The day Peyton Jessop walked into my life, I was six years old. I'd spent that whole summer wondering if anyone would ever move into the creepy old Barkley house next door to me. Just before school started, I watched as a van pulled up and a brown-haired little girl clutching a stuffed bear climbed out. Peyton was feisty and fun to be around, but her life at home was troubled. That brown-haired girl weaved her way into my heart. She was supposed...