I turned the temperature knob, making the water icy, but my face was still burning. The memory of Neesa’s lips on mine was too much for me to handle. I couldn’t push it away easily, no matter how hard I tried. It felt wrong. Thinking about it made me feel guilty, but at the same time, I want to remember it. It made me smile and warmth burn in my stomach as I recalled how much I loved Neesa.

But it was wrong. I wasn’t sure why it felt so incorrect, but it did. I shouldn’t have been thinking or fantasising about kissing someone who wasn’t even Duncan or Seth. Especially not with my mom in the next room. Or downstairs, or wherever she was. It just felt wrong. She was too close to me, and if there was some way she could hear my thoughts, which I knew was impossible, it would be a nightmare for me.

She couldn’t. I knew that. People couldn’t listen in to others’ thoughts, but fear still gripped me and made my face flush even darker as embarrassment washed away all of the wonderful feelings I’d had before. If there was some way that my mom could do it, if she could listen in on what I was thinking about, I wasn’t even sure what would happen. I’d been thinking, fantasising about kissing someone. And not just someone, a girl. A woman? I wasn’t sure how old we both were in that world, but they were definitely feminine.

Mom wouldn’t like that. She would react horribly. She had weird views on sexuality, which she’d made clear many times. Of course, she never actually said it. She very loudly explained that she had plenty of gay friends and that there was even a girl in her school who once tried to kiss her. She always laughed like it was hilarious, and I once made the mistake of asking why it was so funny to her.

She didn’t react well. She’d gotten annoyed at me, said that there was nothing wrong with it, just that she wasn’t a lesbian, so that was funny. She was flattered, really, but didn’t understand why anyone would think she was one. I’d spoken without thinking and said that it sounded like a mistake, nothing more, and that it wasn’t really funny. It was kind of just something that happened. That had irritated her even more somehow, but I hadn’t listened to the rest of her rambling.

There was no real point in arguing with her. She wouldn’t change her mind. She never did, and that was part of why I was feeling so anxious. If she did somehow know that I was thinking about kissing a girl, she would ask me about it. How could I explain to her that it was another world? A place where I’d kissed and was in love with a girl?

She’d immediately assume that I was a lesbian, and I’d need to explain. But that would be difficult too. I wasn’t quite sure what I’d say because I didn’t know how I felt. I’d not really thought about it that much. Not enough to come to a conclusion, at least, and that felt wrong. Maybe not wrong, but weird.

From what I’d seen online and on television, people seemed to just know how they felt. They knew whether they liked guys or girls or both, but I didn’t. Maybe it was just that I’d never really thought that much about it because every time I started to, I ended up going in circles and getting confused, or maybe there was something more to it. It was difficult to think about. I didn’t really have crushes on people, not very often at least, so maybe that was part of the issue. I mostly just tried to work out who I’d want to marry one day, but that also sent me spiralling.

I couldn’t imagine being married. Was that normal? The thought of it made me feel so uncomfortable. I’d have to find someone I liked, someone who I was comfortable around and liked spending time with, and then I’d just spend the rest of my life with them. Was that something I could do? I truly wasn’t sure. And what if they turned out to be horrible? Maybe they’d keep up a facade, hide who they were until we got married, and then they’d turn, and I’d be miserable and trapped.

That probably happened with my parents. I assumed it did. Mom was good at putting on a mask and pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Someone nicer. Maybe Dad fell for that. It would make sense. He might have been enticed by the person she pretended to be, and then when that mask fell away, it was too late. Or maybe he still saw it. Perhaps he just held onto the hope that she’d go back to that person, and then they could both be happy.

Maybe it would happen once I moved out. If I wasn’t there to upset and annoy her, she might be happier. Then, she’d be nicer to Dad. They could both be happy. That would be good. Or maybe that’s what he was waiting for. Perhaps he didn’t want to divorce her because he knew that me being there got to her, and he was just waiting until I went to university to see how she reacted. Then, maybe he’ll divorce her.

Immediately, guilt shot through me, and I batted away the dizziness that tugged at me. I shouldn’t be thinking about things like that. I knew that. It felt wrong. Bitter. Cruel, even. It was a mean thought. I wanted my dad to be happy so much, my mom too, but it was still wrong.

I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts aside, before turning the shower off. I’d been standing under the cold water for so long that my skin was starting to wrinkle, and goosebumps stretched across my arms. The shower door creaked loudly as I opened it and stepped out, reaching for my towel and wrapping it around my body before reaching for my phone.

Water dripped onto the screen, and I wiped it away quickly, drying my hands before lifting it again. Phoebe had texted me whilst I was in the shower. A smile came to my face as I read the message. She was getting bored of being in Paris. She almost liked the wine now, and she liked hanging out with her older and much cooler cousins, but she wanted to come home. She said she missed me, which made me happy, but also she missed television.

That was the main issue, apparently. She had basically every single streaming service available, but they didn’t have the same shows as over here. I didn’t know that was a thing, but she was furious about it. The show she usually watched as she fell asleep wasn’t on any of them. She’d found some episodes on YouTube, but not all of them. And that had its own problems.

I’d received a four-minute long voice message from her about it a couple of days ago, and it had made me laugh so hard I was pretty sure I’d woken my mom up. Apparently, Phoebe had fallen asleep watching her usual show but had been woken up many times by adverts. And, in the morning, she’d somehow found herself watching some video about a guy who rescued a lobster from a shop or something. Phoebe insisted that it was really soothing and sweet to watch, but I couldn’t imagine that. It wasn’t the kind of thing I liked watching.

Phoebe loved it, though. She was obsessed, and I wasn’t particularly surprised. She probably wanted to try to rescue one too now. She’d do it, too. I wasn’t sure if they actually sold lobsters in England, though. I’d never seen one in the supermarket, but I might have just not been paying attention, which would have made sense. Plus, I didn’t exactly go to the fish counter often. I didn’t each fish, after all, but I’d find out the next time I went to Phoebe’s house. If there was a lobster in her bathtub, I’d know for sure.

I grinned to myself as I wiped the moisture off my phone and put it down again before starting to towel myself off, and a sigh of irritation slipped out of my lips. I hadn’t brought a change of clothes into the bathroom. I’d been too distracted and eager to wash the chlorine off of my skin and hair that I hadn’t even thought to. It was annoying me too much. I could feel the chemical clinging to my skin and drying it out, and I just wanted to get rid of it.

I should have brought my moisturiser in before the shower. My skin needed it desperately, and I didn’t want to have to wait until I was in my room to use it. Not that it was far. A few steps at most, but that still annoyed me. And it meant I was risking my mom seeing me in a towel. I really didn’t want that to happen.

She’d already seen me in a swimming costume, which was pretty bad, and I knew that the towel probably covered more of me, but I just wanted to avoid it. Any time that happened, any time she saw more of me than usual, she had something to say about it. She did regardless, but it was worse when she saw me in less clothes. And she was already in a weird mood. She’d questioned me in the car, so she’d probably be even more cutting than usual if she did see me in a towel.

I hated the feel of her eyes on me. It was the scrutinising and critiquing gaze. That’s what made me so uncomfortable. And the comments. There was always something, always a comment about how I needed to do better. I either needed to work out more or less, eat more or less or just… be prettier. It used to upset me. I used to hurry into my room afterwards and stare at my reflection, seeing the exact things, the exact problems that my mom had pointed out and hated them.

I didn’t really feel that way. Not anymore. It was easier to ignore her, easier to ignore the snide voice in the back of my head that sounded just like her. I had a realisation last year, and that helped. I couldn’t do anything to make my mom stop picking faults with my body. Even if I did exactly as she said, even if I did stop eating or work out more, she still wasn’t happy. She just found something else to complain about.

My eyes darted towards the door. I needed to leave the bathroom. I’d been standing there, dripping onto the bathmat, for too long. I had to just walk across the hall to my room and close the door. The chances of my mom seeing me were so low, and it would be fine. The reassurance almost made me feel better. At least, it made it easier for me to pick my swimming costume up from the pile I’d left it in and hang it in the shower to dry.

I wiped my hand again before grabbing my phone and looking around the bathroom. I’d not brought anything else in, just a hair tie, but that could stay on the windowsill where I’d left it for now. It was still wet too; it needed to dry out. I had everything else I needed. There was no reason for me not to just leave the bathroom.

Another sigh slipped out of my lips, and I started to reach for the door handle. I hesitated for just a second to listen before pulling the door open. Being careful not to move too quickly because I knew that would make my mom think I was hiding something, I walked across the hall and into my room.

I shut the door softly behind me, straining my ears to pick up any sound, any trace of footsteps or anything. But there was nothing. Relief crashed into me as I slumped back against the door. She hadn’t heard me. She wasn’t going to march into my room and start insulting me or picking faults.

The hairs on my arm stood on end, sending a strange prickling sensation through me as I looked around. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. My room was… different. Everything had been moved.

My heart thumped in my chest, and my knees felt weak as I stood pressed against the door, surveying my things. All of my clothes, all of my stuff, was out of place. My suitcase on the floor was still open, but the clothes had been riffled through and dumped back in. The duvet was thrown back, and even the bedside table drawers had clearly been opened. They’d been left ajar, and I was sure I hadn’t done that. I never used them. They still had my uncle’s stuff in.

Someone had been in my room. They’d searched through it. But why? What could they possibly have been looking for? And when? I’d gone up to my room when we first got back. I’d gotten changed into my swimming costume, and it had looked normal then. Nothing had been out of place, so that meant it had happened in the couple of hours since then.

And that meant I was right. Before, when I’d worried that someone had broken into the house and was hiding in there, I’d been correct. They must have been. Otherwise, they would have searched my room before we’d gotten back from lunch. But why? Why did they search my room, and what were they looking for?

It made no sense. None of it made any sense. I was just a regular kid. There was nothing I had that was worth stealing. My mom and grandparents were normal people. What could the people who broke in have been looking for? Unless they were just regular criminals. They could have just been looking for anything valuable.

But that couldn’t be true. My grandparents had so much artwork that must have been worth more than anything I kept in my room. It lined the halls. Surely, they would have just taken that rather than going to the effort of looking through my room.

Unless they weren’t regular criminals. Unless they were looking for something specific. Something of mine. My eyes scanned my room, searching for anything that was missing. I’d brought my phone with me to the pool, so they couldn’t have been looking for that. There must have been something else, but I didn’t have anything. As far as I could tell, nothing was gone, apart from…

My hairbrush.

I stepped forward slightly, my gaze fixed on the empty spot where I was certain I had left my hairbrush. It was there before. I’d used it before going swimming; I knew that I had. But it wasn’t there anymore. I glanced at my window before moving forward and holding my breath. Nudging some of my clothes out of the way with my toe, I checked to make sure it wasn’t just hidden by something. Something could have been thrown on top of it.

But it wasn’t there. Someone had stolen my hairbrush. Why? Why would someone take my hairbrush? There wasn’t exactly anything they could do with it, could they? Panic fluttered in my chest as my mind raced. Maybe there was something they could do with my hairbrush.

I’d not watched enough true crime or been at the Academy for long enough to know for sure, but could someone get my DNA from my hair? That was a thing, wasn’t it? I wasn’t sure, but the idea made me uncomfortable. If they could, what would they do with it? What could they do with it? Did that even matter? If they couldn’t extract my DNA, they could still use my hair. They could scatter them around a crime scene or something. They could frame me, and how could I explain that it wasn’t me?

I’d try. I’d tell the police that I had nothing to do with it, that I didn’t commit the crime, but it might not work. If my hair had been found there, would that be enough evidence that I was guilty? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know how it worked. I needed to ask someone. Rodgers. He’d know. He’d be able to help me.

But I couldn’t. I’d need to explain to him why I wanted to know and how was I meant to do that? I couldn’t exactly say that in another world, I was potentially about to be framed for a crime. He’d think I’d lost my mind. But I couldn’t just do nothing. I couldn’t just stand there and wait around for the police to arrest me.

I needed to speak to them first. I needed to tell them that someone had broken into the house and stolen my hairbrush. But would that look more suspicious? What if nothing else was stolen, just my hairbrush? They might not believe me. They might think that I was lying, telling them it was stolen to establish a cover or an alibi or something. That would be worse. That would be so much worse.

Plus, they’d want to know why someone would break into the house and ignore all of the valuable art and everything else that my grandparents had and just take my hairbrush. Unless they had taken other things too. I wasn’t sure. We’d need to search the house, check to see if anything else was missing.

But still, I’d need to explain why anyone would want to take my stuff, and I couldn’t think of a reason. Maybe it was something stupid, like I’d accidentally angered someone without noticing. I could have bumped into them in the shop or not smiled back at them or something. They seemed so small, so impossible, but I’d heard stories of people being attacked for that. I couldn’t remember doing that, though. I didn’t remember making anyone angry, but I might have been in another world when it happened. Maybe I didn’t even notice.

Ice slipped down my spine. Maybe that was it. Perhaps it was someone from another world. Could the Sterlings have followed me over from Mitch’s world? They were powerful and rich; it might be possible. If Mitch was still alive, and we’d managed to get away from them, they might not be able to find us there. Perhaps coming to my reality was easier.

But then, what could I do? I couldn’t exactly run from them. If it was them, they knew where I was. They knew where my grandparents lived. I couldn’t run. I’d have nowhere to go anyway and nothing to run with. I’d need to tell my mom. I’d have to explain to her that people from another world were hunting me down, and we needed to run immediately.

No. It wasn’t that. I was just being stupid. I was panicking and spiralling. It wasn’t the Sterlings. They couldn’t follow me from another world. How could they? They didn’t even exist. I needed to be smarter, more logical. I took a deep breath, looking around again.

The security cameras. They might have caught something. They were terrible and old, but they still might have recorded something. Then, I could call the police. I’d talk to my mom first, I decided. Once I checked to see if the cameras had picked anything up, I could talk to my mom.

I started to turn towards the door before freezing. I was still in a towel. I needed to get changed out of that before going downstairs, I realised. If I did need to call the police, I couldn’t exactly be just wearing my towel. They’d think I’d lost my mind. My mom would too. She’d be so embarrassed of me if I did that.

My hand tightened on my towel as fear rose even higher within me. The thought of getting changed was terrifying. I’d need to strip, to be naked and vulnerable for a little bit, and that scared me. My eyes darted toward the wardrobe. What if there was still someone in my room? I’d not checked. I hadn’t thought to search it, so there could be. I had to check.

I slipped my phone into the hand that clutched my towel to me, freeing my right hand. It was stronger. If I needed to fight, I wanted to be able to use it. Padding across the room, I barely breathed. I didn’t want to make any noise. If there was someone hiding in the wardrobe, I needed the element of surprise. They couldn’t see me coming until it was too late.

I threw the door open, my body tensed and prepared to fight. But there was no one there. The wardrobe was mostly empty. There were just a couple of my dresses and some of my uncle’s clothes from childhood. But that didn’t make me feel much better. There were a few other places where people could hide.

Shutting the door and turning again, I glanced out the window. There was no one on the roof outside. That was good, but it still left my bed. There could be someone waiting under my bed, a knife in hand. I almost wanted to cry as I slowly bent down, making sure to not be too close. If they were there, I needed to stay out of attack range.

Relief crashed into me as the empty space under the bed came into view. There was no one in my room. I could get changed. I stood quickly, grabbing clothes almost at random before pulling them on and moving towards the door. The handle slipped in my grasp, my sweaty hands making it hard to grip. I wiped them on my leggings before slipping my phone into my pocket and grabbing the handle again.

Slowly, I twisted it, moving as slowly as possible. Even so, a faint squeak sounded. I winced, freezing again as I strained my ears. No other noise came. Either no one had heard me, or they were gone. My breathing was shallow as I started to twist the handle again and carefully pulled the door open.

The house was silent. There was no noise. No hushed footsteps or muffled voices. Nothing apart from the thudding beat of my heart in my ears as I peered out into the hall. Taking a deep breath to steel myself, I stepped out of my room and started to move as quietly as possible towards the stairs.

Suddenly, movement came from behind me. I whirled around, ready to fight, but the hall was empty. The noise was coming from my mom’s room.