Maura came awake slowly, blinking away the remnants of a dream that seemed more like a memory.

In this dream, she was a younger version of herself. A child. Her father was with her, hardly changed. Even now, she imagined she could feel the residual warmth of his body as he held her against his side, one arm wrapped around her shoulder. She squeezed her eyes shut and clung to the dream for as long as she could, her throat constricting as reality descended and stole her fragile peace of mind.

With a heavy sigh, Maura rolled over and grabbed her phone to check the time. It was just after two, but it felt as though she had been asleep for hours. Sitting up, she turned on the small bedside lamp, squinting as she took in the familiar surroundings of her room.

This particular dream always left her feeling rattled for reasons she couldn't explain. Nothing about the dream was particularly ominous, but she'd been having it more often lately. It was her and her father, and three other faceless people. They spoke without regard to her presence, and she could never remember what was said. Tonight, however . . .

"Luke."

She said his name out loud, the late hour swallowing the sound of her voice.

One of the people was faceless no more.

**********

"It's just a house," Ms. Oliver said that morning in her office.

"But it's the only home I've ever known," Maura said. Her eyes stung and her vision blurred. "Aren't you supposed to be more . . . I don't know . . . sympathetic?"

Ms. Oliver handed Maura a tissue and sat back in her chair. "I don't mean to minimize your feelings or the situation, Maura. What I meant was that a home is the memories you make. You will carry those with you wherever you go. A house is just a structure. Nothing more than walls and a roof. Maybe a change of scenery is exactly what you and your mother need."

"But what will happen when he comes back?"

Ms. Oliver was quiet before answering. "I'm sure he will know how to find you."

Maura continued to stare at the counselor, at that moment hating her soft, soothing, rational voice. With incredible effort, she bit back the words she wanted to say. It wouldn't serve her to lash out at one of the few people still trying to help her come to grips with her grief more than a year later.

"The bell is about to ring," Ms. Oliver said. "I've got an appointment with another student. Are we good for now?"

Maura rose from the chair, taking the hint. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever."

Ms. Oliver frowned. "Come back during your lunch period. You can eat in here and we can talk some more."

"I'll think about it," Maura said.

"Think about what I said, too," Ms. Oliver called after her as she walked out the door.

She made her way quickly down the hallway, head bowed as her face began to crumble under the weight of these unwelcome and inconvenient emotions. She made it to the bathroom just in time and locked herself in a stall, pressing her hand hard over her mouth as she let go. Some days she just wasn't strong enough to hold it in. Everyone told her it was unhealthy to try, anyway.

Once she had herself under control, she exited the stall, splashed cool water over her ruined face, and made it to class before the teacher could mark her late.

**********

Mrs. Raines had partnered Maura and Luke for the year-end project. He was the struggling new kid. She was a straight-A student. According to Mrs. Raines, they would make a good team. As Maura sat in the library after school, however, her hope that he would show up began to fade. He'd stood her up once already, and it was looking like he was about to do it again.

She didn't know Luke well, but she knew his type. He walked around with a chip on his shoulder, like everything and everyone bothered him. He barely spoke to her in the one class they had together, avoided her advances in the halls, and refused to text or call. When she complained that he was being a difficult partner, all Mrs. Raines did was tell her to "make it work." But she'd be damned if Luke took credit for anything she did. She would never have chosen him as a partner if they'd been given a choice. Life, Mrs. Raines pointed out, as most adults often did, wasn't fair. But Maura already knew that.

She tapped her pen against her notebook, a page of half-formed ideas taunting her with their glaring incompleteness. They'd been studying fairytales for the past month and were supposed to collaborate with their partner to write an original story of their own. Mrs. Raines talked up the assignment like it was supposed to be fun, like creating an entire world out of thin air was easy. But Maura dealt in fact not fantasy. She didn't believe in a world of granted wishes and happily-ever-afters. Not anymore.

At four o'clock, when thirty minutes had passed and there was still no sign of Luke, she began gathering her things to leave.

"Maura?"

She looked up to find a girl walking toward her, the same girl she had seen in the bathroom the day before. "Yeah?"

"The librarian pointed you out to me."

Maura looked around the empty room. "Well, I'm the only one here, so . . ."

The girl's cheeks flushed. "I'm Luke's sister."

"Oh. I didn't know he had a sister."

"He does, and he wanted me to tell you he's sorry but he can't make it today."

"Why not?"

"He's finishing up a lab."

Maura shoved the last book into her bag. "Are you his private messenger or something? Most people would send a text. He has my number. Why didn't he use it?"

"His battery died and he doesn't have a charger. He says he'll get in touch with you later."

Maura didn't believe a word she said. "Great."

The girl turned and began to walk away but then stopped, turning back. "I like your hair, by the way."

Maura reached a hand to her hair automatically, wrapping a tendril of red around a finger. "Thanks."

The girl smiled. "You're welcome. Bye!"

Moments later, Maura sat behind the wheel of her car in the near-empty parking lot. She had some time to kill before her shift at the theater, so she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, taking a few moments for herself. It was an abnormally warm day for April, and only when the air inside the car grew too hot and stifling to breathe, and little beads of sweat had popped out on her forehead, did she finally open her eyes. She inserted the key in the ignition and turned, the engine reluctantly grinding to life. Then she rolled down the windows as far as they would go and set off for the drudgery of work.

*****

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