My town is small. It is a place where everyone knows everyone and everything that happens. The grandmas who own the souvenir shop know whose kid is no good and how music has changed, playing their old records for me when I ask. The housewives who stroll around the neighborhood in the afternoon know which adults are fighting and why, saying I'm too young to understand when I ask them. My mom knows the most though, always knowing when I have done something wrong or done nothing at all.

I also know things. Things that the adults don't usually care to know. I know when the sand at the beach is no longer hot, just comfortably warm, and where the best place to lay down and watch the clouds float by, and what exact color everyone's house is.

We all know when someone is a tourist though, not meaning to come to the neighborhood and lost like me in the supermarket that one time, when mom had looked like the wrinkled face of my crying baby cousin after finding me. I did not get lost again after that but tourists continue to get lost all the time.

But it's hard to know everything sometimes, because sometimes the adults don't want you to know or forget to tell you. So when the empty, pretty white house across from us lost it's big red sign with the 'For Sale' on it and a few days later there was now a car in the driveway, I knew before mom could tell me that there were new people. Not new like the tourists who come and go in the summer and spring break week, but new neighbors.

"The people across from us are here today," I remember mom saying. "they're our new neighbors so let's go meet them together."

Mom made cookies, ones without nuts or chocolate because of allergies, and I got to carry them across the street in a shiny, glass jar with a scratchy ribbon on it. We did not have to ring the doorbell because our new neighbors were out on their driveway, talking.

One was a man with big, black glasses and a thick, brown beard. Like a Santa Claus but much younger and thinner. The other was another man, wide as a thick dictionary and dressed in colorful socks.

Mom was quick to introduce us, shaking hands and smiling as she said, very pretty like she always speaks, "Welcome to the neighborhood! We live across the street. I'm Liz and this is Winona. Say hi, sweetie."

And I do say hi because it's the polite thing to do. But I do not shake hands because both of mine are stuck balancing the cookie jar. "I like your socks. The birds on them are pretty."

The man in the colorful socks, is all smiley after I say that. "Thank you, Winona. These happen to be my favorite socks." He looks very proud while the glasses Santa Claus rolls his eyes.

After that, the adults talk to each other only and I listen, the cookie jar received from my stick arms as the colorful sock man, who is Mr. Carter, who takes them inside while mom chats with the man in glasses, who is also Mr. Carter but Charles is okay.

They talk about moving from up north for better work, thanking us for the cookies, and other things until Charles asks a question.

"How old is Winona this year?" Charles asks, looking towards my mom.

I always interrupt when people ask. "I'm 8 and a half." Adding a half makes you sound more mature is what I think. So even though my birthday is in winter, I add the half.

Charles smiles then, although his smile is different from Mr. Carter's. It is happy, but much smaller and much whiter. Mom is not smiling because I interrupted, but says nothing yet.

"How wonderful," he says, still smiling. "we have a daughter the same age as you."

That is when I get excited. There's not many other kids here, mostly old people who tell stories like dust and walk with canes. All the other kids live in the city and I see them at school or when we have sleepovers. Having another kid in the neighborhood will be much more fun and less calls on the house phone.

However, because she is sleeping from their long drive I cannot meet her today. Maybe tomorrow, they say. Tomorrow is stupidly far away, but I don't say so. Charles says her name is Alya, a name shorter than mine. It's a name that sounds softer than mine too. But Winona is much more fun to say over and over when practicing for class show and tell. There's also not many nicknames that can be made out of Alya.

I wonder how many nicknames she has with such a short name.

Eventually, the sky begins to get darker and that means it's time to go home and make dinner. Mom and I wave as we leave, going back inside after she and Charles exchange house phones. Mom has everyone's house numbers in a leather book.

We make pasta that night. Long fettuccini noodles with a creamy sauce and grilled chicken, mom cracks extra pepper over mine just how I like.

While we eat, she asks me "What did you think about the Carters?" in a careful way. Like tiptoeing in the dark.

I think for a bit, chewing on a big piece of chicken in my mouth and swallowing.

"I think they got the prettiest house. And that Mr. Carter's socks are very nice."

Mom smiles, but I can tell that's not what she wanted to hear. She pokes for more. "Is that all?"

I think some more before speaking again. "I like their matching rings."

Mom smiles wide and does not ask anything more.

The next day is Saturday, with lots of fluffy clouds and a bright blue sky. Mom sends me out to play after breakfast and I go flying. There are many places to go. I can visit the grandmas at the souvenir shop to look at their old photographs and hear about old friends, or I could get a free old ice cream from Mr. Harrison at the ice cream parlor, I could even find a bench to sit on and watch. But first, I have to watch the clouds in my best cloudwatching spot.

The sky here is pretty, the prettiest sky if there was a contest. That was why I loved the large window in my room, with a windowsill so wide I could sit on it and watch the blue sky in the morning and the ink sky at night. Mom promised to get me a telescope for my next birthday so I can look at the sky even better.

So instead of taking a left turn at the winding street that goes round and round to get to the place with all the shops and chatting people, I go straight until my sandles feel a crunch under them, the crunch of sand.

The beach has a lot of great secret places on it, places that only I and the crabs know about. I go to the rocks and scramble over them, feeling their smooth and wet spots carefully like I always do and run when I hit the ground again. When I finally stop, I am at my secret cloudwatching spot. It is surrounded by sanded down rocks and pretty shells with a little blanket roof I created for when I no longer want to see the clouds and my skin gets too hot. It is the same, but it is also different.

There is a girl I do not know here. The girl is crying, body jumping and shaking with sniffles and loud gasps of air. I cannot see her face, I can only see her back and side as her head is tucked into her knees in a ball shape, making her dress ride up. I do not know what to do but I know I shouldn't leave.

So I move as quiet as I can and sit next to her, saying nothing. She sniffles and puffs and huffs for a long time before bringing her head up and jumping when she sees me. We look at each other and say nothing, but I know we both think.

I don't know what she thinks, but I think she looks like sky. She has long white hair, big and fluffy like the clouds I had come to watch. Her eyes were pink from crying but they were a pretty light blue. I do not know why for sure, but she looked like sky.

When she spoke, her voice shook and shivered, like a wet puppy. "Who are you?"

And I tell her. "I'm Winona, I'm 8 and a half. This is my secret place. Who are you?"

The girl like the sky blinked at me for a bit before speaking again. "I'm Alya. I'm just 8. I didn't know this was your secret place. I can leave."

"That's okay. You can stay." The girl like sky is Alya, Mr. Carter and Charles' daughter. I don't ask her about nicknames.

"Thanks."

"Why were you crying?"

Me asking that made her start crying all over again, like rain.

"I want to go home. I don't want to be here."

"Did you get lost? I can walk you back."

"That place isn't my home. It's just a house. I wanna go back to my school with all my friends." Alya's voice breaks like glass and she cries and shivers. I feel sad for her.

"Is it that bad here?" I ask. I like it here, but if Alya doesn't that's okay. The big sun is not for everyone but Alya shakes her head.

"It's not that. I... I just want to go back to my old life."

I do not know what to say at that, so I once again say nothing until I have an idea.

"Lay down."

Alya looks at me weird, like how I look at mushrooms on my plate. "Why?"

"Just do it."

She still looks at me weird with tears drying on her face but lays down against the warm sand and I lay down next to her.

"Now look."

And I start pointing out the clouds in the sky. The big ones and the little ones, the ones with fun shapes, and the ones that remind me of her hair. Sometimes I hear her laugh or say "I don't see it" but I know she stopped crying.

I spent the time until lunch laying down at my secret spot, pointing out interesting clouds and telling stories to the sky-like Alya who wants to go home.