“Dan-proofed. Is that supposed to be clever?”
Amy stopped dancing, and she let go of Nellie’s hand. Nellie took her earbuds out and gave her a funny look, but Amy blushed and looked away.
“Ian, is everything, uh, okay?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said quickly. “I’ve decided to stay in London. Everything is perfect.”
Amy’s stomach dropped. “You’re staying — you’re . . . you’re not coming anymore?” Dread crept over her like a swarm of beetles. She was acutely aware of Nellie and Dan watching her from the other side of the kitchen.
“Is that disappointment I hear, Amy Cahill? How very quaint. I’d no idea you were so attached to the idea of playing house.”
“Wh-why are you saying —”
“What is that? I can’t understand you.”
“Ian, I — c-can you come some other time? Maybe?”
As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she hated herself for it. Ian was being a jerk, and she still wanted him to come? How pathetic could she get?
Ian paused, and Amy bit her lip. Why would he change his mind the day before he left?
“No,” he said, finally. Amy’s face fell. Her shoulders slumped in and she turned away from Dan and Nellie.
“Oh,” said Amy. She didn’t want to sound disappointed. She didn’t want him to know how sad she was. But Amy really wasn’t a very good liar. “Well, okay. But, Ian, if something is wrong —”
“Why would I tell you if something were wrong?” he snapped. She felt the sting from an ocean away. “What makes you think that you know anything about me at all, Amy? What makes you think I would tell you anything?”
This was not what she had been practicing since she found out he was coming. She’d even learned to make tea the real way, not by heating up some water in the microwave and dropping in a tea bag and then forgetting about it.
“I’m going to hang up now,” she said quietly.
“Fine.”
“Good-bye, Ian,” she said.
He paused again. She thought she heard something like a sniff or a choke, but it was probably the sound of him tearing up his plane ticket. “Good-bye, Amy.”
She hung up the phone. Dan and Nellie were quiet.
“Well, think about it,” said Dan. “Did you really want Natalie Kabra as a sister-in-law?”
“Okay, take the Doritos and go,” said Nellie, taking her carrot back and throwing the bag of chips at him. Dan caught the bag, looked between Nellie and his sister, and decided that any other place in the world was better than that kitchen. “What did he say?” Nellie asked.
“He can’t come,” said Amy. “He didn’t say why. He wouldn’t say why.” She shouldn’t have been so upset. She shouldn’t have felt like someone had jabbed a pin into her feelings and deflated them all over the kitchen floor.
Nellie plopped into a kitchen chair and shook her head. “That stinks,” she said. Amy shrugged. “I mean, it stinks whenever someone cancels on you, but it’s even worse when you like the guy.”
“I don’t like him,” Amy said immediately, folding her arms across her chest. “I just did so much work to get ready for him to come over from London and now I’m just upset that, you know, the house is clean for no good reason.”
“Oh, Amy,” said Nellie. “You don’t like him. And my favorite band isn’t Single Cell Paramecium. You can trust me, kiddo. That’s what I’m here for.”
“I just don’t get it,” said Amy, sitting down beside Nellie. She put her phone on the table and stared at it. “I mean, did I do something? Am I . . . unvisitable?” Something prickled at her eyes. “He just turned so mean on the phone. It’s like between a few days ago and today he just decided that I’m something worthless. Like he can’t even stand to talk to me.” She wiped the back of her palm across her cheek. “It’s stupid. I feel stupid. I feel stupid for wanting him to come, and for being so . . . excited, and I feel stupid for crying.”
“It’s not stupid,” said Nellie, handing Amy a napkin. “Your feelings are never stupid.”
Amy pushed the napkin against her eyes. “What did I do wrong?”
“Oh, Amy, nothing. Look, there’s a lot of truth to the statement ‘It’s his loss.’ I mean, Amy Cahill, you are awesome. After all that you’ve been through, after how smart and capable and utterly exceptional you have proven yourself to be, anyone should feel privileged to know you. I know that I do.”
Amy shrugged. She didn’t feel exceptional or capable. She felt gullible, as if this whole thing had just been a joke to him — as if she were a joke. Amy reached for a new napkin and wiped at a fresh round of tears. “I just don’t know what happened.”
“Amy, if he can’t see how awesome you are, then — I don’t care how rich he is — he can’t even buy a clue. And I’m not just saying that. As someone who is, like, alive because of your awesomeness, I mean, I speak with authority here. I am the law.”
Nellie may have been right — but it still felt awful.
Amy hiccupped and scratched her nail along the top of the kitchen table. “The Kabras are poor now, Nellie,” she said, adding a small smile.
Nellie threw back her head and laughed. “Poor. Gosh, those kids are going to have such a rude awakening one of these days. Look, Amy, would you ever let someone treat me that way? Or treat Dan that way?”
“No.”
“Then don’t let anyone treat you that way, either. No more tears now? Good — you kill me when you do that. Amy, let me be old and wise for a minute. There are boys who will make you cry, and then there are boys who are worth spending your fabulous energy on. What about that boy from class? Ethan or something?”
“Evan,” Amy said automatically.
“Ah,” said Nellie, grinning. “I knew you’d know who I meant. Forget Ian Kabra and his shiny hair and polo shirts. Think of you, Amy. Do you want to give someone like Evan a call?”
“Call?” said Amy, her mouth dropping open a little bit. Call a boy? And say what? Calling boys was something that only superheroes could do, or something.
“Yes, call. Ring. Telephone. Buzz.” Nellie stood up and slid the cell phone over toward Amy. “Think about it.” And then she left.
Amy watched her go. It was a thought. But could she, Amy Cahill, really call a boy?
Could Amy Cahill brave an underground catacomb full of bones? Could Amy Cahill survive a cave-in? Could Amy Cahill fly to the top of Mount Everest in a helicopter so light that a sneeze could knock it over?
Actually, Amy thought, yes, she could. So, obviously, she could call a boy.
Amy went to her room for some privacy and scrolled through her phone. Evan had given his number to her when they had worked on a science project together. She sat on the edge of her bed, her stomach flipping back and forth like an antsy pancake as she pushed the numbers.
And then it was ringing.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” she said. “Evan? Hi, it’s Amy Cahill.” She paused, and smiled. “You’re glad I called? So am I.”
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Clifford Riley would like to acknowledge Christina McTighe.
Cover design by Keirsten Geise; Rapid Fire logo design by Charice Silverman
First edition, December 2011
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39 Clues Rapid Fire 4 Crushed Page 3