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The twins...the twins! Allie rolled over, reaching frantically for Madeleine and Luke. They were there, of course. Curled up in two tight little balls, fast asleep. Allie tried to catch her breath, her heart pounding so hard it felt like her whole chest was shaking. The room was grayish black—lit only by the moon shining through tiny gaps in the curtains.

What was the dream? A black hole. Madeleine and Luke falling, crying for help.

The dreams were always different, yet always the same: The twins were being swept away by some powerful force—like a tornado, a hurricane, or an earthquake—and there was nothing she could do to help them. Nothing. The stupid social workers would go nuts if they knew about her dreams. Especially if they knew Allie had them every night.

Allie slipped out of the bed and waited. Silence. No one else was up. She tiptoed down the stairs, sticking as close to the wall as she could. That was the trick. The middle was where steps got creaky. If you wanted to get down (or up) a set of stairs without getting caught, you needed to walk close to the wall.

When she got to the bottom, Allie shuffled through the kitchen, her arms stuck out. Allie hated new houses. She was always smacking into things that weren’t where she thought they’d be. When she grew up, she was going to find a place for herself and the twins, and they would never move.
Ever
.

Allie ran her hands along the counter, looking for something to eat. She found a pancake. It was cold and dry, but it would do. She chewed slowly, mixing it with spit so it would be easier to swallow.

As Allie headed back to the stairs, she paused. The living room—she hadn’t been in there, yet. If they were going to make her stay here for a few weeks, she might as well poke around a bit. Allie tiptoed down the hall, past the bathroom and into the living room. Then she froze.

The curtains were wide open, so moonlight streamed in, lighting the room. She could see all the usual stuff—a couch, a couple of chairs, a coffee table. But the walls...

Every wall—every single wall—was floor-to-ceiling books. There were books
everywhere
. Books piled on the table, books heaped up beside the couch, books in front of the wood stove...this wasn’t a regular living room. It was a library!

Allie’s hands shook. She shoved the last of the pancake into her mouth and headed to the first shelf. She pressed her cheek against a row of books, feeling the rough covers and breathing in their dusty smell.

It was just like the library she and her mom used to go to, back when her mom smiled and they had money for bus fare. They’d spend hours there, every Saturday, reading and reading and reading. Getting lost in worlds so different from their own. Back then, Allie wanted to be a writer—wanted to spend every day surrounded by books and writing some of her own. Of course, that was before Allie’s dad took off. Before her mom stopped smiling.

Allie pulled out a book about traveling around the world, her heart pounding. She quickly grabbed two more—one on raising kids and another on home haircutting. Then she tiptoed up the stairs, sticking close to the wall to prevent squeaks.

Allie tucked her books between the mattress and box spring on Madeleine’s bed. No one would be sleeping there, anyway. Then she squeezed into her bed between the twins.

She stared at Madeleine’s bed in the shaft of moonlight. Books. She’d read those tomorrow after the twins went to bed, then trade them for new ones when everyone else was asleep.

Allie squirmed. No chance she’d be able to sleep, knowing there was a library right below her and books hidden under the mattress right beside her. Allie carefully climbed out of her bed and tiptoed over to Madeleine’s. She’d start reading now, but only for a few minutes.

Bang!
The sound of a television jolted Allie awake. She stretched, then shot out of bed. The twins were gone! Allie raced down the stairs, her breath catching in her throat. Her head felt thick and muddied. She shouldn’t have stayed up so late reading.

There, at the kitchen table, was JoJo and that stupid social worker, Stone, surrounded by papers.

JoJo glanced up and smiled. “They’re in the living room watching cartoons. You slept in, wow. It’s 1 o’clock!”

“What’s
she
doing here?” Allie asked, using her coldest voice.

“Hello Allie. How did you sleep?” Stone asked, using a voice that wasn’t much warmer.

Allie just stood there, glaring at Stone. It was her silent routine—something she used when she wanted to creep out social workers.

But then something outside caught her eye. Arthur was mowing the lawn between the house and driveway. Well, sort of mowing. Every few feet he’d stop, lean down, pick something up and move it. Then he’d start mowing again. At that speed, it was going to take him forever to do the lawn.

“He’s trying to protect a family of frogs,” JoJo said, as she walked past the window. “He doesn’t want to kill them with the mower. Arthur’s got a good heart.” JoJo taped a glossy new bus schedule to the fridge, then headed back to the table.

“What’s wrong with his arm?” Allie asked. The left one looked weird—like the wrist wouldn’t bend or something. She hadn’t noticed that yesterday.

JoJo smiled. “He’s got a good heart...and one good hand. The other one’s a prosthetic. It’s fake.”

Arthur stopped to pick up another frog and move it into the bushes.

Stone shuffled her papers. “So, Allie, I have a few questions for you...”

“I want to call my mom.”

“But, I’m not supposed to...”

“I want to call my mom. And I’m not answering your stupid questions until you let me.”

Stone muttered and blathered. About proper procedures. About proper timing. About, oh, whatever. All the usual stuff. But Allie just stood there, glaring.

Finally, the Stone woman ran out of things to blather about. “Fine,” she said, sighing like this was a huge inconvenience.

JoJo picked up the phone and handed it to Allie, then headed outside. Like she didn’t mind Allie using her phone. Like she didn’t need to listen in on the conversation. This was new.

Allie punched in the number, then gripped the phone hard, listening to it ring and ring and ring...

Please pick up...please pick up...please pick up...

Finally, she heard a click. Her heart pounded.

“Mommy?”

“Uh...yeah? Allie?”

Allie’s skin prickled. Her mom sounded weird. Like she’d been drinking. Was that Stone woman listening?

“Mommy, I want to come home. Have they talked to you, yet? Have they told you what to do?”

“Allie?”

Oh, geez. She
was
drunk. Allie could hear Stone flipping through papers behind her. Probably not even looking at them, either. Probably just faking it so she could eavesdrop.

Time to put on a show.

“That’s great, Mom! So you cleaned up the house?” If Stone was eavesdropping, she wouldn’t get anything to use against Allie’s mom with
this
call. “When can we come home?”

“Allie? Why’re you calling? Where are..where...where are you?”

Cripes. Her mom was hammered. She wasn’t even listening. Allie forged ahead, like they were having a real conversation.

“Ask them if we can come home on the weekend. If you’ve cleaned up so much, they should say yes.”

“Allie, jeez, you’re not making any sense.”
Click.
Allie’s mom had hung up on her.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you,” Allie said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I love you, too.”

Silence. Just the dial tone.

“Please tell them what you said. Tell them how you’ve stopped drinking, okay?”

Allie bit the inside of her cheek, making it throb. It didn’t make the pain in her chest go away, but it made it easier to swallow the tears. Allie gently hung up the phone. JoJo and Arthur were yakking in the yard, the lawnmower puttering away beside them.

The kitchen was silent. Stone wasn’t even pretending to flip through papers, anymore.

Allie bit the inside of her lip one more time, tasting blood. Then she put a blank look on her face and turned around.

Stone just sat there, staring.

“So, she’s quit drinking, has she?”

“Yes.” Allie glared at her.

“Funny. Because I was there this morning.” Stone used the end of her stupid pencil to scratch her stupid head. “She refused to let me in. Her voice sounded slurred.”

Allie stuck her hands in her pockets. She didn’t want Stone to see that they were shaking.

“Well, I think JoJo and I have plowed through enough paperwork,” Stone said, as she stood up. “I’ll come back tomorrow to go through the next part with you.” She shuffled her papers into an enormous pile and shoved them into her briefcase. God, Allie hated this. Why couldn’t these people just leave her alone? She was doing fine in the city. She was doing fine taking care of the twins. And the last place Allie wanted to live was on a dirty old farm with a smelly three-legged dog and a one-armed boy.

Stone wobbled out to her car in her high heels, then took off down the driveway.

Allie tried to keep breathing, tried to shove down the panic that was threatening to swallow her whole. She could fix this. If she could talk to her mom, she could fix this.

Allie grabbed the bus schedule off the fridge and frantically scanned the columns. There was a bus to the city coming at 1:30. She only had five minutes to get out to the road.

Allie pulled JoJo’s purse off the fridge, trying to ignore the squirmy pangs of guilt in her belly. She
had
to get home. She had to talk to her mom. She grabbed $20 and shoved it in her pocket, then put the purse back, laying it on its side so it looked exactly like before. She trotted into the living room, where the twins were cuddled together watching cartoons. Thankfully, they were dressed.

The sight of all those books gave Allie goose bumps. Even if she read one every night, there was
no
chance she’d run out in a year. Two years, even. There must have been 1,000 books in there. Maybe more.

Luke glanced up. “Allie,” he said, snuggling closer to Madeleine. “I want to go home.”

Allie took one last look at the books. Yeah, she wanted to read them. But she wanted to go home, more. “Come on,” Allie said. “We’re leaving.”

Madeleine and Luke sat up. “For real?” Madeleine asked. “Are we allowed?”

“Yes,” Allie lied. “The worker said it’s okay. She talked to Mommy this morning.”

Both kids bolted off the couch, and Luke pulled a brown paper bag out from under the cushions. “Snacks!” he said, grinning. Madeleine raced toward the kitchen, heading for the back door.

“Madeleine, no! Come here,” Allie quickly moved the trunk that was blocking the front door—a door that was dusty and looked like it hadn’t been used in years. “They said to go out this way.”

The twins looked confused. “Why?” Luke asked.

Allie glanced at the clock. Two minutes until the bus would go screaming by if they didn’t flag it down. “Because I said so,” she snapped, cringing at how much she sounded like their mom. “Come on!”

Yanking the old door open was no easy task, since the hinges were badly rusted. Once outside, Allie hurried Madeleine and Luke toward the road, being careful to keep out of JoJo’s line of sight. She could already hear the rumble of the bus.

Allie and Madeleine waved their arms wildly, while Luke struggled to hang onto his brown paper bag. The bus screeched to a halt and they clamored on. It smelled like the city—like grease and sweat and gasoline. They were going home.

Allie handed the $20 to the bus driver and then headed down the aisle.

“Hang on,” the driver boomed. “You’ll be taking your change,” he said, in some weird accent. Allie’s face went red as she walked back to the front and held out her hand.

“Thank you,” Allie said, trying to sound normal.

She guided the twins into an empty seat as the bus picked up speed. They barreled toward town, the road signs ticking away the miles. Twenty. Ten. Five. Welcome to Newridge!

“Stay close,” Allie whispered, as she herded Madeleine and Luke toward the front of the bus. Almost there. She recognized the street. Only two blocks to their apartment. Almost there.

Allie caught her breath. A policeman stood on their corner, checking out the crowd. Allie looked down, avoiding his gaze, as she helped the twins off the bus.

Fwoomp!
Luke’s brown bag hit the pavement. Cookies—dozens and dozens of cookies—poured out. They bounced into the gutter, rolled along the pavement, smacked into people’s shoes. The crowd fell silent as all eyes shifted from the disastrous mess to Allie and the twins. A cookie rolled across the pavement and stopped at the tip of the policeman’s shoe. He lifted his gaze and stared right at Allie, his eyebrows raised.

Tears spilled down Madeleine’s cheeks. “Are we going to jail, now?” she asked.

The ride to the apartment was quick and quiet. Any time Luke or Madeleine looked like they had something to say, Allie elbowed them and glared. The policeman—he’d said his name was Buddy—kept glancing at them in the rear view mirror, smiling. He’d fallen for Allie’s “Grandma gave us cookies but then got a sore head and couldn’t drive us home” story.

When they pulled up in front of the grimy building, he got out of the cruiser and opened the back door. Madeleine and Luke scrambled out and raced into the apartment building. Allie climbed out after them, the bag of cookies tucked under her arm.

Suddenly, the policeman got a glint in his eye. Still holding the door open with one hand, he pointed at the apartment with the other and bowed deeply.

“Madame, your young ones await,” he said, acting like one of those fancy chauffeurs.

“I...um...thank you.” Allie avoided his gaze. She’d really jerked him around. They hadn’t needed the ride, and they could have cleaned up the cookies without his help, too.

Allie headed inside and trudged down the stuffy hall. The twins were already waiting by the apartment door. They bounced and smiled as Allie pried out the key that she kept hidden in a deep crack in the doorframe.

The door scraped across the lumpy carpet as she shoved it open. Cigarettes, stale beer, something fried...the smells crawled up her nose.

Heavy, faded curtains spread across the farthest wall, blocking out the sun except where it snuck in through the tears and gaps. A sunbeam shone on an empty whiskey bottle on the floor.

No one was home.

A cloud of dust puffed up as Allie flopped down on the couch. Luke and Madeleine raced down the hall to their bedroom—the one they all shared—and yammered loudly as they pulled out their toys.

Allie picked up the TV remote and pressed random buttons. Nothing but static on the screen. Cable was shut off, again.

She got up and walked to the bathroom, stepping over a broken doll and a truck with no wheels. The taps squealed and shook when she turned them on. Grey water finally sputtered out, and Allie let it flow over her cupped hands, waiting for warmth. Nothing. Just cold water that kept getting colder. They’d shut off the hot water, too. Allie quickly splashed her face, then turned off the taps and watched the last drops of water trickle down the drain.

As she left the bathroom, Allie ran her fingers along the deep crack in the wall. It had a speckled, oily feel. Years of fly poop and cooking grease.

Allie wiped her hand on her pants. At least she didn’t have to deal with that stupid Jonathan. And maybe this time Allie could get her mom to really listen—get her to see that if she changed, even a little bit, they could be a real family, again.

Suddenly, the front door crashed open. Mom! Allie ran into the living room, then screeched to a stop. It was their mom, but she wasn’t alone. A strange man was with her, and he was carrying a couple of brown paper bags—the type you get at the liquor store.

Allie’s heart sank.

“Hi,” Allie said, trying to sound normal.

“Allie, how’d you get back? What are you doing here?”

No smile. No hug. Just
what are you doing here?

“Well, you might as well stay. This is Stan.” Allie’s mom pointed at the man.

“Hi. How are you?” Allie asked, hoping this one would be better than the last.

Stan just shrugged. Great. Another dumb one.

Madeleine and Luke pounded down the hall and threw their arms around their mom. They clung to her silently, burying their little faces into her belly.

“Good to see ya,” their mom said, as she patted their backs absentmindedly. “This is Stan.”

The twins smiled shyly—their usual response to Mom’s never-ending trail of boyfriends.

“Come on, let’s get supper on the table,” Stan said, pulling out a big bottle of whiskey.

“Mom, please,” Allie begged. “The foster worker said we can’t come home until you stop drinking.”

“I’ll stop when I’m good and ready.” She flopped down on the couch while Stan filled two glasses to the rim.

Allie wrapped her arms around the twins and headed to their room. They’d kill a few hours playing games and eating cookies. Then she’d tell them stories until they fell asleep, the way she always did when this happened. Allie took a deep breath, trying to loosen the tight feeling in her throat. Why didn’t Mom get it? Why didn’t she see that she was going to lose them forever if she didn’t go back to the way she used to be?

The twins curled up in bed with Allie, waiting for her to make up their first game. They knew how these bad days went.

When the twins finally drifted off, Allie tiptoed back to the living room. Her mom and Stan were both asleep, empty glasses in their hands. Allie stood in the doorway, staring. No cable, no hot water, and a useless new boyfriend. What next?

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Mrs. Marsh, this is the police. Could you open the door, please?”

It started like it always did. Them knocking on the door and sounding polite. Mom’s eyes opening wide, then narrowing to slits when she realized who it was.

“Get in the bedroom,” she hissed at Allie, as she shoved the empty whiskey bottle under the couch. “And keep your mouth shut.”

“What do you want?” Allie’s mom yelled at the door. “We haven’t done nothing wrong.”

“We just need to speak to you, Mrs. Marsh. Your kids have been reported missing. Open the door, please.”

Like always, the cop’s voice was getting a little gruffer. Like he knew this was going to get ugly.

Allie hurried back to their room and crawled into bed between the twins, who were now wide awake and shaking.

Luke touched the tear on Allie’s cheek. “Ouch?” he asked.

“It’s okay,” Allie whispered, “but
please
stay quiet, Luke.”

Smash!
Like always, their mom was throwing glasses and bottles at the locked door. “Get lost,” she screamed. “They’re mine.”

The apartment door was about to be kicked in by policeman. Again. It was amazing they hadn’t been evicted.

Allie rolled onto her side and pulled up her knees so Madeleine could squish into the nook between her legs and chest. Luke took his usual position, cuddled up against Allie’s back with his arms wrapped around her belly.

Crack!
Allie winced as the cheap wooden door split open.

Yep. Another door wrecked. All the usual sounds after that—more smashing glasses, more screaming, the cops with their booming voices telling Allie’s mom to settle down.

Madeleine and Luke stayed still. Frozen. Allie could feel Luke gripping her shirt. And Madeleine had squished herself so tightly against Allie that it was hard to breathe.

They stayed in their cocoon as the yelling went on—must have been about 10 minutes, but it felt like a year.

Suddenly, the door to their room flew open.

“Get up!” Allie’s mom yelled. “They’re taking you away, again.”

Allie lifted her head and peered over the covers. There was Mom—hair all over the place, clothes wrecked from sleeping in them (probably for days). And behind her...

“Is that Buddy?” Luke whispered, as he peeked over Allie’s shoulder.

It was. Buddy, the policeman who’d dropped them off just a few hours ago, was standing in their apartment.

“Hi, cookie fans,” Buddy said, smiling sadly. “They told me to get you out of here for a bit. ‘Till your mom’s feeling better.”

“I’m feeling just fine,” their mom muttered, as she staggered down the hall. Allie cringed—couldn’t she at least
try
to act sober?

“Come on, guys.” Buddy held out his hand. “Your foster mom’s worried sick about you.”

Allie coaxed the twins out of bed. When their mom was like this, Allie had to be careful to not startle them or they’d panic and run. She wrapped an arm around each twin and guided them down the hall.

Two more police officers were waiting in the living room. The stupid boyfriend was still passed out on the couch. Nice. Couldn’t even wake up long enough to help. What good would
he
be in a real disaster, like a fire or something?

Allie helped the twins put on their shoes and guided them out into the hall.

“You’re really good with them,” Buddy said.

“What’s
that
supposed to mean?” All those stupid cracks about being parentified were really getting on Allie’s nerves.

Buddy stared. “It means you’re really good with them,” he said, quietly.

Allie felt another twinge. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Still, she couldn’t help but hate him. If he hadn’t shown up, she’d still have a normal family. Okay, not normal like her mom was actually sober, or made meals, or vacuumed, or even noticed whether they were home or not. But she’d be living with her own mom—not with someone who was being
paid
to take care of them. Allie turned and looked back into the apartment—at her mom stomping around the living room, kicking toys and staggering into furniture.

“Mom...” Allie felt her throat tighten.

“What?” Allie’s mom glanced up, but she didn’t make eye contact. “What?” she asked, louder.

“I miss you.”

Allie’s mom flopped down on the couch and hung her head. “Same here. I’ll get you back. You’ll see.”

When they got to the cruiser, Buddy opened the door. “I’m sorry,” he said, as Allie climbed in.

Allie ignored him. She was too numb to care, and too tired to be bitchy.

They slowly headed out of town, up the long paved road that got older, narrower and bumpier, then eventually turned to gravel. He pulled up to the back door of the farmhouse. And for a minute, they all sat silently in the cruiser.

“That’s where the rooster attacked Jonathan,” Madeleine said, pointing at the hammock.

“I think Jonathan may have pooped his pants,” Luke announced, as if it was normal to be having a conversation in the back of a police cruiser in the middle of the night. “And there’s a bull in that barn that doesn’t move if you fall on his back. And cats in the haymow. And piglets. Lots of piglets. And lots and lots of poop.”

“Sounds like quite the place,” Buddy said. It was too dark to see, but it sounded like he was smiling.

Allie poked Luke to shut him up. “Can we get out, now?” she asked.

“Yep, you’re home,” Buddy said, opening the door.

Allie frowned. This would never be their home. Never.

When the cruiser door slammed shut, the house came to life. The outside lights turned on, the door flew open, and out poured JoJo, Arthur and Jonathan. Thor shoved past them and headed straight for the twins. He bounced back and forth between them, rubbing his big head into their bellies and wagging his tail nonstop.

“Nice going, moron,” Jonathan said to Allie. “Have fun in the city?”

“Stop it, Jonathan,” JoJo said, as she shooed Thor away from the giggling twins. JoJo was wearing a big, ankle-length flannel nightie—all billowy and soft and fluffy-looking. She looked huggable. Not that Allie wanted a hug.

Apparently, Luke and Madeleine did. They buried their faces into her pudgy belly and squeezed. JoJo squeezed right back, holding them tightly.

“Come on,” Allie said to the twins, as she stomped past JoJo, refusing to look at her.

But as she got closer to the door, a weird, jittery feeling started building up in her stomach. Something wasn’t right.

Allie grabbed the doorknob, then turned to face the group. JoJo, Arthur, Jonathan, the twins and the cop were all staring at her. No one was moving. Not even the twins.

“What?” she asked, trying to sound snarky. “What?”

“Say hello,” Arthur said, frowning.

“What?”

“Say hello,” Arthur said, sharply. “We’ve been sitting here for hours, waiting to find out what happened to you. The
least
you could do is say hello.”

Allie squeezed the doorknob so hard, she was surprised it didn’t pop right off in her hand.

“Hello,” she said, her cheeks burning. “Come on!” she snapped at Luke and Madeleine, as she turned and hurried inside.

Allie stomped up the stairs and threw herself onto the bed. Luke and Madeleine tiptoed in and sat beside her.

“Are you mad at us?” Luke asked. “We didn’t mean to do it. Whatever we did, we didn’t mean to do it.”

Allie stifled a sob and wiped her tears on the pillow. “It’s not you. It’s just...everything. I don’t know how to get us home if Mommy can’t stop drinking.”

“She can. And she will,” Madeleine said. “She loves us.”

Allie took a deep, shaky breath. She hoped Madeleine was right. She really did.