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downstairs area, Greg and Aubry helped me take my stuff upstairs and showed me to my room. Greg knocked on the first door to the right of the stairs.
    “This is your room. Becky’s in there now, cleaning it. She stays here when she comes over,” he explained.
    A girl with a wide smile, fiery red hair, and bright blue eyes opened the door. I’d never seen anybody with such red hair before.
    “Hi,” she cheered joyfully after looking at me up and down a few times. “I’m Becky—your best friend and sometimes roommate,” she said before pulling me in for a hug.
    When she let go, I looked at her and crinkled my forehead. “What makes you think I want a best friend?” I asked curiously.
    “Oh, I can tell. You need one. You’re wearing a sweater that’s two sizes too big for your body, you have on sweats, and your boots make you look like you’re going to work in construction. Trust me. You need me as a best friend,” Becky said matter-of-factly.
    To my surprise, I laughed. A real laugh. The sound was so foreign to my own ears that I scared myself. From the looks on Greg, Aubry, and Becky’s faces, I could tell I surprised them as well.
    “If you say so,” I said with a smile as I shrugged.
    The boys left us alone, and Becky helped me unpack all my clothes and put them into the drawers that she emptied out for me.
    “So do you want to play dress-up?” Becky asked excitedly. I bit down on my lip. I was scared of playing anything that had to do with her dressing me up. I might go downstairs looking like a Moulin Rouge dancer.
    “How old are you?” I asked curiously.
    “I’ll be fourteen next week. How old are you?”
    “I’ll be fourteen next month. So why would we play dress-up?”
    “Pfff, you don’t have to be five to play dress-up, Blake,” she said laughing.
    “Umm ... Well, I’ve never actually played dress-up. I just know that only little kids do it,” I whispered, staring down at my hands.
    She gasped. “You’ve never played dress-up?”
    I shook my head and suddenly regretted telling Becky because I realized that I had given her permission to dress me up. Becky plucked my eyebrows, straightened my loose curls with a hair iron—something I’d never even seen before—filed and painted my nails, and applied makeup on me. I told her about living with Aunt Shelley and how she died a week ago. About how I don’t really remember my parents because they died when I was little. I didn’t go into detail about how or when. I’d never had anybody to talk to, and it felt good to confide in Becky. Not that there was much to tell. I’d had friends growing up, but they were mostly from dance class and school. It was going to be weird actually living with kids my age.
    “Do you live close by?” I asked Becky curiously.
    “Yeah,” she replied distractedly. “A block over. I ride my bike here every day. Sometimes my mom works nights on the weekends, so I stay with Aunt Mags. I like staying here better anyway.”
    Becky gave me a plethora of information on everybody. I found out that Aubry was Maggie’s adoptive son. She saw him in an orphanage one Christmas and knew he was meant to live with her. He was just shy of two years old and had been left there by his teenage mother. Two years later, Cole was dropped off by his father, who couldn’t care for him any longer. Greg stays over when things in his house are going bad. He lives with his alcoholic mother and whatever boyfriend she lets move in with them. Maggie is good friends with his grandmother, but she lives a couple of towns over, so Maggie took to watching him for her.
    “His mother’s a bitch,” Becky whispered loudly.
    My eyes widened and my mouth popped opened.
    Becky shrugged nonchalantly at my reaction. “She is. I’d rather not have one than end up with her as mine,” she said, shaking her head. “Poor Greg,” she added sadly. I could tell Becky really cared for Greg.
    “At least he has Maggie and you guys,” I said with a