Malik and Anaya lived in two houses that shared a long, silver-grey fence, but they lived their lives together.

To talk, they tapped on the wood like woodpeckers—tap-tap-slide—and to play, they used the small, sky-blue gate that sat right in the middle.

Today, Malik stood at the gate with his favorite red ball, waiting for the familiar click of the latch.

But when he pulled, the wood groaned.

He tugged again, his sneakers sliding in the dirt, but the gate felt as heavy as a mountain. A strange, low rumble vibrated through the handle, sounding like a grumpy dragon hiding in the shadows, and Malik felt a tiny shiver of worry. Was the gate locked forever?