Fake Me To Church

Chapter 10.1 - The Nut House

- AHMED -

Saturday morning was bright beyond the windows, chirping birds serenading with the wind as I strolled through our home's foyer on my trek to the kitchen. Just as I was passing a twin set of woodframe paintings, the ding of the doorbell jingled out a few feet behind me.

I halted in my steps and turned, sliding toward the front door. I peeked through the peep hole, then unhitched the lock and swung the door wide.

"H—hi, Ahmed." The sheepish greeting was Irina's. We hadn't spoken since Thursday, when she dropped me off at my house after our trip to the cemetery. Come to think of it, I hadn't even seen her at school that Friday.

"Irina?" I gulped. "Uh, hey. What're you doing here?"

"I came to apologize. About Thursday. I just...well, I don't know what came over me, but I think you're right. This whole thing with Sam's got me suspicious of everyone, and I know that's not fair to him...or you."

I smiled back at her. "Thanks, Irina."

"So...am I forgiven?"

"Of course." I nodded.

"Great," she grinned. "Because I think we might have some digging to do."

"Digging? What kind of digging?"

Irina pulled a folded sheet of paper from her purse. "Remember how I said Sam never had a sister?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Well, neither did I, but look what I found this morning." She unfolded the page and held it up to face me.

"That looks like a...a report card," I puzzled.

At the top of the sheet, a single name was printed—Gravestepper, Georgiana Michelle.

"Whoa." My eyes grew wide at the name.

"And look at the date," Irina directed. "These grades are from thirteen years ago."

"Wait, where did you say you found this again?"

"In my attic. I was helping my mom clean, and I found it in one of her old plastic bins, stuffed inside a green folder behind some pamphlets."

"That's so weird," I said in a low voice, rubbing my cheek. "And you've never heard your mom mention the name Georgiana?"

Irina shook her head. "Not even once. Before today, I didn't even know people still named children that."

"Maybe she was your cousin?"

"Not as far as I know. I've never heard of a cousin with that name. And even if I had, why would her report card be stashed away in our attic? Shouldn't her mom have it?"

I paused. "You're right. That really doesn't make sense."

Irina looked down. "Ahmed, what if...what if I have a sister and my mom's been keeping this from me?"

"Do you really think she would do that?"

Her eyes fell to the pavement beneath her feet. "Remember that time you came over to my house for pot pie?"

"Y-yeah, I remember."

"Remember that detective? The girl in that picture he showed us—the younger one—she was wearing my bow, I think. She must have been me...and what if the older girl who was with her was...what if she was my big sister?"

"...I guess that's possible," I began, "but don't you think you'd remember if you had a sister?"

"I don't know. I was like four or five in that picture. All I really remember from back then is playing in the sandbox during recess and running through the halls at snack time." Irina paused. "But you know, now that I think about it, there was this one big kid who would always give me skittles...but she couldn't have been my sister. If she looked the way I remember—the way I think I remember—then she would've been blond. And me and my mom and dad are a family of brunettes." She toyed with her dark-brown locks to emphasize her point.