Chuck puts his hands up. “Just try to follow, okay? Each of you is an individual and you have your own personal time.”
“I’m not confused. It’s you that’s confused, Mr. Chuck,” I tell him.
“Wait . . . why are you saying this? You’re not going to leave us . . . are you?” Finn asks.
“I’m afraid so. Now second thing, if you want me after, just call. But it has to be all three of you. They won’t let me come for just one. Bit of a vehicle shortage, I’m afraid. Carpooling is encouraged here.”
“After what?” Finn asks.
“Of course it would be all three of us, Mr. Chuck, sir,” I tell him. “My mom said India has to stay with us, and Finn is always here.”
India crosses her arms. “Look, you can’t just leave us.”
Chuck unrolls the windows. He tips his head toward the people shouting “Tomp-kins! Tomp-kins!”
“Listen to that,” Chuck says. He has the doors open and the feathers up. He must have an open-all-the-seat-belts button, because I did not touch mine and it’s unbuckled.
“If we want you after what?” Finn insists.
“Yeah, after what, Mr. Chuck?” I ask.
“Wait.” India buckles her seat belt again. “How will we call you? You said the cell didn’t work here. And anyway, I don’t have your number.”
Chuck smiles the nice smile with the dimples. “Thanks, India. I almost forgot. Here.” He gives a piece of wood to each of us. “Put the pieces together and I will be there.”
I turn the wood over in my hand. It’s carved with one leaf growing from a small branch at the top. It smells of trees. Each one looks like this, only different.
It’s a puzzle. But before I can put it together, we are out of the car, only I never told my arms or legs to get out. It isn’t a bumpy getting-out-of-the-car either. It’s smooth like when Mommy puts my honey in the microwave. I put the piece of wood in my pocket and grab my blue roller bag.
The air smells like flowers, dirt, and peanut butter cookies. Every step is springy like my feet are bouncing balls. People sing our names. My name makes a beautiful song. Almost as nice as Bing’s.
“Look! See! The Tompkins three,” people chant as Chuck waves good-bye.
My feet know where they’re going. I want to ask Bing how that’s possible, but he’s busy looking at everything. My feet walk me up a sidewalk made of smooth flat stones. The walk splits into three paths. Between the white stones are gray stones that make a giant M for Mouse and a small B for Bing. There is an F for Finn on Finn’s path and I for India on the end one.
The paths lead to big homes like on TV. India’s is teenagery sparkly with gold hangy things and a rug with India’s name in bright letters. There are round pink, lime green, and orange lights and a polka-dot carpet inside the open door. A fluffy white cat sits on the window seat.
Finn’s home is made of wood with a gray stone chimney. It has big windows and trees all around. It is an olden day’s house that smells like a fireplace and looks like a bear might visit soon. On the side is a basketball court with a real scoreboard and places for Mommy and me to sit and watch Finn.
Finn is staring at his house with his mouth open like at the dentist. India is walking up her sidewalk.
My home is yellow with white trim, a porch swing, pots with flowers, and clouds of butterflies and hummingbirds and fireflies everywhere. It is glowy with yellow light. My house is better than Finn’s or India’s.
In the doorway is a lady with red curly hair like mine. She has a science book in one hand, a plate of peanut butter–chocolate chip cookies in the other. I can smell them. That’s how I know. “‘Pluto,’” she reads, “‘is the ninth planet in the solar system.’ ”
I don’t know who this stranger person is. She isn’t like my mommy at all. This mommy is better.
CHAPTER 9
A COOL MOM
Okay, I have no idea how we got these incredible houses and everything. It had to have been Uncle Red, right? He must have like pulled some strings somehow. Too bad Mom can’t see how well Uncle Red and I are taking care of Finn and Mouse. I mean hello? Look at this! I’ll bet Uncle Red didn’t have to work his butt off or freak out about it either. Life is a lot easier than Mom makes it out to be.
There’s a group of girls about my age pointing at me from the sidewalk.
I have fans . . . who knew?
Why didn’t I read the celebrity magazines Maddy always buys? Then I’d know what you’re supposed to say to fans. Fans love you no matter what, don’t they? I’ll bet that’s what Maddy would say.
Maddy understands things way better than Mom. I just wish she were here right now, because I’m feeling a little clueless about what I’m supposed to do.
I feel bad I didn’t tell Maddy I was moving. I didn’t even say good-bye. What if they put up a sign that says the house has been repoed, foreclosed, sold by the bank, whatever . . . and what if Maddy sees it?
They won’t do that, right?
Maddy would freak if she saw this place. This house is awesome. It’s ten times nicer than Lizzie’s house. I wish I could tell her how to get here. There’s a number 401 next to the door, but what street?
How did it work that I got this place? I mean, if Uncle Red arranged it, wouldn’t he be here? That’s the part I don’t get.
But maybe Uncle Red wants us to enjoy this without him. When he sends a gift for my birthday, it’s not like he flies in to give it to me.
Maddy says when something good happens, don’t question it. Just go for it.
I need a clean set of clothes that aren’t, you know, slept in. What should I wear though? How do you dress if you’re a celebrity?
I’m just unzipping my suitcase, digging through looking for my turquoise skirt, when this lady comes out who kinda looks like my mom, only much younger, much cooler, much more fun; my mom without the worry.
“In—” The mom-like person smiles at me. “You’re not going to believe this,” she says, leading me through this incredible, foyer kind of place to a room bigger than our living room, full of new clothes.
“Here you go, girl,” the lady says. “I’ll leave you to it.”
The first thing I see are plum-colored pants like the ones Maddy has that I’ve been dying for but my mom says are too expensive. And ohmygod tons of boyfriend jeans, hundreds of shoes, and boots—real ones, not the knockoffs I always have to wear.
Seriously expensive tops too—long sleek ones that make you look skinny and tall. There must be a hundred, hanging up like in a cool boutique, and then there are whole outfits accessorized in really cute ways. Everything is my style. Better than my style. The me I’ve always wanted to be. Nobody can pick out what I like all the time, but this woman has. If only Maddy or Ariana or even Lizzie were here. We would have a blast trying things on.
I slip into the plum-colored pants like Maddy’s. They are so cute and they fit perfectly. I can’t believe the way I look in this stuff. Ten times better than normal. Even my birthmark looks great here, like my belly would not look right without it. Isn’t that crazy? I always thought it looked like mud, but here it resembles a bird in flight.
Then I drift past the closet room to another room—even bigger than the last. Inside are dozens of screens and photos of Maddy and her friends. But they are all static photo faces, except Maddy’s.
Maddy’s hand beckons in that rapid-fire way she has. “In, come closer! Oh my God, what are you wearing? That top is too cute.”
“You think?” I turn so she can see the back, which is the most adorable part because of the way it’s cut low.
“Get out of here, girl! That is adorable! You better hide that one from Rules. She’d never let you wear anything like that. Has Brendan seen it? Is he on screen? Have you talked to him yet?” Maddy whispers in her throaty voice.
I look over at his photo. How could I talk to him? He’s just a photo of himself. Maybe there’s a texting component. Maddy would totally know about that and she’d exp
ect me to know too. “No,” I say.
“Well, go say hello. Just, you know, walk by his screen.”
“Just walk by? How weird is that?”
“Like he hasn’t checked you out already? Wait, don’t turn around. He’s watching now, I can kinda see.”
How can I ever leave Maddy? And Brendan? I can’t believe he likes me, but Maddy swears he does and she would know.
I look around for the mom-like person. Rules would be all over me for this. The second I’m having fun, she comes up with some new rule that puts an end to it.
This woman is cool. She knows when to show up and when to fade away. She comes back in just as I’m looking for her.
“You want to look around now?” she asks. She’s wearing this gold ring with a killer stone in it. It looks totally real. As soon as she sees my eyes on it, she says, “You want to borrow the ring?”
“Are you sure it’s okay?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says. “I don’t care about stuff like that.”
I put it on. It looks totally great, but it makes me uncomfortable.
“It’s okay really, In,” she says. “I know what happened with Maddy . . .”
“Maddy would never in a million years steal anything,” I tell her. “She just borrowed it.”
“I know,” she says.
Still, I give her ring back. I’ve had enough of rings for my whole entire life.
This house is unbelievable—it’s so clean, for one thing. It’s as if Ariana’s neurotic mom ran around here with her vacuum. At our house I’m the maid. Finn is supposed to do the yard and the wash. But c’mon, the yard is the size of a teaspoon and all he has to do is put the clothes in the machine. How hard is that? Whereas I scrub the floors like I’m Cinderella. Thank God none of my friends ever saw that.
Here there isn’t just one living room and one bathroom either. There are gobs of living rooms and dozens of bathrooms; huge ones with makeup and lip gloss in a zillion colors and big cases of eye shadows like they have at the cosmetics counter of department stores.
My mom won’t even let me wear makeup. How ridiculous is that? But thinking of my mom makes me realize she’ll kill me if I forget to check on Finn and Mouse.
The second this thought occurs to me, the woman pushes a button and a gigantic screen pulls down from the ceiling. On it I see Mouse in a room painted to look like the night sky. She is busy hanging planets.
The mom person she’s with looks just like her. The woman appears to be enjoying herself too. Must be a great actress, because she’s got to be sick to death of Mouse by now. Mouse tires everyone out—even the nice people.
Mom thinks Finn helps with Mouse, but I’m the one with all the responsibility. I’m the one who has to share a room with her and give her a bath and let her borrow my underwear.
The second I think of Finn, the screen shimmers to a new scene: Finn and his dad person playing ball. His dad person gives Finn a thumbs-up. Finn smiles. You can totally see him too. He’s not hiding behind his hair.
I follow my cool mom into the kitchen, which has three refrigerators stuffed full of Cokes and root beers. On the stove, a pan of cinnamon buns and a boysenberry pie are cooling. My real mom never has time to bake unless it’s for Finn or Mouse.
I sink my teeth into a warm cinnamon bun and get a rush of buttery, cinnamony flavor. I pour myself a hot chocolate, grab a bag of chips, and head for the library. My real mom likes books, so we went to the library a lot when I was little. But this place is more like a bookstore. Every book is brand-new—the kind of books you have to wait for months to get from the library.
It’s full of light and window seats and snuggly pillows and fish—ohmygod, a wall-size aquarium full of fish—and one white cat stalking.
Stupid cat . . . what’s it doing here? Then I remember I saw a white cat I wanted once. That’s freaky. How could anyone know that? I never even told Maddy.
My cool mom seems to guess what I’m thinking. “I pay attention,” she says as the cat eyes me like I’m a frenemy.
“No kidding,” I say. “I’m not used to it.”
“Your mom’s busy.”
“She always has time for Finn and Mouse.”
My cool mom’s head doesn’t move, but her eyes register that she knows I’m right. “She thinks you’re older.”
“She doesn’t care about what’s important to me.”
My cool mom nods. “Your dad was the people guy. You’re more like him. You scare your mom. She doesn’t know how to protect you where you’re going,” she tells me as she reaches down to stroke the white kitty, who is purring loudly like she needs a cat-sized muffler.
I find another screen and check to see if Mouse is driving her mom person nuts yet. She’s just built a gigantic volcano with a remote control device that sends hot lava spewing out a hole in the roof. Now she’s walking to her bedroom, which is a room-size climbing structure next to a condo for mice. I mean check this out: fifteen tiny bedrooms with tiny mice asleep in tiny beds, their tiny bedside lamps turned off. Mouse climbs up to her bed high in the tree house.
“The higher you go, the safer you’ll be. Remember that . . . it’s important,” her mom person tells her.
That makes no sense. The higher up you go, the farther you’ll fall down. I guess her mom person is a little off, just like Mouse. Whatever.
Not to worry. It looks safe up there—the bed has tall slat sides, so she won’t fall out. My real mom would kill me if Mouse got hurt.
Mouse curls up under the branches, then her mom person strokes her cheek and sings softly, “B-I-N-G, B-I-N-G, B-I-N-G, and Bingo was his name-o.”
At night when she’s asleep, Mouse is kind of sweet. Then in the morning she’s like a pop-up you can’t get rid of.
Finn’s room has a big tent, with a little tent inside it. His name is on everything. The sheets, the pillows, the bookshelf, the tent, the canvas walls. Even the dog collars say: Property of Finn Tompkins. I don’t see him, though. He’s probably already inside the tent sound asleep.
I’m beat too, so I head for my bed that has a million pillows with polka dots and zigzags and checkerboard squares in all shapes and sizes.
I sink into my comforter with my new cool clothes on. There are a bazillion pairs of pajamas, but I’m too tired to decide which to wear. The bed is so soft it’s like diving into a down feather swimming pool. I don’t worry that I’m going to bed at three a.m. I can sleep late in the morning. My cool mom will know that about me.
As I’m falling asleep, I think about what I will wear tomorrow. The gray pants with the purple and pink shirt that makes my stomach look so flat. Or that like short, flouncy skirt with the brown sweater that’s so soft it feels like lamb’s ears. And what will I eat for breakfast? I know . . . Belgian waffles with whipped cream, fresh blueberries, and hot chocolate. Everything about this place is incredible!
CHAPTER 10
COURTESY PHONE
Who wouldn’t love this house? It’s like a cabin in the woods—with chairs made of branches, thick rugs, high ceilings, and a big old-fashioned stone fireplace. There are also these buttons with symbols on the wall. I touch one and a different room appears. When I push the basketball button, the indoor court comes to me. The fireplace room is in the center of the house and it stays still while the other rooms revolve on tracks around it.
I push the kitchen button because I’m starving. When the kitchen arrives, this guy appears. He looks like my dad, with freckles, curly red hair, and bushy red eyebrows. His voice is different, his face is rounder, and he’s taller, but there’s clearly a resemblance. It’s as if someone studied a photo of my dad and then found a look-alike.
This dad look-alike guy brings me a Philly cheese steak sandwich, onion rings, and soda. I dig in.
“How’d you know I like Philly cheese steak?” I ask between bites.
“This is your dream house. Of course we’ll stock it with your favorite foods.”
“But how did you know wha
t they are?”
“Sparky told me.”
“Sparky again.”
He nods. “Look Finn, just take it on face value. If you think too much, worry about every little thing, you’ll get in your own way.”
“How will I get in my own way?”
“You’ll lose time.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Sure it does. If you spend all your time worrying about the future, you can’t enjoy the present.” He takes a deep breath and starts again. “This time in your house is for you to enjoy. You need it to prepare you for your journey.”
“To Uncle Red’s?”
“If that’s where you want to go.”
“What if it isn’t?”
He shrugs. “You’ll have to consider other options.”
What are my other options? I wonder. Going to live with Aunt Sammy and Uncle Tito? Mom said that wasn’t possible. Apparently I don’t have any other options. I’m not going to say that. I don’t want this guy to think I’m a loser with no place to go.
“Ready for pie?” he asks. He seems to understand I want to drop the subject.
“Yes,” I say as a screen in the back of the kitchen goes live with a movie clip of a basketball game I played in. Coach P. is giving me instructions from the sidelines like I’m one of his starting guys. That only happened once, but it was the best game of my life!
Without me saying anything, my dad look-alike replays it over and over again.
I’m not sure how many times I watch, before I finally pull myself away. Then we play basketball one on one until it gets dark. On the way inside I thank him for everything, then explain it’s time to go home.
“Home?” he asks.
“To Uncle Red’s then,” I whisper miserably.
“You’re sure?”
“Look, Mr. Whatever-Your-Name-Is. I need to know what’s going on here.”
He smiles at this as if I’ve just given the answer to a difficult question. Together we walk to the center fireplace room, where he pushes a small button with a question mark. Within seconds a loudspeaker blares overhead. “Finn Tompkins, please step to the white courtesy phone. Finn Tompkins, white courtesy phone.”
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