ALISTAIR AND I HAD an awesome morning. First, we spent a long time in the basement, working on my bicycle. This is a pet project of mine; a few months ago I bought a used ten-speed for just sixty dollars, and I’m converting it into an electric bike. I’m trying to do the entire conversion for under one hundred dollars, which is a challenge, but doable.

After we’d spent a couple of hours on the motor, we needed to blow off some steam. Caroline let us take a box of spaghetti and a bag of marshmallows from the kitchen, and we built our own version of the Eiffel Tower in my room. When we were done, we decided we should get some fresh air, so we headed downstairs.

We were about halfway down when I heard my dad and Caroline arguing. I stopped and motioned for Alistair to do the same.

“We didn’t mean to upset you,” my dad was saying. I could just see him in the living room; he was still wearing his fencing uniform. He looks very good in his fencing uniform—taller somehow, and more muscular.

“I know that. But there are good surprises and not-so-good surprises, and I’m sorry, but this one falls into the latter category.”

“What don’t you like about it? Is it the artistry? I think you’d agree Janice had a real talent.”

“She did, absolutely. But, well—think about Ashley. She’s a teenager, Leonard. A very difficult, challenging teenager, but still. The nudity is mortifying to her.”

“But it’s a perfectly natural—”

“I know, I know—”

“Famous artists have painted mother and child scenarios for centuries. Heck, there are millions of such paintings of the baby Jesus and Mary—”

“But they’re not in our house. And this isn’t the baby Jesus and Mary. It’s very clearly Stewart and his mom.”

My dad was quiet for a second. “I think Ashley isn’t the only one who’s bothered by it.”

“Leonard, I love you. And you know I never expect you to forget Janice, nor would I want you to. But I’m not sure how I feel about her gazing down at me, day after day…especially with her breasts exposed…. I could take the easy way out and blame it solely on Ashley, but you’re right. It’s not to my taste, either.”

I waited for my dad to tell her what the painting means to me. What it means to him. I waited for him to tell her that we’d hardly brought any of our stuff to her house and maybe she and Ashley could be a little more accommodating.

But he didn’t. Instead, he took Caroline in his arms. “I’ll talk to Stewart. We’ll take it down. Just let me eat breakfast first, will you?”

“I made your favorite. Oatmeal buckwheat pancakes. There aren’t many left over, though. Stewart has a voracious appetite.” They headed into the kitchen.

“You love that painting,” Alistair whispered after they were gone.

I nodded. I realized I was feeling something I don’t feel very often, and that is anger. I don’t like feeling anger. I avoid it at all costs. So I just said, “Let’s go,” and the two of us grabbed our jackets and left the house without saying goodbye to anyone.

—

ALISTAIR AND I WALKED east toward Main Street. I didn’t want to talk about the painting, so instead I filled him in on the Jared Conundrum.

“Wow,” he said. “That’s tough.”

“Any ideas?”

He thought for a while. “I know it’s a long commute, but…maybe you should come back to Little Genius Academy.”

This, from the guy who’d won Problem Solver of the Year in our school’s Model UN two years in a row. “Really, Alistair? That’s all you’ve got?”

“Sorry,” he said. “But Jared sounds like a sociopath. And it’s my understanding that sociopaths are hard to deal with on a rational level.” He had a point.

“But I made a pact with myself that I’d try to make this work. I made it on behalf of my mom. I can’t give up after a week. Can I?”

“I guess not. And now that I think of it, you couldn’t come back to Little Genius anyway. Your spot was snatched up by some girl on the waiting list.”

Hearing that made my heart sink.

We turned onto Main, which is one of the highlights of being in this neighborhood instead of on the North Shore. It has a real hustle-bustle about it. We headed south, walking past a bunch of one-of-a-kind clothing stores; a butcher shop; Japanese, Thai, and Caribbean restaurants; a Legion hall; a wool shop; five coffee shops; and a thrift store.

We were almost past the thrift store when I noticed Phoebe. She was inside, looking through a rack of clothes with Violet.

“C’mon,” I said to Alistair. I pulled him into the store and marched right up to Phoebe. “Hi!”

She glanced up from the rack. “Oh, hey, Stewart,” she said. I saw her share a look with Violet.

“This is my friend Alistair. Alistair, meet Phoebe and Violet. They go to my new school.”

“Nice to meet you,” Phoebe said with a smile. She has a beautiful smile. Her teeth are straight and white. The rest of her face is pretty, too. It is a very symmetrical face, which I find aesthetically pleasing. She has almond-shaped eyes and light brown skin and shoulder-length, jet-black hair. She was wearing jeans and a plain gray T-shirt, which is all I’ve ever seen her wear (with variations on the T-shirt color); this tells me she doesn’t put a lot of thought into her appearance, an admirable quality since there are so many more important and interesting things to think about.

“Looking for anything in particular?” I asked them while Alistair wandered deeper into the store.

“Not really. Once I found the coolest jacket here, so we always have a quick look when we pass by,” said Phoebe.

“Can we ask you a question?” Violet asked as she kept flicking through the rack of clothes. She wore a knee-length skirt with black tights and a pair of lime-green Converse high-tops.

“Shoot.”

“Is it true you’re Ashley Anderson’s brother?”

“No, not really. I mean, my dad and I have moved in with her and her mom. But we’re not related by blood.”

“Thank God for that,” Violet muttered.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Just that she’s a horrible human being and we hate her guts.”

“Violet,” Phoebe said in a warning voice.

“What? She calls us Feeble and Violent. Count yourself lucky that you don’t share any of her genetic code.”

“Her mom and dad are really nice,” I said.

“Sorry, Stewart,” Phoebe said. “Maybe you know another side to Ashley.”

“Not so far, no,” I confessed. “But I keep hoping for an improvement in our relationship.”

“Yeah, well. Good luck with that,” Violet said. She glanced at her watch. “I have to run. I’m supposed to meet Jean-Paul at his house.”

“Who’s Jean-Paul?” I asked.

“Her boyfriend,” Phoebe replied. “He goes to the French immersion high school. I have to run, too. Mandarin lesson. See you Monday.” She and Violet left the store.

I looked around for Alistair, spotting him near the back by the EMPLOYEES ONLY sign. He was digging around in a large cardboard box.

“I may have found a solution to your problem,” he said. Then he pulled something out of the box and held it up for my inspection. “Not foolproof. But it would offer a certain amount of protection.”

I smiled. “Alistair, you still get my vote for Problem Solver of the Year. It’s perfect!”

—

WHEN WE GOT HOME, the weekend kind of went downhill. First of all, the painting had disappeared from the living room, before my dad had even talked to me about it. Second, our Eiffel Tower had been destroyed. Ashley tried to blame it on Schrödinger, but I knew better. I could tell from the trajectory of the broken spaghetti strands that a large, solid object had been dropped on it from above, something like my math book, which wasn’t where I’d left it. Third, Ashley and Lauren blasted music all night while Alistair and I tried to play Stratego. I have nothing against loud music, but Ashley and Lauren sang along to every song, and I can say with some authority that they are both tone-deaf.

Fourth, Alistair whipped my butt in Stratego.

Now it’s Sunday. Dad tried to talk to me about the painting, after Lauren had left and Alistair had been picked up. He found me snuggling with Schrödinger in my room.

“I’m sorry, buddy. But I had to respect Caroline’s wishes.”

“What about my wishes?”

Dad sighed. “Well, technically speaking, it is her house—”

“So we should just feel like guests in it?”

“No, but we have to be able to compromise.”

“We have compromised. We moved. We only brought a few things with us. And now one of them is gone.”

“Not gone. It’s in the basement. If you want, we can hang it in your room instead.”

So we carried the painting up to my room. Caroline helped. She was apologetic about not wanting it in the living room, but she also stuck to her guns.

Dad held the painting up against one of my walls. While I looked at it from the other side of the room, the cold, hard truth hit me. I didn’t want it hanging in here, either. It is a very large painting. And while I will love my mom for eternity, I don’t want to gaze at a baby-me drinking from her bare boobs every time I wake up and every time I do homework and every time I lie down. That’s why the living room had seemed so perfect; it was supposed to be something that everyone could enjoy, but on a limited basis.

So we carried the painting back down to the basement. Dad and I agreed that next time we visit the storage locker, we’ll bring the painting with us. Caroline suggested we take something else out of the storage locker and bring it home, and I was grateful to her for that.

Still. I know that this will sound possibly overly emotional, but every time we get rid of something else that Mom loved, I feel like we’re letting a little bit more of her memory die. I feel like we’re betraying her, Dad especially.

I want my dad to be able to move on with his life. I want him to be happy with Caroline. But I don’t want him to ever forget or stop loving my mom.