Dear diary, her name is Penelope.

Mum woke me up at crazy o’clock, dressed in her fancy clothes and decked out in at least three layers of jewellery. “We’re going across the road straight after breakfast,” she told me.

Danny was already eating when I got to the table, and from the look of it, they were supressing a giggle fit whenever they glanced at Mum. I noticed Mum scowling at Danny any time a burst escaped them. If that’s how she was reacting to a ten-year-old then I couldn’t even show a smile. Mum treats the almost two year age gap like I always had to be the epitome of maturity.

Good thing I know words like epitome.

That’s thanks to Dad, who was engaged in a fierce tug-a-war over a piece of bacon with Danny. “I’m bigger than you so I deserve the extra nutrients,” he said.

“And I’m a growing child! I need all the nutr- energy I can get.”

Dad laughed. “You can’t even say nutrients, dear Danny. I’ve already won this battle.”

Danny snatched the bacon away and jammed it in their mouth. “Nope,” they said.

“Close your mouth,” I groaned.

“I’ve no idea where they pick these things up,” Dad said, with his mouth full of food.

Mum rushed passed, stopped, and turned to Dad. “Please don’t encourage that behaviour.”

Dad grinned. “But sweeeeeetie, I had my bacon stolen again.”

“You already ate two pieces while cooking it,” Danny argued.

“Damn your detective eye.”

“Zach!”

“What?” Dad asked. “Damn is just short for damnation. It’s only a curse on a b-.”

Mum sighed. “Nevermind. I forgot who I was talking to.”

I put my fork down. Mum waited an entire second before whisking me away to the bathroom, and maybe even a half second after I stumbled out, before she walked out the front door and turned to me expectantly. “Hurry up, Emma.”

“What if she’s still asleep?” I asked, while slipping my sandals on.

Mum answered by striding across the road with me in tow. She knocked sharply on the black screen door and stared expectantly at it. The dark brown door slowly swung open, and with a raised eyebrow, the woman opened the screen door too. She leaned against the frame while her eyes swept over Mum and me.

“Why are you here?” she asked, straight to the point.

Mum looked appalled. “Listen here Miss-.”

“Penelope Smith.”

Mum’s right eye twitched. I quickly stepped forward.

“We wanted to thank you,” I said. “For saving my life. And well, yeah, that.”

“No problem.”

“So?” Mum asked. “Do you have a roommate or partner that we might have woken up?”

Now she cared about the early hour.

“I live alone. Relationships aren’t my thing.”

“From a bad experience or...?”

“Why’s it matter?” Penelope asked back, pushing herself off the doorframe.

She was trying to avoid eye contact with Mum, as if that would stop Mum from launching into her questioning rampage.

I searched for a way out. “Is that a dragon painting? It looks hundreds of ears old!”

Penelope perked up. “Yeah, I got it in China a while back.”

“So it’s probably a cheap imitation,” Mum muttered.

“No, it was a family artefact. I was friends with the last heir and he left it to me in his will.”

“It should be in a museum then.”

What is Mum’s problem?

“So do you travel a lot?” I asked loudly.

“I guess. I’m heading back to Greece for a bit to see family in November.”

“Back?” Mum raised an eyebrow. “So you’re not an Australian?”

Penelope shrugged. “I’m a citizen. And I’ve lived here for fifteen years. Does that count?”

I asked, “Do you have any Ancient Greek paintings?” before Mum could answer.

“No, but I do have a couple of vases.”

“More family relics?” Mum questioned.

“Do you like ancient myths too?” I practically yelled. I wasn’t about to let Mum’s grumpy mood stop me from making a friend.

Penelope smiled warmly. “I’ve always loved stories of all form, but it’s kind of sad to see so many of the older ones lost to time.”

Mum went to say something, but I was faster. “What were you reading last night?”

“A recipe book. I was trying to figure out what to make for dinner.”

“You said it was a good read!” Mum exclaimed.

“It was.”

“How many books do you have?” I asked. “I’ve got twenty-four.” I had more but Mum donated them when we left our first house. Dad was appalled.

Penelope glanced down her entryway, as if she was mentally counting. “I think that I edged over a thousand around two months ago.”

What? “A thousand!” That can’t be right.

“A bunch of them are eBooks for storage’s sake, but at last count, yeah, just over a thousand.”

My eyes went wide. “Your house must be the most beautiful place on the planet.”

She shrugged. “It’s alright.”

Mum narrowed her eyes. “What I don’t understand is how you could afford the rent and all this ... stuff doing whatever you do.”

“I actually own the house outright. I’ve got a few freelance gigs to cover the cost of the double degree in psychology and justice that I’m studying.”

“Freelance gigs doing what?”

Why was Mum being so aggressive to Penelope? She’s clearly awesome.

“You must be so smart to do all that,” I said.

Penelope shrugged. “I’m just good at time management.”

Mum cleared her throat. “So why exactly is your car parked outside when you live alone?”

“It’s not my car,” she said simply.

Mum’s face scrunched up as she struggled to think of something else she could turn against the innocent Penelope. She must’ve given up because she turned her grump to me. “You should know better than to carelessly play around next to a car. What if the handbrake failed or if ... she wasn’t there to save you?”

“Her name is Penelope,” I supplied.

“I know what her name is!”

The tiniest grin played on Penelope’s lips, like when she realised that I was after the cat last night. “But I don’t know yours,” she said. Mischief played in her eyes. “I caught Emma’s name last night, but you never actually introduced yourself.”

Mum went bright red, as if there was nothing more embarrassing than forgetting to introduce yourself before having a conversation, let alone one with a neighbour! “I’m Dr Janette Mack, mechanical engineer. My husband is Dr Zachary Mack, linguist. Our youngest d- child is Danny, who is ten yet still knows better than to play on a road at night.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but Penelope spoke first.

“You don’t seem very ... engineer-y,” she said.

“Well.” Mum took in Penelope’s grey skinny jeans and faded olive tank top. “You don’t look like you could afford a thousand books and this house. But appearances are deceptive.”

And just like that, Penelope’s smile vanished. “Emma, you seem like a good kid. You can stop by and check out my books anytime. But right now, I better get back to editing all those scholarly research papers for major science publications.”

“I’ll say hi soon,” I said. To a closed door.

“You certainly won’t,” Mum muttered, dragging me back home with a single glare.

“But Muuuuuuum. Booooks.”

She shook her head once. I knew that single shake all too well. It translates to ‘no discussion, no buts, and certainly no endless books for me'. Danny would say that this is some form of child abuse. With their help I can get Dad on my side. He’d definitely fight Mum on this. Maybe. Probably. Hopefully.