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Things were going okay (meaning I wasn't squished yet), until he started asking questions.

He lowered his hand and held it in front of him. I had to look up in order to look at his face.

"So, do you have a name?" he asked.

I stood slowly. "Yes. My name's Arrietty Vent."

"Arr—Arri—What?" he stuttered. I rolled my eyes and helped him sound out my name a syllable at a time.

"You live in the house?" he asked.

I was worried about that question. I could probably get away with being seen, but there was no way any good could come from telling him where I lived.

"I…I can't…tell you." I said.

The next thing I knew, I was no longer standing on his hand. Now, the boy had me clenched in his fist.

"Tell me," he said menacingly.

I struggled against his grasp. "I told you, I can't."

He walked over to the window. He opened it, leaning out. "I wonder what would happen if I just dropped you."

I felt the color drain from my face as I looked down. I was horrified. I'd never been higher than the ceiling. This was a second story bedroom window. The boy's grasp was slowly loosening.

"Okay. Okay. Okayokayokayokayokayokayokay," I said between hyperventilated gasps.

I gave him a vague explanation of where I lived, telling him it was near an air vent. I was relieved when he didn't ask which vent. I also briefly explained about borrowers when he asked me.

"Wait, so...you've been sneaking around stealing things?"

"Not stealing, borrowing," I said.

"How is it not stealing, might I ask?" he said.

"Well, think about it," I began, "If it was stealing, I would take what I have taken elsewhere other than the house. Whereas I take them under the floor and within the walls; technically, still in the house. Therefore, it's borrowing, not stealing."

"Good point."

After I made him swear to keep me a secret, he let me go with a promise to see him again.

It was difficult to get to sleep that night.

oOo

"Arrietty!" called my mother. She rapped on the door. I groaned.

"Arrietty!"

"What!"

"You're still in bed?"

"Why, what time is it?"

"Almost four o'clock in the afternoon."

"Fine," I sighed. I slid out of bed and ran my fingers through my hair. I opened my door and there was my mother, looking stern.

"Goodness, what did you do last night? You're a mess."

"I was—"I stopped myself mid-sentence before I could say 'seen'. "I had a rough time sleeping last night. I dreamt I was seen."

My mother's eyes softened. "Well, I hope it makes you more careful when you go out, then. Come on, have a bite."

To appease her, I sat down at the table and had a few crumbs of chocolate cake. I was so tired, footfalls above me made me jump.

"What day is it again?"

"Friday," said my mother from the kitchen.

I nodded. I wondered if my promise counted for today. I ate more cake crumbs and felt the sugar rush kick in.

"Well, I'm going borrowing." I got up and was about to go to my room to change when my mom said:

"On an empty stomach? No, you're having dinner first." She brought in a shrimp. I groaned. Why did I always have to be fed before I did things? I obediently had my fill of shrimp before changing clothes, grabbing a bag and heading up to Tyler's room.

I took a few Nilla Wafers and a Ritz cracker from the kitchen pantry to make it seem like that was where I had been, then I made my way to Tyler's room.

When I got there, the lights were on, but the room was empty. I furrowed my brow. I unclipped my hook, stuck it into a groove in the wood, and dropped down the twine line.

I could hear shouting across the hall, then footsteps approaching. I hid behind a basketball on the lowest shelf in case it wasn't Tyler.

It turned out it was Tyler, but he didn't seem happy at all. How do I know? Well..

SLAM! The door swung open and Tyler burst in. He turned around and SLAM! The door shut. Tyler crossed the room and kicked the side of the bookshelf angrily, causing the entire thing to shake. I was knocked onto my back and the basketball rolled toward me. I stopped it with my feet. I pushed it away and it bounced off and rolled under the bed.

Tyler, who had sat down in his desk chair with his head in his hands, looked over and watched the ball roll under the bed. He then looked over to the bookshelf just as I stood and stumbled over to the edge of the shelf.

"Arrietty!" He looked at the rest of the bookshelf. "Oh, my God, are you alright?" He dropped from the chair to his knees and shuffled over.

"I'm fine," I said, looking up at him. "A little bruised, but I'll live," I joked with a small smile.

"Jeez, I'm sorry, I—I was just—"

"Pissed?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what's up?"

He told me that he and his family had just found out that his father had been fired two weeks ago and, during the day, had been going out job-hunting. He also said that he had found a job all the way up in New York.

"Wait, but—"I tried to process all of this at once. "That means...That doesn't mean…Does it mean..."

"Yeah, we have to move!"

A knock sounded at the door and Tyler turned around quickly.

"Ty? Are you okay?"

It was his mother.

Tyler instinctively grabbed me, took me to the desk, dumped out a plastic cup full of pencils, set me down, and covered me with the cup.

I heard the door open.

"Hey, hon. are you okay?" said Tyler's mom.

"I'm fine!"

"You don't sound fine to me," his mother pointed out.

"Mom. I don't want to talk about it."

"Look, I know you're upset with your father—"

I couldn't just sit there, of course. I slipped my fingers under the lip of the cup, pulled it up slightly, and looked. Tyler was lying on his bed with one earphone in.

He's not listening to anything I thought. I borrowed his music player thing.

His mother was sitting at the foot of his bed talking to him.

I looked around. There was a pencil and a post-it note stack within arms' reach. I grabbed the tip of the pencil and snapped it off, then pulled a post-it note off the stack. I set the cup down and, trying my best in the dark, write in my largest handwriting:

Meet me here tomorrow night at 11:00

I folded the note in half and scrawled a large A on the front, then crawled out from under the cup.

"Tyler, it's not your dad's fault."

I snuck behind the laptop and peeked around the screen.

"Yes it is! He's the one who wouldn't tell us what he's been doing all this time—"

I followed the cable connected to the laptop to a hole in the back of the desk and dropped down.

"—and then he just dumps this on us now?"

By then I was back in the wall.

I ran all the way home, and by the time I got there, I was out of breath.

The lights were out and it appeared that my mom had gone to bed. I sighed. I had been prepared to tell her everything. Then again, it might be best to put it off until we had a good plan.

I slumped in a chair in the dining room, realizing just then how exhausted I was. I opened my bag. I pulled out one of the Nilla Wafers, placed its full weight on my lap and bit off a small mouthful. I then set it on the table, got up and put the rest in the pantry.

I brought my cookie to bed. I sat up all night, occasionally taking a bite and thinking.

This wasn't about being seen anymore. We couldn't move on on our own. There were no other houses. We'd never survive more than a day out there. The only option was staring me right in the face. And I knew my mom wouldn't like it.