“I remember,” she mutters.
“We can’t just take Henry to the airport tomorrow night.”
“No, we can’t,” she agrees quickly—too quickly.
“Mom, have you even checked into this?” I ask.
“We’ll wait until Henry can go too,” Mouse suggests. “Then Bing will have time to pack.”
Mom’s chin sinks down below her shoulders. “It might be better if we found Henry a new home.” She croaks the words out.
We stare at her as if she’s just suggested we run over our grandma.
“Henry is a part of our family,” I say.
“Even homeless people have dogs,” India declares.
“India Jena Tompkins, don’t make this worse than it already is.” My mom’s voice rises.
“She’s our dog, Mom,” I whisper.
“Okay, okay . . . I’ll try and find a way to bring her,” Mom concedes, “but not tomorrow night.”
I can’t eat, can’t sleep after that. The truth is so much worse than anything I imagined. No home, no dog, no basketball, no Coach P., no more California. Not even my mother. This can’t be happening. It just can’t.
CHAPTER 2
THE BROKEN LOCK
What a joke last night was. That stupid family meeting—I mean, my mother land-mines our whole life, then she’s like Okay, who wants egg rolls? I wish I had it on video. I’d post it and get a million hits. What would I call it? Psycho Mom and the Moo-shu Pork, episode one.
She’s going to change her mind. Of course she is. We’re not leaving tomorrow—oh, excuse me, today . . . that just can’t be.
I can hear Finn moving something heavy out in the hall. This is so crazy . . . we can’t move all our stuff in twenty-four hours. I get under the covers and pull the pillow over my head. All last night Mom was like: “Colorado is so beautiful. The mountains are incredible ! ! ! You’ll love the outdoorsy lifestyle!!!”
She has brochures from the travel agency. We’re being kicked out of our house and she’s playing tour guide? I wish she’d get a grip.
But when I call her on it, she gives me the same stupid old line: When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
What if I don’t like lemonade? What if I’d rather drink cyanide?
There’s always a cute saying from Mom. Something teachery and ohmygod so corny.
The woman doesn’t get it. All she cares about are grades, saving money, and a clean stovetop. When Finn was little he gave her a sponge for Christmas. And she loved it! Is that sad, or what?
Finn totally kisses up to Mom, which makes me want to puke. Mouse would too if she weren’t so clueless. Mouse is like a mutant child from the Nature Channel. Where did she come from?
Thank God for Maddy. She totally gets what it’s like to live here. She calls Mom “Rules,” Mouse “the Demon Child,” and Finn “Mr. Personality” because he’s so quiet.
Mom left me alone last night, but this morning she’s been all over me. She tried sending Mouse in to drag me out of bed. That didn’t work, so now she’s coming after me herself. “India.” She raps her knuckles on my door.
I bury my head under the pillow.
“India, this is happening whether we like it or not.”
I take the pillow off. “Mom, call the bank. That guy. Remember, you said that guy would help.”
A few weeks ago I heard her and Aunt Sammy talking about the problems she was having with the house. She said she was getting help from some company person guy. I figured she had it covered, but apparently not.
Mom opens the door, walks in, and sits down on my bed, looking at Mouse’s side of the room, which is a disaster area. She probably lost her stupid planet book again.
It isn’t possible that this room will no longer be ours.
My mom is talking again. I try to concentrate on what she’s saying. “And then he took our money and ran.”
“Call the police then, Mom. Don’t move.”
“Call the police.” She shakes her head.
“You paid money to some guy’s company to restructure the loan, right? He’s the one who should be taking care of this.”
“Look, I shouldn’t have trusted him. I got scared and . . . that made everything worse, but this probably would have happened anyway. I need to explain it all, every last thing clear down to the fine print—especially the fine print, but I can’t now, honey. Now we’ve got to move.”
“Why’d you wait until the last minute to tell us? You’d kill me if I did that.”
“The last minute . . .” She sighs. “This has been going on for six months. We’ve had four hundred last minutes. Every time, I patched it back together again. I didn’t want you and Finn and Mouse to live with this hanging over your heads. Can you imagine how Finn would worry? He’d have been a wreck.”
“Oh yes, poor Finn.” I get so tired of hearing about Finn and how he worries, and Mouse and how hard it is for her to be a child genius.
“It’s not just Finn, it’s you too, honey. I didn’t want any of you to worry, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. Yesterday morning we lost the house. It’s final. This is the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.”
“We’re never going to live here again?”
“We’re never going to live here again.”
“But what about Ariana’s party? We’ll be back for that, right?”
“India, honey, don’t you understand what I’m saying?”
“Sure I understand.” I snort. “Why do you always think I’m stupid? One C in French and all of a sudden I’m an idiot.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid. I just think sometimes you believe in your own wishful thinking.”
“Mom, I totally get it. You’ve ruined my life.”
She pulls at the small hairs that are sticking out of her ponytail. “I know this is hard, India.”
“Why do we have to live in Fort Baker? We could get an apartment here. Did you ever think of that?”
“At Uncle Red’s we won’t have to pay rent. It will give me a chance to push the reset button.”
“I’ll help out more. I’ll get a job. You made this decision without even talking to us.”
“If I’d known six months ago what I know now, I would have done things differently. But I didn’t know and I wasn’t about to drag you kids into it . . .”
“I’m not a kid, Mom!”
“I know you’re not.” She massages her temple with her thumb. “And I’m asking you to take on grown-up responsibilities. Can you handle that?”
“You never think I can handle anything.”
“Oh, India.” She sighs a long, sputtering sigh. “Look, will you just get dressed and help Mouse get packed?”
When she’s finally gone, I find my cell and head straight for the bathroom. I lock the door, but the stupid lock falls off in my hand.
I flip open my cell. There are fifteen texts from Maddy. As soon as I turn my phone on, she calls me, which means she’s seriously mad.
“In, I’ve texted you a billion times. What’s wrong? It’s that rotten reception at your house, right?”
“Uh-huh,” I mutter.
“Why didn’t you go down the street to the McFaddens’ tree? The one you said was like magic.”
“I never said it was magic.”
“Whatever. Look, you’re mad, aren’t you? Has the Demon Child been making up stories about me again?”
“No.”
“It’s the party then, right? Ariana said you could come. I told you that. It’s only because she thinks Brendan is a hottie and he likes you that she didn’t invite you in the first place.”
“Maddy, I’m not mad. I just had stuff to do for my mom.” I try to make this sound light, like it’s no big deal.
The line goes quiet. So quiet I figure the call got dropped and I’m going to have to go out on the street, when Maddy says: “You are such a bad liar, In.”
“I’m not lying.”
She snorts. “For weeks we
’ve been talking about Ariana’s party and how you didn’t get invited and now I get you invited and you treat me like dog waste.”
“Maddy, I didn’t treat you like dog waste, I’m sorry I didn’t text. It’s just . . . there’s something going on,” I whisper.
“Well, what is it?”
“I can’t talk about it right now.”
“I thought we were best friends. I mean, should I be calling Lizzie? Because she would so tell me everything.”
“India.” My mom bangs on the bathroom door. “Let’s get going!”
“Maddy, look, my mom’s gone nuts. I gotta go.”
“Oh great . . . she’s not going to call up my mother again, is she?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
Maddy sighs. “I don’t know what I’d do if I had your mom, and don’t even let me get started on the Demon Child. But we’re good, right? You’d tell me if we’re not.”
“Totally.”
I want to tell Maddy what’s happening, I really do, but she’d drop me for Lizzie in a hot second. Lizzie hangs around waiting for that too—hoping I get mono or something. Maddy is a good friend, she really is. She just can’t stand to be alone.
This isn’t permanent, anyway. I’m not going to live out in the middle of nowhere.
Never going to happen. Never.
CHAPTER 3
OUR EX-HOUSE
Everything is a jumble, all mixed up and upside down. We’re looking for suitcases, cramming stuff into bags to be sent later, boxes to be mailed, bins to go to storage, garbage bags to be thrown out. There is no time for anything and no way to begin to get everything packed.
How’s she going to move the rest of our stuff by herself?
“Mom, you can’t do this alone. Why don’t we fly tomorrow?”
“I already bought the tickets,” she tells me as I wedge one more plastic crate into our jam-packed little car and somehow manage to get the passenger’s-side door closed.
“I’ll be fine,” she mutters as she gets in the car and backs out of our parking place.
Not even the parking place will be ours anymore, I think as I watch her leave.
I was right all along . . . something bad was happening. Being right stinks.
While my mom makes a run to the storage locker, we stay home trying to decide what to put in the one suitcase we are each allowed to bring. Any more and they’ll charge us extra, and my mother wants her last fifty dollars to give to India so we’ll have money for the trip. I have seven dollars to my name, which I put in my suitcase. Mouse has the dimes in her shoe.
The only real estate we own now is what we can fit inside our roller bags.
“How does she look to you?” I ask India.
“God, Finn, she’s fine,” India says. “Our life is falling apart and you’re worried about Mom?”
“Yeah, I am . . . can you imagine?”
She rolls her eyes.
Mouse is helping to pack stuff with a running commentary about the stuff itself and not the fact we’re moving it—Here’s the book about the black holes. The Bermuda Triangle is not a black hole. It’s not, Finn! Did you know that?
She doesn’t seem to get the fact that we’re moving. She hasn’t said a word to Bing about the flight. Usually she discusses everything with him. That’s how you know what’s going on with her.
The only thing that gives any inkling she knows what’s happening is she wants to dig up her goldfish graves and take the skeletons along.
“Do you have to be weird all the time?” India snaps at Mouse.
I glare at her.
“I’m sorry. It’s just not normal to want to haul around the skeletons of your pets,” India says.
“It’s not just my pets; if they were your bones, I’d want to dig them up too,” Mouse says as she locates a trowel under a stack of naked Barbies.
“Oh, well, I’m flattered then,” India answers, her voice thick with sarcasm.
Mouse marches out to our tiny yard, which is the size of four sidewalk squares and has three plants and a basketball hoop.
“Are you just going to let her do that?” India asks me.
“Mouse,” I suggest, “let’s leave the fish bones for last, okay?”
“Okay.” Mouse nods agreeably.
India glares at her. She wants Mouse to like her better than me, but India is mean to Mouse. She blames Mouse for everything. What does India expect?
I can’t worry about that right now. I have problems of my own . . . I’ve got to call Coach P. and let him know what’s going on. I can’t just disappear on him. What kind of a person does that?
I have his cell number, and it’s not like everybody does. Just Logan, MC, and me! Of course, they’re tall, but never mind that.
I’m hoping to leave a message, but on the third ring Coach P. picks up. “Finn, my man, what’s up?”
It feels good to hear his voice. I forgot about that part.
“Uh, oh, hi, Coach. Look, I just wanted to . . .”
“Wanted to what? Spit it out, Finn.”
I push through the lump in my throat. “To say good-bye. I’m moving to, uh, Colorado today.”
“Finn . . . today? Why?”
I can’t tell him our house got repoed. That makes me sound like the biggest loser in the world. “My mom wants to,” I mumble.
“Oh, your mom . . .” he says as if this explains everything. Coach P. thinks women are irrational. “Well, look guy, will we get to see you before you go?”
“I dunno,” I mutter.
“Okay then . . . we’ll miss you. Nobody can eat those hot dogs like you can.”
“Coach . . . I don’t, ummm, eat a lot. You’re thinking of Logan.”
“Logan, yeah, how many did he eat on Spirit Day?”
“Nine.”
“Nine . . . amazing. Well, Finn. You’re a good guy and a good sport. Keep in touch and come back and visit me, okay?”
“Coach?”
“Yeah, son.”
“You think I’ll ever be a good player?”
He sucks in a big breath. “Sure, sure, why not? Like I always say: Keep your head in the game and your eye on the ball. Now, you take care of yourself, Finn. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He laughs his big laugh.
The line is dead now, but his words circle around inside my head.
Sure, sure, why not . . . sure, sure, why not.
That’s not the same as yes, is it?
I get my basketball out of my suitcase and dunk it from the place where I always make it. Not from the spot where I don’t.
“You okay, Finn?” my mom asks when she gets back.
I pretend I don’t hear her.
“Let’s call Uncle Red. He really is excited about you coming. The girls too . . .” Her voice trails off.
I still don’t answer. Just keep dunking the ball from my sure-bet spot.
When we’re finally ready and Mouse is sent to do a last pit stop, India corners Mom.
“Mouse should stay with you,” she says.
My mother winces. “I know,” she admits, “but I don’t like her around your cousins and their music.”
“You’re sending us off to live with a strange relative because you’re worried about a few bad words?” India asks. “It’s not like she hasn’t heard them before.”
“India, I’m doing the best I can here,” my mom tells her.
“I just don’t think this decision makes sense,” India reasons.
“Mouse drives Uncle Tito up a tree with all her questions,” my mom whispers.
“Uncle Tito is an adult and he can’t deal with her. How are we supposed to?”
“She’s your sister, India,” Mom says as she slams the hatchback closed a final time.
Mouse appears at the back door. She looks at India and my mother. “It’s me again, Bing . . . isn’t it?”
The hardest thing is saying good-bye to Henry. Henry is like the Christmas tree at Christmas. The birthday cake on your birthday a
nd trick-or-treating on Halloween . . . we love her that much.
After she takes us to the airport, my mother will come back and pick Henry up along with our last loads of stuff. I know she will . . . but Henry doesn’t. Henry goes into stealth mode. She slinks out the door and makes a mad dash for the car.
We try and get her back in the house the usual way, filling our pockets with Milk-Bones, but she lies on her back with her paws up and refuses to move. My mother gets the leftover Chinese—her last splurge—and dribbles the beef with broccoli in a path from the car to the house, but Henry doesn’t fall for it.
The only thing that works is when all four of us lock the car door and walk back into the house as if we’re coming home again. Then when Henry follows us, my mom quick shuts her inside. The last thing I see as we drive away is Henry’s big brown eyes watching through the front window of our ex-house.
CHAPTER 4
AIRPORT EXPLOSION
Ever since I found out they kicked Pluto out of the planets, I have not been feeling so sure about a lot of things.
If they can decide Pluto is not a planet all of a sudden like that, things are not being run the right way up top. Pluto is a planet in My Solar System on page one, page six, and all of chapter three.
My brother, Finn, who has no pimples, says that’s because Pluto is a dwarf star, but Finn is wrong about this. Finn is wrong about a lot of things, but I keep quiet about how many. He is a nice big brother and I don’t want to ruin him.
My sister, India, is fourteen and she’s only nice when Mommy makes her. India says when she gets her driver’s permit, she will attach a leash to my belt loop and make me run behind the car.
India and Mommy are way ahead of Finn and me. Neither of them is paying any attention because they are talking a lot. They probably haven’t read the airport signs. Mommy says I am the official sign reader in the family. I want to go back and make sure I understand the one about liquids. 3:1:1: three liquids, one ounce, one bag, but Finn is pulling me along by my blue corduroy belt loop. He says I took too long reading the monitor about the flights coming and the flights going, and now we’re late.
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