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It's been three days since she arrived, and Regan has gotten a little bit used to the Home. She stays out of it as long as she can, all the same, so she doesn't have to worry about trying to interact with her Hearing roommates. It isn't that she thinks they're bad people. It's just . . . a lot. Another reminder that she's not like them. That she's Other.

So, she wakes up early and heads out, and she stays out all day, until just before curfew, and heads back in. She does that every day, now, and maybe it's a little cowardly, but she's also giving herself time to get used to the city proper, using the map Greta showed her and marking things of interest on it as she goes.

She's marked the cat cafe down, and that really cool tinker's shop.

She's set to start school next Monday. It would have been sooner, but she requested an extra week. Part of it is because she's nervous. She'll have an interpreter, but it's been so long since she's been in school. What if she's behind her peers?

She doesn't want to think about it. Instead, Regan heads towards the park, wearing her new winter boots that Greta helped her buy. She swings by an Ahab's and grabs herself a hot cocoa with espresso in it, and ends up adding extra sugar to sweeten it back up. The park is a nice place, and she gets to see all sorts of different things and people here.

Even if she's just killing time until curfew.

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Most adults don't, she writes in agreement. She can remember when she and Marcus used to get into squabbles. They never really fought, not the out-and-out brawls like some siblings got into, but they had their share of bickering, and her parents had hated it.

She doesn't know why she doesn't share that with Jamie, but she doesn't. Instead, she writes, Do you like it at the Home okay? She'd like to know what she's getting into, in the long run. Maybe she can squat in Greta's garage, or something.

I nodded, smiling, then wrote quickly in my notebook. It's not perfect, but I like it a lot. I get to be close to my friends and I get to be in the same room as my boyfriend, Eddie. (Don't tell the workers he's my boyfriend, they might make me move rooms.)

I had called him my boyfriend before, but there was something about seeing it in writing that made my smile grow even further.

I didn't have anyone back home. No family. It's nice to be around the people who love me here.

Regan can't help a little smile at that. I won't tell anyone, promise. That's really awesome, though. It doesn't bother her, even for a moment, that Jamie has a boyfriend. He seems to be a sweetheart, and he deserves to be happy, and if his boyfriend Eddie makes him happy, then good. Might want to erase that, though, so nobody finds this and then finds out.

She was right about that and I laughed, scratching out the bit I'd written about Eddie, even though I still liked seeing his name beside the word boyfriend. I could write it again if I wanted to. Whenever I wanted to.

It really isn't so bad, I wrote. But I also don't have anyone to miss. It might be a little harder, if you're missing your family.

I understood that, even if I didn't have a family who might miss me in return.

I'm sorry to hear that, Regan writes down. I guess it's hard. You really don't have anyone where you're from? It's a hard question to even ask, let alone answer, but Regan doesn't take it back.

I shrugged, then considered what to write. It was a lot, trying to tell the story of Peter and what happened to my mother, and writing it all down seemed daunting in a way it didn't always when I was speaking. After a moment, I began to write again and it took me longer than I would have liked before I could show her, but I thought Regan would be patient.

I come from a very long time ago. It's very different from Darrow. My father was cruel and my mother was killed by someone I thought was a friend. I was living with that friend before I came to Darrow and I had only just realized what he had done to my mother. And to me. So sometimes I miss him, because I loved him for such a very long time, but mostly I'm glad to be away from him and somewhere I can start over again.

It's an incredible story. For a moment, she wants to argue that it's a lie, or an exaggeration. But Jamie is too earnest, she thinks, too sweet.

Besides: she's not sure anyone could actually make that up about themselves.

That sounds terrible and complicated, she writes. It feels lame, the way that apologizing for anything of importance does. But I'm glad you're here and can start over. That's how I'm trying to look at it, too.