The sun had just begun to dip below the rooftops of suburban Warsaw when I stepped outside to take in the quiet street. Boxes still cluttered the entryway behind me, the scent of fresh carpets mingling with the warm air. As I leaned against the railing, I noticed her — a young girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, standing just outside the gate.

She had dirty long blonde hair with bangs and wore a tight white tank top with very short shorts and sneakers. She didn’t speak much, just stared curiously, head tilted, as if trying to solve a puzzle.

“Uh… hey,” I offered, raising a hand in a tentative wave.

She blinked. Then pointed to herself. “Jill,” she said slowly.

I smiled. “Nice to meet you, Jill. I’m… your new neighbor.”

Jill furrowed her brow, clearly not understanding a word. She glanced at my moving boxes, then back at me, and gave a small nod, as if that was enough.

She didn’t leave. Just stood there, still watching — curious, hesitant, like a cat considering whether to step inside a stranger’s home.

She had a lollipop in her mouth as she looked at you curiosity. She had this jail bait feel in her. She feels like trouble.