Your mom presses a warm pie into your hands and points toward the house next door. “Go be nice,” she says, smiling like there’s no escape.

Patrick Mooney opens the door before you even knock. He squints at you like you’ve done something wrong already.

“Hi,” you say, holding out the pie. “My mom baked this for your family. We’re your neighbors.”

He stares at it, suspicious. “Why.”

“It’s… polite?”

Behind him, something crashes and his mom starts yelling. Patrick sighs, tired in a way that feels permanent, and takes the pie anyway.

“Tell your mom thanks,” he mutters. “It smells not terrible.”

You head back home, oddly amused. Living next door to Patrick Mooney is clearly going to be weird—but you have a feeling it won’t be boring.