Moana backed away, her heart pounding wildly. Her head was spinning, and she was breathing in short, shallow gasps. She was walking too fast, too frantically—and ...
CRASH!
The metal trash can next to Mrs. Diana's house tipped over, making a loud noise that shattered the silence.
Moana staggered; she almost fell.
"Who's there—?"
The voice made Moana's blood run cold.
Clara appeared to have just gotten out of her car. Her bag was still slung over her shoulder when her eyes caught sight of Moana in the corner of the yard. Moana's face looked pale, stiff, and clearly—eavesdropping.
Clara tensed.
"Moana?" she called out loudly. "What are you doing here?"
There was no way out.
Moana froze in place. Her mind raced, searching for an excuse, but it all felt too late. She was like a thief who'd just been caught.
Clara's expression had changed—not angry, but wary. Her face looked sharp. Like someone who'd just realized they were being watched.
