“Batteries. You’ve been meaning to change them for like two weeks.” I chuck her the remote that I collect from the armrest.

She catches it. “Yeah, that’s it. What would I do without you?”

“Probably lose your marbles.”

She pats my head as she rushes out of the living room. Minutes later, she returns with the remote and my dad in tow.

“Everyone ready?” she asks as she tosses the remote onto the sofa. “Let’s go.”

“Do I really have to go this time?” I whisper to my dad as we follow my mom out the door and into the dwindling sunlight. “It’s starting to get really old. I mean, I’ll get to see the newbie tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.”

My dad swings an arm around me as we step off the front porch. “Lyric, I know you don’t get it now, but one day you’ll see the importance.”

I look up at him. “In what?”

“In the family you have,” he says as we round the picket fence on the line of our property. We hike up the Gregory’s driveway to their two-story home that is very similar to ours. The only noticeable difference on the outside is the shade of the siding—white and grey. “You’re really lucky to have every single one of us. And you should really get to know the new kid. He’s your age, and I’m sure he could use a friend with … some of the stuff he’s been through. You could be that friend for him. Do something good.”

I wonder what he means by stuff.

“I know I’m lucky, and I was planning on getting to know him.” Sort of. “And I do good stuff all the time. I go with Mom and Lila to the shelter every year on Thanksgiving and help out. I give my clothes away sometimes. I even befriended Maggie McMellford last year, despite the fact that no one was nice to her and she didn’t know who Nirvana was until I let her listen to them.”

“Really? She didn't know who Nirvana was?”

I shrug. “Unfortunately, a lot of kids don’t have an old man musician father who knows all the classics.”

“Old man?” His brow arches. “Ha, ha, you’re a riot, Lyric Scott.”

I innocently grin at him. “I wasn’t trying to be a riot. Just telling the truth.”

He chuckles and I laugh with him. My laughter silences, though, as the Gregory’s enormous sedan rolls up the drive.

I sigh as my gaze instantly drifts to the backseat, searching for the scared little puppy dog. All I find is what appears to be a guy crammed in with the rest of the Gregory clan. I’m not one-hundred percent sure what he looks like, since I don’t have a clear view into the backseat, so I wait in anticipation until the sedan parks and the clan piles out.

Normally, the newbie remains in the backseat, too afraid to leave the vehicle. This one just hops right out and rounds the car toward us as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

He doesn’t look like the rest of them either. Honestly, he kind of looks like Uncle Ethan in the pictures I’ve seen of him when he was younger. Black hair, dark eyes, tall. He’s dressed head-to-toe in black, wearing a … I squint to see if I’m seeing things correctly. Yep, he’s wearing a leather collar around his neck.

I’m not sure what to make of this. What it says about him. At my school, the kids who dress like this are the rebellious troublemakers. Is that how he’s going to be? Part of me is thrilled at the idea, while the other fears it.

“Everyone, this is Ayden,” Aunt Lila introduces him with the proudest smile as she gently places her hand on Ayden’s shoulder.

Ayden glances at her hand, and by the hardness in his eyes, I expect him to get angry with her, but he doesn’t utter a word.

“And, Ayden, these are our neighbors, Micha and Ella Scott.” Lila motions her hand at me. “And this is their daughter, Lyric.”

Smiling, I wave. “Hi.”

He doesn’t say hi back. Doesn’t wave either. He just stares at me. And stares. He stares so long that I get a bit uncomfortable, especially because of the sadness radiating from his eyes. It’s kind of hard to endure and makes me feel subdued. I consider ducking behind my dad to escape his stare down, but I’m guessing I’d get scolded for being rude so I keep my feet planted and focus on my fingernails, picking at the black nail polish.

I listen to everyone yammer, squirming more and more the longer Ayden’s sad eyes remain fastened on me, as if he’s daring me to figure out all of his secrets, his weirdo side, his shady past.

Finally, we all file inside the house and I breathe freely again as he stops focusing on me and instead zeros in on his new home.

Lila starts giving him a tour of the house while Ethan leads the other three rugrats into the kitchen with my dad.

I start to go with my dad, but my mom captures me by the back of my shirt and tows me back to her. “Let’s go with them.” She nods at Lila and Ayden as they ascend the stairway.

I scrunch up my nose as I recollect Ayden’s intense, depressing stare. “Do I have to? He looks so sad, and his staring is making me uncomfortable.”

“All the more reason to spend time with him.” She signals for me to get a move on. I reluctantly obey, but stand as far behind as I can without looking too antisocial.

Luckily, Ayden seems more engrossed with the home and his room than me. He doesn’t even glance my way as he takes in each wall, piece of furniture, and framed pictures. But when we all gather around the table for dinner, he ends up sitting across from me, and the stare down begins again.