The reporter, realizing he wasn’t going to get anything out of Immy’s dad that he could print, went on his way. Immy and her dad stood in silence for a while, digesting what had happened.

“The girls went that way,” Immy’s dad said eventually, pointing down the street. “I suppose I should go and apologize.” He started off.

“But . . . our sandwiches,” Immy said, thinking that wasn’t a very good idea. “Mum made sandwiches.”

“They’ll wait.” He sighed. “Come on.”

Immy knew he’d made up his mind. She could argue with him or she could follow him. She trudged behind him, hoping the girls had run home.

At the end of the street, they turned a sharp right and were immediately met with the sight of a large expanse of very green grass. It looked like a park.

“Ah, the village green,” her dad said.

“The what?”

“It’s like a big park. A meeting spot for the whole community. They probably have fetes here, bonfire nights, witch burnings, things like that.”

“Witch burnings?” Immy raised an eyebrow.

“Well, nothing gets the community together like a good witch burning.”

“Good thing you’re not a witch, then,” Immy said. Either way, she was pretty sure he’d soon be on the village’s burn list. Crossing her arms, Immy inspected the place. There was a playground. Two, actually. A fenced-in one for smaller kids, with baby swings and a slide, and one for the bigger kids, with a huge wooden fort, a zip line, and some larger swings. Unfortunately, the three girls hadn’t run home but had made their way here and were now hanging around at the bottom of the wooden fort. There were also some boys of around the same age sitting high up on the roof of the fort itself, where they shouldn’t have been.

“Oh, great,” Immy mumbled. Not only were the girls here, but so were the cool kids.

“I guess I should go over and apologize,” Immy’s dad said, taking a step forward.

Immy grabbed his arm. “No!”

“What?”

“You’ve made things bad enough. Don’t make it any worse. I’ll apologize.”

“I don’t think . . .”

“Do you want me to survive past day one at this school?” She glanced over at the girls again. They were huddled together, pointedly not looking at her while sneaking glances at her at the same time. “Try not to make it worse,” she said as she began across the grass.

As she went, the girls stopped talking and turned to face her. Maybe sensing trouble was coming, the boys inched over to the edge of the fort to get a better view of the scene below. They seemed to be stuffing their faces with something. Something of a deep red that they were eating out of an upturned cap, of all things. It took her a few moments to realize they’d collected some berries from somewhere nearby.

“Hi,” Immy said, reaching the three girls. The girl with the dark hair and deep brown eyes stood half a step in front of the other two girls, just like she’d done on the street before. She was the ringleader, Immy realized.

Not surprisingly, the girl didn’t answer.

“I’m, um, sorry . . . about before. My dad. He says things without thinking. A lot.”

“You’re really not scared? About the tree?” came a breathy voice. It wasn’t the dark-haired girl but one of the others.

The dark-haired girl turned and frowned at her.

Above, one of the boys snorted. “Is that so hard to believe?” He had an American accent. “Why should she be scared?”

Uh-oh. Immy froze. She didn’t like how this was going.

The boy swung himself down the two levels of the wooden fort and landed, with a thump, in front of the dark-haired girl. “News flash: not everyone’s scared about living with your big old tree.”

“I’m not scared,” the girl snapped back.

“You moved out, didn’t you?”

“We needed a bigger house, Riley.” She practically spat out his name.

“Interesting timing on the move, Caitlyn.”

If it was even possible, the girl’s expression was now even more thunderous-looking than before — her cheeks red and her jaw hard. She took a step toward Immy, her eyes filled with fury. “So you’re saying my family’s stupid? We’re mad. Crazy?”

“No!” Immy held her hands up. “It’s just . . . my dad says things like that all the time. He didn’t mean it. Honestly. He just has this thing about superstitions and . . .” She trailed off, realizing Caitlyn wasn’t listening.

“What would you know?” Caitlyn said. “What would you know about anything? You’ve been here for five minutes. You think it’s just an ordinary tree? You wait. You’ll see.”

Immy’s mouth hung open. She didn’t know what to say.

“Let’s go.” Caitlyn turned and flounced off, the other girls following her.

The boy Riley turned to Immy. He had a smirk on his face that looked like he thought all of this was funny. “This is what happens when you never leave this place.” He raised his voice so the departing girls could still hear him. “You spend your whole life crossing the road to avoid a tree.”

Caitlyn ignored him.

Meanwhile, Immy wanted to dig a hole and bury herself in it.

“She really couldn’t be more annoying if she tried. She’s always going on about that tree. Everyone is. This whole village is insane. So, did your parents come here for work?” Riley asked.

Still in shock, it took Immy a second or two to register his question. “Um, yes. My mum. At the hospital.”

“Yeah, mine, too.” He clambered back up the wooden fort to his friends and their stash of berries.

Immy’s eyes tracked his journey upward. “Well, see you . . .” she said. He honestly didn’t seem to realize he’d just wrecked her whole life. He and her dad.

Busy with his friends again, Riley didn’t answer, and after a moment or two, Immy dragged her heels back across the green to her dad, who was sitting on a bench.

“How did it go?” he asked her.

“Oh, great, thanks,” she replied. “We’re all the best of friends. We even made plans to meet up at the witch burning tonight.”