I wake up in the night, sweaty and panicked. What time is it? My attic bedroom has slanted ceilings, striped by three skylights. I see moonglow through one of them, and blink around my bedroom, which is bathed in pale light.

A quick glance at my alarm clock reveals it’s 3:18 a.m.

I wiggle my half-asleep fingers. Rub my eyes. I feel…dread. The reason hits me like a lightning bolt: I have a take-home test! Oh my God—in calculus!

I throw my covers off, slide off my bed, and make a grab for my backpack, stashed in a chair in one of my room’s corners. How did I forget this test? Do I even have it in my bag?

A quick peek through my folder reveals yes—I have the test. Thank God it’s only one page long. Mr. Fry is merciful, and really gave this as a bonus opportunity. I look through all my backpack’s pockets, but I can’t find a pen. Probably because they’re all in my purse, which I usually drop into my backpack when I leave home in the mornings, but which right now is downstairs. Ugh.

The full-length mirror mounted on my lilac wall tells me I look pretty good in my soft red camisole and cotton sleep shorts. The camisole has a built-in bra, which is successfully hiding my nipples. I run a hand over my hair, because—Landon. Then I slip into the hall, past the bathroom that adjoins my room and Em’s, past her bedroom door, and down the carpeted stairs that lead to the hallway of the second floor, where the house’s master suite is.

Since the attic rooms were an addition my parents made after they bought the home, the attic staircase is different than the flight of stairs that leads from the second floor to the first. I pause at the top of those stairs—the curving stairs that lead into the vast front entry hall—listening for…nothing, I guess.

The house at night has always seemed more creepy than I’d like, with all its curtainless windows.

My heart is in my throat as I tip-toe into the kitchen. There’s a small lamp on the counter, casting a dim light. Otherwise, it’s quiet and dark. I don’t see my purse right off, so I walk further back, toward the family living area.

And shriek.

All I see at first is a shadow, but when I blink, it congeals into Landon—standing on the opposite side of the island, staring at me with wide eyes, holding a… cup?

“Oh my God!” I laugh, because adrenaline. “What are you doing?”

I step closer, and he moves his hand behind his back.

“What is that?”

“What is what?” His face is calm.

“Behind your back.”

“Nothing,” he says.

But he steps away from me.

“What is it?”

I walk around behind him, and I’m right: his hand is curled into a fist.

“What’s in your hand?”

He draws his hand up to his chest. “Why are you down here?”

“I forgot about the cal take-home text. I’m not going to be distracted, Landon. Open up your paw.”

His eyes are boring into mine. There’s something on his face, something that makes my stomach tighten.

“Please?” I whisper.

He opens his hand. In the milky moonlight streaming through a nearby window, I can see the blue plastic of a pill bottle, and my heart rolls over.

“Relax,” he says, his face a mask of calm. He sets the bottle on the island. “Just an Ambien.”

But I have sharp eyes. I’m used to babysitting Emmaline, whom I once found munching vitamins from the Flintstone bottle.

“What’s in your other hand?” That one is hanging suspiciously down by his thigh.

“An Ambien.” His voice is so steady, his face so calm, I’m not sure how I know he’s lying.

“Let me see.”

“Look at the bottle, Evie.”

“Open up your hand,” I challenge.

“What are you, my mother?”

“Open up your hand.”

Landon’s shrewd, gray eyes bore into mine.

“Do it—or I’ll get my parents.”

Anger twists his features, but he opens his hand, revealing several small, white ovals.

“Five! You took five of my dad’s Ambien?”

“Shhh.” He grabs the bottle, tosses it into its drawer, and grabs me by the hand, pulling me toward the basement stairs, as I cry, “Landon, what the—”

“Shhhh! Evie—”

“You have to—” put them back, I’m going to say, but Landon’s hands seize my waist. I’m lifted up and set down on the third stair.

“Quiet! Evie, please,” he hisses.

“You can’t just take them! Five’s too many!”

“Shhh.” He holds a finger over his lips, like we’re in first grade. “Evie, please be quiet and listen. Come downstairs with me.” His face has lost all of its calm. His eyes are burning.

“No. Why?” I look over my shoulder.

“Why do you think? To talk.”

“Give me the Ambien, and then we will.”

His jaw tightens. In the dim stairwell, his gray eyes look flat and hard—but when he speaks, his voice is soft. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Just come downstairs.” His tone is pleading.

I glance around, and, seeing neither of my parents, follow him downstairs. My mind races as I stare at his broad shoulders, rocking with his movement. Why five? Can you get high that way? What do I do?

He reaches his bedroom door, then turns to face me. “Fuck. Am I making you uncomfortable?” He looks pained. “Do you want to…I don’t know—sit on the stairs, and I’ll stand by my door?”

He runs his free hand through his hair, and I notice his eyes. They look bloodshot, with dark smudges beneath. Desperation is etched in his features.

I heave a long sigh. “Go into your room, and I’ll come, too.”

I follow him into his bedroom. Both beds, I can’t help noticing, are made.

“You haven’t been to sleep at all tonight?” I ask as he stands with a hand rubbing his forehead. There’s only one lamp turned on in his bedroom, and it’s on a nightstand right behind him. Golden light rolls out around him, casting Landon’s tall form in a shadow.

“No,” he says.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Because I fucking can’t.”

“You have insomnia?”

He exhales roughly, running his hand back through his hair.

“Is it drugs?”

“Fuck, no. Do I look like I want to end up in a fucking halfway house?”

“I don’t know.” I bite my lip. “You’re stealing my dad’s Ambien.”

“Because I can’t sleep.”

“What do you mean?” I press.

“Humans have to sleep, Evie. I can’t. So I went looking for some sleeping pills and I found this. It works, so…” He lifts a shoulder, looking pained. “I only take it when I really need to.”

“Five!” I shake my head. “Did you think my dad wouldn’t notice?”

“Yes. The prescription is from 2005. Clearly, he never takes it.”

“Still…you can’t be taking five per night. The dose is—”

He’s shaking his head. “These aren’t for tonight. I already took one, in the kitchen. These are for the next few times I need one.”

I try to picture Landon swallowing my father’s Ambien in the kitchen. That means he didn’t even wait to walk downstairs. He must have wanted it right then. I look at his face, his tired eyes and his downturned mouth. He looks unhappy. Maybe even miserable.

“What’s wrong?” I ask more softly.

“Like I told you, I can’t sleep.”

“I know, but why do you think that is?”

“Because I can’t.”

“Is it like…you’re just not tired?” Even to my own ears, that sounds stupid. “Is it nightmares? Like, disturbing memories or something?”

“Yeah, it’s nightmares. Every night. The fucking boogeyman.” His tone is cutting.

“Sorry. I just…” I blow my breath out slowly. “I think you should tell my parents. They’re nice, you know that. They would try to help. My dad—”

“No fucking way.”

“Why not?”

“Foster parents don’t like trouble, Evie. Don’t you know that?”

“That’s not true. And anyway, if you just talk to them, I won’t say a word about the Ambien. Just tell them you can’t sleep.”

“You think your fucking dad can help me sleep? What is he going to do, hold me in the rocking chair?”

“Well, no.”

“Before I found the Ambien…” He sighs, looking down and then back up with hard eyes. “These were in the back. But there was Valium right in front of them.”

I gape. “You took some Valium?”

“I took one. I hadn’t been to sleep in three days then.”

My jaw is on the floor. I’m not sure what is more alarming: the idea of Landon being awake for three days, or the thought of what my dad would do if he found Landon pocketing his Valium. “How does no one know this! Why wouldn’t it be in your papers or something? That you can’t sleep.”

“You think they write down shit like that?”

“Well, yeah. So you could have continuity, you know, like from one house to the next.”

He snorts, but even that sounds tired. “Nobody gives a fuck about that, Evie.”

“I do.”

“Yeah, well good for you.”

I take a moment, weighing my options while I blink at him. “You have to put back the Ambien,” I say finally. “My dad could notice, especially if you’ve taken some before.”

His jaw tightens, but he holds his palm out. My fingertips graze his warm skin as I take the pills.

“Tomorrow night, you’ll… I don’t know. I’ll help you somehow. We can watch a movie.”

“Watch a movie?” His lip curls.

“A TV show,” I clarify. “Something super boring, to put you to sleep. I’ve got the perfect one—about real estate.”

He arches his brows. I hold my breath, and he lets his out. “If you say so.”

“I say so.” I want to touch him—so much I can’t keep myself from reaching out and smacking his arm lightly. “I can even make you tea.” I smile up at him.

He smirks, looking like his usual self despite his tired face. “Tea?”

“Chamomile. It’s so relaxing. You’ll see.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” I look around the room, then back at his face. “You look super tired. I’m sorry you can’t sleep.”

He shrugs.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you have your own couch, doctor?”

I smile. “I forgot. You’re not a fan of therapists. You teased me about that the first time we ever talked, at school that day.”

He nods once, as if to say yep.

“This house is a good place. Trust me. And don’t worry, about the Ambien. Or the Valium. I won’t say anything. But if you need something, you should tell me. Okay?”

He smiles. “If you say so.”

“Tomorrow night. I say so.”