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Neon and I decide to make posters about our bookshop rescue event at lunchtime the next day.

Tilly is at Dungeons and Dragons Club with Jamie and Elsie, but she said she’ll come to the shop with us after school to deliver the posters before she and Neon get the bus back to the farm.

When the bell rings, the two of us head to the library and sit by one of the computers.

Neon looks up a free design platform and opens a blank page.

“Right.” He spins round on the computer chair. “What should we write?”

I stare at the white rectangle on the screen.

Nothing comes to mind. Working out what to say on the poster should be easy – I know the shop so well, and I know what we’ve planned to do to save it.

But I can’t think of any creative ways to put that into words.

For some reason, my mind has gone completely blank.

It was the same in Music this morning. Mr Ross asked us to come up with our own riffs on the guitar, and I couldn’t even string two notes together.

Half the class didn’t manage, either, so I put it down to Monday-morning brain fog.

“I don’t know.” I shake my head to try to clear it, but the ideas still won’t come. “Write whatever you think sounds OK.”

Neon types a few lines, then starts playing around with different design templates.

I still can’t think of a single thing to suggest, so I twirl on my chair and look round the library.

The first and second years are away on a school trip, so the space is much quieter than usual – just a few fifth years working on laptops and some boys in our year playing a board game.

One of the librarians, Mrs Henderson, walks by, carrying three copies of a new fantasy novel about an LGBTQ+ youth group who discover they all have superpowers.

“That’s really good,” I say. “My mum was sent a proof copy of it for the shop a few months ago.”

Mrs Henderson gives me a sad smile. “I loved it too but I’ve been told I have to take it off the shelves for a while. One of the parents has complained about it, and the head wants us to leave it in storage until she can investigate whether or not it’s ‘suitable for young readers’.”

Neon looks up from the computer. “What? Why would they do that?”

“Yeah, why?” I ask, shaking my head. “There’s nothing inappropriate in it!”

Mrs Henderson doesn’t say what I already know – that some people think any mention of queer people is inappropriate. It’s stupid but it still hurts to know that someone could think that reading a simple story about people like my mums or families like ours could be damaging to kids.

“It’s completely ridiculous. I’m sure the head will see that, but she wants to be cautious.

” Mrs Henderson pats the book at the top of the pile as if comforting it.

“We had an angry email about a middle-grade book yesterday too. That was the first complaint we’ve been sent in years, and now here’s another one. Strange.”

She walks back to her desk, where she stashes the books in a drawer.

I’ve read about book banning in other places, but I didn’t think it was happening at our school.

Something about it feels unusual, like it must be connected to Neon being here somehow.

But, when I try to imagine why that might be, I can’t come up with any ideas.

My mums are so excited to see Tilly, it’s actually embarrassing.

They bombard her with so many questions about how she, her parents, sister, grandparents and dog are doing that it takes them a few moments to even notice Neon.

Remembering Joel’s habit of overexplaining when he lies, I give them a very basic introduction: that Neon comes from New York and that he’s visiting for a few weeks. They don’t need to know more than that.

“You’re the boy Laurie has been singing with!” Mutti holds her hand out to shake his. “I hope we’ll get to see the two of you in concert one day.”

“Well, actually…” Neon lets his backpack fall from his shoulder and pulls opens the zip. “That’s sort of why we’re here.”

He takes out a roll of papers and unfurls it to show them one of the posters that he made at lunchtime. Mum leans in to read it, and her eyes tear up when she realises what’s written on the page.

“Oh, kids.” She sniffs and smiles at us. “That’s a lovely idea, but I think it’s too late. We’d need to take in thousands to get us out of the debt we’re in.”

My heart sinks. Even Neon seems to deflate as he rolls the poster back up. But Mutti puts a hand on Mum’s shoulder and reaches for it.

“Maybe we should do it anyway, Liv.” She spreads the piece of paper out on top of some hardbacks. “It would be a nice way to say goodbye to the place. And I want to hear these two sing!”

“Me too. I think it’s a great idea.” Gio leans over Mutti’s shoulder to read the text. “Do you have performers ready, though? Saturday is only a few days away.”

We fill them in on the line-up. Caitlin and Hannah were really excited when we asked them to perform – they’re going to do a dance routine that they’ve been practising at their musical-theatre class.

Tilly’s friend Jamie took a bit of convincing, but she eventually said she’d try out her stand-up material.

Mr Ross and his band are going to come, Mikey the cello prodigy is in, and then there’s Tilly, Neon and me.

Allowing for setting up and a bit of talk in between each act, that’s probably enough to fill forty-five minutes to an hour.

“And we can leave the other slots free in case anyone else turns up,” Tilly says. “We want it to be a community thing, open to everybody.”

“You three have thought of everything, haven’t you?” Mum looks round the shop. She lets out a long sigh, and Mutti reaches for her hand. “You’re right. It’ll be fun, and the shop needs a good send-off. Let’s do it.”

We put a poster in each window and another on the noticeboard beside the counter.

After that, we stop by the supermarket, Bohemian Catsody and a few other shops and businesses along the high street to ask if we can pin some up in there too.

Everyone we speak to seems genuinely sad when they hear that the shop is in trouble, and they all promise to come along if they can – Robbie from the bakery even says he’ll donate a load of cupcakes and doughnuts.

Despite what Mum said about being in debt, our efforts plant a tiny seed of hope in me. Maybe we could actually save the place. Maybe that’s the reason for Neon being here. Not to help me but to save Every Book & Cranny.

We stick a few more posters up on lamp posts and at the bus stop, then Tilly and Neon go back to the farm to check on Aurora. My mums are still at the shop, but I’ve got Maths homework for tomorrow so I head home.

As I turn the corner on to our street, a strange feeling comes over me.

My mind goes blank like it did at school earlier today, but much worse.

It’s like a fog has seeped into my head, shrouding all my thoughts and ideas in a thick greyish mist. I carry on towards home, blinking rapidly to try to clear the haze, then stumble to a halt a few doors down from ours.

Standing outside our gate are two figures.

One is the colourless person that I saw staring at the house on the corner on Saturday night.

The other is a woman dressed in similarly nondescript clothes, with a wave of mousy-grey hair falling down her back.

Their backs are turned to me and their heads are tilted back at identical angles, looking up at the windows of our house.

I take a slow step backwards, about to run, and accidentally crush an old can with my foot.

Moving slowly, the pair turn to face me.

All the blood drains from my face. I stumble backwards and grab the neighbour’s hedge for balance, my heart pounding.

I can’t see their faces. No – these people don’t have faces.

Where their eyes, noses and mouths should be are nothing but blurry smudges, like the image has been rubbed out.

“Who are you?” I whisper, though maybe the question should be what .

Neither figure replies. They seem to be staring at me from those pale, featureless ovals, though I’m not sure if they can even see without eyes. The one that I thought was a man turns to face our house, then slowly tilts his head up to look at my window.

They’re here for Neon.

A car turns the corner and its headlights sweep across the street.

The figures draw back into the shadows. For a moment, I’m blinded by the lights.

I shut my eyes and, when I open them again, the figures have gone.

I rush into our house and double-lock the door behind me.

The thick fog in my head lifts, but the fear keeps pounding through my veins long after.