“Ben!”

Yes, yes. “Be–ni!!!” Leave me alone. “Be–nia–min!” I don’t…, I say. When my sisters start calling me, they don’t stop for anything. I don’t care. Let them scream until their throats close up. They won’t get an answer from me. My hiding place is perfect. No one can find me here. I discovered this secret little room at the back of our attic last year. I accidentally leaned my back against the wall – and suddenly the wall gave way and opened behind me. I barely managed to hold on and not end up on the other side of the narrow little door. If I hadn’t grabbed on, I would have definitely tumbled inside the little room.

It’s so tiny. It only has a chair and a dresser inside and nothing else fits. This dresser has probably been here since the beginning of time. Our house was built in 1850, there’s even a paper that says so. My mom has it framed and hung it in the living room next to the fireplace. The dresser might be just as ancient, maybe even older. I secretly brought up the chair with the wicker back from the basement. So far, I haven’t managed to open the dresser’s drawers. But that’s okay. I have time. Someday I’ll succeed. And I hope to find something really valuable. A gold bar, for example – or at least a treasure map.

“Ben!” I hear my mom’s voice now. But this time I don’t move either. Up here I can read whatever I want and for as long as I want. Or gaze at the clouds through the small skylight, without anyone bothering me. I look at them and imagine traveling with them, to Australia, Tasmania, Antarctica, wherever I feel like. And that I come back home when my sisters have already left. It’s strange that until now none of my family has thought that maybe there’s another little room up here in the attic. You just have to look at the roof of our house from under the street to realize it. You can see the skylight.