn’t know the answer to that question.
    â€œI saw a cleat mark on the carpet downstairs,” Nick said, without turning around from lining up books on his bookshelf. “You haven’t been walking around with cleats on, have you? Maybe it’s a sign that Ava and Jackson play sports where they have to wear cleats.”
    â€œMaybe,” Eryn said. She sat down on Nick’s bed and watched him for a minute. He seemed to be arranging his books based on which sport the main characters in the books played. She could tell by the basketballs, baseballs, and soccer balls on the spines.
    â€œAt least now we’ve seen pictures of Ava and Jackson,” Nick said.
    â€œYeah . . . ,” Eryn said. She thought for a moment. “But didn’t something about those pictures seem kind of weird?”
    â€œThey looked like normal kids to me,” Nick said, finally turning around to look at her.
    â€œThat’s the problem,” Eryn said. “Didn’t they look maybe too normal? Like those pictures you see in frames at stores where it’s just some actors or models trying too hard to look like normal people?”
    She expected Nick to give her one of his You know you’re crazy, don’t you? looks. He bit his lip instead.
    â€œYou’re right,” he said slowly. “You’re exactly right. That is what they reminded me of. I just didn’t figure that out until you said it.”
    It made her feel better and worse, all at once, to have Nick agree with her.
    â€œBut what if Ava and Jackson would think the same thing, looking at our pictures?” Nick asked.
    Eryn stood up.
    â€œI’m going downstairs to look at those pictures again,” she said. “Want to come? Maybe we’ll notice something else without Mom and Michael watching us.”
    â€œSure,” Nick said.
    The two of them crept out of Nick’s room together, both of them tiptoeing. That was ridiculous—it wasn’t like they would get in trouble for going downstairs. If they needed to, they could always say they wanted a drink of cold water from the refrigerator, or they’d heard a noise and they wanted to see what it was, or . . .
    Eryn tripped on the bottom step.
    Nick grabbed her arm at the same time she caught the railing. In the silent house, the sound of his hand colliding with her arm and her hand colliding with the bannister seemed like a double thunderclap.
    Both kids froze.
    â€œGuess I’m not used to the new house yet,” Eryn whispered, which was the understatement of the year.
    â€œDo you think they heard us?” Nick whispered back.
    Eryn looked toward the door to Mom and Michael’s bedroom. It stayed closed. One of the couches blocked her view of the bottom of the door, so she couldn’t even tell if they had a light on or not.
    She began tiptoeing toward Mom and Michael’s door.
    â€œI thought we were coming down to look at the pictures!” Nick hissed at her.
    â€œI have to make sure it’s safe!” Eryn hissed back.
    She circled the couch and saw a triangle of light on the floor. So Mom and Michael were still up. She pressed her ear against the door. Maybe the walls and doors were thinner in this house than in Mom’s old one, because Eryn could hear perfectly here, even without the drinking-glass trick. Mom and Michael had soft music playing, which had probably covered over the sound of Eryn tripping. And along with the music . . .
    â€œâ€”shouldn’t have shown them those pictures,” Mom was saying.
    â€œThey’re bound to be curious,” Michael’s voice rumbled in response. “It’s human nature.”
    â€œYes, but I