In New York City, lights twinkled across Sam’s ceiling all night long. She had never felt lonely there,
knowing the city was awake with her. She could already tell Foggy Harbor was different. It looked like
the loneliest place ever. Why would anyone live here on purpose? she wondered.
The driver pulled into the bus station. A neon sign that should have flashed Foggy Harbor Parking
was missing most of its letters. BOR . . . ING. Some sign, she thought. I’m already bored here.
“You got someone picking you up, Miss?” the driver asked as he pulled her suitcase from the luggage compartment.
Her t-shirt clung to her in the heavy, muggy air. Sam checked her phone for the address Mom had given her: 1 Foggy Way.
“My uncle lives a block from here,” she said, pointing at the street sign.
The driver nodded and pulled out of the station, leaving her under the broken sign. Sam texted Mom one word out of duty: ARRIVED. With no choice but to find her new home, she adjusted her backpack and popped up her suitcase handle, dragging it along. It clickety-clacked all the way down the quiet street.
Uncle Mitch’s stone house sat at the end, alone and secluded, hugging the ocean. Its sloped roof pierced the murky sky. One light glowed in a back window. Crickets trilled around the house, creating an eerie buzz as waves lapped the shore.
Sam crunched over the walking path made of shells, then thumped up the front porch steps and rang the doorbell, eager to escape the empty night.
After a few minutes, the door was yanked open. A tall man with curly black hair and a bushy mustache loomed over Sam, the porch light deepening his frown. “Yes?”
Sam swallowed hard. “Uncle Mitch?”
His eyes grew wide and he pulled her inside, slamming the door. “Samantha? What are you doing here?”
Cool air washed over her from a ceiling fan that whirred above, and she shivered, shrinking under his glare. Then she remembered what Mom had said: He’s the only family we’ve got.
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