Mr. Barnes held up his hand. “Excuse me, I have to interrupt. Why do you think that happened?”
There was silence. Then Flora said, “I think Toby began to identify with Zachary. They were both outcasts. And also, they had both been abandoned. Toby had been abandoned by his mother, and Zachary had been abandoned by Paulie Rankin.” Flora paused. “And in a way, by his own mother when she died.”
Mr. Barnes had learned enough about his students to know that Flora had lost her mother — and her father — less than two years earlier.
“You know what’s interesting?” Willow spoke up.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry to interrupt again,” said Mr. Barnes. “I seem to be breaking my own rule today. But for those of you who don’t know her, this is Willow Hamilton. She’s new here at Central. Okay, Willow. Go ahead.”
“Well, I was just thinking that we don’t even get to meet two of the most important characters in the book.”
Mr. Barnes grinned. “Good point.”
But several of the students said, “What? I don’t get it.”
“Think about it. What does Willow mean?” asked Mr. Barnes. “The reader doesn’t meet two of the most important characters in the book. Who’s important but never actually appears?”
“Ooh, ooh! I know!” cried Olivia. “Wayne. We never get to meet Cal’s brother. We just hear his letters.”
“Oh, then Toby’s mother must be the other one,” said Nikki. “She calls Toby once, but we don’t really meet her.”
“That’s pretty interesting, isn’t it?” said Mr. Barnes.
“Characters can have an impact on a story even when they’re almost,” Willow paused, “almost invisible.”
“Yes,” agreed Mr. Barnes, regarding Willow thoughtfully. He was mentally taking notes on Willow now, and the first two were Under house arrest and Feels invisible? When he realized that her eyes continually strayed to the door of the classroom, he added, Is she waiting for someone? Is she afraid of someone?
Eventually, Mr. Barnes’s own eyes drifted, not to the door of the classroom but to his watch. “I think we’re going to have to wrap things up,” he said. “You have about fifteen minutes in which to choose your next book and then we’d better go.”
It was Willow who suggested the book that was ultimately agreed upon: Homecoming, by Cynthia Voigt. “It’s about a mother who abandons her kids,” said Willow, and Mr. Barnes added another note to his list.
“All right,” said Mr. Barnes. “Great meeting. Have a good evening.”
As the students leftthe room, some in a hurry, some hanging back to laugh and talk, Mr. Barnes gathered up the papers on his desk. He kept one eye on Willow, though, and watched her as she was surrounded by Flora, Olivia, and Nikki, and the girls made their way to the door. Willow was still a foot or two away from it when an arm snaked into the room and yanked her into the hallway.
Nikki, Flora, and Olivia jumped, and Flora emitted a gasp. But Willow said only, “Mom,” in a very low voice, and Mr. Barnes heard the quiet edge of resignation in the word.
“What are you doing here?” Mrs. Hamilton asked Willow sharply. “You’re under house arrest. Have you forgotten?”
Mr. Barnes stepped into the hallway. “Excuse me,” he said. He extended his hand. “I’m Mr. Barnes. I teach English here. May I help you?”
The bluster leaked out of Mrs. Hamilton. She didn’t accept Mr. Barnes’s outstretched hand, but she let go of Willow. “No,” she said. “No, thank you. I just … I just need my daughter. Willow, come on, please.”
Willow followed her mother down the hall. She didn’t look over her shoulder. Mr. Barnes thought he could feel anger in Willow’s footsteps. He turned his attention to Olivia, Nikki, and Flora, and was about to ask Flora a question when she waved self-consciously to him and disappeared down the hall with Nikki and Olivia, keeping a safe distance behind the Hamiltons.
Mr. Barnes knew the seventh-grade guidance counselor at Central only slightly. He returned to his desk, opened his computer, and considered composing an e-mail to her. But before he had typed a single word, he closed the computer and walked down the hall to her office. He wondered whether anyone had had a chance to look closely at Willow Hamilton’s transfer records. He felt sure he would find a notation about her family situation.
Flora, Olivia, and Willow walked down Main Street one Friday afternoon. They scuffed their feet through the last of the autumn leaves, which were falling, tired and dull and sad, from several towering oak trees.
“The leaves look like they just ran out of energy,” remarked Willow as one drifted in front of her and landed at Olivia’s feet. “They couldn’t hang on anymore.”
“I guess in a way that’s true,” said Flora. She stooped to pick up the leaf and twirled it on its stem. “Can you believe winter’s almost here? It feels like it was just summer. But in a couple of weeks we’ll be on Thanksgiving break.”
“Yum,” said Olivia. “I can’t wait. We’re going to my grandparents’ for Thanksgiving this year.”
“To …” Willow paused. “To Gigi’s?”
“No, to my other grandparents’. But Gigi and Poppy will be there, too. What are you guys going to do?”
Flora grinned. “Mr. Willet invited Min, Ruby, Mr. Pennington, Aunt Allie, and me to come to Three Oaks for Thanksgiving. He said they give this enormous, fancy dinner there. Turkey and gravy and stuffing and pumpkin pie. Everything!”
“Cool,” said Olivia. “What about you, Willow?”
Willow shrugged. “We haven’t made any plans yet.”
“Oh.” Olivia stopped in front of Sincerely Yours. “Well, I’ll see you guys later.” She disappeared through the door, ready to start her afternoon of work.
Willow looked longingly through the window.
“Want to go in for a few minutes?” Flora asked her.
Willow shook her head. “No. I was just thinking that Olivia’s really lucky. I mean, to have a job and” (she waved at Mrs. Walter, who had come out from behind the candy counter to give Olivia a hug) “well, she’s lucky, that’s all.”
They continued down the street, and when they reached Needle and Thread, Flora opened the door and stuck her head in. “Hi, Min!” she called. “I’m going home now.”
Min, who was ringing up a customer, signaled to Flora to come inside. “Hi, girls,” she said a few moments later as the customer left with her purchases. “Flora, what do you want to do about dinner tonight?”
“Well, I know what Ruby will want to do.”
“Pizza?”
“Pizza.”
“I think we’ve had enough pizza lately. Is chicken okay with you? I could pick one up on the way home. Just turn the oven on at five o’clock, and I’ll take care of everything else.”
Flora hugged Min across the counter, then hurried out of the store.
“Is your grandmother always like that?” asked Willow.
“Like what?”
“So …” Willow scrunched up her face, thinking. “So calm,” she said at last.
Flora shrugged. “I guess. Well, actually, she’s gotten, um, calmer, as Ruby and I have gotten older. We’re allowed to be home by ourselves now, and sometimes we cook a little.” The girls left Main Street and a few minutes later turned onto Aiken Avenue. “Willow? Can I ask you something?” said Flora, and without waiting for an answer, she continued, “Whatever happened with house arrest?”
Willow made a face. “It’s over. I mean, Mom forgot about it.”
“She forgot about it? But it sounded like such a big deal.”
“Listen, don’t try to understand my mother. No one understands her. Not even my father.”
Flora frowned. “Well, what were you under house arrest for?”
“An, um, infraction.”
“Of?”
“Just my mom’s rules.”
“But what did you do?” Flora paused, suddenly realizing that she sounded a bit like ghoulish Ruby, eager for all the details of someone’s misfor
tune. “If it isn’t too personal,” she added lamely.
Willow muttered something about doors, and Flora decided not to press the point. When the girls were standing in front of the Hamiltons’ house, Flora looked at her watch and said, “Hey, Willow, you’re home later than usual. Is that going to be all right with your mother?”
“My mom’s not here. She won’t be home for about an hour. She took Cole to the mall to get his hair cut.” Willow sounded quite pleased about this.
“Are you sure she isn’t home?” asked Flora.
“Positive. Why?”
“Could I come in? This was the Willets’ house for so long and, I don’t know, I just wondered what it looked like now. I could tell Mr. Willet about it the next time I’m at Three Oaks.”
“Well … okay,” replied Willow. She led the way along the path to the front door. As she searched through her purse for her house key, she said, “Take your shoes off, okay?”
“Take my shoes off?” Flora repeated. When Willow didn’t answer, Flora removed her sneakers by stepping on the heel of each one with the toes of the other foot. She waited in her sock feet while Willow unlocked the door and stooped to take off her own shoes, which she carried into the hall. Then she leaned back outside to arrange Flora’s sneakers so that only the heels were touching, the toes pointing in opposite directions as the shoes formed a severe line.
Flora was about to ask her what she was doing when again an image of nosy Ruby nudged its way into her head. She kept her mouth shut.
Flora stepped into Willow’s house. “Gosh, it’s dark —” she started to say, then stopped herself. “But it looks really nice with all the shades down. It’s, um, cozy.”
“No, it isn’t,” replied Willow. “It’s claustrophobic.” She shrugged her shoulders and spread her hands as if to say, “But what can I do about it?”
Flora poked her head into the Hamiltons’ living room. “This is just like our house,” she told Willow. “I mean, you have the same floor plan. The houses on either side of you are opposite. They’re mirror images. Olivia explained that to Ruby and me one day.”
“Has Olivia lived in the Row Houses all her life?” asked Willow.
“Yup. She was born here. So was her mother. So was my mother. So was Min, for that matter.”
“Wow. That is so cool.”
Flora was busily looking around, taking in everything so she could give Mr. Willet a detailed report when she saw him. The very first thing she noted was that the living room was as neat as a pin. Not a single thing was out of place. Throw pillows were arranged symmetrically on the couch. A lamp was positioned in the exact center of each end table. There was not a speck of dust in sight. Flora thought of her own living room. When she had run by it on her way out the door that morning, she had noted vaguely that she and Ruby had left an unfinished game of Monopoly on the floor. King Comma wasn’t in the room, but Flora could see where he had been sleeping because he had left a ring of black fur on a green couch cushion. Two half-gnawed bones belonging to Daisy Dear lay before the fireplace. And Min’s knitting spilled out of its bag and onto an armchair.
“Boy,” said Flora, gazing around Willow’s living room, “this is like a museum or something. What I mean,” she added hastily, “is that our living room is kind of messy. And Mr. Willet left magazines and books everywhere.”
“Want to see my room?” Willow asked.
“Sure,” Flora replied, craning her neck to look into the Hamiltons’ dining room, which, as far as she could tell, was every bit as tidy and spotless as the living room. If she hadn’t known that Willow and Cole lived here, she would have assumed this was a house without children.
Willow led the way upstairs, and it was while Flora was following her down the hallway that the doors attracted her attention. In all the tidiness, she now realized that every single door in the house — closet doors, bathroom doors — stood open, each at an exact ninety-degree angle to the wall. It was the one thing that made the house look not so tidy. What better way to hide a mess than to close it into a closet? As they passed the linen closet (which immediately made Flora think about the closet in Aunt Allie’s house), she reached out and shut the door.
Willow opened it again, carefully adjusting it to its previous position. Flora wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d pulled a protractor out of her pocket to get the angle just right.
A strange feeling was coming over Flora, and she stopped trying to memorize rooms for Mr. Willet, focusing instead on everything about the house that seemed somehow wrong to her. The uneasy feeling inched down her body on whispery spider’s feet.
She peeked into closets (how could she not peek, when all their doors stood wide open?) and noticed that every pair of shoes was lined up not side by side but heel to heel, as Willow had positioned Flora’s sneakers on the front stoop. Willow’s bedroom, Flora then noticed, had all the personality of a hotel room. Cole’s, too. Flora would never have guessed that either room belonged to a kid. She was trying to convince herself that this was just because the Hamiltons had so recently moved in, when Willow led the way back downstairs and into the kitchen, and Flora saw the table. It was already set (for supper, she supposed), but every single plate and glass, every fork and spoon, was turned facedown.
Flora could contain herself no longer. “Um, Willow? How come …” She thought about how to phrase her question without sounding rude and started over. “I noticed that in your closets,” she said, “your shoes are lined up … differently than I line mine up. And” (she glanced at the table) “when we set —”
Willow interrupted her. “These are just my mother’s rules, okay?” she said quietly. “Nobody understands the rules any better than they understand my mother.”
Flora felt heat creeping up her face. “I’m sorry,” she said. She couldn’t think of anything to add to that and miserably repeated, “I’m sorry.” But why, she wondered, had Willow allowed her to come inside and look around if everything was so strange? Flora tried to imagine never letting anyone inside her own house. Impossible. And then another thought occurred to her. Perhaps Willow wanted someone to see all the strange things. Perhaps she was asking for help.
The front door opened then and Willow let out a yelp. “That must be Mom! She’s home early.”
“Willow!” called Mrs. Hamilton from the hallway.
“Come on,” said Willow grimly. She took Flora by the wrist and led her out of the kitchen and into the front hall. “Hi, Mom,” she said.
Mrs. Hamilton, shoeless, was hanging her coat in the closet. Cole, also shoeless, was disappearing upstairs.
“Willow!” exclaimed her mother. “I didn’t know you were going to have a friend over.”
“I was just leaving,” said Flora, making a dash for the door.
Mrs. Hamilton stepped in front of her. “Did you tap the vase?” she asked Flora. She turned to Willow. “Did she?”
Flora glanced nervously around the hall and her eyes fell on a large and probably very expensive porcelain vase standing guard by the front door. “No!” exclaimed Flora. “I didn’t touch anything.”
Mrs. Hamilton now leveled her gaze on Flora. “You didn’t tap it,” she said flatly.
“No …” said Flora. She felt behind her back for the doorknob.
“So Willow didn’t tell you the rule.”
Flora raised her eyebrows at Willow.
“No, I didn’t tell her the rule.” Willow sounded tired.
“But … but the rule is that anyone who comes in the house — any one — has to tap the vase five times!” Mrs. Hamilton sounded panicked. “Did Willow tap the vase?” she asked Flora. “Did she? Were you the only one who didn’t tap it? Tell me Willow tapped it.”
By this time, Willow had crossed the hall and was standing next to Flora. Before Flora could answer the question, Willow said, “I tapped it, Mom. Don’t worry.”
Flora, who was certain that Willow had done no such thing, added, “I’ll tap it now.”
�
�Now is too late!” cried Mrs. Hamilton.
Flora hesitated no longer. She twisted the knob, pulled the door open, and escaped onto the stoop. As she leaned over to pick up her shoes, she whispered to Willow, “You have to tell someone. If you don’t, I’m going to tell Min.”
Willow slumped against the door. “I’ll talk to my father tonight,” she said.
Flora had seen very little of Willow’s father since the Hamiltons moved in. She didn’t know whether Willow would talk to him, and if she did talk to him, Flora had no idea whether he’d listen. So she vowed to tell Min everything that had happened, and to do it the moment Min walked through the door after work.
Those were the thoughts tumbling through Flora’s head as she pelted across the Malones’ yard and up the steps to her own front door. She thrust herself inside, realizing as she did so that Ruby must already be at home, since the door wasn’t locked.
And if that was the case, Flora shouldn’t be smelling what she smelled as she slammed the door shut behind her.
Something was cooking on the stove, and Ruby wasn’t allowed to use the stove when she was at home alone.
“Ruby?” Flora called.
“In the kitchen!”
Flora made her way through the living room and came to a halt as she entered the dining room. “What on earth?” she said softly.
Ruby emerged triumphantly from the kitchen. She was wearing a chef’s hat and holding a wooden spoon in one hand. “What do you think?” she asked.
“I —”
“Are you speechless?”
“I —” said Flora again. “Yes, I’m speechless.”
“Cool. I made you speechless.”
“But, Ruby, what are you doing?” Flora looked around at the dining room. Ruby had set the table with Min’s best china, crystal, and silver. The fanciest (and whitest) of Min’s lace cloths rested gracefully on the table, and by each plate lay a lace napkin. In the center of the table was a vase full of straggly autumn flowers that Flora had a suspicion Ruby might have cut from Mr. Pennington’s garden. The vase was flanked by candlesticks, each holding a brand-new white candle.
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