Chapter 4: Counting to Ten

"One," Janet said.

I did not argue.

I pushed back my chair, laid the cloth napkin beside the plate, and walked to the basement door.

"Two."

Kayla followed me to the top of the stairs with her phone up.

"Say it again," she said. "Say you're leaving. I want it for the group chat."

I went down without answering her.

"Three."

The storage room was just as the twins had left it, with skis on the bed and a wet jacket on the pillow.

I dragged my duffel out of the wardrobe and started filling it.

"Four."

Two pairs of jeans.

Four shirts.

My laptop, my school binder, my toothbrush.

"Five. Six."

The Penn letter was in the binder, in the envelope Janet had slit open, because I had taken it back off the hall table that evening.

I had a gray folder with my birth certificate and my mother's death certificate.

I had my winter boots.

"Seven."

On the top shelf of the wardrobe was a flat photo album with a blue cloth cover.

My mother had made it the summer before she died.

I reached for it, and a hand got there first.

Kayla stood beside me, holding it against her chest.

"That belongs to this house," she said.

"It's my mother's."

"It was in our wardrobe. In our basement."

"Eight," Janet called from upstairs.

I could have fought her for it.

I could have shouted, and Janet would have come down, and everyone would have seen me begging for a photo book in a basement.

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