The sound of a car startles me from my thoughts.

He's back.

I leap away from my desk, charging towards the front door. I open it.

A fancy black Cadillac sits in my neighbor's driveway. The shotgun door opens and Edmund Trace steps out. He's tall, 6'5" and awkward, his hair wild and blonde. His excited blue eyes meet my green ones. "Hey." He says, nervously.

"Welcome back," I reply, grinning at my neighbor. "Where'd you go this time?"

Edmund opens his mouth to reply, but then the other door opens. Edmund's mother glares at me from the other side of the car, her brown eyes fierce and her blonde hair perfectly placed into a bun. Her severe expression sends a shiver up my back.

I take a step back, but it's too late. Her hand slaps on the hood of the car, as she uses it to vault over, her long, pleated skirt swishing. Before I know it, she's two centimeters away from me, her hand pulled back, ready to strike.

I go flying, tumbling into the lawn. My cheek stings epically. Bruises and scrapes ache for my attention.

"Ouch," I say, though the words don't really cover it. Edmund's mother is a tiny thing, only 4'9", but man does she pack a wallop.

I sit up, watching as she steps in front of me, eyes blazing. "Never speak to him again."

"I-I thought ..."

She raises her hand again and I scramble back, closing my eyes in a pitiful attempt to avoid another devastating blow.

It never comes.

I peek open one eye to see Edmund gripping his mother's arm, keeping her from hitting me. "Mom, leave her alone."

She snatches her arm back with a scowl. She turns to me, stance firm. "If I find that you've spoken to him while I'm gone, you're dead."