The whole time, Dad keeps fidgeting with his fingers, so much that I think he might be sending me Morse code. But if he is, it translates to something like, “Au5qizz4.”
“All right! Everyone else is just going to have to catch this on replay.” Mom winks at her phone. “Today I’m joined by my wonderful daughter, Nadia. She doesn’t know what lies beyond this door, either, so you’ll get to see her reaction as it happens! Say hello, Nadia!” Mom swaps the camera view so it’ll show me. I stand up straighter and try to smile. It’s creepy that somewhere six hundred people are watching me—and mortifying that one of them might be Paddle Boy. “Richard is also here,” Mom says, swinging the camera up to get a shot of Dad waving. “But he’s been in on this the whole time, so he’s a spoiler just waiting to happen.”
Dad opens his mouth, like he’s going to say something.
“No hints!” She grins and turns the camera on me while she walks backward toward the door, reaching down with a free hand to push it open. “Okay, everyone. Now’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for!”
She backs into the room, and I follow, trying to look excited for my mom’s new studio. But as soon as I step in, something becomes clear.
I’ve got this story wrong.
The room isn’t a studio.
It’s a nursery.
A crib sits against one wall, a bookshelf with slim spines and baskets of baby supplies is tucked against another. Peachy pink and soft yellow decorations cover everything. Twinkle lights are strung around the top of the ceiling. Folksy stuffed animals smile from cubbies, and a mobile of the solar system spins slowly in the air.
Mom’s not getting a new office.
She’s having a baby.
Mom’s voice buzzes around the back of my head. Asking questions? Prompting me to say something? But I can’t hear over the rush of blood in my ears. My thoughts spin. I’m getting a sibling! A girl, it looks like. How soon? Can I name it? (Lois. No, no—Lucy, like Lois Lane’s sister.)
I turn toward Mom, opening my mouth to ask, and find myself staring right into her phone’s camera lens.
The excitement drains into a deep, crazy disappointment.
“Well?” Mom asks, grinning behind her screen. “What do you think of my studio?”
I close my mouth. My face burns. My thoughts don’t want to translate into words, and all of it is a tangled mess in my head. Say something! I yell at myself while I stare stupidly at the camera. Say anything!
“I’m telling you all, I’ve never seen my daughter this speechless.” Mom laughs. Dad, behind her now, chuckles. “Come on, Dia. What’s your first impression?”
My voice comes out soft, almost toneless. “You didn’t tell me?”
“What’s that, honey? Speak up so we can all hear.”
This time, my voice is harder. Louder. “You didn’t tell me.”
“That’s why we call it a surprise!” Mom straightens and switches the camera back onto herself. Dad leans into the frame, still smiling. “So, everyone, I’m sorry for keeping you all in the dark! Richard and I were just as shocked as Nadia here when we found out a few months ago. But you saw it here first—the Quicks are having a baby girl!”
I stare and stare and stare. The room is beautiful, perfect. My parents are so happy. And I feel like I’m sinking into the floor. Like someone’s scooped out my insides and filled my body with heavy black sludge. A big, wild sadness has swallowed me so deep that I can’t even tell why it’s here, or where it came from, or why my eyes won’t focus and it hurts to breathe.
Mom circles the room, narrating as she goes. Dad points out things and poses by them like a model in a TV game show. Why didn’t they tell me? Shouldn’t I have been the first one to know?
Then suddenly the camera is back in front of me, and Mom’s saying, “Let’s see if Nadia here has anything—” And she stops. “Oh, Dia! Why are you crying?”
And just like that, it’s a thousand times worse.
My face isn’t just hot. My eyes aren’t just unfocused.
I’m crying.
In front of over five hundred strangers.
And I don’t even know why!
Before my mom can get a second more of footage for her blog, I turn on my heel and run. I run so fast, my socks skid over the floor when I turn the corner to my room. I throw myself inside and slam the door behind me. Then I crawl into my closet and sit on my smelly shoes and pull the door closed.
That way, no one will hear if I cry. Not even on a livestream.
Chapter 14
CITIZENS POWERLESS AGAINST MORTIFICATION
I stay in my room all afternoon and most of the evening. Mom and Dad try to talk to me through the door, but I won’t answer. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t even want to think about it. Instead, I sit on the floor against my bed and read Showcase Presents: Superman Family, the old—and very weird—comics from forever ago. Somehow reading about Lois Lane nearly getting tricked into marriage with a perfect guy who turns out to be a robot who turns out to be remote controlled by an alien makes me feel a tiny bit better.
Eventually, Mom and Dad say they’re going to “give me space” and stop trying. I only crack my door open to accept dinner. But even then, I won’t look at them or speak to them.
Monday comes. I spend all morning in my room, too, but after a while I’m hungry and tired of old-version Lois Lane falling out windows. I make myself wait until the clock on my dresser says twelve thirty, then I pull on fresh clothes and sneak downstairs. I promised I’d figure out a way to get that pole for the birdhouse. And, more important, I promised Eli I would come today.
I get all the way to the kitchen before Wonder Dog gives an excited bark and runs up to greet me.
“Traitor,” I whisper.
Wonder Dog wags her tail and doggy-grins.
Mom follows right behind her. “Nadia! You’re out!” She gives me an uncertain smile. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about—”
“I just want to take Wonder on a walk,” I say, not exactly looking at her.
Mom hesitates. “Dia, are you upset about the baby? Or—?”
I don’t answer, stuffing an apple into my backpack.
Mom opens her mouth to say something else, but I zip my backpack, hook the leash to Wonder’s harness, and rush outside. The humid air drapes over everything like a thick blanket. I let Wonder Dog pee in her usual spot, then head to the peninsula. Low tide exposes the part that connects with my yard, making it possible to slog through the thick mud. I tie Wonder to the pine tree and start to pull off my shoes. Barefoot, I might step on some thorns—but this mud will slurp a shoe right off, and sometimes it doesn’t show up again.
A voice calls out behind me.
“Hey—Nadia!”
The voice of the last person I want to see.
I turn slowly. Paddle Boy is hurrying toward me from the street, carrying something long and narrow wrapped in packing paper. My face heats. I don’t want to fight with him or be around him or watch his stupid expression change from relief to pity. I want to run as fast as I can in the other direction—let the mud swallow me whole. But my feet won’t move.
“I—um—” Paddle Boy stops in front of me and moves the wrapped thing behind his back. “I’m sorry about…”
He watched the livestream! My skin goes from hot to surface-of-the-sun scorching. And for some dumb reason, my eyes start to sting, and my lungs tighten, and I’m spiraling impossibly into a situation somehow more humiliating. I clench my hands into fists around my shoe, pushing back against the wave of frustration that wants to explode out of me.
“My mom watched it,” he adds quickly. “I didn’t—I went into a different room. But Mom told me what happened. She said she was glad your mom deleted the video.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“After it went live, your mom took it down.” He shrugs. “I mean—it might exist somewhere, ’cause nothing is ever really gone off the internet. But it’s not on your mom�
�s pages anymore. Anyway—um … that seemed pretty uncool.”
“Yeah,” I agree, not sure what else to say. “It was.”
He stands awkwardly for a moment, and then seems to remember the wrapped thing in his hand and holds it out to me. Wonder Dog backs away, unsure.
But I get a good look, and my heart does a flip.
The package is shaped like a paddle.
“This is for you,” he says.
I drop my shoe and tear off the brown paper. Sure enough, I’m holding a canoe paddle. A nice canoe paddle—light and sturdy with a streak of shiny dark wood down the center.
“I hope it’s okay.” Paddle Boy shifts on his feet. He points to the blade—the wide part at the bottom. “I added that.”
I turn it so I can see. Under the paddle logo, there’s a sticker that looks like a street sign. It says Lois LN. A grin wants to break onto my face, but I will the corners of my mouth to stay down. The world’s turned inside out and I don’t know how to act.
“I actually got it after the—the incident,” he says, sticking his hands in his pockets. “But you, ah … We didn’t really … hang out or anything so I just … didn’t exactly give it to you. I didn’t realize how important—”
Somehow, words swim up to the top of my brain, and I blurt, “Why did you break my paddle?”
He turns red. “I didn’t know it was yours—I thought someone just left it by the creek.” He points up at the canoe in the branches. “I mean, this could be abandoned. So—I picked up the paddle, but—there was a bee. It came right at me and I tried to swat it with the paddle and … I missed. Hit the tree. And the paddle broke.”
I blink. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” He ducks his head.
That wasn’t the nefarious scheme I expected all this time. It actually sounds like something I might do.
It looks like I’ve gotten all my scoops wrong. My mom’s surprise. Eli’s powers. Even Paddle Boy’s crime, which I saw with my own eyes. I’m not an ace reporter—I don’t even deserve to enter the Junior Journalists Contest.
“So. Do you want to go get that pole?” Paddle Boy asks. He clears his throat. “I figured now we could use your canoe.”
“I—um—” I clear my throat, then I bend to slip on my shoe again. “Have you ever canoed before?”
He shakes his head. “Can you teach me?”
I lean the new paddle against the tree and reach up into the branches. “It’s not that hard. Give me a hand with this.”
Together, we leverage the canoe down and carry it to Little Hunting Jr. I run to the garage and come back with two life jackets and our one old paddle. I’m too embarrassed to admit I’d hid it there for safety, so I pass it to Paddle Boy—Kenny—without saying anything.
I untie Wonder Dog’s leash and let her climb in with me. I take the back seat, Wonder settles in the middle, and Kenny wobbles his way to the front. Once he sits down and the canoe stops rocking, I push us off with the new paddle. It slides through the water soft and quiet, and the handle fits perfectly in my palm.
Kenny catches on, eventually, and kind of helps out. When we circle the peninsula to the other side, he’s the one who climbs into the mud and pulls the pole free. Between us, we lay it down in the hull of the canoe. Then we return to my yard—a fifteen-minute trip in all, when it would have taken me a lot longer and involved a lot more mess if I’d gone over land.
By one thirty, we’re outside Eli’s gate, the pole balanced between our shoulders. It’s only about five feet long, I’d guess, but it is way easier to carry with someone’s help than it would have been alone. I still don’t know what I think about Kenny and me being on the same side. But I don’t feel like I’m going to explode with frustration and my eyes aren’t stinging for the first time today.
I give the signal, and a moment later Eli opens the gate for us.
“We bring a pole!” I announce, marching in victoriously. Wonder Dog darts ahead of me to give Eli’s hands a lick.
“Perfect.” A smile turns the corner of Eli’s mouth, but it fades as quickly as it appeared. He swings the gate shut behind us. “The birdhouse is pretty much done. If we put this in the back, I can do the final steps tonight.”
Kenny frowns. “Why do we need to wait?”
“I have to finish cleaning up after the Fourth of July parties.” Eli rubs the side of his neck. “I didn’t get it done earlier. And—if you let me assemble the birdhouse, I can do it without anyone seeing.” He lifts his eyebrows. “Invisibility powers, you know.”
“Okay…” Kenny sounds as uncertain as I feel.
“Well, where should we put this?” I ask.
Eli leads the way to the very, very, very back of the yard and nods toward the fence. Once we lay it down, he covers it in leaves.
“Invisibility activated,” he murmurs.
I don’t really get why Eli wants the pole to be invisible. But … maybe he’s just being extra thorough about the surprise.
Either way, he’s heading back to the patio before Kenny and I can do more than exchange a shrug. I unhook Wonder Dog’s leash and follow. He’s barefoot, and still wearing his hoodie, though it’s hot and sticky even in the shade.
One end of the patio has smudges of black over the stone. I’m guessing this is where some of Candace’s party guests set off fireworks. Eli points. “I need to scrub that off. I should have gotten it done yesterday, but…” He trails off and then shakes his head. “Anyway, it’d be a lot of help if…”
“Sure, we’ll help.” I plant my hands on my hips in a superhero stance. “No task is too small for Lightning Lane.”
“Or Wi-Fi Man,” Kenny adds. “But, ah, actually…”
I give him a look. Is he seriously going to bail because we’re scrubbing floors? His face reddens.
“I can’t actually stay today,” he explains quickly. “I just wanted to help get the pole—but I’ve got to go back home. My dad’s supposed to come pick me up during his lunch break. We’re doing a late Fourth of July celebration ’cause he had duty over the holiday.”
“Oh.” I suppose that could be considered a legitimate, not-just-getting-out-of-chores excuse. “Okay. See you tomorrow?”
“More like Friday, probably.” He waves, jogging toward the gate. “If you guys need any Wi-Fi Man magic, just fly by my dad’s apartment!”
“The one by the Iwo Jima Memorial?” I remember from our conversation at the party.
“Right! It’s huge and white.”
“Got it.” I give a thumbs-up. “Though I think we’ll manage without you for a few days.”
He grins and ducks through the gate. “Have fun cleaning!”
Eli waves back. “Good luck, Wi-Fi Man.”
We turn to the task at hand, and it actually feels a little odd without Kenny. Wonder Dog has a seat in the grass to pant and watch. Eli brings a big bucket of water and adds in soap. We each take a scrub brush and kneel in the dirt along the patio. Before I begin, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out.
A text from Aunt Lexie pops up on the screen.
I can’t help smiling as I type back:
“What is it?” Eli asks, watching me.
“My aunt is going to take me to the Newseum tomorrow.”
“Museum?”
“Newseum. It’s a museum in Washington, DC, that’s about the history of journalism and stuff. My parents promised to take me for my next birthday. We haven’t gone yet because it’s kind of expensive, and there’s so many free museums in the city, and”—I lower my voice to mimic my dad—“‘free is what America’s all about!’ He has a list of forty-seven places to go first, and we’ve only done nineteen. Which museums have you been to?”
“I’ve never been to DC, actually,” Eli admits.
I stop cleaning to stare at him. “What? But you’re only—fourteen miles away! And isn’t your mom…”
“Yeah, I just never saw the point. I mean—I want to see my mom, but I never saw the point of Washington itself, really.”
He pours out some water to wash away the ash. “Your aunt seems neat, though.”
He’s clearly trying to change the subject, but I decide not to push it. “She is! But ugh, she’s also being so annoying.” I throw my hands up in frustration. “I’m trying to set her up with James—Mrs. B’s grandson—but every time I get them in the same space, all she wants to do is talk to Mrs. B!”
Eli sits back on his heels and frowns. “Why would you do that?”
“Because he’s clearly crazy crushing on her! Over the holiday, I tried to get her to admit it but she says”—I use air quotes to demonstrate my skepticism—“he’s ‘a wedding photographer’ and she’s ‘just not that interested in wedding photography’ and Mrs. B ‘shares’ some of Aunt Lexie’s ‘interests.’”
“I ‘think’”—Eli uses air quotes back at me—“you might ‘need’ to use more ‘air quotes’ so I can fully ‘understand’ the situation.”
I bump the back of his head with my hand. “I think you need to take this situation seriously.”
Eli smiles, ducking. “Well, isn’t it obvious? He’s not just a wedding photographer. Get him to talk about the other stuff.”
“What other stuff?”
“His travels. You know? The—what’s it called?—human work? Humanity work?”
I sit up straighter. “Humanitarian work?”
“Yes, that one.”
Humanitarian work means work that helps other people, normally people in desperate need—Aunt Lexie has explained that to me before. “What does James have to do with humanitarian work?”
“He does wedding photography to make money,” Eli tells me. “But he uses the money to go on all these trips around the world with medical teams or something, to do photography for them.”
My mind is whirling with possibility. “How do you know that?”
Eli shrugs. “I’ve overheard him on the phone in the backyard. Sometimes he complains to one of his friends about the weird wedding stuff people have had him do. Did he tell you about the time they released real doves at the end of the ceremony? It’s hilarious. And most of the time he ends up mentioning his next trip. I think he’s going to … Nicaragua? Sometimes he even speaks a different language on his calls.”
The Invisible Boy Page 10