Nick’s theory was, if you wanted to trick one of your parents into telling you a secret, you should try the parent who didn’t have a PhD in psychology.
Now he and Eryn were in the car with Dad, headed to Dad’s house. Nick had made sure that Eryn was in the backseat and he was in the front with Dad. Ever since she’d eavesdropped on Mom and Dad, every time the grown-ups weren’t looking, Eryn kept peering at Nick and wiggling her eyebrows up and down and mouthing words like I found something out! Just wait until I tell you!
Dad could be kind of clueless sometimes, but even he would be able to tell Eryn was up to something if she was sitting right beside him.
“So—good week at Mom’s?” Dad asked, pulling to a stop at a red light and glancing over at Nick. It was kind of a silly question, because Dad always called on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays when Eryn and Nick were staying at Mom’s. (Mom always called on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays when the kids were at Dad’s.) So Dad already knew pretty much everything that had happened to Eryn and Nick last week.
This didn’t stop Eryn from leaning forward from the backseat and blurting out, “We’re kind of weirded out about Mom getting married again, and us moving and getting a new brother and sister. . . .”
Nick shot his sister a look that said, Ever heard of subtlety? Let me handle this one!
Eryn frowned, but eased back into her seat.
“You like Michael okay, right?” Nick asked Dad.
“Oh yeah,” Dad said, and it sounded like he was being totally honest. “He’s a great guy. And I think he and your mom are much more compatible than the two of us ever were.”
“Because of that whole head-hand thing?” Nick asked.
This was the excuse Mom and Dad gave for why their marriage hadn’t worked out: Mom liked thinking; Dad liked doing. Mom could sit around all day talking about things that, as far as Nick was concerned, really didn’t make any sense. Dad hated sitting around. His job was building houses, and even when he wasn’t at work he was always making something: a garden or a pot of stew or a bookshelf for Eryn’s room or . . . something.
Nick didn’t think it was that weird that Mom and Dad hadn’t stayed together. What he didn’t understand was why they’d ever gotten married in the first place.
Dad’s explanation was, “Love makes you do strange things, kids.”
Mom’s explanation was . . . Well, actually, Nick had never listened all the way through Mom’s explanation. It was something about biology and psychology and lots of other things Nick mostly didn’t care about.
But Michael was a professor of computer science. He thought about things all the time too—just more interesting things than Mom thought about.
“I guess Mom must think Eryn and I are more like you than like her and Michael,” Nick said, trying to sound casual and offhanded and not like freaked-out Eryn. “Mom said we didn’t have anything in common with Michael’s kids. They must be too smart for us.”
Will this work? Nick wondered.
Dad had started driving again when the light turned green, but now he hit the brake so hard that Nick’s head jerked forward, and a car behind them honked its horn. Dad yanked the steering wheel to the right, pulling over to the side of the road. The car shuddered to a stop.
Dad spun in his seat so he was facing Nick directly.
“Too smart for you? Too smart for you?” Dad repeated, his face turning redder and redder and his hair puffing out more than ever. “Don’t you ever let me hear either one of you say anybody is too smart for the Stone twins. You hear me? You two are plenty smart. You’re the perfect mix of your mother and me, so you’re good with both your heads and your hands.”
It’s working, Nick thought.
“Yeah, but you have to say you think we’re smart and talented and all, because you’re our dad,” Nick said with a shrug. “Those other kids must be geniuses or prodigies or something.”
Dad’s face was so red he looked like a tomato. But—this was weird—rather than going on shouting at Nick, Dad glanced cautiously out the window. They had pulled over right beside the park with the giant playground where Nick and Eryn had played when they were younger. Even though it was starting to get dark, there were still some moms and dads pushing little kids on swings or waiting at the bottom of the big curvy slides for their toddlers to come down.
The next time Dad spoke, it was in a much softer voice. Could he possibly be afraid someone would overhear him? Why?
It’s not a crime to tell your kids they’re smart, Nick thought.
“Michael’s kids . . . they’re just different,” Dad said. “That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything bad about them or bad about you.”
“Wow, that really clears things up,” Eryn said sarcastically from the backseat. “So are you saying it’s being different that’s bad?”
Dad shook his head like Eryn had confused him.
“No, no, differences are fine,” he said. “Differences aren’t a problem at all. We need all sorts of different kinds of people in the world to make things work right. Like your mom and me. If there weren’t people like me, nobody would have a house. And if there weren’t people like your mom, kids wouldn’t understand their feelings. So—”
“So it’s just kids who are different who shouldn’t have anything to do with each other?” Eryn asked. “Kids like Ava and Jackson and Nick and me?”
Dad ran his hand through his hair. Now it wasn’t just curly and wild; it also stuck up in odd places.
“This is really more your mom’s department than mine,” he muttered. “Look, your mom and Michael are just trying to make the transition easier for everyone. You’re smart, good kids, and Ava and Jackson are smart, good kids, but you just can’t meet. Not until . . .”
“Until what?” Eryn asked, springing forward like a cat pouncing. “You’re saying the plan is for all of us to meet someday? When? Mom said we’d never have to meet those kids.”
Nick turned around and glared at Eryn. Was she trying to get Dad to stop talking?
Dad looked lost.
“Um . . . maybe you should save your questions for your next phone call with Mom,” he said. He winced. “Or really, until you see her next Sunday night. Because it’s better to talk about difficult topics in person.”
“Right, and you’re the person we’re with this week,” Eryn argued. “That’s why we’re talking about it with you.”
“I said, wait until Sunday!” Dad thundered.
Nick and Eryn sat in stunned silence. Dad never yelled at them like that. Dad never yelled at them; Mom never yelled at them; their teachers never yelled at them. . . .
Is this what it feels like? Nick wondered. To be yelled at for something that isn’t even your fault?
Maybe he was like Mom: He could examine a feeling and label it and think that could make it easier to deal with.
Beside Nick, Dad clapped his hand over his mouth. Color drained from his face—in an instant it went from tomato red to ghostly pale. Dad put his other hand on the steering wheel, then down on the gearshift, then back on the steering wheel.
He dropped his hand from his mouth.
“I’m sorry, kids,” he said, as meek as a mouse. “I guess I’m a little weirded out by all the changes too.”
He put the car back in gear, and they drove the rest of the way home in silence.
“Want help carrying your things in?” Dad said as he pulled into the garage. His voice sounded like he was trying way too hard to make it come out normal.
“No thanks,” Nick mumbled.
“We’re fine,” Eryn echoed.
It was strange that Dad was even asking. The only things they ever carried back and forth between their parents’ houses were their backpacks for school. They didn’t bother with suitcases. They just wore one set of clothes when they were at Dad’s, and a different set of clothes when they were at Mom’s. Nick’s T-shirts and sweatshirts and jeans were all pretty interchangeable anyway, so it wasn’t like he cared.
“We’ll be upstairs in our rooms doing homework,” Eryn said.
“Okay,” Dad said, and this was weird too. Normally he would have asked what the homework was.
They went into the house, and Dad began dusting bookshelves that already looked completely dust-free. Nick followed Eryn upstairs. As soon as they got to the landing, Eryn grabbed Nick’s arm and tugged him into her room with her.
She shoved the door shut behind them and whirled around to face Nick directly.
“Want to know what I heard Mom and Dad say?” she asked. “They were talking about risks! They said we’re in danger, and so are those mystery kids of Michael’s!”
Nick’s heart pounded, and for a moment he wondered what it would feel like to faint, right there on Eryn’s fluffy purple rug.
Then maybe the extra blood to his brain helped a little, and his mind cleared.
He sank down to sit on the edge of Eryn’s bed.
“You know how Mom talks,” he said. “I bet she meant emotional danger and emotional risks. That’s all. Remember when she had you thinking fourth grade was going to be a war zone, because she kept talking about landmines and ‘battles unique to the female young of the human species’?” When really, all she meant was that some girls might make fun of other girls’ clothes and hair?”
“This is different,” Eryn said stubbornly. “Dad yelled at us.”
Nick couldn’t argue with that.
A knock sounded at Eryn’s door.
“Can I come in?”
It was Dad. Eryn went over and yanked the door open.
Dad stood there panting a little, as if he’d raced up the stairs.
“I just wanted to tell you,” he said. “At times like this, when there are a lot of changes going on, weird is normal. It’s to be expected. So . . . don’t think it’s weird that we all feel weird. Everything that’s going on right now is totally normal.”
Eryn put her hands on her hips.
“Mom told you to say that,” she accused.
Dad looked back and forth between Eryn and Nick.
“That doesn’t mean it isn’t true,” he said.
But even he didn’t sound like he believed it.