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Her mother crossed her arms.

“Why do you have an American passport with your picture in it, but the name Sarah Thomason? You don’t look like you’re fifty-three, like Mrs. Grost, our lunch lady.”

The blink and jerk of Ronja’s face was slight, but Ulla knew her mother. She knew that face. Even though it had been marred when she was beaten nearly five years ago, Ulla was convinced it’d be impossible to disfigure her mother’s beauty. It would always grow back, stubborn and strong.

Unless her mother was the horrible one. Not Peter.

“I—I applied for that passport after I got my citizenship. I’ve always preferred the name Ronja, and I look young for my age.”

Ulla nodded, backed away, and then slowly turned on her heel.

Her mother called after her, “I can come home early and help you and Linney with your face paint tonight. For Wiley’s party?”

She shook her head, calling over her shoulder, “No, that’s all right. We’re not going as zombies.”

Her mother quickened, fell in step next to her. “I can call the school and tell them you were sick.”

Ulla kept walking. Faster.

Her mother kept pace. “Did you run all the way here? Wait, let me drive you home.”

“No.” She sped up. “No, I can run.” She broke into a jog.

“Ulla!”

Then a sprint.

“Ulla!”

She ran from Ronja’s pleas, until they became distant, taken with the wind that scattered the leaves in the wake of Ulla’s flight.

She scrambled across the broken concrete and crunched through the lawn. She reached her backyard, breathless and forcing down her tears once more, furiously wiping her face of any evidence.

She glanced up and saw Linnea, at first wondering if her hazy tears had created a mirage. The property zone between her house and Linnea’s was uninhabitable because sometimes the lake flooded, turning weeds and crabgrass into a marshland. The breeze nipped at Ulla’s neck and tousled her hair as she sulked closer. School wasn’t over yet, but her best friend grew distinct with her dark hair whipping. Linnea held a soccer ball in her hands, and when she saw Ulla, she ran and met her halfway. “Where did you go!” she cried, panting. “I looked everywhere!”

Ulla eyed the ball. It had a ring of lake muck around it. “Is that for Everett?”

Linnea rubbed its stains. “I found it when I was fishing and threw it in the backyard.” She cast her eyes sheepishly. “I’m sorry about what Everett said. He probably didn’t mean it.”

Ulla hugged her arms and focused on the lake. The wind stirred up white ripples. “So is Everett the love of your life? You’re gonna defend him?”

“No. He only said that because . . . ”

Ulla swallowed the rising sense of abandonment. First, her mother. Now, Linnea? “Because why?”

Linnea scrubbed at the ball’s mildew. “Because . . . sometimes you act like you’re better than everyone else.”

Ulla released a long scoff. Tears pushed behind her eyes again.

“I know that’s not true. It’s because you stand up for yourself. I don’t know how to stand up for myself, let alone you. I wish I could be you.”

At that confession, Ulla’s fear transferred into disbelief. “Me? You just said everyone hates me!”

Linnea’s gaze remained on the soccer ball. “No, they don’t. They don’t know you. They don’t love you like I do.”

Love. Linnea said that word all the time. Finished her notes with Love. Finished her phone calls with, “Okay, luv ya!” Ulla could never bring herself to use those words with Linnea. They’d come out all wrong.

Linnea turned the ball over in her hands. Her eyes went to Ulla’s. “What are you holding?”