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"I hate wearing this suit!" Sam complained, tugging at the collar like it was trying to strangle him. "It itches."

"You have nothing to complain about," I said, smoothing down the skirt of the outfit Mom picked out for me. "I hate wearing dresses."

Sam blinked at me. "Then why are you wearing one?"

"Because Mom said we need to make a good impression," I muttered. "Apparently 'looking put together' means putting me in something that makes me feel like a store mannequin."

"I like wearing dresses," Lily chimed in cheerfully, spinning in a circle so fast her skirt flared out like she was a backup dancer in a 90s music video. "I feel like a princess!"

"Good for you," I said flatly, crossing my arms. "Wanna trade?"

"Nope!" she chirped, still spinning.

Dad poked his head in from the hallway, adjusting his tie with one hand and holding a folder in the other. "Alright, fashion critics—let's load up. We've got twenty minutes to get to the tour."

Mom followed behind him, keys already in hand. "Everyone make sure your shoes are clean. I am not tracking mud into someone else's open house."

As everyone shuffled toward the door, I hung back for a second, glancing at myself in the hallway mirror.

I looked... fine.

Like a girl.

Like a girl who was trying way too hard to be a girl.

I sighed and followed the others out, thinking:
Just let this place be safe. Please let it be worth it.

As we were driving, we passed a McDonald's, the golden arches glowing like a neon miracle. My stomach growled on cue, and something shifted inside me—like a tiny kick of rebellion from a very small, very opinionated fetus.

"Can we get a burger?" I asked, pressing a hand to my belly for dramatic effect. "The baby wants one."

Dad glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "Can you wait? We don't want to be late."

"Try telling that to the baby," I muttered.

Sam snorted in the back seat. "Wow. The baby's bossier than you."

"Don't push it," I said without turning around.

"Maybe after the tour," Mom said gently, "we can grab something."

I sighed and leaned my head against the window, watching the McDonald's sign fade into the distance like a missed opportunity and a warm cheeseburger I'd never know.

"I swear," I mumbled, "if we get there and they offer crackers and sparkling water, I'm out."

"You're not out," Dad said.

"The baby is out," I said.

Sam lost it.

We finally made it to the place.

The car turned onto a quiet side road lined with neat little trees and a wooden sign that read Evergreen— Private Residences in fancy cursive lettering. Just past the sign was a small guardhouse with tinted windows and a little lift gate that looked more decorative than functional.

A security guard stepped out of the building as we rolled up. He was tall, maybe late 40s, with sunglasses that made him look like a retired action movie extra and a clipboard tucked under one arm.

Dad slowed the car and rolled down his window.

"Good afternoon," the guard said, eyeing us over the top of his shades. "Blake family, right? Here for the tour?"

"That's us," Dad said, trying to sound casual even though he definitely did that nervous throat-clearing thing he always does when he talks to authority figures.

The guard checked his clipboard, then nodded. "You're on the list. Realtor's already waiting for you near the first model home. You'll take a left at the roundabout and follow the signs."

He looked at me for a second longer than I liked—probably just curious, maybe just scanning faces like it was routine—but I still felt my stomach flip.

Then he gave a polite nod. "Welcome to Evergreen."

The gate lifted with a soft beep, and we drove through.

I leaned toward the window, watching the rows of houses appear like something out of a catalog. Each one had manicured lawns, pastel shutters, and tiny porch swings. There were cameras on the streetlights and those little blue signs in the yards that screamed THIS HOME IS PROTECTED BY SOMETHING EXPENSIVE.

Safe.

Secure.

It felt weird. Like visiting the version of our lives we weren't sure we were allowed to have.

We followed the little signs that pointed toward the model homes, the car rolling slowly down smooth streets that looked like they'd been pressure-washed this morning. Even the mailboxes looked smug.

At the end of the block, a tall woman in heels and a blazer waved from the porch of a beige house with navy shutters and a wide wraparound deck. She looked exactly like someone who had never once worn sweatpants in her life.

"That must be the realtor," Mom said, already unbuckling her seatbelt.

As Dad parked the car, I climbed out and stretched, already scanning the area. A kid zoomed by on a scooter a few houses down. A couple of older women were tending to some flower beds across the street. A man walked his dog past the sidewalk, nodding politely.

And then I saw him.

Tall. Glasses. Polo shirt tucked into khakis like always.
Mr. Peterson.
My principal.

My mouth dropped open. "You've got to be kidding me."

"What?" Sam asked, hopping out of the car.

"That's Mr. Peterson," I said, pointing without even meaning to. "From school."

Lily's eyes went wide. "Mr. Peterson?"

"Yep," I said.

At that exact moment, Mr. Peterson turned—and his eyes locked on mine.

"Oh no," I whispered. "He saw me."

"Emily?" he said, smiling like this wasn't the weirdest crossover episode of my life. "Well, this is a surprise!"

He strolled over, waving cheerfully. "Well, if it isn't the Blake family!"

Mom and Dad both smiled in recognition, and Dad reached out for a quick handshake. "Mr. Peterson! We didn't know you lived here."

"About two doors down," he said proudly, nodding toward a perfectly trimmed yard with one of those little garden gnome armies guarding the walkway. "Moved in last spring. This neighborhood's been great—quiet, clean, and very safe. I heard through the board that you had a tour scheduled today."

Of course he did. Because of course the universe would put my principal in the same neighborhood we were maybe moving into.

"I didn't know you lived here," I said, trying to keep my face neutral and failing.

He smiled at me, way more casually than he ever did in the school hallways. "I trade detention slips for birdwatching and power-walking these days. But yes, Evergreen's been very welcoming."

Sam leaned in close and whispered, "We are so getting graded on lawn care."

"Do you have to say everything out loud?" I muttered back.

Mr. Peterson turned to Mom and Dad. "If you have any questions about Evergreen, let me know. The board's a bit formal, but they listen. And after what your family's been through lately..." He paused, lowering his voice a little. "Well, I'm glad you're looking at this place. It's a good choice."

Lily, who'd been quiet up to this point, looked up at him seriously. "Do you have secret cameras that catch people stepping on the grass?"

He actually laughed. "Only on Wednesdays."

A polite clearing of the throat cut through the conversation.

We all turned toward the porch, where the realtor stood with a clipboard and a sleek black tablet, her smile polite but clearly signaling that tour time had officially begun.

Before she could say anything, Mr. Peterson gave a friendly wave. "Well, I'll let you all get to it. The models are lovely—you're in for a treat."

"It's good to see you again," Mom said warmly.

"Likewise," he replied, nodding to each of us. "Hope you like what you see. Evergreen's a great place to call home."

And just like that, he strolled off down the sidewalk, his dog trotting beside him, leaving behind the scent of freshly cut grass and just a little bit of weird familiarity.

The realtor stepped forward once he was out of earshot. "Hi there! I'm Karen Marks—I'll be walking you through the community today."

She tucked the clipboard under her arm and smiled. "If you're all ready, we can start with the model home and then take a short walk around to see the community park and security setup."

Dad gave her a polite nod. "Sounds good."

I stayed quiet, watching Mr. Peterson disappear around the corner, then turned back toward the porch—half curious, half wishing I could already know whether this place would really be better.

We walked into the model home, and it was like stepping straight into a magazine. Everything was perfectly placed—soft gray couches with matching throw pillows, a fireplace that looked like it had never seen ash, and a bowl of fake lemons on the kitchen counter that probably cost more than my entire shoe collection.

The air even smelled like money. And cookies. Probably fake ones.

Before anyone could say a word, Lily bolted past us and darted up the stairs, her shoes clomping against the hardwood like she was chasing a prize.

"Lily!" Mom snapped. "This is a model home, not a jungle gym!"

Lily's voice floated down from the landing. "I just wanna see if the beds are real!"

Karen, the realtor, chuckled like this was totally normal. "Don't worry, it happens all the time. We've had toddlers try to move in during open houses."

"I believe that," Dad muttered under his breath as he adjusted his collar.

Sam wandered off toward the kitchen island and opened a drawer. "Whoa. There's nothing in here."

"That's because it's fake, genius," I said, walking past him to peek into the living room.

The house was beautiful, no doubt about it. Tall windows. Wide open floor plan. A dining room with a fancy chandelier that looked like it came with its own insurance policy.

But all I could think was:
Could this place actually be... ours?

After Mom managed to wrangle Lily back down from whatever imaginary tower she was scaling, we all headed upstairs together.

The staircase was wide, with a polished wooden banister that looked too clean to be real. Sam ran his hand along it like he was inspecting for dust. I half expected him to start knocking on the walls for secret passages.

Upstairs, the hallway opened into a cozy landing with three doors branching off. Karen gestured ahead. "The primary bedroom's at the end of the hall, and to the left we've got two secondary bedrooms—perfect for kids."

Lily immediately darted into the first one on the left. "Dibs!"

"You can't call dibs on a fake room," I said, following her in.

The bedroom was decked out in pastel colors, with a fluffy rug shaped like a cloud and a twin bed that looked like it belonged to someone who never spilled juice or left Lego landmines on the floor. Lily climbed up on the bed like she owned it.

"This one's mine," she declared. "I live here now."

"You said that in IKEA last month," Sam pointed out.

I stepped into the next room, which was painted a soft teal and had a big window that overlooked the backyard. There was a desk, a beanbag chair in the corner, and a little shelf lined with fake books that probably had blank pages.

I stood there for a minute, just... imagining.

Could I see myself here?

Could I actually sleep in this room, wake up in this room, feel safe in this room?

I pressed my hand to the windowsill and looked out at the fenced backyard, where a row of trees created a natural barrier from the neighbors.

It felt... peaceful.

"Emily?" Mom's voice came from behind me, soft.

"Yeah?" I turned slightly.

She smiled. "That one does kind of feel like you."

And for the first time in a long time, I didn't disagree.

We followed Karen into the largest room at the end of the hall. It was clearly staged as the primary bedroom—king-sized bed, giant mirror, fancy lamps that probably cost more than our microwave, and curtains that looked like they'd been hand-stitched by fairy tale woodland creatures.

"Now," Karen said, her heels clicking softly on the carpet, "just a reminder—this is the model home, meant to show the layout and finishes. The actual house we're selling is three doors down. It's still under final inspection and will be fully ready by Monday."

Dad raised an eyebrow. "So it'll look... exactly like this?"

"Almost identical," Karen said. "Same floor plan, same fixtures. The only major difference is the backsplash color in the kitchen and the orientation of the lot. Yours would have a west-facing backyard, which is great for afternoon sun—but still shaded enough for privacy."

Mom nodded slowly. "And that one has the same security features?"

"Absolutely," Karen said, clearly ready for the question. "This entire block is wired into Evergreen's security system—twenty-four-hour private patrol, camera coverage at every entrance and street corner, and optional smart locks and motion detectors for each home. We also use license plate recognition at all entry points."

That got Dad's attention. "Nice."

Karen smiled. "It's not a fortress, but it's peace of mind."

I stepped back a little and looked around the room again. It was still a model. Still fake.

But knowing there was a real version of it waiting just down the street... something that could be ours by next week?

That made it feel just a little more real.

Karen led us around the side of the house, toward the sidewalk that curved neatly along the edge of the street. The sun was bright but not too hot, and everything about the neighborhood felt almost... surreal. The lawns were trimmed to military precision. Every flowerbed looked like it had been designed by a Pinterest board. There were even little birdhouses on a few mailboxes.

"This part of Evergreen is one of the quieter sections," Karen explained as we walked. "Most of the residents here have school-aged children or work from home, so you'll notice there isn't much traffic during the day."

We passed a couple out walking their golden retriever. They waved. Smiled. Smiled.

Sam whispered, "Weird. Friendly neighbors. What kind of neighborhood is this?"

"The kind where you don't have to worry about your bike getting stolen," Dad said.

Karen gestured toward a small park up ahead, nestled between two rows of houses. It had a shady bench area, a small jungle gym, and one of those splash pads with water fountains built into the ground.

"This is the North Park," she said. "There's also a larger community center with a pool and event space about five blocks that way. Evergreen hosts monthly family nights, holiday events, and—if you're brave—an annual neighborhood water balloon war."

Lily gasped. "We're moving. That's it. I've decided."

Sam snorted. "You can't just decide that."

"She's not wrong," Dad muttered under his breath.

Karen smiled and led us farther down the path, where we passed a small security kiosk tucked beside the sidewalk. "This is one of several security checkpoints throughout the neighborhood," she said. "Each one is monitored in real-time and staffed during peak hours."

I glanced at the cameras perched high above the street, watching quietly.

It was weird. Normally, cameras made me feel nervous. But here? They made me feel like maybe someone was watching... but for the right reasons this time.

Karen kept walking ahead, gesturing toward the quiet streets and neatly spaced homes. "Evergreen was designed to be walkable and family-focused. Everything is just a short drive or bike ride away—schools, shops, parks—"

"Wait," I said, cutting in for the first time since we left the model home. "What about Southview Middle School? Is that one of the schools you were talking about?"

Karen smiled and nodded. "Yes! Southview is the main middle school for this zone. Most of the students in Evergreen go there."

I blinked. "So... I wouldn't have to change schools?"

"Nope," she said. "You'd stay right where you are."

A breath I hadn't realized I was holding slipped out of me. Jasmine and Mia. My classes. My locker. My life.

Still mine.

Karen led us around the next bend in the sidewalk, where the houses opened up to reveal a wide grassy area surrounded by shade trees and benches.

"This is the Evergreen Community Park," she said, motioning to the space like she was revealing a surprise. "It's a shared green space for residents—great for picnics, outdoor events, or just letting the kids run wild."

The park had a small pavilion with picnic tables underneath, a big open field with a couple of soccer nets, and even a set of swings and a modern jungle gym tucked in the corner under some trees.

Lily immediately bolted toward the playground. "I call the twisty slide!"

"Lily—shoes!" Mom called out. "This is a tour, not recess!"

Lily didn't even slow down.

Karen laughed. "You'd be surprised how many kids say the playground is what seals the deal."

"I'm starting to see why," Dad said, watching Sam eye the soccer nets like he was already planning his next big match.

I stayed quiet, scanning the edges of the park. I saw one of the mounted security cameras up on a tall pole near the pavilion. It wasn't hidden, but it wasn't obnoxious either. Just... there. Watching. Protecting.

Karen noticed me looking. "We have surveillance on all shared spaces—live-monitored and archived for up to 60 days. Security does a foot patrol through the park three times a day."

"Do they carry walkie-talkies or like, actually do anything?" Sam asked.

Karen grinned. "Yes. And yes. They're not law enforcement, but they're trained. And we have a direct link to local police if anything ever escalates."

Dad nodded approvingly. "That's better than most places I've looked into."

"And the entrance gate you came through," Karen added, "logs every visitor's license plate. Residents get a sticker for their cars, and guests are approved through an app or a quick call."

"That's really smart," Mom said.

"It's not Fort Knox," Karen admitted. "But it's safe. And around here, that peace of mind goes a long way."

I looked around again—the trees, the breeze, the camera quietly panning across the grass—and for once, I didn't feel like I had to keep my back to a wall.

Just maybe... this could work.

The tour finally wrapped up just as the sun started shifting lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the sidewalk and making everything glow in that soft, golden-hour kind of way.

Karen led Mom and Dad back toward the model home to go over "the grown-up stuff"—paperwork, financing, contracts, and probably a hundred questions about things like insulation and trash pickup.

Meanwhile, the three of us were cut loose at the park, and naturally, chaos followed.

Lily was already halfway up the jungle gym, shrieking with joy like she was trying to summon birds from the treetops.

Sam had taken over one of the soccer nets, kicking pinecones into it and calling out imaginary play-by-plays like, "Johnson takes the shot—and the crowd goes wild!"

I sat on the swing, legs dangling, gently rocking back and forth. I let the breeze push through my hair, tried not to think too hard.

But I still did.

A new house. A safer neighborhood. No more shattered windows or late-night sirens or wondering if a shadow on the wall was just my imagination.

But also... no more feeling like Jasmine and Mia were just a short drive away. No more quick meetups or spontaneous hangouts after school. No more being part of the same small routine that finally felt normal. It had taken forever to get comfortable, to stop feeling like I was just passing through someone else's life.

And now? We were about to leave again.

I kicked at the dirt under my feet, watching the dust rise and settle.

It wasn't official yet. But in my gut, I already knew...

This was happening.

And maybe... maybe that wasn't all bad.

Because this place?

It felt safer.

Stronger.

Like a place where I could actually breathe without looking over my shoulder. And Mom would still give us rides to school. I wouldn't lose everything.

Just... some things.

After the tour, after all the walking and fake furniture and smiling at strangers like we were in a commercial, I finally got what I really needed.

A cheeseburger.

We pulled into the McDonald's drive-thru on the way home, and I ordered like my life depended on it. Double cheeseburger, fries, and—because the baby and I deserved it—an M&M McFlurry.

I didn't even wait until we got home. I was already unwrapping the burger in the car while Sam was yelling about his fries being too small and Lily was poking around in the bag for a toy she didn't even get.

"Hey!" Lily complained, holding up an empty fist. "No toy?"

"We didn't order a Happy Meal," Dad said over his shoulder. "You know we don't."

"But—" she huffed, crossing her arms like she'd been robbed. "It feels like a Happy Meal."

"Well, emotionally, maybe," Sam muttered, mouth full of fries.

I bit into my burger and leaned back in the seat, warm food in my hands and soft ice cream waiting in the cup holder.