Finally

by Wendy Mass

  I hear Annabelle’s voice in my head. Man up. Okay. I take a deep breath. “So do you like school?” Great question, Rory! What kid doesn’t hate talking about school? I’m trying to come up with something better when Emily starts talking. She actually talks for a good ten minutes on all the great things about her school. The small class size. The high-tech computer lab. The homemade food in the dining hall, which is what they call their cafeteria. The way it’s not too cliquey and everyone respects one another’s differences. She says it just like that — respects one another’s differences.

  When she finally runs out of steam, I say, “Wow, that sounds great.” I honestly mean it, too.

  “Yeah,” she acknowledges, “but Jake Harrison is going to be at YOUR school!” She sounds so awestruck that I have to laugh. She laughs, too.

  “It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?” I say.

  She nods, wide-eyed. “Have you met him?”

  I shake my head. “He’s not coming till next week. We’re supposed to stay far away from the cast and crew.”

  “Still, you’re going to try, right?”

  “For sure!”

  We smile at each other. And then a lull creeps into the conversation. She stacks up her books. I drum my fingers in my lap and peek at the clock over the sink. 6:45. That leaves me two hours to fill before Emily’s bedtime. Fortunately good old Rosemary has prepared me on how to entertain the older child. I reach for my backpack and pull out a bag of nail polish (compliments of Mom), a pile of comics (compliments of Dad), and a deck of cards (compliments of American Airlines from when we flew to Florida to visit Dad’s parents last year). I spread them all out on the table in front of us.

  I point to the bag. “A friend of mine likes to paint each of her nails a different color. Wanna try?”

  She looks with mild interest at the bag of assorted colors, but shakes her head. “No, thanks.”

  “Okay, do you like comics?” I spread out the pile a little. “My dad collects first editions.”

  She leans in to look at them. “And he lets you play with them? I mean, read them?”

  I nod. “He doesn’t believe in keeping things all sealed up.”

  “Mine does,” she says. “Wanna see something cool?”

  “Okay,” I say, happy to have something to pass the time.

  “C’mon.” She jumps up, and I follow her down the hall and up the long staircase to the second floor. We pass many doors, one of which I assume is her bedroom, until we reach a room marked KEEP OUT. She reaches for the knob. A bell goes off in my head, thanks to Rosemary. Never go into any other rooms in the house other than common rooms. Never invade privacy.

  “Um,” I say, putting out my hand. “I don’t think we should. I mean, it says ‘Keep Out.’”

  “It’s okay,” she assures me. “We won’t touch anything.”

  Before I know it, she’s pushed open the door and flicked on the light. My eyes widen. Shelves cover the walls from floor to ceiling. And on the shelves? Hundreds (thousands?) of toys, boxes of candy, comic books, games, and sporting equipment. Everything is in what looks like its original packaging, untouched by human hands.

  “Wow!” I say, when I can get out a word. “What is all this stuff?”

  “My dad’s hobby is collecting things and reselling them.”

  I can’t stop staring. My dad’s little comic collection looks pretty shabby right about now, and I’m kind of embarrassed. She must have sensed what I was thinking, because she says, “Imagine having all this stuff down the hall from you and not being able to play with it, read it, eat it, or even look at it.” She gestures over her shoulder at the KEEP OUT sign.

  “That must be hard.”

  She nods, and I realize she’s lonely in this big house that doesn’t really feel like a home. It hits me that this babysitting thing is more than just watching someone’s kids while they go out. Being in someone’s house is like living inside their life for a few hours.

  “C’mon,” I say, switching off the light. “Let’s go back downstairs. We can do anything you want.”

  Anything she wants turns out to be to watch High School Musical on the sixty-inch TV in the living room. So we settle in on the couch, and she puts in the DVD. I wonder if it would be rude to read the book I brought with me for later. I decide it would be, darn it.

  They sing, they dance, they sing and dance some more. Emily gets up and dances along to some of them, which is really cute. She seems really free when she dances. “Do you take classes?” I ask her. “You’re really good.”

  “Oh, no,” she says, laughing. “You have to be skinny to be a dancer.”

  “But you’re skinny,” I point out. “You could totally be a dancer.”

  She just shakes her head and pinches the side of her belly. She’s ten and pinching the side of her belly. I’ve never even done that!

  The movie’s about half over when she asks if I wouldn’t mind making some microwave popcorn. She gets a glass bowl out of the cabinet and hands me a packet of fat-free, butter-free (and taste-free) popcorn. I tell her to keep watching the movie without me. So she goes back as I wait the two minutes for it to pop. I can’t help noticing there’s not a crumb on the counters, no sign of what she ate for dinner.

  I bring the bowl of hot popcorn back to the family room and place it on the table in front of us. She nibbles a few pieces while the movie continues, and I start getting twitchy. Finally it ends. I’m about to suggest we play cards, when she says, “Ready for part two?” with such hopefulness that I nod weakly and say, “You bet.”

  The singing and dancing persist. This time at the country club. Emily happily sings along. I have to fight to stay awake. Emily points me to the bathroom off the hallway. As the credits roll it hits me that it MUST be her bedtime, if not past it! I crane my neck around to look for a clock, and find one over the mantel. 8:20. It’s only 8:20?

  I turn back to Emily, who is now fumbling with the DVD player. “I thought it must be later,” I say, rubbing my eyes.

  “They’re pretty short movies,” she replies, coming back to join me on the couch. “You know, made for TV and all.”

  “Why don’t we go up and get you ready for bed,” I say, stretching. Rosemary warned us to start the bedtime routine early, because older kids are likely to stall.

  “Just a few more minutes?” she asks as she turns back to the TV. To my horror, High School Musical 3 begins!

  I groan and sink back into the couch. This time they’re seniors, and I’m wondering if there’s a way to bring back that temporary blindness. The next thing I know, Emily’s shaking me. “My parents are home!”

  “What, already?” Had I fallen asleep? I jump up and check the clock. 8:30. HUH? How could only ten minutes have passed since the last time I looked? I stare at the clock, then at her, then at the clock again. Events from the night run through my head. Popcorn making. Bathroom breaks. Each time I left the room, she had been turning the clock back! I know I left class a little early, but I’m pretty sure this topic wasn’t covered!

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” And with that, she takes off up the stairs.

  That little sneak! Had she been playing me all along? And to think I felt sorry for her. I’m pretty sure falling asleep on the job is frowned upon, so she’s got me cornered.

  The credits start to roll as the key clicks in the front door. I have just enough time to switch off the TV and try to look awake before the St. Claires come in, laughing and looking as perfect as when they left.

  “How did it go?” Mrs. St. Claire asks, shrugging off her long coat.

  “Great,” I reply, still kind of disoriented. I hope they don’t notice. Please don’t ask me if Emily went to bed on time. Please don’t ask me if Emily went to bed on time. Please don’t ask me if Emily went to bed on time.

  “Did Emily give you any trouble?” Mr. St. Claire asks, pulling out his wallet.

  I shake my head, maybe a little too fast.


  “I hope we’ll see you again,” Mrs. St. Claire says. “Roger will drive you home.”

  I get my bag from the kitchen and stuff my supplies back inside. Sure enough, the clock over the sink says 11:00.

  Mom is waiting for me when I get home. “So, how was it?”

  “It was … educational.”

  “Are you going to do it again?”

  I hold up the handful of five dollar bills. “Definitely!” But maybe a daytime gig would be better.

  Chapter Nine

  Because of the babysitting class, my trip to the mall with Annabelle had been moved to Sunday. I’m reminded of this fact by Annabelle shaking me awake and yelling, “Get up! Get up! It’s already ten o’clock! The mall opens in half an hour! My mom’s waiting downstairs to take us!”

  I groan. Why is everyone always waking me up? It feels like two seconds ago that I went to sleep. I roll over and she pulls my pillow out from under me in response.

  “Mean!” I yell.

  “C’mon, you know I don’t like it when our moms hang out for too long.”

  “All right,” I grumble, forcing myself to climb out of the warm, comfy bed. I can’t blame her about the mom thing. Her mom always gets temporarily stricter after visiting my house. As I get dressed I tell her about Emily and the clock last night.

  “Wow, smart kid! You’ll have to make sure Rosemary adds that one to the handbook.”

  She follows me into the bathroom, telling me about the plan she and Sari came up with last night to get into Jake’s trailer. I have to push her out and close the door. “A little privacy, please.” She leans against the door and keeps talking.

  In the kitchen, our moms are drinking coffee. They stop talking when they see us, which is annoying. But I guess we’d do the same thing if they came in on one of our conversations.

  Mom hands me an English muffin and the lecture begins. “Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t spend all your money. Don’t fill up on junk food in the food court. Keep your phone on and within reach.”

  She follows us out to the car, her slippers flapping on the driveway. Annabelle’s mom holds the back door open for me and I scurry inside. Mom leans into the open window. “And don’t come home with a bunny!”

  “Wow, those are a lot of rules,” Annabelle says, turning around in her seat.

  “And all very sensible,” her mother adds, glancing pointedly at Annabelle. “You’d do well to follow them, too.”

  Annabelle shoots me a look, which I pretend not to see.

  The mall seems bigger than when I was here with Dad. Annabelle and I stand just inside the doorway, soaking it all in. She’s come here with her older brothers for years, but they won’t go into any of the stores she likes. Even I won’t go into some of the stores she likes, like the one where they only sell hair accessories. Sari got Annabelle hooked on it. They can spend hours in there.

  “Where should we go first?” I ask.

  “I just heard about a new makeup store where all the makeup is natural,” she says. “I’m not sure where it is, though.”

  “Natural?”

  “Like made of healthy stuff. You know, natural ingredients.”

  Before I can ask more, a group of three high school girls walk by, swinging shopping bags and giggling. Annabelle grabs my arm and hurries after them. I would never have the nerve to talk to them, but Annabelle has no fear.

  “Do you know where the new makeup store is?” she asks the group. “Where they make you up for free and everything’s, like, natural?”

  They stop walking. One of them turns to the others and says, “Yeah, we just saw that, right?”

  The tallest of the girls taps a long red nail against her chin like she’s trying to think, and says, “Right, now where was it?”

  “I know!” the third one says. “It was upstairs, near Macy’s. You should take that elevator over there.” She points down one of the alleys nearby. “That’s a shortcut.”

  “Thanks!” Annabelle gushes, and then adds, “I like your nails.”

  But they just giggle and keep walking. As we head to the elevator, I ask, “We’re not going to be like that when we’re in high school, are we?”

  “Like what?” Annabelle asks.

  When we reach the elevator it has just opened, even though no one else is waiting there, and no one gets out. “Never mind,” I say. “Let’s just get on.”

  We run in just before the doors close. I notice right away that it doesn’t look like an ordinary elevator. For one thing, it is much smaller and narrower and the walls are covered in some foamy kind of material. It makes me want to touch it.

  “Um,” Annabelle says, pointing to the walls. “Do you see any buttons to press?”

  I don’t. I don’t see any buttons at all, even the ones above the door that tell you what floor you’re on. “Okay, this is really weird.”

  Annabelle tries pushing on the doors. Nothing happens. She tries wedging her fingers between them and pulling. Nothing. “Are we even moving?” she asks.

  “I don’t think so, but it’s hard to tell.” My palms start to sweat and I wipe them on my pants. “Is it getting hot in here?”

  “Well!” exclaims Annabelle. “This is a fine kettle of fish!”

  I laugh and think of my grandmother, and that makes me feel better.

  Annabelle starts pounding on the doors. “Hello! Anyone? We’re stuck in here!”

  Suddenly I remember my phone and pull it out. No signal. Figures. The one time I really need it.

  We pound for a few more minutes, and without warning, the doors begin to open with a clanking noise. We jump back. A burly man in overalls leans on a big stack of boxes, arms crossed in front of him. “What are you two doing in there?”

  We hurry out, careful to keep out of his way. “Um, we were just trying to get upstairs,” Annabelle says.

  He points to the sign on the wall. A sign we hadn’t noticed before. FREIGHT ONLY. NO PASSENGERS.

  “Oh,” I say, backing up farther. “Sorry, didn’t see that.”

  “You’re lucky I came along,” he grumbles, pushing the boxes inside, then stepping back out and pushing the button. The doors close, and this time I can clearly hear the elevator rising, clanking as it goes.

  “Um, so where did those boxes just go?” Annabelle asks.

  The guy looks at us like we must be the two stupidest girls on the planet. “They go upstairs. Someone else takes ’em out.”

  “Oh,” we say, nodding and backing up even farther. “Well, thanks!” He just shakes his head as we run back to the main part of the mall. We don’t stop running until we’re far out of sight and then start laughing.

  “Let’s agree to never tell anyone what just happened,” I say.

  “Agreed,” Annabelle says. But then she adds, “Maybe we should tell those girls, though, so they don’t get stuck, too.”

  That’s Annabelle. Always thinking the best of people.

  “We’ll tell them if we run into them again,” I promise, very much hoping we don’t. I look around to get my bearings. We happen to be near the pet store. “C’mon, I want to show you my bunny.”

  Annabelle follows me inside and instantly covers her nose. “Ew, what’s that smell?”

  I gaze at Kyle adoringly. “That’s the smell of love.”

  “I sure hope not,” she says, bending down next to me. “So this is the guy?”

  I nod. “I was worried he wouldn’t still be here.”

  “He’s really, really cute,” Annabelle says, sticking in a finger to pet his nose. “Is your mom ever gonna let you get him?”

  “If I can prove I have enough money to take care of him.” I pat the wad of cash in my front pocket. “I almost have enough now.”

  “Hey, you’re gonna need that money to get ready for the audition. No offense, but we really need to stand out. And one of us needs a little more work in that area.”

  “I know. I wasn’t planning on getting him today. You heard my mom.”

  The m
anager is behind the counter and I ask him if anyone had shown any interest in him over the week.

  “Actually, yeah,” he says. “He got sold.”

  I gasp and clutch Annabelle’s arm.

  “But they returned him. As you can see.”

  I relax my grip and Annabelle squirms away. “Why?” I ask.

  “Didn’t give me the details,” he says with a shrug, and continues stacking cat food cans behind the counter.

  Annabelle points to her watch. “Let’s go. We have a lot to do.”

  As we head out of the store, I say to Annabelle, “Kyle knew he wouldn’t be happy with some other family, that’s why they had to return him. They knew he was meant to be with me.”

  “Uh-huh,” Annabelle says. “Some little kid was probably allergic.”

  I like my theory better.

  “You’re going to change his name, right?”

  I nod. “What do you think about … Bunny?”

  “You’re going to name your bunny, Bunny?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  As we pass the store with the ear piercing station, Annabelle suddenly stops. “How cool would you look at the audition wearing those earrings your grandmother gave you?”

  “My mom already said she’d bring me next week.”

  “Yeah, but that’ll be too late. We’re here now and the audition’s tomorrow.”

  “But I don’t have them with me.”

  “That’s okay,” she says, pushing me into the store. “You have to get them pierced with special pointy ones anyway.”

  She tells the lady behind the counter that I want my ears pierced. The woman (who has earrings in at least ten body parts that I can see) points out the ones I get to choose from for the initial piercing. She calls them “starter” earrings, and there aren’t too many options. The standard gold balls that I’ve seen in many classmates’ ears over the years, some fake diamond ones, and that’s pretty much it. I pick out the balls, and we go stand behind a preppy teenage boy, the only other person on line.

  “I can’t believe I’m finally going to do this!”

  “It’ll look great.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Nah.”