I must have been grogging around my room for a couple minutes before I saw the sign. It was Scotch-taped on the closed door. Mom does it every year. Now that my sister and I have our own rooms, I guess she did one for each of us. Homemade. White paper. Red letters sprinkled with glitter:
Happy Birthday
That’s when it hit me: I just woke up in my bed—not the train station!
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I wondered if my sister was there. Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she’s outgrowing that magical twin stuff too. Maybe it was nothing more than that favorite word of grown-ups: a phase.
No party this year. Just family, which now includes Poppy. Of course Dad had to set up the stepladder in the driveway and plant the adorable twins next to it and take our picture to show how we’re growing up the ladder year by year.
“You’re way past the fourth rung now,” said Dad.
“Heading for the top,” said Mom.
“Need a bigger ladder soon,” said Poppy.
My best present was five stones from Poppy. He collected them in his travels, just for me.
Lily got a Gray Shadow Crimestoppers kit. She didn’t exactly look thrilled. She slept till noon. We were supposed to go to the water park, but we didn’t because she said her stomach hurt. She didn’t say a word to me all day.
Whatever. I have my own problems. How was I supposed to enjoy my birthday when all I could see was Ernie’s eyes? Those grown-ups grinning at me—I wanted to say, You wouldn’t be grinning if you knew what a rat I am.
In my room at night a question came in the dark: Why do you even care what a goober thinks about you?
There was no answer.