A Truce

The next night, my mother walks into the kitchen with two large pizza boxes. Before I can rip them from her hands, she sits across from me and guards them with her body.

“Okay, here’s the deal.”

It’s difficult to concentrate with the smell of tomato, cheese, and pepperoni, but I try.

“As much as I hate you hatching secret plans, we do owe Grandma a visit,” she says. “So we’re all flying to Boston for five days, leaving next Friday. It’s the only time I can get Dr. Taylor to cover for me and it’s good for Dad too.”

“That’s great!”

“Dad and I were also trying to take a romantic weekend this summer—”

“Don’t leave me with Amy!”

“Calm down. We decided to all go back East instead.”

I gather up my courage for the next question because I have to know. “Can we go to Martha’s Vineyard? To see Matt, I mean.”

“I already spoke to Matt’s mother. They’re flying back after the fair, so they won’t be there.”

I’m a little sad about not going to the Scene of the Crime with my best friend, but three days off from Learning Camp, a plane ride, and seeing my grandma are all reasons to celebrate.

Mom pulls out another bit of unexpected news. “We’re going to the Vineyard anyway,” she says. “You’ve been so curious about Susan all summer. We’ll go to South Beach, even visit Susan’s mom. That way you can see there’s no big mystery and move on.”

I jump up and down with excitement before I realize there has to be a catch. There’s always a catch.

“But you have to work on the school reading list so we don’t spend the rest of the summer arguing about it.”

Before I say “deal,” I decide to negotiate. “Can Bodi come with us?”

She shakes her head. “I think Bodi should stay at Pet Camp, don’t you?”

When I stand toe-to-toe with her, I can’t wait till we’re both the same height—maybe that will make these discussions a little more fair. I look her in the eye and try one last plea. “He’s part of the family. He should come.”

She thinks about this for a moment. “It is always more of a family vacation with Bodi. Deal.” She pushes one of the pizza boxes toward me. “This one’s all yours.”

I tear open the box, but instead of a large pepperoni and cheese, I find three of the books from my summer reading list, including the one Ms. Williams gave me that I haven’t read since Dad contaminated my flip-o-rama book. (Mom is really good at finding stuff.) She tries not to laugh, then points upstairs.

A third of a pizza is much less fun than one all to yourself, but I’m starving and open the other box. I take a slice and rip a paper towel from the roll and head up to my room.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Mom asks.

I grab Ms. Williams’s book from the pizza box—it’ll make a good plate—then plop down on my bed. For the first time, I notice the notes Ms. Williams made in the margins. What is the main character feeling? What do you think could happen next? Her notes raise questions of my own. How long will it take to read a book if I have to stop every minute to answer these stupid questions?

I shove the book under my mattress and do something easier: email Grandma to tell her how happy I am that we’re coming to Boston.