It turned out Monroe’s mother wasn’t home that day after all. Bernadette, the housekeeper who lived with Monroe’s family, told us that Elle Reeser had taken the train to New York City, to rehearse with friends. “Did she say when she’d be back?” Monroe asked.
Bernadette dragged a damp cloth along the kitchen counter, cleaning a slab of marble that was already sparkling. “Your mother doesn’t tell me her plans.”
Monroe looked sad, and I put a hand on her arm. “I’m really sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Monroe said quickly. “This is a big opportunity for her. She’s the director’s first choice for the part, which means she’s about to be a Broadway star. It’s what she’s always wanted.”
“We should all go to New York City and see the show,” Anjali said.
“If she gets it,” Monroe said.
“You just said she’s the director’s first choice,” Rachael reminded her.
“Yeah, she is.”
“Hey, do you have any of those wafer cookies we ate last time?” Anjali asked.
“Bernadette?” Monroe said, in a voice that made it sound like we’d been waiting on the wafer cookies for at least a year.
“I’ll make a tray,” Bernadette said.
“We’ll be out back,” Monroe told her. She turned to the three of us. “Let’s go.”
“I need to call my mom first,” I said.
“Yeah, sure,” Monroe said. She nodded toward Bernadette, who handed me a phone.
I dialed Mom’s number, and let her know I was perfectly safe and at Monroe’s house. When we hung up, I headed to the backyard, where the other girls were sitting on lounge chairs. I sat on a cushy chair next to Rachael, and looked across the backyard, which was as big and well kept as a golf course.
“Can you believe the Spanish homework?” Rachael asked. “Two sections of the workbook.”
“Totally excessive,” Monroe said.
“I can help you if you want,” I said. “I started Spanish in my old school, so I’m a bit ahead of things.”
“Is that what Rivera wanted to talk to you about after class?” Anjali asked.
I nodded. “She said she was going to give me some other assignments, to work on while the rest of the class caught up.”
“Teacher’s pet,” Monroe said.
My cheeks warmed and I stared off at the vastness of the backyard, for a few seconds not saying anything.
“What’s that?” I asked, breaking the silence and pointing at a brown square in the distance.
“It’s a dance floor,” Monroe said. “My mom had it installed years ago. She used to be a dancer, and she says you never know when you’re going to want to dance in the backyard.”
“My mom has never ever danced in the backyard in her life,” Rachael said. “Your mom is so cool.”
“Yeah,” Monroe said softly. She paused for a second, and I wondered if she really thought so. Then she added, “Hey, Chloe, let me see that patch again.”
I didn’t know what had made Monroe think of Lucy’s patch right then. But I really wished she hadn’t. “It’s in my backpack in the kitchen,” I told her, hoping she wouldn’t tell me to go back in and get it.
Bernadette came outside with a tray of wafer cookies, plus cheese and crackers, and four glasses of seltzer over ice.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Oh, hey, Bernadette, get Chloe’s backpack for her. It’s in the kitchen, and it’s the—what color is it?”
“Blue,” I said. “But—”
“This will be great. You guys can see Lucy’s handiwork. There’s a weird squiggle at the bottom, like she was trying to make a cool design, but failed completely.”
Bernadette was already halfway back to the screen door. “Wait,” I called. “You don’t need to.”
“She doesn’t mind,” Monroe said.
“But I have a better idea,” I said. “Let’s practice our dance on the dance floor. It’s a much better space than my living room, and we don’t have to worry about the couch getting in the way.”
“Bernadette, turn on the speakers for us, will you?”
“You got it,” Bernadette said.
Phew. Saved by a backyard dance floor.