My hands were pressed into the grass, wet with dew. I finished counting down from ten to zero before rocketing forward to chase my younger brother, Ben, who was already out of sight. He’s getting faster, I thought, picking up speed. Beads of sweat dripped from my forehead. I passed Ben, finished one lap around the house, and collapsed on the front steps, next to my book bag.

A few seconds later, Ben stood hunched over in front of me. His dress shirt had come untucked at the waist, but so had mine.

Mom yanked open the front door. “I was gone for less than a minute, and it looks like a tornado hit. Tuck in your shirts! It’s time for back-to-school photos.” She strolled into the front yard, camera in hand.

My shoulders slumped. Here we go again. Another September as the new kid in class.

After ten minutes, my face hurt from smiling. I allowed my mouth to ease back into its natural state and undid the top button of my dress shirt. “No one dresses like this for school,” I said.

“It’s important to make a good first impression,” Mom said while reviewing the photos she had taken. “Family and friends will see these cute pictures, so stand up straight and smile.”

I straightened and gripped the straps of my book bag, pulling it to my back. The faint sound of water sloshing back and forth inside reminded me of my plan to make new friends, and I flashed Mom my biggest grin.

“Perfect!”

“Can we go now?”

Mom approached us. She had the same blue eyes and black hair as me. There was no mistaking that I was her son.

Ben had our eyes. But instead of a wild blackberry thicket of hair, he had a sandy-blond mop, which he got from Dad, along with his crooked smile. At least it seemed that way from the old photographs I’d seen of Dad.

Mom hugged Ben goodbye and tried to hug me, too, but I started walking away.

“Watch out for your brother, Isaac,” Mom called after me. 

I stuck my thumb in the air like a hitchhiker and kept moving, unbuttoning another button on my dress shirt with my other hand.

Ahead of us, a girl with short brown hair was standing still on the side of the road. “Hi,” I said, slowing to a stop behind her.

The girl was staring across the street and acted like she hadn’t heard me.

We all stood still for a few moments before the girl looked our way and said, “Hi, my name is Meg.”

“I’m Isaac and this is my brother, Ben.”

“I noticed you two last week when you arrived. Then I saw you today, running around your house.”

“It belongs to our grandparents,” Ben said.

Meg blinked like she was confused.

I glared at Ben. “We moved here from Pennsylvania, and we’re living with them until we can find a place of our own.”

Meg was gazing across the street again. “Be careful,” she said, nodding toward a purple house on the opposite corner.

On closer examination, the most peculiar thing about it, other than the paint color, was the way the windows jutted out. White blinds hung low, hiding from view any glimpse of the inside.

“A witch lives there,” Meg said.

This caught my attention. “A witch?”

“Yes. She watches us through the blinds.”

I examined the blinds in what was probably the living room while biting my lip, determined to avoid saying what was on my mind.

Ben said it for me. “She’s not a witch.”

“Mrs. Peekers is a witch.”

Ben giggled. “Mrs. Peekers?”

“That’s what we call her.”

“Witches are only in stories and movies.”

Meg smiled at Ben. “That’s what I believed too, until a couple of summers ago…”

When Meg spoke, her voice had this dreamy far-off sound. It gave me goose bumps.

“What happened?” Ben asked.

“There was a boy that lived in the neighborhood named Adam. One day, he tried to get Mrs. Peekers to come outside.”

“How?” Ben took a few steps away from the purple house.

“By ringing her doorbell and running away. Adam must have done it a dozen times. He didn’t realize that the witch saw him.”

“What did she do to him?” By the sound of it, Ben believed Meg’s story.

“She cast a spell on him.”

Now I had heard enough. “What?”

“She did. Mrs. Peekers made Adam forget where he lived. He wandered around the neighborhood for hours. His parents called the police. Adam told us the next day.”

“Did he say the witch—the woman made him forget?” I glanced at the living room window. Still no eyes.

“Adam said that his mind went fuzzy, and he couldn’t remember anything for two hours. His family moved a week later. After that, kids started running by the house.”

I checked the white slats again, and there they were, peeking through, two black eyes.  

The next thing I knew, Meg was asking, “Did Mrs. Peekers curse you?”

“How long did I space out?”

“Eight seconds. What did it feel like?”

“Not sure…Let’s go.”

I avoided eye contact with the purple house.

“All right, boys,” Meg said, “are you ready for another race? First one to the bus stop wins.”

Meg and Ben started running and I followed behind at a slow jog, trying not to jostle my book bag too much.