So I won’t think about it.
Instead, I will think about the fact that for an entire week there will be no parents in this house. For an entire week, I can do whatever I want.
“Emergency numbers on the fridge,” Eleni says. “Al’s cell, my cell, the B and B, fire department, poison control…Food money here, in this envelope. That’s food money, not shoe money, understand?”
Thalia nods. “Of course.”
In loco parentis, Thalia is in charge. Which is a joke, because there’s no way the sweater twins are going to listen to her.
But this morning everyone pretends. There are instructions about bedtime (reasonable) and TV watching (limited). Suggestions for outings we might take (How ‘bout the zoo!), to foster stepsibling bonding. Reminders that the usual rules of the house apply.
Sure they do.
“And if there are any problems,” Eleni says, going down the line, hugging everyone, “any problems at all…call Linus.”
She is directly in front of me when she says this, so when I smile she thinks I’m smiling at her.
“Evyn, honey.” She sandwiches my cheeks with her hands. “I hope you have a wonderful week.”
“Uh-huh,” I say.
“Love you.” She’s looking me straight in the eyes and still has me in a cheek-wich, so there’s no pretending I didn’t hear her.
But I will not say it.
I mutter Okay and wait for her to move on to Phoebe, who jumps into her arms and starts planting wet ones all over her face. “Muh! I love you, Mommy! Muh! Muh! I love you and love you and love you and miss you and miss you! Muh!”
I get a sick feeling in my stomach, watching them.
I look at Birdie. He opens his arms.
“Have a good trip, Al,” I say, walking out before he can try to hug me.
On the bus, I think about the kinds of “problems” that might arise that would necessitate a call to Linus.
A clogged drain. A small stove-top fire. Clam getting his fat face stuck between the slats of the fence.
“Linus,” I will say, “this is Evyn. You know, from the wedding? We danced to ‘She’s Always a Woman’ by Billy Joel? Anyway, we’re having this little problem here at the house, and I was wondering…”
And he will say, “Of course, I’ll be right over.” Even though it might mean missing his poli-sci class. Or coming straight from the gym, in his shorts, with that good kind of guy smell wafting off him.
There is so much I want to learn about Linus, but I have to find it out carefully, bit by bit, because I can’t be too obvious. If I reveal my true feelings too soon, I’ll ruin everything.
It’s like this. I know we’re related, but we’re not really related. We’re not actual blood relatives. Our children wouldn’t be born with webbed fingers or with an extra foot growing out of their back or anything like that. And I know we’re six years apart, and that seems like a lot now, but what about when I’m twenty and he’s twenty-six? Or eighty and eighty-six? We’ll both have dentures by then, and applesauce running down our chins, so what would it matter?
For now, the trick is to show him that although I’m thirteen, there is more to me than just a number.
Much more.
As soon as I walk into homeroom, I am attacked.
“So?” Chelsea says. “Who is it?”
Crap.
“We’ve been waiting for, like, ever for you to get here!” says Jaime. “You found out, right?”
Double crap.
I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to say right now. But I can’t let them know this. I have to give them something.
“Of course.” Mysterious smile. “…I’ll tell everyone at lunch.”
“No way, you’re going to make us wait?”
“But E-vyn, we’re dying here.”
Well, at least someone got my name right.
“Good things come to those who wait,” I say, unzipping my backpack oh-so-casually. Meanwhile, every cell in my body is sweating.
I have exactly four periods to think of an answer.
At high noon, the It Girls are waiting.
Andrea has already laid out my napkin and utensils. There are a few extra chairs at the table as well, for the Almost-But-Not-Quite-It Girls, invited for the occasion.
Andrea waits for me to sit before she speaks.
“I understand you have some information for us.”
The smile is laid-back. The voice is friendly. But there is absolutely no question as to what I’m supposed to say.
I look at Andrea and nod.
“And you’re sure this information is correct?” she says.
“Yes.”
“Well?” says a girl with bangle bracelets. “Who is it?”
I have no choice. I have. No choice. I wish I had a choice, but I don’t.
“Um,” I say. “Andrea. He likes Andrea.”
Please God, let Cleanser Boy like Andrea.
“Me?” Andrea says, pointing to her chest with one finger. “He likes me?”
Like she’s surprised.
“Yes,” I say. “He likes you.” I open my brown bag and take out the sandwich I packed for myself this morning. Baloney. Which, right now, I am full of.
The squeals are ear-piercing.
“No way!”
“I so bet he kisses you at the social.”
“You are sooo lucky, Drey!”
“Well,” Andrea says, lowering her gaze just a bit, “it could have been any one of us, girls. You know that…Now, what’s everyone wearing? Evelyn?” She smiles at me, kindly, like a queen might smile at her gnarled, hunchbacked lady-in-waiting. “What are you wearing to the social?”
What am I wearing to the social? I know one thing: I cannot possibly answer this question correctly.
“Um,” I say. “I’m between outfits.”
All around me, girls nod. They understand this dilemma.
Andrea pats my shoulder. Is this for sympathy or pity? I can’t tell. Either way, she’s moved on.
“I’m thinking of getting lowlights,” she says, turning her back to me. “Lowlights are the new highlights.”
A dozen headbands and ponytails bob up and down in agreement.
I find myself nodding, too. “You totally should,” I say.
Andrea looks at me. “You think?”
“Totally.”
I don’t know who I am right now. Yes, I do. I am one of those annoying girls who say totally.
“Well, Evelyn,” Andrea says, “I think I just might.”
“Ajax will like that,” I say.
She smiles. I smile.
She pats my arm. And I leave the cafeteria with a giant wrecking ball in my stomach.
When I get home from school, I call Jules.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say. “If Ajax doesn’t like Andrea, I’m dead.”
Jules snorts. “On-DREY-a? What kind of a name is On-DREY-a?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, she sounds like a jerk. Why do you care what she thinks? There have to be better people to hang out with.”
I don’t say anything. Jules isn’t here. There’s no way she can understand what I’m going through.
“I tried calling yesterday,” I say, changing the subject. “Where were you?”
“Oh!” Her whole tone changes. “I was at the ortho. I got my braces off! Finally!”
She goes on to tell me all about her teeth, how incredible they look, and how this changes everything. Right now she is ninety-nine percent positive that Jordan Meyerhoff is going to ask her out.
“Jordan Meyerhoff?” I say. “Jordan Meyerhoff?”
“Yes!”
“But we hate Jordan Meyerhoff.”
“I don’t hate anyone.” There is a little edge to her voice.
“He locked Jason Perry in a locker.”
“Yeah, in sixth grade.”
“He laughed when you got your period in gym class. He used to call you Snaggle Tooth.”
Yeah, I think. They sure do.
For dinner, Thalia orders pizza and chicken wings. I could kiss her for not cooking.
The one thing I don’t like is how she makes us sit together in the dining room. I would much rather eat in the yard, with Clam.
“If everyone could look at me for a sec,” Thalia says, “I have an important announcement.”
I’m not interested in her announcements, important or otherwise, so I keep eating.
“Someone at this table is too modest to tell you himself, therefore I will have to tell you for him.”
Everyone is quiet, and I have no choice but to listen. Even though I don’t give a hairy hoot what incredible thing Ajax did on the soccer field today.
“Let us all raise a glass,” Thalia says, “to Mackey…”
Huh?
“Or should I say Joseph?” Huge smile. “And his amazing technicolor dreamcoat!”
The sweater twins scream. They run around the table to hug my brother.
“No way!”
“Mackey, you got it? Oh my God!”
Phoebe jumps up and down, clapping.
“Way to go, man,” Ajax says, thumping Mackey on the back. “That’s really awesome.”
I’m racking my brain, but I have no idea what they’re talking about. Mackey’s face is bright red, probably because the sweater twins are mashed up against him on both sides.
I must look confused because Thalia says, “He got the part. The lead. He’s Joseph!”
“Oh,” I say.
Now I remember. The dorky play audition.
I stare at Mackey. “You tried out? For a play?”
He shrugs. “Thalia can be very convincing.”
“It’s not actually a play,” Thalia says. “It’s a musical.”
“Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,” says one twin. “It’s famous.”
And the other one says, “You didn’t tell us your brother had such an amazing voice, Evyn.”
Amazing voice? Mackey?
The truth is, I’ve never thought about it. I hear him singing sometimes, in his room, or when he’s taking a shower, but it’s always been like Birdie’s whistling habit—annoying.
I don’t think he’s ever seen a musical in his life.
“Yes,” I say, nodding. “Broadway has always been Mackey’s dream. Ever since he was a small child, he’s had only one true love. The stage.”
I stare at my brother, but before he can say anything, the phone rings. It’s the honeymooners, checking in. As soon as they hear the big news, they’re fit to bust.
Mackey has a look on his face I’ve never seen before. It’s like he’s trying not to smile but can’t help himself.
“I know,” he says to Birdie. “I can’t believe it, either.”
Here is my brother. On the phone. Speaking actual English and showing joy like a normal person.
All I can think is, Who are you?
Stella?
It’s me, Evyn.
What is it with everyone around here? First Birdie, then Jules, and now Mackey. Nobody wants to be who they used to be anymore. They’re all changing, and I hate it.
Why can’t we go back to the way things were, when Birdie was Birdie, and Jules had the snaggletooth, and Mackey was just my dweeb brother, not Mr. Joe Broadway?
Stella half smiles, half sighs.
I can tell she doesn’t have any answers for me tonight.
Her eyes say, I’m sorry, honey.
It’s okay, I tell her.
Even though it’s not.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We’ve been parent-free for five days now, and the house looks like a war zone. There are clothes and pizza boxes and crusty dishes everywhere, and even Thalia has given up trying to clean.
At breakfast, one of the sweater twins opens a Cheerios box, and all that’s left is dust.
“Thanks a lot, you guys,” she says.
The other one shrugs. “You snooze, you lose.”
“Shut up, Cassi. What am I supposed to eat now?”
“I’ll make you some toast if you want,” Thalia says, opening the fridge. “Oh. We’re out of bread.”
“Great. That’s just great.”
Phoebe holds up a spoon, dripping milk everywhere. “Want some? I’ll share.”
“Yeah. I really want your backwash for breakfast.”
“Don’t be a pita, Clio. It’s not Phoebe’s fault.”
There it is again, that word. The sweater twins know everything. I bet if they were in my class they would fit right in at Andrea’s table.
“Shut up, Cassi.”
Oh, they are so obnoxious, and one of these days I’m going to tell them off, but not today. Today I need them.
“Did you guys ever go to one of those social things?” I ask.
“Oh my God,” they say. “Remember socials?”
Like they were in eighth grade twenty years ago.
“Is it tonight? What’s the theme? Who are you going with? Are you crushing on anyone? What are you wearing?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “If you have any…um…fashion advice, I’d be open to—”
The sweater twins look at each other and flip out. “Makeover? Makeover? Makeover!”
“Well,” I say. “If you want.”
The school day crawls by. A girl named Clara Bing is my math partner. Clara Bing is short and has allergies like you wouldn’t believe. On the rare day that she can breathe through her nose, she sounds like a train whistle. And her eyes are always watering. I know for a fact that the It Girls call her “Sneezy Dwarf” behind her back.
“Do you remember how to convert this?” she asks in her froggy voice. “I always forget what to divide by.”
“Me, too,” I say. “I stink at math.”
She wipes her nose with a tissue and smiles. “Me, too.”
After a while I say, “Are you going to the social tonight?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t go to those things.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t.”
“Why?” I keep on her. “Did you ever go to one?”
“Once. Last year. It was like…I don’t know. All the guys on one side of the room, all the girls on the other. Nobody really dancing, except for slow songs when it’s like couples only. It just wasn’t that fun.”
“Oh,” I say. “I see.”
And I do. Clara Bing is not the kind of girl who gets asked to dance. She doesn’t know what it’s like to have your stomach pressed up against someone else’s. Or to smell his smell. Or to feel his hand, warm against your back. She doesn’t know what she’s missing.
“If you want,” she says now, “you can come to my house tonight.”
I look at her. “Why?”
“Every Friday, we rotate. Tonight’s my night to have the girls over. The Four-Foot-Two Crew.” She smiles. “Because, you know, we’re all short? Anyway, we watch movies. Eat crap. Engage in actual dance moves. If you want to come…”
“Oh.”
I picture a room full of midgets with watery eyes.
“No,” I say. “Thanks. I’m going to the social.”
Clara Bing nods and pulls out another tissue. “Okay. Well, the offer stands.”
“Sure.”
When the bell rings, she says, “Have fun tonight, Evyn.”
“Yeah,” I say. “You, too.”
Makeover? Makeover? Makeover!
I barely recognize myself. I have on two colors of eye shadow. I’m wearing leather pants. I don’t know what kind of goop they put in my hair, but it actually looks good for once—like something out of a magazine. Punky, Clio called it. They covered up my bruises and made my nose look halfway normal. And I have on Stella’s necklace, for luck. So, although I’m not getting my hopes up, I have to say it. Tonight I feel the tiniest bit like Cinderella.
Even Cleanser Boy notices. “Hey,” he says on ou
r way to the car. “You clean up nice.”
“Thanks,” I say. “You, too.”
He does. In a preppy, jock-boy sort of way. But whatever he put on for cologne is horrifying. Especially in an enclosed space. As soon as we get in the car, I open my window.
Thalia is driving. She is in full substitute-parent form—tossing out little public service announcements the entire ride.
Remember, kids, you don’t have to be high to have a high old time. And Cigarettes won’t make you look any cooler.
Ajax laughs. “Our teachers are going. You really think they’ll be serving up martinis and matches?”
“I was in eighth grade once,” Thalia says. “I know what happens at these things. I just don’t want you to do anything stupid.”
She looks at us in the rearview mirror. “Got it?”
Ajax raises one fist in the air. “Take a Stand for a Drug-Free Land.”
I place a hand over my heart. “Count on Me to Be Drug-Free.”
“Good,” Thalia says. She pulls up to the curb and says she’ll be back to get us at ten.
Ajax lets out a groan. “Ten? Come on. It ends at eleven.”
Thalia turns around and smiles. “Sisters: The Anti-Drug.”
The Thorne School for Boys looks exactly like the March School for Girls. Only the smell is different, like mayonnaise and feet.
About fifty people are gathered in the gym, and I can see that Clara Bing was right. Nobody’s dancing. All the girls are standing in little clumps against one wall, whispering to one another, while the boys are on the other side, stuffing chips into their mouths.
One look around and you can tell the decorating committee didn’t exactly break a sweat. There aren’t any streamers or balloons or anything, just a couple of lame signs.
THORNE FALL SOCIAL: PLAY THE ARCADE, DRINK LEMONADE.
HEY MARCH GIRLS, DANCE YOUR SOCKS OFF, BRING YOUR XBOX.
Xbox.
A video-game theme. This is how they impress us.
Mackey would be thrilled.
In the bathroom, Andrea is surrounded by the usual headbands. But there seems to be a new fashion trend tonight: braids. Also, tennis dresses.
They’re all staring at themselves in the mirror. When they put on mascara, their mouths make little pink O’s of concentration.
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