In the elevator, I stood next to a girl in a black hoodie with cropped red-brown hair.

"OMG! We have the same shoes!" she exclaimed, gesturing to her beaten-up black ballet flats.

"Oh," I replied dumbly, looking down at my feet. I didn't even remember putting any shoes on when I left, but it was true. My shoes were identical, down to the little orange stain on the big toe. Must have been from Sonya's daughter. "Cool."

That's when I noticed the girl's bracelet. It was made out of red and orange friendship thread, the type that was one-of-a-kind and clearly handmade. I looked down at my wrist, and sure enough, I had an identical bracelet. Okay. That couldn't be a coincidence. What was happening? My heart started beating a bit faster as I offhandedly watched the other girl study the buttons on the wall. She can't find out, I thought. She'll tell the doctors and they will lock me up in a mental ward, and I will never, EVER, get out of this hospital and find my family. How long is this elevator ride anyway?

Suddenly, the metal doors slid open. I hurried out, much to the confusion of my elevator-mate. As I fled, I noticed for the first time the red streaks forming in my hair.

"No, go away!" I hissed, frantically clawing through my mane of rapidly-reddening brown hair. I hoisted the bag of clothes over my shoulder as I ran, hunched over, down the hall. I hoped in vain that no one would notice my sudden highlights, but as I arrived in the atrium of the Aulton General Hospital, I knew it was too late. I skidded to a stop in front of a group of adults.

"Ah, Anya," a tall man said, trying to remain dignified in the face of my peculiar entrance. It was the doctor from upstairs. "Please meet Mr. and Mrs. Bisset."

I looked over at the other two strangers. The woman was squat and sturdy, and had long black hair in a wispy braid, with kind eyes but a harsh smile. The man was rather thin and bookish, with a wide smile and darting eyes peeking out from horn-rimmed glasses . They didn't look at all like me, dashing my irrational hope that they were somehow my real family.

"Good to meet you," Mr. Bisset said in a clipped French accent, offering a small nod of his head. Mrs. Bisset shook my hand.

"Good to meet you too," I replied, with what I hoped was a careless grin. It felt more like a pained gesture.

"They live just outside town, near Broxton Mill. They will care for you until we can find your folks. It should only be a few days; after all, they're bound to come looking for you."

With that short speech, the tall doctor patted my shoulder. I looked up at him briefly, then back at my feet. Did I grow? The ground seemed farther away. I glanced at my foster family but they didn't look alarmed at my sudden height difference. The four of us stood in awkward silence for a little while.

"Well. We must go," Mrs. Bisset said, and that settled the matter. I hauled my bulging bag of clothes (which really wouldn't have been bulging if it weren't for my huge ballgown) and followed the Bissets to the car. Due to their French-ness and regal posture, I half expected them to own a limosine. The car awaiting us was a black punch buggy that looked right out of a silent film: not that I could ever recall seeing one before. I stepped into the backseat and placed my bag on the other seat. The Bissets took their positions in the front. With a rumble that sounded a little ominous, the car took off.

It was a fairly silent car ride. I gazed out the window as Mrs. Bisset drove downtown. I surprised myself by intuitively knowing where we were. It was like a map ingrained in my mind, but it only revealed what the labels were when I was at the location. I tried desperately to figure out any locations that seemed familiar to me, but all I could name were the streets we passed. Nathaniel Square, Worthington Street, Renford Hall... they all came into my mind unbidden. I vaguely knew that this navigation ability was beyond what a regular human could do, but with all I'd lost and forgotten, it was hardly the worst of my problems. I started to get a headache with all the place names popping into my brain at every crossroad. It was sweet relief when we arrived at the Bisset's farmhouse.

"Very well," Mrs. Bisset said, breaking what I realized was probably half an hour of silence. I was off in my own thoughts for most of the time and hadn't realized the tension between my new family and I. "Let's go."

With that, Mr. Bisset grabbed my bag before I could stop him. I held my tongue as he took it, knowing that me making a point to get it back would only alert him to the contents. And what were the suspicious contents, anyway? Just a stupid silk dress; a bit unconventional, but not strange. I opened the car door and followed them up the wooden stairs.

The house was painted a pale green; peeling in some places but fresh in others, as if someone had repainted only the worst patches. A white porch swing hung from one side of the veranda, and a faded set of chairs and a table were positioned on the other side. It looked both well-maintained and weathered at the same time.

"Come in, Anya," Mr. Bisset said with a smile, wrenching the door handle open. I followed him into the foyer. "Let's give you the tour."

While Mrs. Bisset started cooking something in the kitchen, her husband showed me around. On the main floor, there was a living room, dining room, study, and kitchen: a pretty standard set-up. Upstairs there were four bedrooms, two of them abandoned.

"This is the room of my wife and I," Mr. Bisset said, gesturing to one of the bedrooms. "That one is for Micha. He is the other fostered child here. He is seventeen of age."

I nod politely, dismissing Mr. Bisset's strange syntax as part of his French background. "Where is Micha now?"

"He is at school."

The entire prospect of school had escaped me. I guess it was a silly question. "Will I need to go to school too?"

"No, I do not think so, as you may not even be from this area. We will wait a few days for this to sort out, and then you will attend whichever school you went to before."

Once again, I strained to remember any fragment of my life before the hospital, but again it felt as useless as trying to levitate above the ground. "That makes sense."

"Now, you may choose either bedroom," Mr. Bisset explained, showing me two doors. Peering inside, I chose the room with the tall turreted ceiling and bay window.

"Excellent. I'll leave you alone here now, and when my wife calls for dinner, come downstairs."

Mr. Bisset left the room. For a moment, I simply stood there staring at nothing in particular. Then I surveyed the room. A mahogany dresser, a matching desk, and a plain bed with a quilt. The walls were tan and unadorned. I placed my bag on the dresser and sat down on the bed. Comfortable, but not home-like.

I stood up again, restless, and walked back to the chest of drawers. Carefully, I pulled out the clothes and folded them. I shoved the dress into a bottom drawer, and filled the upper ones with Sonya's daughter's clothes. Then I removed the little pudding cup and juice carton I had brought from the hospital. I smiled. Useless mementos. I put them into my top drawer. As an afterthought, I tried to remove my hospital bracelet, but it held tight around my wrist, choking me. I pulled and writhed for a little while, then finally stopped and took a breath. Maybe I'd ask the Bissets for scissors later.

Suddenly, I felt a tingle in my arm. I looked down at my hand. Was it smaller than before? That wasn't even possible. But somehow, I reached down with my left hand and slid the hospital band right off. Trembling, I put the strip of plastic in my dresser. What was wrong with me?

"ANYA!" A voice called, startling me. I slammed my drawer shut.

"Yes?"

"Come downstairs for dinner."

I obliged, descending the staircase to find three people around a dining table. Mr. Bisset, Mrs. Bisset, and that must be Micha. I sat down in the empty seat between him and Mr. Bisset.

"Hi, Anya. I'm Micha," Micha told me, with a slight Russian accent. He had wavy brown hair and was a bit taller than me. He smiled shyly and picked up his fork.

"Hi," I replied, looking over the spread of food. Chicken, peas, potatoes, and turnip. Quite an impressive array since we'd only been home for an hour or less. Seeing Micha devouring the meal, I decided to do the same.

As I ate, I began to wonder about the customs of this new household. Were we allowed to speak as we ate? Could I ask for more chicken even though my plate still had food on it? I used Micha as my guide: whatever he did, I simply did too. We remained in silence until Mrs. Bisset finished her first plate.

"So," she said in her harsh but meaningful tone, "how was your day, Micha?"

Micha swallowed. "It was okay. Math test last period, but free period in Geography so I studied for it then. How was your day?"

"Fine. I started the meal, then we picked up Anya in the afternoon."

"Oh, right," Micha said, setting down his fork. "What's the story with you?"

"The story?" I asked.

"Why aren't you with your family?" Micha stopped and his face fell. "Was there an accident? I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up. Sorry."

"Uh... no, it's okay. My family—I don't know where they are. I fell unconscious in the park and I have amnesia, I guess. I don't even know who they are."

"Oh." Micha stopped for a little while, but soon asked more questions. "Well, they'll come looking for you, right? I mean, they can't just leave you all alone?"

"It's been weeks now," I sighed. "I don't know what's wrong."

We sat in silence for a little while. I studied my new family inadvertently. Mr. Bisset hadn't even finished his first plateful of food. He pushed it around nervously. Mrs. Bisset fumbled with a pendant around her neck. It was emerald, I noticed, with some kind of shiny bronze casing and a chain of the same metal. She took it off and laid it in a drawer in the chest of china.

My heart leaped as I felt a weight around my neck. Shaking, I reached down the top of my shirt and peeked at a necklace I'd never put on. It was identical to Mrs. Bisset's. My eyes flitted up, hoping that she didn't notice. Mrs. Bisset didn't see, thank goodness. Now if only I could get up to my room without her seeing and I could hide this strange replica that just appeared on my neck. Micha looked at me confused. Just as I was about to excuse myself. Mr. Bisset started talking about something at his office, and I was forced to listen. As soon as he finished, I stood up quickly.

"Thank you for this wonderful meal, but I should really go back to my room and lie down," I said, trying not to draw attention to the large pendant under my shirt.

"Oh, of course, dear. But what about dessert?"

"I'm fine, thank you," I said as I made for the stairs. As I started walking, my shirt shifted and the pendant chain flickered in the low light.

"Stop!" Mrs. Bisset called. "What is that on your neck?"

I squeezed my eyes shut. What now? I have to show her. Slowly I lifted out the necklace and Mrs. Bisset's face turned fuschia.

"A THIEF! She's stolen my grandmother's pendant!"

"No, no, it's not that!" I desperately protested. Micha turned around in his seat with a look of mistrust and disbelief.

"Anya, what?"

"She stole it! I'm certain!" Mrs. Bisset fumed, standing up. "You're a rotten girl, Anya! Rotten!"

"Now, now," her husband said calmly. "You put the pendant in the chest of drawers, did you not, ma cherie? How could Anya have gotten behind you and taken it?"

Mrs. Bisset calmed down a little as she yanked open the drawer. Sure enough, she pulled out a matching necklace, safe and sound. She looked back at me, furious and uncomprehensive.

"But—you..." she spluttered.

"This is... just something I found around my neck when I woke up," I lied. "It's mine. And it isn't the same."

Silently, I cleared my mind. Please, pendant. Shift yourself again. Be anything but Mrs. Bisset's necklace. Looking down, I saw there was no change. I cupped the stone again and began to think of other jewelry. Sonya wore a necklace. It was a little smaller, and a heart shaped locket. Please, pendant. Shift into Sonya's necklace.

I took a big breath and uncupped my hands. I'd done it. There, hanging on my chest, was a golden locket, an exact replica of Sonya's.

"See?"

Mrs. Bisset swallowed hard. "But it can't be. I saw..."

"Perhaps you were too angry to see the truth. It happens that when we are mad, we are blinded, sometimes. Anya does not have your necklace."

Mrs. Bisset huffed, and mumbled an apology. I accepted it with a nod and returned to my bedroom.