I’m not too worried about getting into trouble. The teacher forgets to take attendance half of the time, and even if he does mark me as absent, I can make something up about having a narcoleptic episode. There are only a few kids in the lab. One appears to be watching music videos on YouTube. He has headphones on and doesn’t notice me drop into the chair next to him. My curiosity about Aunt Lydia has gotten the best of me. Maybe Rollins is right and she is just a lonely woman seeking out the family she left behind so long ago, but I can’t help wondering if there was some sort of impetus that brought her to us. The school’s home page pops up, and I highlight the URL and type in Google. In the search field, I type in “Lydia Homer.” Homer was my mother’s maiden name. Since Lydia isn’t married (that I know of), I’m guessing that’s the name she went by in California. Millions of results pop up. I sift through them, not finding anything especially helpful. There’s a woman living in Missouri by that name, but when I click on her Facebook page, the picture doesn’t look anything like Lydia.
