One night, a few weeks later, I was up in CICM alone. I’d come up with an idea about refracting the light off a closer mirror in order to get a brighter flash, and I wanted to try it out. I strapped a couple of old compact mirrors that Mom donated to CICM onto the sides of the flashlight and clicked the button a couple of times. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like the beam got brighter.
And that’s when I heard noise coming from around the side of the house again. Quickly, I snapped off the light and shimmied backward. Now that Mr. Death definitely knew about CICM, I was afraid that he’d use his superhuman zombie climbing powers to scale the side of my house and eat my face off before I could even cry for help.
Not really.
Okay, yeah, really.
The point was, I didn’t want to get caught.
I held my breath and prayed that he couldn’t hear my heartbeat. I watched until my vision got grainy and I wasn’t sure if he was moving or if I was just seeing things. There were more noises and maybe a meaty smell, but I couldn’t be sure, and then just as he rounded the corner and our eyes met …
“Arty!”
It was Cassi and her constant companion: her giant mouth.
“Ar-teee!” My bedroom light flipped on, bathing the backyard in light. “I know you’re out there, you creeper. You need to come downstairs. Now! Family meeting! Dad said!”
I glanced back at Mr. Death just as he turned and walked into the woods.
“Arty!” she shouted again. “I know you hear me!”
I swiveled in through the window, yanked it shut, and dropped to my hands and knees. “Shhh! Do you want to get us both killed?” I crawled over to the light switch, reaching up only enough to paw it off.
“You. Are. So. Embarrassing,” Cassi said, then turned and tromped downstairs.
Once upon a time, we had family meetings often. Mom said it would make us all closer so that when we were grown up and they weren’t around anymore, my sisters and I would still have each other’s backs. We’d had dozens of family meetings, and while I didn’t feel any closer to Vega or Cassi, I did like the board games we sometimes played.
We hadn’t had a family meeting at all since Dad lost his job.
So why were we having one now?
Suddenly, I was more worried about what awaited me in the family den than about Mr. Death wandering around outside looking for a place to bury his dead bodies or eat faces. Slowly, I crept downstairs.
Dad was sitting in his recliner; his hair tufts, for once, were flat against his head. Vega was parked on the sofa, with her hand glued to the Bacteria. Cassi was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Comet, doing some sort of cheerleader stretch. Mom placed a plate of still-steaming banana nut bread on the coffee table. The Bacteria immediately leaned forward and swiped a piece.
Warily, I kneeled next to the table.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Family meeting,” Mom said brightly, perching on the arm of Dad’s chair.
“But why are we—?”
“No raisins,” Vega interrupted, pointing at the last crumb of bread in the Bacteria’s hand. She whipped around to Mom. “You didn’t put raisins in this bread.”
Mom shrugged. “I got tired of them.”
Vega and I exchanged glances. Dad’s tufts were combed down and Mom was tired of raisins?
She gasped. “You got a job!”
Dad smiled. “Well, I was hoping to be the one to break the news, but … yes, I did.”
Cassi squealed and clapped her hands. I let out a cheer. Vega’s eye roll was a little less rolly than usual (which, trust me, is as close to cheering as Vega comes). Even the Bacteria let out a whoop (a one-syllable whoop, of course).
“Congratulations, Daddy,” Cassi said. “Can I get a phone?”
“Well, before you …,” Dad began.
“No way you’re getting a phone. I had to wait until sixth grade to get one,” Vega shot to Cassi, overriding Dad.
“So what? You weren’t in cheer. I need a phone. Mom said …”
Dad tried again. “Listen, before anyone gets anything …”
“What? Mom!” Vega yelled. “You can’t get her a phone. I was, like, the last person in the entire middle school to get one, and it was so humiliating, and you said …”
“Nobody’s getting a phone,” Mom said, holding her hands out toward my sisters like she was directing traffic.
Cassi yelped. “You said I could get one. Not fair! It’s none of Vega’s—”
“It’s totally fair. Armpit should get one before you do, and he doesn’t even have one yet,” Vega yelled.
Technically, she had a point. I should have gotten a phone before Cassi, just by sheer seniority. However, I had no desire for a phone, so it didn’t really matter to me if Cassi got one or not.
“No way! If I have to wait for Armpit, I’ll never get one. He has, like, zero friends to call anyway.”
Whoa. Not true. What were Tripp and Priya—chopped liver? Also? My name is not Armpit. Just reminding everyone.
“Now, Cassiopeia,” Mom said, which got Cassi bellowing.
“You called me that name again! I can’t believe after you said you would stop calling me that …”
And Vega started yelling at the Bacteria about how horrible her life was in fifth grade without a phone, and the Bacteria nodded with big eyes and just kept saying, “Totes,” his one-syllable way of saying “totally.” And Mom was apologizing, which was doing no good because when Cassi started really wailing, Comet began howling right along with her, the same way he sometimes did when a fire truck drove down the street.
And me? I watched, wishing I had some popcorn for this special family bonding moment and considered running into the kitchen real quick to pop a bag.
Until right in the middle of it all, Dad gave his hair tufts one mighty yank with both fists and yelled out, “We’re moving! The job is in Las Vegas!”
And just like that, everyone fell totally silent.