With Billy and Shailene there, the kitchen is full, but we’ve learned how to work together. Even Frankie knows that Billy is her best bet for treats now. She never strays far from his side, even when I drop an accidental potato peel on the floor. By the evening, there’s enough food for an army, and it smells like a holiday has arrived.
Only this is no holiday—it’s good-bye.
When everything’s ready, we tear into the food: quiche lorraine, cucumber salad, roasted pork shoulder, mashed potatoes, and spoon bread. There are pies for dessert, too, but they’re cooling in the kitchen. Billy eats everything, but he’s back to being quiet.
I flick a kernel of corn at him, and he scowls. A few minutes later, he pokes me with his elbow and says, “Try to say S-N-I-K-E without sounding Australian.”
“Snike,” I say, and we giggle at the sound of it.
“Snike.”
“Snike!”
Like any Sunday dinner, there’s way too much food. Stan leans back in his chair, patting his lean belly like it’s invisibly expanded. Mom and Shailene spend most of the meal talking to each other. We’re clearing the table when my phone pings. It’s a text from Cress. She loves the picture of the little astronaut I sent her from Elsewhere, which she agrees is the perfect touch for her Friendship 7 model. She’s going to use the idea.
“YAY!” I text back. Then I add, “I would never squish your model.”
After a pause, another text bubble appears. I hold my breath, waiting to see what Cress will say. Finally, the words pop up.
“I know. So are you going to tell me what’s up?”
I can imagine Cress at her house, probably sitting on her neatly made bed with a book propped on her knees. Or a word puzzle. Or maybe her family is having one of their epic Scrabble matches. I’m not supposed to tell Cress that Billy and Shailene are living here, but they’re moving out tomorrow. I’m tired of keeping secrets from my best friend.
While everyone’s chatting and cleaning up, I text Cress the whole story about Billy and Shailene. How I kept looking for more information, especially after Cress agreed that Eric looked an awful lot like Billy Holcomb. How Miss Rivera gave me a list of online newspapers to research over Easter, and how I found a picture of Billy Holcomb’s dad that matched Eric’s sweatshirt. How Billy’s dad showed up at the pig pickin’ and set all the secrets into motion.
I text for so long that my fingers get tired and autocorrect has to save me from spouting pure garbage. It’s a lot to write, and my heart pounds as I think of Cress reading the whole story.
“Let’s put the pies on the table,” I say to Billy.
“What kind of pies?”
“Toll House,” I say. “And lemon.”
He grins.
We carry the pies to the table and straighten the place mats and silverware. No one has room for pie right now, but they’ll be here waiting for us, whenever we’re ready.
We go back into the kitchen and find the grown-ups in tears, only this time it’s from laughter. “Frankie might need to go out,” Stan says, cough-laughing, his cheeks pink.
“I took her out before we ate.”
“Well, she may have had a little too much pork,”
Mom says.
Billy makes a face all of a sudden. “SBD alert!” he says, wrinkling up his nose and coughing. That’s when the smell hits me: raw cabbage at full volume.
“Oh my gosh, Frankie!”
Frankie pops up at the sound of her name, tail wagging like what she’s done is a good thing. I wrap my arm around her. God knows I love Frankie, but her farts are the actual worst.
My phone rings. It’s Cress.
“Mads! Are you for real? Eric is the kid that went missing and he’s living at your house?”
“I know,” I say, trying to catch my breath from laughing so hard my sides hurt.
I start telling Cress about what happened.
With the phone pressed against my ear, I don’t hear the door to the garage open and shut. It’s not until Frankie growls that I look up and see Billy’s father standing in the doorway.