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“What?” he asked, as if this was the first time he’d heard of this activity. It was a Cherry Ridge tradition that predated me.

“Do you even live here?” I asked with a smile.

“I guess not,” he said. “Where are all the other mice?”

“You have to find them. That’s the fun part!” I pointed back to ours. “You already know where two are. Just thirty-eight to go!”

“Thirty-eight.”

“Or more. I don’t remember exactly what number we’re on this year.” I gestured to his house. “You need some mice.”

“Not really our aesthetic,” he said with a smirk.

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll get you some live ones.”

He laughed, then turned and headed back to his walkway, calling, “Good night, Jasmine!” over his shoulder.

Thirty minutes later I was up in my room with my brainstorming notebook, sketching a mouse when I should’ve been sketching ideas for my painting.

It was a cute mouse, with brown eyes and brown fur and an adorable little smirk. When I realized what I was doing, I quickly turned the page.

What is wrong with you?

My gaze went to my closed blinds. I walked to them and reached out to open one of the slats when my bedroom door swung open behind me so hard that the handle hit the wall.

I gasped and whirled around with a start. “Harris! You have to knock.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m going to bed.”

Was it already that late? I looked at my phone. Nine o’clock. And since it was a school night, it was definitely bedtime for Harris. “Good night,” I said.

He pointed to the empty canvas in my corner. “What’s that for?”

“I’m trying to get inspired.”

“Sweaty?” he asked, obviously confusing two words.

“No, not perspired, inspired. Um … motivated. I’m trying to get ideas.”

“Oh, nice. Good luck.”

“Thanks, buddy.” I closed my door and leaned against it. My eyes collided with my blinds again. This time, I walked over to them and lifted a slat. I didn’t know what I was expecting to see—nothing. I was expecting to see nothing. But in Ryan’s window was a large, roughly drawn picture of a mouse, done in bold black marker. It was the size of his entire window. A big number three took up the entire bottom corner.

A laugh escaped my mouth. “Doesn’t count,” I said to nobody.

But the mouse was adorable. It had a Santa hat on and everything.

“Did you brush your teeth?” Momma’s voice was loud in the hall, making me whirl around as if caught. My door was still shut, though. She was talking to Harris.

Hearing her voice made me want to somehow contact Ryan and tell him to take the mouse down. What if she saw it? It would obviously be visible if she was outside, looking up. Or if she looked out her own bedroom window. It couldn’t stay there. I had no way to contact Ryan, though.

The mouse could be explained away. He wanted to participate in the neighborhood tradition. Why would anyone suspect it had anything to do with me? They wouldn’t. We were nothing to each other.

Chapter 7

The mouse was down.

Maybe Ryan had had the same thought the night before, about one of our parents seeing it. Whatever the reason, when I was leaving for school the next day, trailing Marcus to the car, there was no mouse in Ryan’s window. I took a breath of relief.