Hadley saw the house on Orchard Drive for the first time the day she moved in.
It was set far back along a sloping dead-end street. Tall and looming, the red brick was faded, the wood trim weathered with age. Through the haze of August heat, it appeared blurred, like an old photograph, ghostly, out of focus. The neighboring homes were smaller and newer. They reminded Hadley of shiny white mushrooms springing up around a great decomposing log. It was only a short drive from their old apartment in the city, but it felt like another world.
Her arms ached under the strain of the box she carried. It was piled high with her books and knickknacks. She adjusted the weight and then climbed the creaky porch steps, pausing a moment at the door, its black paint blistered and chipped. She took a deep breath, nudged it open, and stepped inside.
“It’s a dream come true!” Her mother’s voice echoed from the kitchen down the long empty hall.
“Sure is,” said Ed.
Her mother whispered something and then giggled. She never used to giggle before she met Ed. Now she giggled all the time.
Isaac’s head peeked over the upper railing. “Hey, Haddy! There’s an attic full of junk! And an old root cellar around the back! Wanna check it out?”
She forced a smile and nodded. “Later.” And then he was gone again. Isaac was six, exactly half Hadley’s age.
Hadley’s gaze curled up the dark oak banister and lingered near the high ceiling. Her grin melted like warm wax down the side of a candlestick. She should be in love with the house. Crazy in love with it. Like Mom and Ed and Isaac. Only something about it felt odd. A heaviness in the air seemed to press down on her. And, despite the August heat, it was cold and clammy, like a years-unopened tomb. She set the box at her feet, turned on her heels, and raced back outside.
Her mother’s car was crammed with everything they’d been able to squeeze into it. Still, it seemed like so little. Hadley couldn’t help but think of all the things she couldn’t fit into a box—her school, her friends, all the familiar people and places. Their tiny apartment had been so full. How could twelve years of memories, mementos, and meaningful moments be reduced to a couple dozen boxes and a handful of suitcases?
Ed’s white van was parked behind Mom’s car. Bulky duffel bags spilled out of the rear. Inside, between the various ladders, tarps, paint canisters, and brushes, there was a set of golf clubs, a greasy tool kit, countless pairs of running shoes, a fire extinguisher, a jumble of cables, and a blue cooler. All his and Isaac’s things would soon mingle with hers and Mom’s. Hadley couldn’t bear the thought.
She backed away from the driveway and slunk to the edge of the lawn, plunking herself at the curb. She picked up a stick and began etching a circle into the dry dirt while more snippets of excited conversation drifted toward her through the door she’d left ajar.
“… Lovely Linen … or how about Desert Dusk? That’s the color Hadley and I painted our old place…”
Hadley gripped the stick tighter. She added a sad mouth to the circle. “Our old place,” she muttered, poking two deep, cavernous eyes.
Suddenly, a cascade of spiders rained down around her. She yelped, sprang to her feet, and flung the stick aside. She danced in circles, shaking her scraggly brown hair, slapping frantically at her stomach and bare legs.
“Quit stomping,” said a voice. “You’ll hurt them.”
Hadley stopped jumping long enough to see a bulky boy with sandy brown hair standing close behind her.
“Don’t just stand there!” she shouted. “Get them off me!”
He reached for her shoulder and gently cupped a spindly legged creature in his hand. He placed it on the ground and let it amble away. He examined her thoroughly and then nodded. “That was the last.”
“Who are you?” demanded Hadley, still flicking her hair and patting down her T-shirt. “And what are you doing here?”
“I’m Gabe,” he said, extending a hand. “I live five houses down. With my grandma.” He grinned sheepishly.
Hadley studied the boy’s filthy fingernails, his sooty cheeks, and his button-down shirt two sizes too small. Then her eyes grew wide as they settled on the empty glass jar at his feet and the lid dangling from his fingertips.
“You!” she said, pointing an incredulous finger. “You threw them on me!”
Gabe’s cheeks flushed. “Did not.” He narrowed his green eyes and raised his chin. “The lid came loose.”
Hadley gritted her teeth and frowned. “Well, even if that’s true, what were you doing hanging over my shoulder with a jar of spiders anyway?”
“I saw you digging,” he said quietly. “I thought you might be looking for grubs.”
“Grubs?” she spluttered. “Why would I be looking for grubs?”
“It seemed like a logical conclusion at the time.” He reached over and lightly brushed another tiny spider from her T-shirt sleeve.
“For the record,” said Hadley, “I have zero interest in spiders, grubs, or any other insect you care to drop on me.”
He cleared his throat. “Well, technically, spiders aren’t insects. They’re arachnids.”
Hadley threw her hands into the air and huffed loudly. Before she stomped back toward the house, she caught sight of the face she’d drawn in the dirt. Though somewhat trampled, it was still clear. Except the frown she’d drawn had somehow morphed into a smile.
Over her shoulder she heard Gabe call, “I hope you stay longer than the others!”