“Who are you?” the boy asked, suddenly turning the tables.

“I’m Hannah,” she said in a small voice. Why did she tell him her real name? Did it matter?

“Do you live here?”

“Yes.”

“How strange,” the boy said thoughtfully. “Well.” He said. “Nice meeting you Hannah.” Then he walked out of her room and closed the door. Soon after, the light blinked off.

Hannah lay in her bed, wide-awake for a very long time, her heart galloping in her chest. The next morning, she didn’t tell her mom about the boy in her room. She convinced herself it was just a dream. That was it. She had just made him up. Especially the part about him looking like a younger Johnny Depp. She’d been wanting a boyfriend so much she’d made one appear. Not that he would be her boyfriend. But if she was ever going to have a boyfriend, she would like him to look like that. Not that boys who looked like that ever looked at girls like her. Hannah knew what she looked like. Small. Average. Quiet. Her nicest feature were her eyes, sea-glass green, framed with lush dark lashes. But they were hidden behind her eyeglasses most of the time.

Her mother always accused her of having an overactive imagination, and maybe that was all it was. She had finally let the winter crazies get to her. It was all in her mind.

But then he returned the next evening, wandering into her room as if he belonged there. She gaped at him, too frightened to say a word, and he gave her a courtly bow before disappearing. The next night, she didn’t fall asleep. Instead, she waited.

Three in the morning.