No Place Like Home

by Dee Romito

  Dad can always make me smile. “Sorry, continue,” I say, taking a bite of my pizza.

  “They’ve asked me to stay on longer,” he says. His gaze doesn’t leave my face, and I can sense he has more to say.

  “How long?” I ask.

  “Permanently.” Dad leans back a little in his chair. “And I said yes.”

  “What?” I stand up, making my chair screech across the floor. “You mean we’re not leaving? Ever?” A month ago, I would have been thrilled with this news, but now? Oh my goodness, this is Bad with a capital B.

  “I thought you’d be happy,” he says, standing up and walking over to me. “Isn’t this what you want?”

  Dad and I have so much to say to each other. So much to talk about. But right now, the weight of this news is crushing me to the ground and there’s only one place I can think of to go for help.

  “I know we’re supposed to have dinner together and talk about all this, but I wasn’t expecting this news—I mean, I wasn’t . . .” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Is it okay if I go over to Ashia’s?” I ask.

  Dad nods. “Yes, of course, whatever you need. We can talk later.”

  I’m not even sure she’ll let me in, and I don’t plan on giving her enough warning to be able to hide behind the curtains before I get there. But this is definitely a time when a girl needs a best friend. And while I might have completely lost that privilege, I’m not giving it up without a fight.

  * * *

  Knock. Knock. Knock. Ding. Dong. I don’t want to overdo it, but I want to make sure she gets the urgency of my entrance.

  Ashia opens the door slowly. “Kenzie? Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, mostly,” I say. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” Ashia opens the door farther and steps back, calling down the hall to her mom to let her know I’m there.

  “I needed to talk to you before,” I say. “But I really need to talk to you now. Please hear me out?”

  Ashia motions for me to follow her into the living room, and we sit down on the couch. “What’s up?” she asks.

  “Well, for starters, I wanted to tell you again how very sorry I am about what I did,” I say. “You have every right to be upset or angry or whatever it is you are. But I never intended to hurt anyone. Even though I was sure I’d thought it all through, it turns out my plan wasn’t a very smart one.”

  Ashia’s eyes are still on me, and she’s making no move to talk, so I continue. “Yes, I get that I have what looks like a very exciting life, but the truth is that it’s lonely. I love my dad more than anything, and I do have a lot of fun going to all these places, but I also spend most of my time living in hotels, rushing off to airports, and waiting for my dad to be done with work. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds.”

  “Still, Kenzie, why not say that from the beginning?” asks Ashia.

  “I was going to,” I say. “But then all these awesome things started coming up, and I was meeting people and making friends, and I wanted to see what life was like without all the special privileges. Here I was just the new girl. I had a totally clean slate to see what I could do. And honestly, I wanted to know how it felt to just be a kid in middle school.”

  She hasn’t yelled at me or thrown me out, so a little bit of hope creeps into my chest.

  “Okay, I guess all of that makes sense,” she says, as if she’s still deciding if it actually does. I stay quiet and let her process it all. “It doesn’t make it all right that you didn’t tell us, but at least I can understand what you were thinking. I might have done the same thing if I was in your shoes.”

  I want to reach across the couch and give her an enormous hug, but I’m not quite sure we’re there yet. “Thank you,” I say. “And well, there’s more.” I take a minute to find the right words. “Now I’m not leaving.”

  She sits back and her eyes widen. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I just had dinner with my dad, and I was about to tell him everything,” I say. “I was going to all-out beg him to let us leave early, or at least let me finish school early since . . . well, you know people haven’t been all that nice to me lately.”

  “And?”

  “And before I could tell him anything, he said he’s accepted a permanent position here. In Vegas. Permanent,” I repeat to make sure she catches it.

  “So now you’re staying?” she asks.

  “What do I do, Ashia?” I ask. “It’s not like I can go back to student council or the musical or even book club. And I’m not exactly anyone’s favorite person right now. This is a disaster.”

  Ashia scoots over and puts an arm around me. “You have to figure out a way to make it right.”

  I reach my hand up and grab hers. “Will you help me?” I ask.

  She takes her arm off, but stays close, facing me. “Listen, I forgive you, okay? But that doesn’t mean everything is instantly fixed. I’m not sure I even know how to feel about you staying. And I’m really not sure how I can help you right now anyway.”

  I nod, although it’s not completely clear what she’s getting at. Just that I’m pretty much on my own.

  I don’t have much of a choice. “Okay.”

  She walks me to the door and gives me a hug, but it’s not the kind I need. It’s not a Dad hug that says Everything’s going to be okay. And it’s certainly not a Mom hug that says I’ll love you no matter what.

  But I’ll take it. Because it’s at least an I’m here if you need me hug.

  chapter twenty-five

  On the morning that should have meant four more days to go before we left, I’m back in school. My school. The one I’ll be going to now—permanently. That word sticks in my mind, constantly keeping my heart beating a little faster. Because “permanently” could have been a good thing, but now it means I’m stuck here.

  Stuck.

  Here.

  Dad and I are never stuck anywhere unless there’s a massive storm and all flights are canceled. But eventually, it’s time to go. Not this time.

  So what does a girl do when she’s lost most of her friends, no longer has any activities to participate in, and the cutest boy in school (who once liked her) now avoids her at all costs? I don’t know yet, but I’m determined to figure something out.

  In English, I say hi to Bren but manage not to say any more. I can’t bear to find out how he feels about the news that I’m staying. Yes, he said he’d miss me, but maybe he only said it because I was leaving. Just like all the things I did because I didn’t think I’d have to face the consequences.

  At the end of class, when Mrs. Pilchard casually mentions that students are needed for several school activities, I beeline for the sheet with the info, not caring that everyone is probably wondering why on earth I’d need that information. One of the activities stands out right away, and I’m sure it’s the answer.

  I skip the lunchroom and my hiding spot in the library and instead go in search of Mr. Mason. He makes it pretty easy, since he’s in the computer lab right where the sheet said he’d be.

  “Excuse me?” I poke my head in the doorway. “Mr. Mason?”

  He swivels his chair to face me. “Hi there. What can I do for you?”

  I step inside. “I’m Kenzie Rhines. I don’t know if you’ve heard about me.” Might as well get it out in the open.

  “Oh yes, I might have heard a little something,” he says, standing up. “But no worries. You’re obviously here for a reason. Have a seat.”

  I sit down on one of the hard plastic seats and Mr. Mason plants himself back in his chair.

  “I’ve been taking some photography lessons, and I was wondering if maybe I could be part of the yearbook team,” I say.

  His face suddenly looks confused.

  “Oh, right, because you think I’m leaving,” I say. “But I’m not.”

  The look of confusion doesn’t change. “I thought that was what caused all the commotion—that you’re leaving.”

  “It is,” I say, “but things
have changed, and, well, now everyone is stuck with me.”

  “You’re not leaving anymore?” he asks.

  “Nope,” I answer. “So can I join the yearbook team?”

  He takes some papers out of his desk drawer. “Yes, I think that would be wonderful. Here are some assignments we need covered.”

  And the first one on the list? Musical rehearsals. Second? Book club. Great.

  “I’ll take these two,” I say. Because at this point, why not? “I can start tomorrow.”

  “Perfect,” says Mr. Mason. “Are you all set with a camera? We have some for students, but honestly, a lot of them use their phones.”

  I pull out my phone and show him some of the photos I took in Washington. “These were taken with my other camera. I had a lesson with Kuan-yin—”

  “Kuan-yin Fei?” Mr. Mason is gripping the sides of his chair.

  “Yes, do you know him?” I ask.

  He laughs. “He’s kind of a famous photographer, Kenzie. Did you really have a lesson from him?”

  “Yeah, he’s a friend of my dad’s,” I say. “We’re all set, then?”

  Mr. Mason smiles. “If you’ve been trained by Kuan-yin Fei, I’d say you’ll do fine on a middle-school yearbook committee.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Mason,” I say. And this time, I don’t even care that once again, my VIP privileges are helping me along. Because if they help me survive this school year, so be it.

  * * *

  My enthusiasm for my new assignment on the yearbook team doesn’t last very long. On Wednesday after school, I decide to split my time between taking pictures at musical rehearsal and book club. I don’t even tell anyone I’m coming. I sneak in the back of the auditorium and make my way toward the stage. I stop and move down one of the middle rows until I get to a point where I can get a good photo of the Cowardly Lion, the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, and the new Dorothy—Shelby.

  I manage to snap a few great ones and pull the camera down to adjust some of the controls when my name echoes throughout the room. “Kenzie?! What is she doing here?” Shelby can’t help herself.

  Mrs. Summers puts up a hand to Shelby. “Let’s all take a short break, and I’ll handle this.” She walks over to me. “Kenzie, honey, these are now closed rehearsals. We need the cast to focus.”

  “Oh, I know,” I say, but she doesn’t let me finish.

  “And given the circumstances, you should respect that your presence here is very distracting,” says Mrs. Summers.

  “But I—” I hold up the camera, but it doesn’t make one bit of difference.

  “I’m so sorry, but I think it’s time to leave,” she says.

  Oh, Mrs. Summers, it’s always time for me to leave. Except this time, when I desperately wish I could.

  But I don’t say another word. I pack up my camera and make my way down to the library, where book club is meeting. Here goes nothing.

  It’s a much smaller group, so there’s no way I can sneak in here unnoticed and start snapping pictures. “Hi, guys,” I say. “I’m here on yearbook duty.”

  They give me the same look Mr. Mason did. “Oh, right, well, see, that whole leaving thing? It’s actually not happening.” I put a hand in the air and strike a pose. “Surprise.” I intentionally leave the usual enthusiasm out of my surprise, since I’m fairly certain it’s not a good one.

  Bren stands up. “You’re staying?” It’s almost as if he’s trying to stop the sides of his lips from arching into a smile.

  I nod.

  “She’s staying? Oh man,” says Paul, who is probably wondering if he’ll have to go back to being co–vice president again. “I can’t keep track of this drama.” He shakes his head and flops it on the table.

  Divi doesn’t say anything and I can’t quite read her expression. Confusion? Shock? Bren gently grabs my arm and guides me to the hallway. When we’re out of sight of the others, he lets the smile go full force. “What happened?” he asks.

  For the first time since Dad told me, I get a little flicker of happiness that I’ll still be here after Friday. Not enough to make me want to stay, but still. “My dad was offered a job here,” I say. “And he took it.”

  Bren takes a step back and puts his hands in his pockets. “So how do you feel about that?”

  I don’t know how to answer. I feel stuck. I can’t believe I have to stay here forever. Permanently. But now I’m standing here in front of Bren, and, well, maybe it’s not as bad as I’m making it out to be. “I’m not sure,” I say.

  “Why don’t you think about it and let me know,” says Bren. He points to the camera. “Didn’t take you long to jump back into activities.”

  “Oh yeah, well, I’m going a little stir-crazy not having anything to do.”

  “Ah, got it. Although you might want to wait until next week to try popping into book club again. Give everyone a little time to get used to the idea of you staying.” He heads back through the library door and waves. “See you later, sunshine.”

  And whether I want to or not, I smile.

  chapter twenty-six

  I think about Bren’s question all night. How do I feel about staying?

  There’s Bren, of course, and there’s a chance Ashia and I could be friends again. I have no idea what Divi is thinking. But the others? I’m pretty sure it’s a lost cause. And I’ll never be able to audition for the musical again or run for student council. I’ve pretty much made it impossible to enjoy middle school from this point on.

  So I make a decision. A big one. To convince Dad that staying here is not a good idea. It’s a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

  I get out my laptop and open up a presentation program. I’m always making these for Dad’s assignments, so this will be a no-brainer. I’ve done enough pros-and-cons lists to earn myself an honorary degree.

  I set up the slides with the most professional-looking templates I can find, keeping nice, bright colors on the pro slides and leaving dark, gloomy colors on the cons side. I’ll take any help I can get to convince him that staying isn’t the answer.

  The first slide states my topic:

  LEAVING LAS VEGAS

  The second slide presents my first argument:

  PRO: first class; CON: not applicable

  I jot down a few notes on a piece of paper, trying to get my thoughts in order to make this something he can’t say no to.

  PRO: see the world (let’s go international!);

  CON: try to find one—seriously

  I make eight more slides, whipping through them and coming up with more and more pros as I go. Nice hotels, VIP treatment, fun events, different foods, and one I know will get him—spending more time together.

  On the last slide, which I’m sure will convince him, I add:

  PRO: seeing friends—Fiona, Kuan-yin and

  Mayleen, Genevieve; CONS:

  I stop, because this is the first one where I can’t put a “not applicable.” The first one I can’t skim over like it doesn’t matter. Type it, Kenzie, I tell myself. Except that once I do, it’s real. It’s out in the world, in print, admitting that there is a big fat CON to leaving this place. And if there’s anything I’ve learned about a pros-and-cons list, is that it’s not about the number of things on each side; it’s about the things on each side that can’t be measured by numbers.

  CON: leaving my friends

  I stare at it for a minute, letting the hugeness of it hit me. And then I scroll back through the slides to PRO: nice hotels and make a change.

  CON: they’re not a home

  I don’t even attempt to go to musical rehearsal on Thursday, and since it’s a week until book club, my yearbook duties are on hold anyway. I plan another big-talk dinner with Dad and even ask Alexandria to help me make dinner. I pick Dad’s favorite—three-cheese lasagna—and between the two of us, we manage to bake something that at least smells pretty good. The table is all made up when Dad gets home, and the warm scent of noodles and cheese fills the kitchen.

  “What’s this a
ll about?” asks Dad after Alexandria leaves.

  “I wanted to do something special,” I say. As I pull the lasagna out of the oven, it hits me that having our own oven to cook in—even having things like noodles and cheese around to cook with—might have been something on the pro list if I were lobbying to stay.

  I bring my laptop over from the counter and set up the presentation.

  “What’s going on, Kenzie? Is everything all right?” asks Dad.

  I hit the start button. “It will be. If you say yes to my proposal.” The screen lights up with my cover slide.

  “Leaving Las Vegas?” says Dad. “Kenzie—”

  But I cut him off. I’ve worked very hard on this, and one way or another I’m finally going to tell Dad what’s been going on. “Please, Dad, just let me do this,” I say.

  He gives me a nod to continue.

  “A lot has been going on at school that I haven’t told you about,” I say. “The truth is that I don’t love it here, and I miss being in the air and on the road with you. So I’m asking that you please, please, please consider my suggestion that you keep your job and we go back to our old life.”

  I can tell I have my work cut out for me when Dad gives me that lips-pushed-together look, complete with head tilt.

  I start with pro number one and by the time I get to number five—tickets to live-audience shows anytime we want—Dad is smiling.

  “We do have a lot of fun with all the traveling, huh?” he says.

  “We really do,” I answer. Before I lose momentum, I move on to the next slide. Dad laughs at some of my cons, and I’m sure it’s pretty clear this is a totally biased list. Of course, it’s meant to be. But when we get to what I now call the friends slide, I do my best to hurry past it.

  “Hold on a minute,” says Dad. “That looks like a pretty important one.”

  I flip back to it, but don’t say a word.

  “If we were to go, and I’m not saying we are, you’d be leaving your friends behind,” says Dad. “Do you understand that?”

  “I do,” I say. “But we have friends all over. And now I have Mayleen.”

  “Yes, but Mayleen lives in Washington, and we’d be living . . .” He stops and lowers his head. “We’d be living nowhere, sweetheart. I’ve asked so much of you these last few years, but now I can give you a real home. Don’t you want that?”