CHAPTER SEVEN

All I wanted to do was talk to Kitty, curl up on her bed, and add a new chapter to the story we’d been creating. In this chapter, my wicked mother would turn up out of nowhere with an evil fiancé. The two princesses of Penmore would think they were friendly at first, but they’d turn out to be enemies and get taken down by the team of modern-day knights who worked to protect the heiress of the Hello Kitty fortune.

Unfortunately for me, our story would have to wait. Kitty was away for the weekend, school shopping in Meryton with one of Granny V’s cousins. Since neither my father nor Granny V allowed us to have cell phones, I’d been reduced to one pathetic landline call to convey the horrible turn of events that was about to ruin my life forever.

Kitty had gasped in all the right places and sworn we’d have a sleepover as soon as she got back, but it wasn’t the same as being able to make a batch of cookies and pour out my troubles over warm, melted chocolate chips.

Worse yet, I’d had to spend Sunday having the world’s most awkward getting-to-know-you brunch with Mom, Dad, and Erik. Mom had insisted we drive an hour away to a fancy restaurant in Redmond even though she must have known that it was out of Dad’s price range. Dad had forgotten to wear nice shoes and the hostess almost didn’t let him in with his muddy work boots. There was nothing on the menu that I wanted to eat, and both Mom and Erik spent the entire meal talking about themselves.

Dad talked about an article he’d had published in the Journal of Plankton Research about controlling harmful cyanobacterial blooms as our climate becomes more extreme. When that topic produced only glazed expressions, he’d tried making jokes instead.

What do you carry a load of plankton in? A whale barrow.

Dad had laughed uproariously.

I’d been stuck in the middle, the only kid in the entire restaurant.

As far as I was concerned, the school year couldn’t start fast enough.

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By the time Monday arrived, I’d never been more grateful for the first day of school. Dad dropped me off, and all around me kids were talking and laughing, but I couldn’t quite shake off my weekend.

Kitty was cheerful, pirouetting across the classroom when Miss Bates called us to Culinary Arts. Our classes were mixed with three grades studying together in one room. I was relieved not to be in the youngest group this year. Kitty was too.

“This is going to be the best year ever,” she said. “We’re no longer sixth years, but we don’t have all the pressure of the eighth years. No boring orientation stuff to go over, and we get to start using the school laptops for research projects. Best of all, no more snide remarks from Joanie Allen.”

Joanie had moved up to the high school classroom. All last year she’d called us plain Jane and itty, bitty Kitty, and she’d made fun of us because neither me nor Kitty had kissed a boy yet. Good riddance.

I wanted to be as optimistic as Kitty about this year, but I couldn’t pull it off. Even from afar, Mom and Erik were ruining my mood.

“It’s going to be a terrible year,” I moaned. “We have Miss Bates. Again.”

Our school had kindergarten to twelfth grade all in the same building, and it was so small that they combined grades. We would be stuck with the long-winded Miss Bates for three years in a row.

“True,” Kitty said, “but she’s nice, and even having boring Miss Bates is better than going to school in California without your very best friend. Can you imagine living without your father and Ana?” Kitty shook her head. “If your mom even breathes the word custody, I’ll—”

She stopped. That was the problem. What would we do?

“Maybe she won’t,” I said. “She’s never wanted custody before.” I paused. “But she’s also never come back to Whickett Harbor. And she’s never had a fiancé who wants kids.”

Kitty’s eyes filled with tears. “Jane, what would I do if you had to move? I can’t lose you too.”

One of Kitty’s biggest fears was losing the people she had left in her life. She’d already lost her parents, and Granny V was getting old. If I left . . .

“You won’t lose me,” I said. “Maybe my mother isn’t even interested in custody. Maybe she really was worried about me when she heard I was missing on the night of the hurricane. Plus she wanted to introduce me to Erik. At brunch he kept saying how he wants to shoot a movie here someday.”

Kitty laughed. “Wouldn’t it be crazy if they wanted to move here?”

She said this as if it were a joke, but my blood ran cold.

Was that even a possibility?

All the color must have drained from my face, because Kitty’s laughter petered out. “I wasn’t serious, Jane. Your mother can’t stand Whickett Harbor. She wouldn’t move back here in a million years.”

I coughed out a laugh. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m worrying too much.”

“Yup. You are.” It was hard to keep Kitty’s mood down for long. She was naturally irrepressible. “So let’s get back to how awesome this year is going to be, starting right now.”

Kitty spun on the toes of her brand-new pink Converse sneakers.

“Kitty,” I groaned, “you’re making me motion sick.”

“Girls,” Miss Bates said, her tone stern. “Focus.” She glared at us for a moment before she went back to lecturing the sixth years about classroom rules.

Kitty picked up a wooden spoon and set it into a glass bowl, trying to look busy. She didn’t like cooking. According to Kitty, fashion models didn’t eat, let alone cook. I liked cooking well enough, but today I had other priorities.

“So, I’ve been thinking that my dad should start dating.”

Kitty paused. “Really? Why?”

“Well, it doesn’t seem fair that Mom has a fiancé and Dad hasn’t gone on a single date in a decade. Plus, I know my mother, and she’ll be less apt to push Dad around if he’s got someone else on his side. Erik kept making these comments about Dad being a bachelor trying to raise a teenage daughter all alone.”

“We’re not teenagers yet,” Kitty pointed out.

“No, but we will be soon, and Mom and Erik acted like Dad won’t know how to raise me. Like, somehow, once I turn thirteen, I’d need my mother more than I’d need him.”

Kitty scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I know. But it might shut them up if Dad had someone in his life.”

“True,” Kitty said, “but if that woman is going to compete with your mom’s fiancé, then she’d have to be rich, sophisticated, and have a better job than a Hollywood film director. Good luck finding someone like that in Whickett Harbor.”

I frowned. “Plus, she’d have to like science, right?”

Kitty shrugged. “Probably.”

We both fell silent, pondering the odds that were stacked against us. I checked the milk to make sure it smelled okay and Kitty chewed on one of her fingernails.

“What about Ms. Lillian?” she asked. “She’s not rich, but she’s smart.”

Ms. Lillian had been our teacher three years ago. She was nice, but I sure wouldn’t want to live with her.

“Kitty, Ms. Lillian is a grandmother.”

“So? She’s got a PhD.”

“In English literature, not science.”

“What about one of the people your father works with?”

“They’re all married. Or . . . strange.”

Some of my father’s colleagues were even weirder than him.

I sighed and walked to the refrigerator for the egg carton. I carried it to the counter, then opened the carton and took out one large brown egg. It was smooth and cold in my hand.

Writers needed to use all of their senses, so I shook the egg next to my ear.

A quiet slosh.

I lifted the egg to my nose and gave it a good sniff.

Smells like the inside of a refrigerator.

I turned my back and darted out my tongue.

Nothing.

I tried again, this time taking a good long lick. Turns out that eggshells didn’t actually taste like anything.

I was so busy inspecting my egg that I wasn’t paying attention to the low hum of voices and activity around me. I jumped when Mrs. Godfrey, our principal, cleared her throat to make an announcement. Somehow, she’d made her way into the middle of our classroom without my noticing and now she was standing just a few feet away from the kitchen area with a boy on either side of her.

One of them was Devon.

Had he just watched me lick an egg? Why in the world was he here at my school? Shouldn’t Devon Fairfax and his family be long gone by now?

I narrowed my eyes and Devon’s eyes narrowed in return.

Mrs. Godfrey cleared her throat. “Attention sixth, seventh, and eighth graders! I’d like you to welcome two new students into your midst.” She forced both boys to step forward. “May I introduce Devon and Matthew Fairfax. Their mother is the author J. E. Fairfax, and they’ve just moved here from England.”

Moved? Here?

“Wales,” Devon corrected, frowning as if being introduced were a huge imposition.

Mrs. Godfrey looked blank. “Exactly.” She nodded. “That’s what I said.”

Devon pursed his lips. Both he and his brother were wearing tan slacks with blue sport coats and bright red ties, and they looked ridiculous. No one in Whickett Harbor wore a sport coat and tie. Not even the mayor.

“Perhaps at some point you boys could give us a report about your country,” Mrs. Godfrey suggested. “I’m sure everyone would be delighted to learn more about Great Britain.”

The shorter boy, Matthew, smiled politely, but Devon glowered. “Wales,” he repeated.

Mrs. Godfrey continued as if he hadn’t said anything. “Even more exciting,” she added, “is the fact that Matthew and Devon have moved into the Penmore Estate!”

I couldn’t help it. A small gasp escaped my lips. Someone had renovated the Penmore Estate and I hadn’t known about it? After setting all of our stories there, it had always felt as if the Penmore Estate belonged to me and Kitty.

“Furthermore,” Mrs. Godfrey continued, “they’re being gracious enough to offer tours of the property this Friday at six p.m. to any Whickett Harbor residents who would like to explore this important landmark.”

Devon cleared his throat. “Our mother.”

Mrs. Godfrey looked confused. “What about your mother, dear?”

“You said we’re offering the tours.” He gestured between himself and Matthew. “But that’s our mother’s doing. She’s hired a small army to get the place ready, and no offense, but the last thing I want is to have the populace tramping through our living space.”

I jolted and the egg cracked in my hand. Bright yellow yolk splattered all over my shirt and dripped down my wrist.

Populace? Tramping?

I ground my teeth. If my hand weren’t covered in egg yolk, I would’ve balled it into a fist.

Mrs. Godfrey wasn’t dismayed by Devon’s attitude, though. She just waved one hand in a dramatic swoop. “So gracious,” she repeated. “Teachers will provide extra credit to any students who show proof of attendance. The Penmore Estate is an historic property, and Whickett Harbor is indebted to the Fairfax family for restoring it to its former glory.”

She turned to Devon and Matthew. “I’ll leave you boys with Miss Bates to sort out your books and cubbies.”

As soon as Mrs. Godfrey left, Miss Bates ushered Devon and Matthew forward. “Yes, yes. Books and cubbies. Cubbies and books. So much to—well, we’re starting with Culinary Arts today. Making breakfast—always begin with a good breakfast—that’s what everyone says, isn’t it?” Miss Bates waited for us to laugh, but no one did.

“Well, never mind.” Miss Bates ran one hand through her mop of gray hair. She looked perpetually frazzled. “Why don’t you jump right in? We’re making cheese omelets—that’s omelets with cheese. But of course, you knew that. Silly me.” She paused. “Have either of you boys ever made an omelet?”

Both of them nodded.

“Our mother hired a personal chef last year so my brother and I could master the essentials of cooking,” Devon said. “She feels it’s important for young men to be accomplished in many areas, such as art, culinary skills, a base knowledge of musical theory, and multiple languages.”

Miss Bates’s mouth hung open. She closed it again after a long moment. “So . . . that’s a yes? About the omelets?”

“Yes,” Devon repeated. “Matthew and I can make several varieties of frittata.”

I could tell Miss Bates had no idea what a frittata was, and I had to admit that I wasn’t so sure either. I thought it might be a Mexican dish where you put vegetables and meat into a tortilla.

“Wonderful,” Miss Bates said. “Frittata. Yes. That’s very—well, you’ll have no problem joining in. Pairs though—pairs, as in couples, not fruit. That is to say, we always work together. Devon, why don’t you pair up with . . .”

Beside me, Kitty waved madly, squirming like a toddler who had to pee. She was giving Miss Bates her most pleading eyes, but so were a few of the other girls. They giggled, practically knocking one another over trying to get Miss Bates’s attention. Humiliating. Devon Fairfax had just openly insulted us, and they were still drooling over him as if he were the marshmallow cream inside a whoopie pie. Sure, he was good-looking with his thick dark hair and high cheekbones, but that wasn’t enough to make up for his attitude.

At least the boys were less than impressed. Liam Collins told some joke—probably a stupid, sniveling one designed to suck up to Miss Bates—and Nate Crandall coughed the word loser into his hand. Then Nate’s brother, Ollie, picked his nose and wiped his finger on Liam’s pant leg, and all the other boys acted like this was the funniest thing they’d ever seen.

Wonderful. Not that I cared what some rich, snobby boy thought of us. But my face still burned. While I was busy scrutinizing my classmates, Miss Bates’s eyes landed on me.

No. I shook my head but Miss Bates just grinned as if she’d made the perfect match.

“Good. Great! Most wonderful. Devon, you can pair up with Jane, and Matthew, why don’t you work with Kitty?”

Kitty’s fingers dug into my arm. She twirled a lock of spiraled hair around her finger, then exhaled slow as if she were in a yoga class. Beside us, Olivia and Michelle made long drawn-out oooooooo’s of disappointment. I frowned at Devon. If the other girls wanted him, they could have him.

When he reached me, he stuck out his hand as if he hadn’t noticed that mine was covered in raw egg, and then he gave me a condescending smile.

“And you are . . . ?”

I decided to call his bluff. I took his hand and shook, smearing the egg as much as possible. “Jane,” I said. “Jane Sylvia Brannen.”

Devon pulled back his hand as if I’d given him a disease, and then he scowled, searching for a towel. Guess he wasn’t used to mixing with the populace.

“So, is this your first day of cooking class?” Devon asked.

“It’s called Culinary Arts,” I corrected, “and no. We had this class last year.”

“Oh,” Devon said. “I assumed cracking eggs would’ve been covered on day one, but I suppose it takes some of us longer to master the basics.”

“That’s right,” I said, gritting my teeth and pasting on a fake smile. “Not everyone has a personal chef to teach them Mexican cuisine.”

For a moment Devon looked confused, but then he laughed. It was a sharp, bursting laugh. “How cute.”

Cute? Cute? As if I were one of the elementary kids?

“Well, you’re . . .” Words failed me. That never happened. “You’re . . . wearing a tie again!”

Devon’s cheeks turned crimson. “At least I’m not dressed like a vagabond, as so many others around here.”

Secretly, I had to admit that Devon was partly right. People in Whickett Harbor tended to wear old jeans and flannel shirts regardless of the weather. When a holiday rolled around, people put on their good flannel shirts. But I wasn’t going to admit any such thing to Devon Fairfax.

“Vagabond?” I snapped. “Who says that?”

“Vagabond: someone who—”

“Thank you, Dr. Dictionary. I know what a vagabond is. It may come as a surprise to you, but people in Whickett Harbor know plenty of vocabulary words.”

Devon snorted. “I didn’t mean to insult you. In fact, I’m thrilled to be someplace less academic for once. It’s hard to believe there isn’t a private school within a hundred-mile radius for my mother to banish me to, but at least this town won’t be full of pathetic wanna-be writers who delude themselves into believing they have talent, then hang all over my mum trying to get her to notice them.”

My throat closed up. I thought about my rejection letter from Girl Power magazine and swallowed hard. Was I deluded? Pretending I had talent?

“Shall we begin?” Devon asked. He reached out, palm up.

“By all means,” I said. I pulled another egg out of the carton and smacked it flat, letting the shell grind into his hand. “It’s your turn to crack the eggs.”