nineteen

Trip’s mom’s car sure was clean. I know that sounds like a funny thing to say, but it really was the first thing I noticed. I didn’t even want to put my backpack on the seat next to me.

“Your car is so pretty,” I said to Mrs. Davis, remembering how Trip said it was new.

“Thank you,” she said, looking toward Trip. “It’s nice to know there is a young person around here who appreciates it. We’ve told Trip we’d order one for him when he turns sixteen, but he and Billy have it in their heads that they’re going to get Billy’s dad to part with a couple of his prize convertibles.”

“Mom,” Trip said. “C’mon, stop.” He looked all embarrassed.

I wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Well, any of those would be better than our car. It’s, like, fifty years old and you have to give the door a real kick to open it. We call it the Blue Bomb.”

“Oh my,” said Mrs. Davis. “How colorful.”

Trip’s house was a few miles from town along these winding roads by the water. I guess I just figured it was going to be a crazy huge mansion like all the other homes in the neighborhood.

But it was this really beautiful cottage. White, with windows everywhere and tucked behind a rise in the hill like it was hiding from the world. From the porch, there was a view of the water. I stood there and felt the wind on my face, thinking if I had this view, I’d have all the windows wide open all day, every day—not shut tight to the world with fancy curtains. I thought about our apartment with the view of the candy store on Main Street that I had been so excited about. I wondered what Trip’s mom would think of it.

Trip’s dad was just getting home when we got there. We had stopped at this Chinese restaurant to pick up dinner. I had never known that ordering food was such a big deal, but Trip’s mom sure had a lot to say on the matter:

“Would you prefer Szechuan or Cantonese, Leia?”

“It won’t be nearly as good as Chinatown, but it will have to do.”

“They claim to be authentic, but look at this menu—though I guess most people wouldn’t know.…”

I wasn’t sure exactly how to answer, so I just nodded. “DiDi always says if you took all the things most people don’t know, you could fill the Grand Canyon.”

The dining table in their house had this sparkly crystal chandelier over it with all these drops hanging down, and Mrs. Davis set the table really formal even though I was the only guest. And I just have to say that everything on that table was B, I, G, BIG. These humongous plates and napkins and everything. It was like she went shopping at the Giant Supply Store. She even put the food onto huge serving platters with big silver serving spoons instead of just having everyone dig into the white cartons like I thought we would.

“Does your mom cook at home?” Mrs. Davis asked.

Before I could open my mouth, Trip answered, “Leia’s mom and dad died when she was a baby, Mom. She lives with her big sister, DiDi.”

I looked at Trip, thinking about how he sort of stuck my daddy in there even though I’d told him that I’d never even met my daddy, let alone had a clue about who he was. Being brainy works a couple of different ways. I said before about how I’m good at math, but I’m also good at adding stuff up that has nothing to do with math. Well, what I was adding up was that maybe Trip’s parents didn’t need to know my whole history and family tree in the first hour of meeting me. I wondered if Trip felt like I had told him too much. But then I remembered how he was always telling me he liked how open I was. It was confusing.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” said Mrs. Davis. “How do you manage? How old is your sister?”

She was probably thinking about the tuition. At that moment I didn’t know what to talk about. I sure didn’t think I should bring up the coupon clipping. Or waiting till milk went on sale even though we were millionaires.

“Well… we’re nine years, nine days, and nine hours apart,” I said. “DiDi says it’s like this lucky voodoo thing. So I’ll be thirteen on November twentieth and nine days later, she’ll be twenty-two on the twenty-ninth.”

“How charming,” Trip’s mother said.

“Lucky voodoo. I like it,” Trip’s dad said.

I was watching Trip and trying to figure out what else I wasn’t supposed to talk about when I remembered something that might be interesting. “Oh, and speaking of birthdays, the Founder’s Day Gala is right before mine, and DiDi is in charge of the whole menu. So it’ll practically be like having the biggest birthday party ever.”

Trip’s mom put down the giant glass of wine she had just picked up.

“Your sister is the one who is doing the Gala?” She was looking at me with that same studying look that Trip had. “Yes, I remember her from Welcome Night.” She picked up her chopsticks and popped a snow pea into her mouth. Then smiled as she chewed.

“DiDi is really nice,” Trip said. “I met her at Jean René’s.”

“Oh, how lovely. Was she getting her hair done?”

“No,” I said, trying to stab a slippery piece of chicken with my fork. I was the only one not using chopsticks. “She’s the new hairdresser there. She’s really, really good, too.”

Trip’s dad winked. “Well, if she’s as pretty as you, I’m heading straight there tomorrow for a haircut.”

Mrs. Davis smiled and continued chewing.

After dinner, Trip showed me his room. It was locked, but he pulled out the key from this chain around his neck. Before we went in, he took this deep breath and then opened the door.

“What do you think?”

I looked around. He had this huge desk and shelves just spilling over with books. About everything. One wall was completely covered in cork and had about a million photos pinned to it. Camp photos. Sports photos. School photos. Laughing, smiling photos. Friends. Friends. Friends.

“I just love it,” I said.

He nodded toward his pictures. “Do you miss all your friends back home?”

“Not—exactly,” I said. “I’ve always been really busy. Studying. So I never had a ton of friends or anything.” I turned back to the photos. “I just—I really—” I didn’t know how to end the sentence. “Well, to be honest, if you hadn’t asked me over, I guess I’d be home studying now.”

“I don’t have a ton of friends, either.…” Trip began.

“Oh, please,” I said, waving at the pictures. “You know everyone.”

“Okay. A lot of people know me, but having people know you isn’t the same as… people really… knowing you.” He looked at his feet. “I’m glad you’re… it’s nice to have someone to…”

What?

Hold hands with in front of Mace?

“… to talk to and be myself with.”

I looked at him. “You’re not yourself?”

“I am. It’s just…” He stopped, then went to his desk. I heard him scribbling and then folding paper. When he turned back around, he had a KOB in his hand.

Wait till you get home to read.

I took it and nodded.

After ice cream and popcorn and a zombie movie (I covered my eyes the whole time while Trip tried to convince me to watch), we figured it was time for me to head home. It was getting pretty late, and there was no way DiDi would stand for that, no matter how much Trip used his Wish Pie eyes on her.

We were getting ready to leave when the phone rang.

Trip and I waited in this big hallway filled with fancy wooden cubbies and shelves and coat hooks and a row of matching navy rain boots. He called it the Mudroom, but I can guarantee there was not one speck of mud in there.

We overheard Trip’s mom talking on the phone. “Calm down, Tish. Talk to me. Who do you want to have fired? Go back and talk to Jean. What does it look like? It can’t be as bad as—oh dear…”

Trip looked at me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Tish is Mace’s mom,” he whispered.

The bottom of my stomach dropped faster than if I’d just eaten a triple-decker cannonball sandwich.

What had DiDi done to Mace’s hair?