“Philippa Frady,” I gasped. “What are you doing here?”
“I called earlier. Didn’t you get my message?” Philippa was sitting on the couch, with mascara-stained Kleenexes piled up all around her. She was wearing a pair of tight, charcoal-colored Diesel jeans and a wifebeater tank top, and her usually light brown hair was dyed a kind of maroon color and cut so the ends looked all jagged and wild. She looked like a badass with a broken heart.
I’ve known Philippa Frady for a while, from a distance, because she went to grade school with SBB and because, for as long as anyone can remember, practically, she’s had this on-again, off-again relationship with Mickey Pardo, one of my brother’s best friends and her next-door neighbor. I’ve always kind of admired Philippa because she’s like a younger, taller version of Jennifer Connelly, with long brown hair and this kind of downtown, artsy vibe to her. She’s really chill and ironic and laid-back—laid-back about everything except for her relationship, that is.
See, ages ago, I guess that Mickey’s father, who is a sculptor, got in a big fight with Philippa’s father, an art dealer, over this big piece that he was supposed to buy from him or something. Nobody really knows the details, and probably the two sets of parents don’t even remember anymore, but the end result is that they hate each other and never ever want their kids to be dating. So Mickey and Philippa are like Romeo and Juliet, because they always have to keep it a secret when they’re going out. For a while it seemed like they were actually broken up for good, because Philippa announced that she was a lesbian, but then she broke up with this way-irritating girl she was seeing and decided she wanted to be with Mickey again after all.
It was a weird situation, but I really admired how Philippa went out and reinvented herself and tried something crazy and different and risky. I don’t think I’m going to start dating girls anytime soon, but I know in my life how important it is to change and experiment with stuff, so I guess I always kind of looked up to Philippa for giving the lesbian thing a try.
Anyway, none of this explained why she was sitting in my living room, crying, in the middle of the night. I was so surprised to see her there that I dropped Noodles, who quickly scrambled across the living room. He jumped onto her lap and tried to lick away her tears.
“Down, down, little guy!” Philippa pushed at Noodles, laughing a little despite herself. “Why does your dog smell like Chinese food?”
Before I could answer, Patch came out of the kitchen, eating a sandwich.
“Hey, sis,” he said as he went up the stairs. “New dog?”
“Yeah. So what’s going on here?”
“Philippa ran away from home,” Patch yelled down the stairs. “I guess she’ll crash with us for a while.”
I nodded, still confused. “What happened?”
“I had a terrible fight with my folks,” Philippa said, staring down into her lap. “God, it was so unbelievable. We were all just beginning to speak to one another again, and then when they found Mickey sleeping in my bedroom, they just totally—”
“Flipped out? Oh, I could tell you some stories.” Sara-Beth flung herself down on the couch dramatically. “It’s a horrible thing, having a mom and a dad.”
“Yeah. They can be such assholes.” Philippa blew her nose loudly. SBB nodded.
“And those snakes are out for every cent they can get,” SBB said. “That’s why you’re going to need a good lawyer—the best.”
I thought of Judith’s father. Maybe I could send some business his way.
“But I’m not just mad at them. I’m pissed at Mickey too. He totally bailed on me. He thinks this is all just a big joke.” Philippa slumped back on the couch. “The minute they found him, he was out the window. Literally. He sprained his ankle! Sometimes I think he doesn’t care about me at all—he just likes me because I’m a challenge. First he can’t have me because of my folks, then he can’t have me because I’m into girls. But whoo-flippin’-hoo, once he gets me, he just totally flakes out. He just treats me like a girlfriend, not like a real friend, you know?”
“That’s terrible.” I sat down on the couch. It sort of sounded like Philippa was overreacting—Mickey was a good guy, from what I knew about him—but then again I hadn’t heard the whole story. Noodles jumped into my lap and I scratched his belly. “So let me get this straight: your parents found Mickey in your room, Mickey totally bailed on you, and you came here to get away from all of them?”
“Basically, yeah. Plus my parents might be suing the Pardos, but that’s a whole other issue. Sorry to burden you guys.” Philippa covered her face with her hands. “It’s all a huge mess. I just need someone to talk to, I guess.”
“I love these late-night chats.” Sara-Beth grinned. “It’s like a sleepover.”
“It kind of is.” But I could barely keep my eyes open. Even Noodles was falling asleep in my lap. I dragged myself up off the sofa before I could pass out, and held my sleeping dog like a baby. “Hey, I’ve got school tomorrow, but you two should keep hanging out.”
“Do you want to?” Philippa looked at SBB all sorrowfully. “I should warn you that I’m not going to be much fun. I’ll probably just keep talking about my problems all night.”
“Of course I’ll stay up with you! But on one condition.” Sara-Beth looked up at me. “Flan, can we have a blanket fort?”
“Sure, I won’t stop you. There’s a closet full of blankets and throws right off the pantry.” I carried Noodles upstairs, put on my pajamas, and crawled into bed. I was exhausted. Down below I could hear Philippa crying while Sara-Beth knocked over furniture and rummaged through the linen closet, but even if she was breaking everything in the house, I was way too tired to care.
In the morning, I woke up with Noodles licking my face. He really was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. Pomeranians have these funny little mouths that make them look like they’re smiling all the time. I spent a long time just petting him before I made myself get out of bed and start getting ready for school. The minute I started trying to move, I understood why most of us don’t party like rock stars during the week. It’s one thing to stay up if you don’t have anything to do the next day, but if you have first-period algebra to look forward to, it’s another situation entirely.
I could tell SBB and Philippa had stayed up even later than I did, because even though I was banging around the kitchen, trying to figure out how to make the coffee I normally don’t drink, they didn’t make a sound. Sara-Beth really had rigged up a blanket fort, using the leather wingback chairs from my dad’s study and what looked like the entire contents of the linen closet. It looked like an elephant was sleeping under a patchwork quilt, right in the middle of our living room.
I finally choked down some granola and the coffee-flavored water I’d managed to make, and I boiled some spaghetti for Noodles, who was standing on his hind legs and waving his paws around excitedly. I promised him that I’d buy him some dog food after school, then stumbled out the door. As I walked, I realized there was no way I’d be able to keep this up for long. Normal by day, fabulous by night only really ever works for superheroes—for the rest of us, it always falls apart sooner or later.