“This is the formal dining room,” Andie offered at the top of the first flight.
Lola clutched Heath Bar to her chest and stared at the long wooden table. In the center of it sat a cut crystal vase overflowing with white peonies.
“Just be careful—these are from the eighteenth century,” Andie said, looking from Heath Bar to the antique-looking wood chairs, all upholstered in ornate brick red damask. “The house was my grandfather’s, and my dad kept a lot of his antiques.”
Lola took a step back, trying to keep an arm’s distance between herself and anything irreplaceable. She had a habit of breaking things, which was why her mum had loved the mod furniture phase that took over London a few years back—lots of plastics and indestructible materials.
Lola glanced in the gilded mirror on the wall, making sure her thick wavy hair concealed the tops of her Dumbo ears, as Stella had dubbed them. She didn’t need Stella to reminder her she was an awkward mess, of course. She was quite aware already. But now, it seemed, Cate would be reminding her as well.
Lola eyed Andie’s greasy hair, a little relieved. At least she didn’t seem like she’d go barmy over a new pair of Christian Lou-bou-whatevers.
“We’re going to be good mates, I just know it,” Lola breathed as they made their way up another wooden staircase. “Stella and I are complete opposites.”
“I noticed,” Andie replied as they reached the fourth-floor landing. “And this…” she continued, opening a door, “is your room.” The teal room had a four-poster twin bed covered in a striped duvet, a narrow white dresser, an empty bookcase, a teal armchair, and completely bare walls. Five cardboard boxes were stacked in front of the window, lola’s books scribbled on the side of each.
Lola set Heath Bar down and he slunk over to the armchair, digging his claws into the side of it. “Heathy, no!” she cried, swatting him away.
“My room is just through here,” Andie said, ducking into the bathroom that connected the bedrooms. “I’m going to go change.”
Lola sat down on her new bed and pulled the giant tabby into her arms, his stomach jiggling like a Jell-O-filled Ziploc. She scanned the room looking for his Kitty Castle, the three-story scratching post she’d bought him for his first birthday. It was missing.
But at least she was right next door to Andie. Maybe Andie would help her unpack her books, and then they’d go to Central Park and get one of those giant pretzels that everyone in movies seemed to eat when they were in New York. Maybe they’d be in band together—Lola played the viola—and they’d sit tuning their instruments and laughing about the conductor’s silly bow tie.
All the maybes swirled through Lola’s head as the bathroom door swung open. Out stepped Andie, dressed in the same blue and fuchsia dress Stella had worn to her fourteenth birthday party. Her tiny pedicured feet teetered on wedge heels that triggered Lola’s fear of heights. Her hair was smoothed back into a tight bun. Except for a freckle near her lip, she looked almost exactly like Cate.
All Lola could think was, They’re multiplying.
Lola looked around the room warily, afraid another label-obsessed, Marc Jacobs–clad robot would emerge from her closet, ready to flatiron her hair and torch her Gap wardrobe. She watched as Andie gazed at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
“What?” Andie asked, noticing Lola’s stare. “Is the eye shadow too much? The girl at Sephora told me gold was in.”
“No…” Lola mumbled. “It’s…pretty.” With big liquid brown eyes and a tiny button nose, Andie belonged in an issue of CosmoGIRL!, not playing Pachelbel’s Canon in some dorky orchestra.
Lola hugged Heath Bar to her chest so tightly he let out a loud mew.
“So, you can put all of your stuff in these two drawers,” Andie said, pointing to the cabinet under the sink. “And you can totally borrow my hair dryer.” Andie leaned against the door frame, eyeing Lola’s frizzy hair.
“I was thinking,” Lola said softly, looking around the bare room. “Would you want to go to Times Square with me?”
Andie laughed, but stopped suddenly when she realized Lola was serious. “Lola,” she said, enunciating her words like Lola was a toddler, “that place is the armpit of the city. Only tourists go.” Andie’s face was scrunched in disgust, like Lola had just picked a scab in front of her.
Lola knew that face. It was the same one Cate had given her in the foyer. The same one Stella gave her every time she passed her in the halls of Sherwood Academy. The face that said, Um…no thanks.
“I just thought…” Lola stuttered. She felt the airplane food churning in her stomach.
“Besides,” Andie interrupted. “I have to…clean my room.” And with that, she disappeared through the bathroom and was gone.
Lola set Heath Bar down on the floor and pulled her long legs into her chest. New York was going to be just like London, where she never had the right clothes, or the right hair. But at least in London she’d had her best mate, Abby. They’d sat in the back of English and made fun of Mr. Porter’s arm fat, which flapped back and forth as he wrote on the board.
Lola dug her laptop out of her suitcase and signed onto IM. She scanned her buddy list, but it was after ten in London. Abby wasn’t online.
Then her eyes fell on a familiar screen name: Striker15. She did have one mate in New York.
Kyle Lewis.
He had lived next door to her in London for three years while his father was teaching at Oxford. They had become buddies, sliding down Kyle’s den stairs in their sleeping bags, making mud soup in Regent’s Park, loading up their buckets with dirt, sticks, and tulips. She hadn’t seen him since she was ten, more than two years ago, but they’d started talking online this summer when she found out she was moving. He’d told her about New York: how she had to make sure to look left, not right, before crossing the street, how her savings—all one hundred and six quid—was going to double (Ur gonna be rich!!! $$$, he’d written). He’d even promised to take her to Madame Tussauds if she ever felt homesick—he’d said it was just as weird as the one in London.
LOLABEAN: I’M HERE! NYC!
STRIKER15: HEY! HOW’S IT GOING SO FAR!
LOLABEAN: SO FAR…
She paused and ran her fingers over the keyboard. So far only two out of the five people she lived with liked her—and one of them was her mom. But he didn’t need to know that.
LOLABEAN: SO FAR SO GOOD. WANT TO HANG OUT
AFTER SCHOOL ON MONDAY?
STRIKER15: SURE, I CAN MEET U AFTER BAND PRACTICE.
Lola laughed, imagining Kyle with his massive baritone horn case. He was so skinny his mum had bought him a little trolley to wheel it on.
If Lola was uncool, then Kyle was a super geek. He wore thick glasses and had messy Harry Potter hair, a lanky body, and crooked teeth. In fourth grade he’d memorized all the constellations and had made Lola sit with him in the park for an hour while he found each one in the night sky.
Lola breathed a sigh of relief. She and Kyle would hang out on Monday and keep on about missing Christmas crackers and Cadbury Twirl chocolate bars. He’d show her Times Square, even if it was the armpit of the city. And they’d drag that silly baritone horn around together, not caring if it was cool or not.
Lola couldn’t wait.