"You're welcome, Samuel," I say back, feeling (again) like Mr Sagert should be here. He'd like Samuel, I think, because they both know their manners.

It's when Samuel asks about Valmont - the same question everybody asks, just the same - that I have to remember mine. I brought Valmont cookies to make him happy and all that'd be gone, poof, if I made him sore all over again by being rude. Lying is rude, very rude, and so's not answering at all. It's not Samuel's fault, either, because he hasn't asked so many things. He just feels like questions, is all, so many questions neat in a row.

"No," I say to my shoes. "Not like that, no. I just live here." I look up to him, head tilted to one side. "I'm fifteen, you know. That's an adult, not somebody's daughter running at their feet." Not Valmont's. Especially not Valmont's.

Blink.

"My family's dead."