“What’s a neighborhood vote?” I asked.
“Thornewood is very democratic,” Emma said. “Any time someone wants a big change in the Historic District, the residents vote.” I was about to ask what major changes they’d accomplished, considering it still looked like 1940 around here, but Mrs. McMichaels was suddenly standing above us.
“It’s time to close up, Emmaline,” Mrs. McMichaels said, and I glanced at Emmaline. Emma rolled her eyes. “I have an inspection soon.”
“One sec, Grandmamma.” Emma shoved the permit we’d found and the plans at me and motioned for me to take pictures while she complimented her grandmother’s newly curled hair. I quickly took the photos, getting as much as I could, then I scooped up the materials up and shoved them back into the folder.
I didn’t know what more I’d learned, really, except that the house was for sure in violation of a bunch of Thornewood rules and regulations and was about to be in violation of a bunch more. And that the pink room I’d just started to not hate was slated to become a hostel. I shoved the folder back on its shelf and cleared my throat. Emma took my arm, and after grabbing our backpacks, we headed toward the front doors of city hall.
“So,” Emma said just as we were about to leave. “Are you ready for the inspection today? You’ve got the list of potential violations. What’s your plan?”
I shook my head. “I was thinking to make sure she saw the new framing of the library? Maybe bring some paint cans down from the attic so she could see that they’re planning to go with greige, and pretend it’s a white?”
“Hit as many of the violations we lined up as you can. Paint color, painting woodwork. The framing. It should be easy to rack up a bunch of fines.”
“Will you come with me?” I asked, wishing that Blythe was still my partner in crime.
She shook her head. “I can’t. I have a meeting for the Mash-Up.” She hip-checked the door and popped it open. Sunlight burst into my eyes, and I lifted a hand, squinting. I blinked, not sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing.
Kai sat on the side of the fountain beside his brother, arms crossed, laughing. My heart thundered, and I gripped my backpack straps tighter. Kai lifted his eyes and found mine. I swallowed, filled with that same feeling he gave me that day in the library: as if he’d turn the whole world away to listen to me. I was just that important.
I didn’t know what this was. But it wasn’t a crush.
“Hey!” Kai’s brother pointed at me like I was famous. “You’re French Sabine!”
I laughed, all the nervousness of seeing Kai going into it. I shook my head and waved. “I’m not French, but I am Sabine.”
Kai said: “The one and only.” We looked at each other, and my heart hammered all over the place. Emma took the pavers two at a time, leaping to the side of the fountain. She gave Kai’s brother a high five and introduced him as Keanu. Then to my horror, she said: “Sabine is about to go destroy her crumbling family mansion by rigging it so they get about a dozen fines.”
“I’m starting to think you might be a bad influence, Sabine.” Kai smiled to let me know he was joking, but I was starting to feel a little like a criminal. Maybe I shouldn’t be sabotaging these inspections. Maybe I should try again to talk to my mom. Or Blythe. Or Charlie. But my stomach turned at the thought. If I did that, they’d say what they’d said before, and I’d miss my opportunity to get us a real home.
“It’s for the greater good,” I said. “Or the greater good of Blythe and me having a home to come to.” I explained to Kai and Keanu what was going on, trying to sound upbeat, as if everyone’s parents had open marriages and everyone’s houses turned into transitional housing at one point or another. As if it were okay to have a room one day and the next day, a bunk. Or maybe have nothing at all.
“So you’re going to go carry paint cans and whatever else from your attic right now, by yourself, before four p.m.?” Kai lifted his brows and exchanged a look with Emma. “I have an hour before practice; I’ll help. I’m already implicated in your previous crimes.” I shook my head, not wanting to be alone with him. No, I wanted to. I really wanted to be alone with him. But I could not be trusted to be alone with him.
“If you’re saying no because of the GPA thing, I’m caught up on my homework. I’m happy to help. I am a professional mover, you know.” I tried to say no. My mind formed the words, then something else bubbled up instead: poetry—hope and feathers and stones and hearts—and instead of saying anything, I nodded. He watched me for a moment, then he smiled.
“Let’s go do some crimes,” he said. With a little wave to Keanu and Emma, we walked back in the direction of the school—and number six Magnolia.
15
BETWEEN ETERNITY AND TIME YOU’RE MINE
When we walked up, number six was quiet and the door was ajar. As it swung open, I had a sense of déjà vu. Not of the first day we saw this place, when it was shedding wallpaper like skin, but of another house—a house that wasn’t in disrepair or under construction. A beautiful white wedding cake of a house. It was what it must have looked like once, and might again. I blinked, and the image was gone, leaving me and Kai in the entrance hall, batting away sawdust like dust motes.
“You’re sure if we do this,” Kai asked, “your mom won’t get stuck with debt?” He looked around the entrance, his eyes catching on the new windows. They looked much better than the broken ones he’d seen before.
“Mrs. McMichaels promised to buy the house,” I said. “If she does, the fines will be dropped.” Kai nodded, and we walked deeper into the house, listening for anyone there.
“This place isn’t exactly in great shape,” he said. “What if the selling price doesn’t cover the loans?” I stopped in the kitchen doorway. I hadn’t thought about loans. Loans were the problem, weren’t they? Or was the money problem taxes?
“Well, it’s not all like this,” I said. “The garage apartment is gorgeous. Design-mag amazing.”
Kai’s eyes popped. “Apartment? Is it rented?”
“Charlie lives there right now.”
“Only a certain number of apartments are allowed in Thornewood,” Kai said. “Our building is one of only two apartment buildings in the whole city. Mrs. McMichaels will want to know if there’s another rental.”
“Noted,” I said, and pulled up the punch list and showed it to Kai. He read aloud. “Watered-glass windows. Real wood trim (use dovetail check). Approved interior paint colors. Aged brick for hardscape. Approved stain colors. Century-appropriate carved details.” When he gave me an incredulous look, I smiled.
“Thornewood is a place of rules.” I tapped the list on my phone. “The paint colors my mom chose are off list, and I know she was planning to paint, not stain, the woodwork. She hates real wood color. She says it’s provincial.”
Kai laughed. “I hate to think what she’d say of our place. There’s real wood color and fake wood color.”
“But I bet it’s full of a real family with real love.” I slipped my phone in my pocket and dropped my backpack on a kitchen stool. Kai followed suit, watching me.
“You know you can’t get away from what you know about your dad.” Kai dug his hands into his pockets, searching for his Hacky Sack. I swallowed. I’d thought something similar. I couldn’t unknow that my dad had a secret life. But . . . maybe I could forget. Kai came up with the Hacky and tossed it once, then shoved it back in his pocket. He scanned my face as if the right thing to say was written below my eye. Or along my jaw. “No house is perfect. Ours is too noisy and too small and it smells like a bunch of guys live there. Which they do.” I knew Kai meant well, but I couldn’t think about families and secrets right now. I needed to do something.
“The paint cans are in the attic. We should bring them down.” I attempted a smile, but images of a happy house stuck in my mind, poking and prodding. “You don’t scare easily, do you?” He gave me the side-eye. I gave i
t right back. He gestured for me to lead the way, and we walked up through the house and to a door I’d only glimpsed the other side of once—the day we moved in.
The attic.
I’d seen the workers bringing their extra tools, the fixtures my mom already bought, and the paint cans up there. But I’d never gone up. We stood there for a beat, and the door creaked open on its own. I took it as a sign that number six wanted to be saved from Charlie’s nefarious plans.
“In my professional opinion, you have ghosts,” Kai said, then he took my hand. I tried to tell myself we were just friends. But my hand knew that was a lie, and held on tight. We climbed, stepping in the deep grooves of the worn stairs. Our shoulders brushed the high walls of the stairway, and my sweater sleeves caught on the splintery wood. At the top of the stairs, we peered into the eaves of the house. The dark, unfinished wood dripped cobwebs, silt, and spiders.
Kai squeezed my hand and let go. “If I lived here, this is where I’d want to be.” Kai walked to the windows. Even with the crawly inhabitants, the attic was amazing. It was all uneven floorboards, beadboard walls, and huge windows with a view as spectacular as Charlie’s. I walked around the tarp-covered lumps and unpacked boxes littering the floor, keeping my eyes open for paint cans. “All this place needs is a cleaning and a coat of paint. It’ll be like the Swiss Family Robinson house.” He sat down on a deep window seat and leaned his elbows onto his knees.
“Swiss Family Robinson?” I swept dust from the seat and sat down beside him. “I never saw it.”
“The littlest brother saves the day with his pirate alert system.”
I laughed. “Is that how it goes?”
“Yes, and I’d thank you not to make fun of Francis.” We both laughed.
“Would it have a hammock?” I said. “We had a hammock once, but a week into hammock ownership, I flipped onto the hardscape. No more hammock.” I showed him the scar just below my lower lip.
“Ouch.” He touched my chin. I shivered in the thick, close air. “I hate it. It’s ugly.”
Our eyes met. “Scars are just places where everyone can see your memories,” he said. Words bubbled up inside me, itching to get out. I pinched my fingers into the fabric of my dress, but I couldn’t stop them. I swept my thumbnail over my lower lip.
“Between eternity and time, time, yours and mine. Yours, mine. You’re mine.” It was the single most blush-inducing poeting I’d ever done, and I bit my lip to stop. But Kai was just waiting patiently, his fingertips against my cheek. I leaned into his touch. Where he touched me, I could feel his heartbeat thrumming, then syncing with mine, and the world disintegrated. The space between our faces was six inches, but it seemed endless. Him on one side, me on the other, and a sea of energy between us. How do people cross that gap? How do people just lean over and they’re there? Together?
“Does my poeting freak you out?” I asked. Was it six inches between us? Or only five?
“No.” He brushed a curl off my cheek. “Does it bother you that I have a job instead of a trust fund?”
“No.” I shook my head, and my hair fell back so he could push it away again. Now it was four inches. “I prefer apartments to mansions.”
“And movers to stockbrokers?” Three inches.
“Much better stories with movers,” I murmured as we closed the space between us. And I guess that was how it happened.
His lips were warm against mine. The tip of his nose was cool against my cheek, and his palm was rough on the back of my neck. And when his mouth opened against mine, I saw colors: bright red and hot pink. I sucked in a breath.
He pulled back, searching my eyes. “Is this okay?”
I froze; there was something I needed to tell him. But I couldn’t think. I nodded, then I closed the space between us. When his lips met mine again, the colors changed to green and then to a blue so bright it had a yellow center. The colors turned to patterns, as if my mind were creating textiles in response to joy. I lifted a hand to his chest, feeling dizzy.
How was this kiss so different from anything I’d ever felt before? It was so different from the softness of my dad’s hand in mine, so different from the smoothness of my pillow beneath my cheek, so different from my sister’s head on my shoulder. I never wanted to stop feeling the way I did right then—like there was no past and no future and nothing in the world but him and me and now. And in my mind not words, but color, and pattern, and light.
Then, from outside, an engine roared. The Momobile. Then the Mustang.
They were home.
16
I’M NOBODY! WHO THE HECK ARE YOU?
I pulled away from Kai, my heart climbing my throat. Our hands were still linked, and I could feel the jump of his pulse. I squeezed tightly.
“Are you still in?” I asked. He nodded, his eyes soft and unfocused. “We have to hurry.” I hopped down and yanked off the nearest tarp. Toolboxes, circular saw, PVC piping. An old sink, broken towel bars, the cracked lid of a toilet. Kai hopped down beside me and pulled up the next tarp. Paint cans. At least fifteen. Kai put his hands on his hips. “What now?”
“Okay, so I know she’s using one color—it’s a greige, and it’s not allowed. It’s called Silver something.” I turned the cans—some empty, some full—looking for their little white labels with the paint droplet. “It’ll be an eggshell finish, like this,” I pointed to a can. “Exterior eggshell finish.”
Outside, car doors slammed, and I heard my mom’s voice. Then Charlie’s. They were both home. For a moment, there was nothing but the spin and clunk of paint cans twirling on plank floors. “Is this it? Silver Cloud?” Kai had his hands around a half-used can.
“Yes!”
He pointed to more beside it. “Three of them.” He picked up two, and I grabbed the third and we rushed downstairs. We stopped at the landing. “What do we do with them?” Kai asked, and his voice carried across the open hallway. I pressed my finger to my lips, and we stood very still. Below us, keys hit a counter and the side door slammed closed. Charlie called out in Spanish to the project manager.
“Follow me,” I whispered. Kai followed me down the stairs, both of us creeping close to the walls. I stopped at the bottom, listening. They were in the dining room. We hurried around the corner into the foyer, where framing wood had recently been cut and stacked. We placed our paint cans beneath the stack, where no one would see if they were just walking by, but the paint would be obvious to someone who walked through the front door.
While Kai kept a lookout, I pushed the newly hung curtains aside to reveal where my mom had tested paint colors on the bare, original woodwork. Then we hurried back into the foyer and grabbed our backpacks from the kitchen. We were brushing the dust off our clothes as Charlie and the project manager walked in, both speaking in rapid Spanish.
“Oh, Sabine. And Mr. Thompson.” Charlie finished his conversation quickly.
“I was just showing Kai how nice the . . .” I glanced around for anything that could be called “nice” looking. “How nice the new windows look.”
“An improvement, it’s true.” Charlie reintroduced himself, and he and Kai shook hands. It was so dad-like, I cringed. My dad would never meet Kai; he’d never shake his hand. “Would you like to see the other changes? I’m sure you appreciate houses in your profession.”
I shot Kai a glance and said: “We need to study.”
Just as he said: “I have soccer practice.”
Then we both said: “We should go.” We smiled at each other and were turning away from Charlie when a persistent knock came from the side door. From somewhere in the house, my mom yelled for Charlie to answer it.
“Excuse me,” Charlie said, and headed toward the side door.
Kai and I locked eyes. I grabbed the straps of my backpack tightly. “I thought she’d come through the front!”
I bit my lip and followed Charlie. We didn�
�t have to go far; Mrs. McMichaels was trying to push her way through the side door and into the hallway.
“Mr. Parker, I said step out of the way.” She swung her tote bag in a small arc around her carrot stick of a body, forcing him to step back. “I have an inspection to complete.”
Charlie had both hands up, like she was placing him under arrest and planning to secure him with her canvas bag. “You can’t just waltz in here. You can only fox-trot, and only if you’re dancing with your lawyer—”
Mrs. McMichaels swung the bag again. “The city of Thornewood allows surprise inspections to ascertain historical accuracy. We take history seriously. It’s essential the city is fully aware of the historical accuracy of your repairs!”
Charlie threw his hands in the air and turned, almost falling over me and Kai.
He ground his teeth, balling his hands into fists. Then he smiled in that toothy Southern way that says: I’m smiling, but it’s only because I’m considering cannibalism and you look delicious. “Where’s your mother?” I shrugged, and he muttered an expletive under his breath. He jerked his thumb at Mrs. McMichaels. “Tell that woman I’ll be right back.”
Kai and I exchanged a glance then stepped up to stand in the doorway between Mrs. McMichaels and the evidence of historical misrepresentation we’d strewn in the entryway. Just as I was about to ask her inside, offer her tea, then point out the attractive paint colors my mom was planning to paint the woodwork, Charlie hollered: “And for God’s sake, keep her out of the house!”
“Okay!” I hollered back, and then smiled at Mrs. McMichaels way too wide, the nervous energy of perfect kisses still buzzing through my body.
“Hi, Mrs. McMichaels,” Kai said. Then he cleared his throat. “Nice day. And such nice new brick, right?” He tapped his foot on the new, shiny red brick. Where once were crumbling stone and broken concrete pieces was now perfectly aligned brick. Charlie said foundations are important, or something.
“New brick?” She peered over her glasses at her feet.
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