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I haven’t been over to the Lowells’ house since that dinner we had with them when we first moved here. Their house is a lot bigger and nicer than ours, although I honestly feel like ours is too big. I wait to go over until Mr. Lowell’s Mercedes arrives and disappears into their garage, so I know he’s home.

I don’t know what I’m going to say. But he needs to know I am aware of what he is doing to my brother and that if it ever happens again, I will be telling our parents. And I am not scared of him.

Once he hears what I have to say, he won’t bother Nico ever again, and I’ll never have to tell Mom and Dad. Except just as I’m leaving the house, I decide at the last minute to grab the pocketknife that Dad gave me. It’s not like I’m going to use it, but I just feel more comfortable when I have it. I put it in the pocket of my jeans, and then I cover it with my T-shirt so it’s not visible.

Now I feel better.

I take the shortcut, cutting across our backyard to theirs. Dad is in their backyard, doing some work on their bushes. He’s got some of his equipment going, and it’s really loud. And when I say loud, I mean that I have to cover my ears. It sounds exactly like a saw going through metal, even though that’s not what’s happening. It’s so loud that he doesn’t even hear me walking to the back door. I almost wave to get his attention, but then I realize if he sees me, he’ll ask me what I’m doing, so it’s actually better he doesn’t know I’m here.

I knock on the back door, but it’s so loud back here that he can’t hear me. I think about going around the front, but then I try the back door and it’s not even locked. So I let myself inside.

I definitely saw Mr. Lowell’s car go into the garage, but the house is weirdly silent. I don’t hear any footsteps or noises coming from upstairs. It sounds like nobody is even home. “Hello?” I call out.

No answer.

I don’t know where he went, but it doesn’t seem like anyone is here. Maybe he left again while I was putting on my sneakers. Or maybe he’s in the shower or something. I guess I’ll leave and come back later.

But then as I’m walking through the house, I pass by the stairwell. There is a bookcase leaning against the wall, exactly where the door to the secret room is in our house. It’s just how Nico described it. If I move this bookcase, will I find the secret room?

Now that the idea is in my head, I have to see this room.

The bookcase isn’t that heavy, because it doesn’t have many books in it. I lean all my weight against it, pushing as hard as I can. Once it starts moving, I can push it the rest of the way easily. And sure enough, behind it is the outline of a narrow door.

This one was concealed by the bookcase instead of having been covered with wallpaper. Like the one in our own house, it looks like it pushes open, although there is a hole for a key. That keyhole makes me nervous. I remember the way Nico talked about trying to get out of the room, but he couldn’t because the door wouldn’t open.

It hits me that if Mr. Lowell had locked him in the room and covered it with the bookcase, nobody would have known he was there. After all, Mom and Dad thought he stopped coming here to do chores. Only Nico and Mr. Lowell knew the truth.

I stare at the outline of the door. I’m not a curious sort of person. I don’t need to know what’s behind every door. That’s more Nico’s style. The room exists—that’s all I need to know. Right?

But then again, what is the harm in one little peek?

Slowly, I push open the door to the room.