by S.A. Bodeen
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For my parents, who raised me in
an old house full of books
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Copyright
1
Sarah Robinson had been ordered to pack a suitcase and, to the best of her ability, she was going to use that task to express her displeasure at the mess her life had become. She yanked a zebra-striped swimsuit and several pairs of underwear out of her top drawer. Slam!
A few weeks earlier, her father had married a flight attendant that he’d met through an online dating service. Sarah had held out hope that when he actually met the woman, he wouldn’t like her. But when he came back from his first trip to visit her in Texas, he told Sarah, “After your mother died, I never thought I’d be happy again. But I’ve fallen in love. I know you’ll love her too.”
“Well, that’s not ever gonna happen.” Sarah hurled the clothes at the open suitcase on her bed and opened up another drawer. She jerked out a pair of jeans. Slam!
On the second trip to Texas, he proposed. And then, on the third, he married her. Of course, he tried to get Sarah to go along, but she refused, insisting on staying home with her grandparents because she truly believed her father would never go through with the wedding unless she was there.
But he did. And then he and his new wife went on a short honeymoon trip before he flew home.
Sarah’s new stepmother came with baggage: two new stepbrothers for Sarah. Her father had told her over the phone, “The youngest is ten, and he is just a hoot. And the other is twelve, just like you. You two have so much in common.”
“The only thing we have in common is our age.” Sarah twisted the jeans up and hurled them at her suitcase. She pulled out another drawer and dug into a pile of shorts, snatching up three pairs. Slam!
The three of them, the Murillo family, had taken a few weeks to sell their home and pack up, so they arrived the day before and had already settled, somewhat, into the Robinsons’ extravagant Southern California home. Sarah took one look at their worn luggage and figured it all out.
Her new stepmother was after her dad’s money. Classic.
“She’s just a golddigger.” Sarah walked into her closet and began plucking shirts off hangers with so much force that some of the hangers broke and fell on the floor. She backed out of her closet and used her foot to kick the door shut. Slam!
Sarah walked over to her bed, held the shirts over her head, and heaved them into the suitcase. She grabbed a hanger off the floor and whirled around, knocking some things off her dresser and onto the floor.
“Oh no!” She quickly bent to pick up a gold and glass perfume flacon, and then sighed with relief when she saw it was unbroken. She held it up to her nose and breathed in. White Shoulders. Her mother’s scent.
Also on the floor was a silver frame, which she snatched up. “Oh, Mama…” The photograph inside was of the two of them on Heritage Day in kindergarten. Sarah’s long, black hair was in loop braids, and her blue silk kimono had come from her mother’s trip to Japan to visit relatives. Less than a year later, her mother was gone. Sarah slid into a heap on the floor beside her bed and set the frame in her lap. “If you were here, none of this would even be happening.” She buried her face in her hands.
But tears wouldn’t even come, because she was too angry to cry. This was so unlike her, to be banging and crashing about. But at the moment, she was too mad to worry about the mess she’d made.
The worst, the absolute worst, was the reason why she was packing.
The night before, at the newly merged family’s first dinner together, Sarah had been at her usual place at the dining room table, to the right of her father, who sat at the head. John Robinson was a tall man, and very fit from playing tennis every morning before heading to work at his construction company. He wore black-rimmed glasses that made his blue eyes appear bluer, and his blond hair was nearly white in places, bleached from the California sun. Though Sarah told him it wasn’t cool, he preferred to wear polo shirts and khakis nearly all the time. Sarah had inherited his chin and his dimples, but everything else—black hair and dark eyes and small frame—came right from her mother.
Sarah’s new stepmother pulled out the chair across from Sarah and sat down. Yvonna Murillo was as beautiful as the models in fashion magazines. Actually more beautiful, Sarah had to admit, given all the rampant airbrushing that went on. Her eyes were darker than dark, her long hair the same, and her nose and lips were perfect, like someone had painted them. Yvonna wore a flowered sundress that showed off her muscular arms and slim figure, which, apparently, had gotten that way from playing tennis nearly as much as Sarah’s father.
But Sarah needed no reminding that the beautiful woman across the table from her was her new stepmother—thus, her enemy. Sarah scowled. “That’s my mom’s chair.”
“Sarah.” Her dad narrowed his eyes at her. “Please stop.”
Yvonna’s forehead wrinkled as she jumped up. She sounded like she wanted to be helpful as she said, “I can sit somewhere else.”
“No. Please stay where you are.” John set a hand on Yvonna’s arm and she sat back down. He told Sarah, “That was rude.”
“It’s true!” Sarah blurted. “That’s where Mom always sat.”
“Sarah.” Her dad lowered his voice. “I know that. But things have changed.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” Sarah crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, blinking back angry tears. She glared farther down the table, where her two new stepbrothers sat next to each other. Nacho, the younger one, retained some baby fat. His dark hair was in a short, little-kid haircut that made him look younger than ten, and his white Dallas Cowboys T-shirt had some kind of dark stain on the sleeve.
Chocolate from the look of it, thought Sarah. Like he’d eaten a Snickers bar and then wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
He noticed her staring at him and he glanced down. His eyes widened and he jumped up. “I need to change my shirt.”
“Nacho,” said Yvonna. “It’s fine. Just sit.”
“But I forgot to wash my hands.” He pushed his chair back.
His older brother grabbed the chair. “Just sit, dude.” Marco had the same color hair as his brother, only his was longer and seemed purposely unkempt, the same as a lot of boys at Sarah’s school. His orange shirt bore a graphic of bull’s horns, and the words DON’T MESS WITH TEXAS.
With a huff, Nacho plopped back down in the chair, scowling.
Both boys had their mother’s eyes and nose, although Nacho’s cheeks were chubbier.
John stuck a black plastic spatula into the flowered casserole dish in the middle of the table, then plopped something on her plate. Sarah sat forward to appraise the rolled-up tortilla smothered
with a red sauce and melted cheese. “What is that?” she asked.
Her father answered, “Yvonna’s enchiladas.”
Nacho piped up, “They’re the best.”
Sarah glared at him for a moment, and then asked the question that had been on her mind for quite some time. “Is he seriously named after a food?”
Yvonna’s dark eyes sparkled as she laughed. “No, not at all. He’s named after my grandfather, Ignacio.” She looked at Marco. “But Marco couldn’t pronounce it. He called the baby Nacho. And it stuck.” She smiled at Nacho. “Now I only call him Ignacio when he’s in trouble.”
Marco held up his plate. “Can we eat now?” The boys passed their plates down, and their mother loaded them up.
Sarah stared down at her dinner. “I don’t like spicy food.”
Under the table, her dad nudged her foot. She looked up at him, and he widened his eyes at her.
She sighed. “Fine.” Sarah glared at her plate.
Everyone else began digging in with gusto, and John issued a “Yum, these are great,” before taking another large bite.
Sarah’s stomach growled. She doubted her dad would put up with her going into the kitchen and making a peanut butter sandwich, so she picked up her fork and took the smallest bite possible. The sauce wasn’t too spicy after all. And who could complain about melted cheese? She ate another bite.
“See?” said her dad. “Good, huh?”
Sarah didn’t want to admit she liked it. So instead of answering, she shrugged. “What’s in the middle?”
Yvonna smiled. “My special roasted chicken.”
Sarah dropped her fork onto the plate with a loud clink. Then she wrapped both hands around her throat, pretending to choke. “But I’m a vegetarian!”
John set his fork down. “Since when?!”
Sarah chugged half her glass of water, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and then set the glass back down. “Last week.” She pulled apart the sides of her white zippered hoodie to reveal a black T-shirt with the word PETA scrawled across it. “I’m not eating this.”
Her dad rolled his eyes at Sarah and told Yvonna, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Yvonna set her hand on his. “Maybe we should go ahead and tell them.”
“Tell us what?” asked Sarah and Marco at the same time. They glanced at each other before quickly looking away.
John smiled at Yvonna. “Well, every wedding deserves a honeymoon.”
Marco’s groan was quite loud and very intentional. “Really?” he asked. “Do we have to hear about it?”
A spontaneous giggle threatened to pop out, but Sarah stifled it just in time.
Yvonna shushed Marco. “You’ll want to hear this.”
“Well, we planned the trip for just the two of us,” John continued, “but we know this has been a whirlwind, us all moving in together. And quite an adjustment for everyone. So we thought, instead of it just being a honeymoon for two”—he reached over and set a hand on Yvonna’s cheek—“that we should all go and get to know one another. So this morning, we changed our reservations and we’re taking you three with us!”
“What?” Sarah screeched. She jumped to her feet and pointed at the boys. “I don’t want to go anywhere with them!”
Marco blurted out, “Like we’d go anywhere with you!”
Nacho raised his hand. “I want to go.”
Marco rolled his eyes and said, “Mom, I’m not going.”
John said, “This is not an option. We’ve already booked the flights and the cruise.” He tapped the table. “Sarah, sit down.”
Flights? Cruise? Sarah didn’t feel like sitting down. The only thing she felt like doing was crawling under the table and hiding. But her legs threatened to give out, so she collapsed onto her chair.
What was happening? She didn’t even want to ride to the grocery store with these people, let alone some kind of long, arduous journey across half the planet.
“Where are we going?” asked Nacho.
Both Sarah and Marco glared at him as Yvonna answered. “Fiji.”
John added, “Once we’re there, we’ll take a five-day cruise among the islands.”
Sarah had been on a family cruise to Alaska the summer before. There had been tons of other kids to hang out with, she’d barely seen her dad the whole trip, and she was clinging to the hope that this cruise would be similar. Maybe she wouldn’t even have to see her new family the entire trip.
The two adults gazed at each other and smiled.
Sarah wanted to throw up.
Yvonna said, “We’ve reserved a sailboat just for us five, with our own crew to take us on a private cruise.”
Before Sarah had a chance to protest, Marco blurted out, “Are you kidding me? A stupid sailboat?”
“Marco!” Yvonna’s eyes narrowed and she pointed at him. “You are being rude. We’re all going, so stop being this way.”
Nacho raised his hand. “I want to go on the sailboat.”
Sarah yelled, “I’m not going! And you can’t make me.” She stomped to her room and had stayed there until morning, when her father had barged in. “Sarah, you will pack your suitcase and pack it now or I will pack it for you. Understand?”
Which was how Sarah found herself sitting on her floor beside her bed, wishing she could do something about the fact that she was about to embark on a trip with the new family she wanted nothing whatsoever to do with. And she was furious because she knew there was absolutely nothing she could do to keep it from happening.
2
Marco Murillo sat on one of his new twin beds in his new room in his new home with his new stepfamily, listening to the slamming going on in the room next to his.
He wondered what that stupid girl had to be mad about.
When their parents married, she hadn’t lost a thing.
Marco, on the other hand, had been forced to leave everything behind in Texas: his friends, his house, his school, tae kwon do, his soccer team, which was going for their fourth straight league championship … the list could go on and on and on.
With a huff, Marco kicked his suitcase shut. He didn’t have to pack, because they had arrived only the day before, and he hadn’t yet unpacked. He knew what was going on. He knew exactly what was going on. His new stepfather was one of those rich guys who bought younger, beautiful wives. They used their money to make themselves look strong and powerful. And his mom had been sucked in.
His younger brother opened the door and strolled in, wheeling a red suitcase behind him.
“You could knock,” said Marco.
“Didn’t feel like it,” said Nacho. He left the suitcase by the door and plopped onto the other bed and bounced a bit. “My room is just like this. Only it’s light blue.” He frowned. “Actually, it’s almost a turquoise. Yours is dark blue. More like a navy.”
Marco rolled his eyes. “I noticed.”
“Did you see the pool? This house is really clean. Mom says they have a housekeeper.” Nacho nodded. “Yeah, this place is way way way better than ours.”
Marco had to agree. Since their dad had died in a car accident when Marco was barely two, the three of them had to live on their mom’s salary. She wanted them to go to a decent school and live in a good neighborhood, so their house in Texas had been small. But he felt that saying so aloud would be disloyal to his old life, which he already missed. So he didn’t say a word.
They heard a crash from next door.
Nacho sighed. “Our new sister sounds ticked off.”
“She’s not our new sister!” snapped Marco, his face growing hot. “Don’t ever call her that again.”
“But Mom and John are married now, so that makes her—”
“Our stepsister,” finished Marco. “And the only thing that makes her that is a dumb piece of paper.” He shook his head. “She’s not our family. Her dad is not our family. Mom is our family. You and me are family. Got it?”
Nacho tilted his head. “But we’re all a family now.
Mom said.”
“No.” Marco sighed. “This won’t last. We’ll be back in Texas by the time you start fifth grade.”
Nacho’s eyes widened. “But that’s this fall.”
“Exactly.” Marco smiled at the thought, hoping he was right: that the new marriage, this whole new arrangement, wouldn’t last the summer.
There was a knock on the door. “Boys?” Their mom peeked in. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she wore a pink sundress. She smiled. “May I come in?” She stepped inside and sat on the end of the bed by Nacho. “Are you all packed?”
Marco frowned and pointed at his suitcase.
“Oh, sweetie.” His mom reached across the space between the two beds and set a hand on his knee. “I know this is an adjustment, but it’ll get easier.”
Marco stood up and walked over to the dresser. “Whatever.”
Nacho said, “He says John and Sarah aren’t our family.”
Marco glared at Nacho.
Yvonna frowned at Marco. “Why would you say that?”
“Because they’re not,” said Marco. “How long did you know him before you married him? A month?”
“Stop,” said his mom. “You just stop. We knew each other nearly a year.”
Marco rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, I forgot. What, you saw each other like twice?”
His mom shook her head. “I know I can’t make you understand, but sometimes … you just know. You know the person is the right one for you.”
Marco pointed at Nacho. “What about Nacho? Is John the right person for him?” He set a hand on his chest. “Or me? Is John the right person for me?”
His mom scratched her head and didn’t say anything for a moment. The silence was not a happy one. Finally, sounding very confident, she said, “I thought about this a long time. Really hard. I love John. And I know it won’t be easy at first, but this is a good move for us. He makes a very good living, so I’m retiring. No more flying. I can be a full-time mom for both of you. You’ll both go to the same private school as Sarah—”
Slam!
“Speak of the—” Marco stopped when he saw the withering look his mother was sending his way. So Marco jerked a thumb in the direction of the sound. “What about her? You gonna be a mom for her too?”
