“Let’s go back upstairs,” Theo says, and I follow him gladly to the kitchen. He shows me the living room, which has this really cool wooden mantel with stuff carved in it, and his father’s office, which reminds me a little of Mr. Hawthorne’s, all lined with bookshelves. Then we go upstairs.
“Just bedrooms,” he says. “No turret.”
“Which one is yours?” I ask innocently.
“Um,” he says, hesitating. “I—uh, mine is upstairs.”
“In the attic?” I try and sound surprised. I’m actually a pretty good actress, when it comes down to it.
He nods and I stand there, looking at him expectantly.
“Turtles, you said?”
“Uh-huh,” I reply.
He hesitates, then says, “Well, would you like to see my room?”
Duh. You think maybe? I give him an enthusiastic smile. “Sure!”
“Kids!” His mother’s voice floats up from the family room. “Game’s back on!”
Theo looks relieved. “Later, okay?” he tells me, and bounds off down the stairs. I follow him, disappointed.
So close!
Mrs. Rochester asks for my help in the kitchen getting lunch ready at the next break, so there’s no opportunity to bring up his room then. Gram and Frannie come over and join us for nachos just as the game is finishing. The final score is a disappointment to the Rochesters, apparently, because they let out a collective groan.
Theo stands up. “Ready?” he asks me.
“Where are you two going?” says Frannie.
“I told Becca I’d show her my room.”
His mother raises her eyebrows. “Really?”
“Might want to think twice about that, dude,” says his father.
“You don’t want to scare her off,” says Frannie.
“Remember what happened last time,” adds Sam, bursting into laughter.
This is r-e-a-l-l-y getting weird, I think. It’s like the whole family is in on his secret, whatever it is.
“My granddaughter doesn’t scare easily,” says Gram calmly.
“Suit yourself,” says Mrs. Rochester. She turns to me and smiles. “But don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
My heart is pounding as I follow Theo from the family room. I’m really spooked by now. What is he hiding? What is it that his family doesn’t want me to see? How horrible could his secret be, anyway?
My mind rushes from one wild possibility to another—he’s a bank robber; he’s a mad scientist engaged in shady experiments; he’s an alien who hangs his Theo suit on a hook behind his bedroom door.
Theo looks at me nervously as we reach the top of the attic stairs. “Welcome to my world,” he says, holding open the door.
At first glance, his room seems completely normal. Bed and dresser, check. Desk, check. Bookcases, check. Cages on top of bookcases filled with—oh.
I get it now.
All of it—the secrecy, the reddish light I see every night, Theo’s reluctance to bring me up here.
Mr. Rochester has pet snakes.
I stand there rooted to the spot. There are at least half a dozen glass tanks lining the top of the built-in bookcases by the window. It smells kind of like a jungle in here, and the room is warm from the glow of a couple of heat lamps. I remember having to buy one for Herbie, too.
“Wow,” I say politely. “You, uh, have a lot of them, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he says sheepishly. “I kind of have a thing for snakes. I want to be a herpetologist someday—that’s a scientist who studies them.” He walks over to the nearest tank. “Would you like to hold one?”
This is the part where I run screaming from the room. Except I don’t. “Sure,” says some other Becca, the one who is looking at Theo’s gorgeous blue eyes, which are now shining with excitement.
He reaches in and lifts out a red snake with distinctive black and white markings. “This is Arthur. He’s a king snake.”
“King Arthur?”
He grins. “Yeah. Stupid, I know, but what can I say? I got him when I was ten. He’s actually an Arizona mountain king snake, of the genus Lampropeltis pyromelana.”
Jess would love this, I think.
“Go ahead—you can touch him. He’s completely harmless. Just a big baby, really.”
Right. A big, scary baby. But a baby with a great sense of design, I have to admit, admiring his markings.
I do as Theo instructs me, and place my hand gently on Arthur. I’m surprised at how warm and smooth his skin is. “He isn’t slimy!”
“Nope,” Theo replies. “That’s a common misconception. Everybody expects snakes to be cold and slimy, but they’re not.”
Arthur’s tongue flickers out and touches me and I flinch. “Don’t worry,” Theo hastens to tell me. “He’s just curious. That’s his way of checking you out. Snakes smell with their tongues, you know.”
Theo is a fountain of fun facts about the world of herpetology. In short order I learn that Arthur lives on a diet of small rodents, but only eats once a week or so; that snakes are deaf, but can sense sound vibrations; and that they live ten to twenty-five years on average, depending on the species.
“You know, you’re the first girl I’ve been able to talk to about all this stuff,” Theo says. “Everybody else thinks it’s weird or creepy. This one girl I liked my freshman year freaked out when I brought her up here.”
“Was that the one your brother was talking about?”
He grins. “Yeah. It’s kind of funny now, but at the time, well—”
“I can imagine.” I trace the pattern on Arthur’s skin. “I do have to admit it’s a little weird,” I continue, tempted to confess how I’ve been watching his window at night. “But you’re right; snakes are actually pretty interesting.”
“I think so,” Theo agrees. “I like all kinds of herps—turtles, frogs, lizards, all sorts of reptiles and amphibians. But snakes are my favorite. There’s something about them that’s just so . . . mysterious, you know?” He looks at me sharply. “Why are you laughing?”
“No reason,” I tell him.
“I’ve got it all figured out,” he continues. “I’m going to get a biology degree at the U, then go to grad school for zoology. I’d like to study snakes in the rain forest. You wouldn’t believe how many species there are! Anyway, the Minnesota Zoo has internships, and I’ve already talked to them about maybe working there this summer, or once I’m in college.”
“That’s so cool,” I tell him, and I mean it. Theo’s enthusiasm is catching. “The U, huh?” It occurs to me that maybe I should think about Gram’s suggestion, and look into the University of Minnesota’s architecture program. Or any of their other programs.
We end up talking until right before it’s time for me to leave for the airport. I meet all of Theo’s other pet snakes, and he tells me about school and basketball, his other passion. I tell him about my job at Pies & Prejudice, and cheerleading, and my friends at home, and, well, everything. He’s really easy to talk to.
“Didn’t scare her off, I see,” says Mrs. Rochester when we reappear downstairs.
“Nope,” Theo replies, grinning. “Becca and Arthur are best friends now, right, Becca?”
I hold a hand up, crossing two fingers. “We’re like this,” I tell them.
“Good girl,” says Theo’s father. “There’s not too many who pass the attic test.”
Sam snorts. “Like, nobody.”
“Shut up, Sam,” says Theo.
Gram and Frannie have already left to finish packing, so Theo walks me across the street.
“Hey, would you mind if I call you sometime?” he asks. “I like talking to you.”
I smile. “I like talking to you too.”
“Maybe you can come back and visit someday. Nannie Frannie, I mean. Well, and me.”
“I hope so! Or maybe you could come to Concord. We have snakes there, too.”
He laughs, and gives me a quick hug. “Bye, Becca.”
“Bye.”
/> I barely need a plane to get home, I’m flying so high. Mr. Rochester likes me! And I like him too—snakes and all.
I come down to earth again with a thud when I land in Boston. I spot the Wongs waiting for me by the baggage claim. Sophie Fairfax is with them too, and as I draw closer, I can tell there’s some sort of argument going on.
“Mother, I cannot believe you would do something so irresponsible!” Mrs. Wong is saying to Gigi. “What were you thinking?”
I tap Megan on the shoulder. She whirls around. “Hey!” I say, giving her a big hug. “You’ll never guess what . . .” My voice trails off when I see her face. “What’s going on?”
“Sophie’s grandfather asked Gigi to marry him,” she says in a low voice.
I blink at her, stunned. “What?! Are you serious?”
She nods.
“So is she going to?”
Megan shrugs. “Not if my mother can put a stop to it.”
“We know absolutely nothing about this man—his background, his character,” Mrs. Wong continues. She looks over at Sophie and presses her lips together. “I’m sorry, Sophie, but it’s true, we don’t. And besides that—”
“And besides that, it’s really none of your business, is it?” says Gigi calmly. “Edouard asked me to marry him, not you.”
“Mother!”
Mr. Wong glances around uneasily. The people standing near us are watching with interest. “Let’s take the bags to the car, shall we?” he says. “We can continue this discussion at home.”
I follow him, still stunned by the news. As Mr. Wong is putting our luggage in the back of the SUV, something suddenly occurs to me. I lean over to Megan and whisper, “If Gigi marries Sophie’s grandfather, that means you and Sophie will be related, doesn’t it? Like step-granddaughters, or something?”
Megan shudders. “C’est horrible!”
Even I don’t need a translator to know what that means.
I look over at Sophie. Her face is very pale, and she’s staring straight ahead. She must think it’s horrible, too, because she doesn’t say a word all the way home.
Not a single word.
Emma
“Gentle reader, may you never feel what I then felt! May your eyes never shed such stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears as poured from mine.”
—Jane Eyre
Concord is abuzz over Gigi’s engagement.
Mrs. Wong called the book club moms the moment she got home from the airport, and once Mrs. Chadwick found out, of course, the word spread like wildfire. My mother thinks it’s romantic and exciting, but Mrs. Wong is fit to be tied.
“If I’m elected next Tuesday night,” she grumbles, “the first law I’m going to pass will be one prohibiting senior citizens from doing crazy things like this. A whirlwind romance! At her age!”
Stewart and I exchange a glance. It’s been like this ever since Gigi and Megan returned from Paris. Megan says she can’t figure out why her mother’s so worked up. It’s not that she’s thrilled about the whole thing either—especially the suddenly-being-related-to-Sophie-Fairfax part—but she’s starting to get used to the idea. She thinks maybe her mom is afraid that Gigi will move to Paris, just when they’ve started getting along so well. Mrs. Wong and Megan’s grandmother got off to a rocky start when Gigi first moved in with them, but now they’re practically best friends.
Whatever the reason, it’s a touchy subject.
“Um, I think we should talk about this week’s action items,” I tell her, passing a piece of paper across the dining room table. “Stewart and I drew up a list.”
The three of us are sitting around the Wongs’ dining room for our final strategy meeting. With the election less than a week away, we’ve all been working nonstop. Sophie is noticeably absent this afternoon—she’s out distributing flyers with a bunch of guys from Alcott High. I think things have been kind of awkward for her here recently, especially since Mrs. Wong is making no attempt to conceal her dismay about the engagement. That can’t be easy for Sophie. It’s almost enough to make a person feel sorry for her.
Almost.
If she wasn’t such a piqueuse de mec, of course.
Stewart taps his pen on the table. “Okay, here’s what Emma and I think we should do for our final push,” he says, now that we’ve finally got Mrs. Wong’s attention. “Our top priority is to line up more phone bank volunteers.” He looks over at me. “Did you get a chance to talk to your mom about putting a sign-up sheet on the bulletin board at the library?”
I nod. “Informational flyers and things are fine; sign-up sheets are a no go. The library’s supposed to be neutral territory.”
“Just like school, I guess,” he says, making a note. “Well, maybe we can run a contest for our current volunteers and have them each ask ten friends. Whoever signs up the most people gets, what, lunch at Pies and Prejudice, maybe?”
Mrs. Wong nods. “I’m sure Mother will be happy to do that.” Her face clouds again at the mention of Gigi, and I quickly steer the conversation in a different direction.
“We could also use a few more people to take shifts waving signs at the major intersections over the weekend and on Monday and Tuesday,” I tell her. “We’ve brainstormed some names, but practically everyone we know is heading out of town to watch the hockey championships.”
Including our entire mother-daughter book club. Election or no election, no way are we missing out on watching Cassidy and the Lady Shawmuts take a shot at the National Championship.
“Let me give it some thought,” Mrs. Wong replies. “I’m sure some of the Riverkeepers would be willing to help us out.”
“And finally,” Stewart continues, “Mrs. Winchester suggested that we set up a voter registration table at school, and see if we can encourage any last-minute stragglers to do their civic duty. Emma and the rest of the book club are going to staff it during lunch hour through next Tuesday.”
“The good thing is, pretty much everybody knows about the election,” I add.
The Handcuffs Wong for Mayor campaign has been a big hit, and we’ve gotten a lot of media attention since the debate. Most of it has been local, but the Boston Post and some of the bigger regional radio and TV stations have done stories about us too. Mrs. Wong has even become something of a minor celebrity, thanks to a guest appearance on Hello Boston! after a short campaign spot that Sophie filmed went viral.
It wasn’t something we were planning to use originally—she and Stewart were just clowning around after one of their campaign photo shoots—but it turned out well, and Sophie ended up submitting it for credit in her filmmaking class at Alcott High. The teacher liked it so much he encouraged her to upload it to the Internet, and somehow it took off. Once the media got ahold of it, we all ended up on Hello Boston!
Carson Dawson, the host, interviewed Stewart and me, calling us “precocious teen campaign managers.” But he was mostly interested in Sophie, of course—the first time she opened her mouth and that cute little French accent popped out, she had him eating out of her hand.
“What was your inspiration for the video?” he asked her.
“I had heard a great deal about Patriot’s Day—she is Concord’s big holiday, oui?”
“Oui,” agreed Mr. Dawson, with his folksy chuckle. He’s known for that chuckle—and for his sparkly white smile, which came flying out of his mouth a few years ago during a live episode of Cooking with Clementine, thanks to a book club prank that backfired. A video of Mr. Dawson’s airborne dentures hit the Internet and skyrocketed him to fame, so he knows all about how that works.
Sophie shrugged. “I thought it would be amusant—amusing—to use it for un petit spoof.”
She was laying it on pretty thick, because by now her English is as good as mine, thanks to all the practice she’s had over these past few months talking to Stewart and every other guy in Concord. But she had Mr. Dawson practically wriggling in his seat with delight.
“Ah!” he sighed, as if he were French himself. “Un peti
t spoof! How amusant of you!”
He ran the campaign spot next, which features Mrs. Wong dressed as a minuteman. She’s handcuffing herself to the Old North Bridge while Stewart, who’s dressed as a British soldier, marches back and forth across it waving a DOLLARS FOR DEVELOPMENT sign. Sophie intercut this scene with clips of Mr. Underhill at the debate, calling himself “a patriot who will always put Concord first.”
“Really?” says the voiceover—she got Kevin Mullins to narrate, of all people. His voice finally changed, and went from squawk to suave. It’s still hard to believe that such a skinny body can produce such a deep bass. Who knew our little Kevin had it in him? “Or is he just an opportunist looking to put his own wallet first? George Underhill voted to rezone a parcel of proposed conservation land for development, and the developer turned out to be none other than his brother-in-law. The real patriot in this race is Lily ‘Handcuffs’ Wong, who’s devoted her life to protecting Concord.”
The final shot is a speeded-up Keystone Kops–style sequence of Mrs. Wong wrestling the sign away from Stewart and chasing him off the bridge with it. The whole thing is silly, really, but even I have to admit that Sophie edited it cleverly, and it sure caught the public’s attention.
Next Tuesday night we’ll find out if that kind of attention translates into votes, and if our Handcuffs Wong strategy has paid off.
As Stewart and I pack up our things and head outside to his car, I suddenly realize that this is the first time I’ve been alone with him in weeks. Between hockey season wrap-up for him, and school and the newspaper and now the campaign on top of it for both of us, there’s hardly been any opportunity. And then there’s the Mademoiselle Velcro factor. Maybe now is the perfect opportunity I’ve been waiting for to talk to him about things.
Hello, backbone, it’s me, Emma, I think, and taking a deep breath, I plunge in.
“Um, Stewart?” I begin, as we start down Strawberry Hill Road.
Wish You Were Eyre Page 27
