Kitty and I crouched in Fox's jeep. Hunched up on the floor, hiding behind the doors, as the roof was open and neither of us had any idea how to close it. I had a pair of binoculars to watch Fox and Lila's encounter, but Kitty though that was excessive.

We watched as Fox and Lila came into view; parked around the back of the house, and through the hedges could get a good look at the pool. Lila plonked herself on a blue and white striped deck chair.

"That's where I saw Aster last!" Kitty whispers.

I take a good look with my binoculars. This could be a back entrance to the house, so it would make sense if there was a security camera here.

"Can't see any cameras," I report back in a hushed whisper.

I watch as Lila scoots closer to Fox,  placing a hand around the back of his neck.

"Wait!" says Kitty, almost too loudly, and snatches the binoculars off me. "This is too far! We need to text Eilon and have him tell Fox to stop and get out of there!"

"Oh. My. God." I say, with sudden revelation. "You like him!"

Kitty sighs, "It was hard enough watching him love Aster. I want Aster back, I do, but I guess I thought with her gone, he'd start to notice me."

I scoff, but try not to be too loud and get caught.

Kitty twirls her hair, trying to change the subject. "So where did you get all the microphones and ear pieces from anyway?"

"I have friends in the film group," I admit, "The East is a very corrupt newspaper. Everyone owes me favors."

"What?" says Kitty, flabbergast, whilst peering through the binoculars, relieved Fox started backing away.

"You really think I want to advertise their short films? They suck." I answer. I look down, seeing a text from Eilon.

Eilon

Fox says he's checked all the rooms. Not a single camera!

I text back:

Midnight

Ok. Tell him to get out now.

Eilon

Says he doesn't have an excuse.

Midnight

Tell him he's going to miss his little brother's talent show.

Eilon

Good one. He's retreating now.

We watch as Fox fumbles for a reason to get out of there, the comes and hops in the car. "Sheesh, that was close. God that girl's poisonous!"

***

I turn the key in the lock, it makes a gentle clicking sound, and the old rusty door swings open. Our house is number 17, Bridgewood Drive. It's a small, decrepit old house, wooden with peeling paint and a tangled mess of vines crawling up it's side. The roof is corrugated iron, and it slopes; crooked. The pickets around the house are crooked and some have fallen over. The grass in the front yard is brown and crisp. The garden is tangled with high weeds. Nobody cares about our home anymore, what, after Mum left, Dad became an alcoholic. His job description is basically sitting on the couch. Except for small casual work here and there, to keep us a float. Most of our income comes from my job at the old cinema. No-one at school knows where I live. I'm embarrassed, and no-one is ever allowed over. 

There's a yellow glow inside. I'm greeted by the enveloping darkness and the smell of stale alcohol. There's a soft hum of the television in the other room. Dad is sitting there on the couch, illuminated by the glow of the television. He's not what you'd think, not a fat, lazy man with large T-shirts that don't fit, a bald head and loose shorts. He's not your typical couch potato. He's skinny and gaunt, with thick stubble. After Mum left he doesn't eat much. Or shave. He doesn't watch the television. Doesn't laugh or react at all. He just sits there, not letting anything soak in. Just staring ahead.

Dr. Diane Millen came not long after Mum left. He said she was traumatized, and to call me if I needed anything. She never came back. It got worse, but I never called. At first, people, neighbors and such bought over trays of lasagna in foil and pasta bakes. It stopped after a week. People pretended to care, to look like good Samaritans. Nobody really cared. If they did, I wouldn't be living in this hell hole with a garden gnome for a father.

As usual, he doesn't respond when I tell him I'm home. I just trudge on up the stairs. Our house used to look nice, really.It was pretty and tame, with a perfect white picket fence. It had award winning flowerbeds like bursts of different colors and shapes. The roof was in better shape, and it was quaint. The paint job was immaculate, the vines controlled in just the right proportions, the grass green and the inside of the house bright. It was perfect. Mom was perfect. Before she left.

Her name was Annabelle Deluca, and she had perfect porcelain skin and long, flowing honey-brown hair. Her smile lit up the darkest rooms, it was big and broad and welcoming. Her hugs were like sunshine, warm, cozy and loving. She loved me and Dad more than anything in the world. The house was her pride and joy, I was her little princess and Dad was the perfect business man husband. We were perfect. We were whole.

I don't know why she left. Probably chasing up some dream neither Dad nor I could fulfill. Not a single text or phone call. Two letters in three years. I never replied. Honestly, I'd prefer it if she died. Then she would have loved us. Not found something so important that she dropped everything she had, because it was better than us.

I dyed my hair. I dressed differently, and Dad withered away into the statue he is today.

She taught me I was nothing. I was nobody. And people like Aster Evans had only proved that point. But now I was finding her. Why? Because I knew how it felt to have someone gone.