Twenty minutes before dinner, Annie found Laurel cross-legged in the laundry closet, her back wedged in the crack between the washer and dryer, her head bowed over her science textbook.
“You can’t be comfortable,” Annie said.
Laurel shrugged.
Last year, Annie would have just blurted out the question—what’s this insanity about a marathon?
But their entire relationship had been different last year. Laurel had been reachable. There had been hugs. Voluntary hugs, right up until October.
Annie was no scientist, but she did not think genes flicked on with the suddenness of a light switch. Since Fall Fest, in between surreptitious checks of the levels on the liquor bottles and sweeps of Laurel’s pockets, Annie and Mike had asked her—repeatedly—whether something had happened. Big or small, Laurel, you can tell us whatever it is.
Are things slow at work? Laurel replied. Not enough middle school drama?
“Hey,” Annie said finally. “Do you need new running gear?”
Laurel looked down at her baggy gray shorts. “No.”
“Shoes, maybe? The restaurant’s doing better. We could buy new.”
“Okay.”
“Mrs. Meeker will be here soon for dinner.”
“I thought she didn’t leave her house.”
“Don’t be silly,” Annie said. “But we need to be welcoming, and this is technically a thank-you dinner for her help with Dad’s restaurant, you know, getting that good review in the paper and—”
Laurel rolled her eyes. Annie wasn’t certain at which part.
“So,” Annie tried again, “I heard that Señora Bemis is tough.” Laurel’s eyes registered confusion for a moment.
“Right,” she said slowly. “People are upset about her.”
“She hit Josh with a pencil?”
Laurel shrugged.
“I can’t believe it,” Annie said. “It’s so wrong.”
Poor Señora Bemis, whom Annie had met once at a potluck. She’d seemed like a lovely person and probably did not deserve to be fodder for whatever this phony attempt at connection was.
“I need to finish this,” Laurel bowed her head over the book.
“One more thing,” Annie said. “Grandma P. is scheduled for a hip operation your graduation week.”
“So?”
“Would you be hurt if they missed the ceremony?”
Almost imperceptibly, Laurel’s shoulders hiked a centimeter. Annie felt a connection fuse. The running had started on Christmas Eve, when their house had been overrun by Perleys.
I have to get away from these people, Laurel had said.
Her in-laws were active in their church, founders of an orphanage in Haiti, and all you had to do was spend ten minutes with Mike to know he’d grown up loved and adored. It seemed unimaginable that they could hurt Laurel somehow.
But how many well-meaning parents had made assumptions just like that and unwittingly betrayed their children?
“Laurel.” Annie crouched down, ignored the doorknob in her back. “Did something happen with Grandma and Grandpa P.?”
Laurel looked up, startled. She swallowed, stared at a spot just over Annie’s shoulder.
“Over Christmas,” she said.
“What?” Annie’s heart thumped.
“I don’t want to—”
“You can tell me anything, Laurel.”
With one finger, Laurel traced a crooked line in the linoleum. “They burned the gingerbread men,” she said in a rising voice. “Like twenty of them, god, it was so sad. Families were torn apart.”
When she looked up, Laurel’s sly smile was an almost exact replica of Sierra’s: Crazy Annie Perley. Annie felt like slapping it off her face.
“It’s only eighth-grade graduation,” Laurel said in her most insufferable voice, “I don’t give two shits about it.”
A spark of defiance had flared in Laurel’s eyes as she’d cursed. Reprimand me. I dare you.
“Fine,” Annie said. “I’m giving our extra ticket to Mrs. Meeker.”
“Fine,” Laurel said.
The bell rang.
“Fine,” Annie repeated. “We can invite her right now.”