No Place Like Home

by Dee Romito

  I sit down and push the laptop to the side. “It’s just that . . .” I stop, not ready to finish the sentence.

  “What is it, Kenzie?” asks Dad. “You can tell me anything.”

  I try to take a deep breath, but my chest does that staccato thing it does when your body is trying to cry and breathe at the same time. “Dad, the last time I had a home . . . Mom was in it.” I’ve done my best to put on a professional (although biased) front, but it’s time to get real with my dad. I don’t even try to hold back the tears that are now busting their way out.

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” Dad gets out of his chair and kneels down in front of me, taking my hands. “If I could change what happened, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But right now, the only thing I can change is what you have moving forward.”

  I grab a napkin and wipe at my eyes. “I don’t have what you think I do, Dad.”

  He waits patiently for me to elaborate.

  “I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving,” I say. “I let them think I had actually moved here, and I tried out for the lead in the musical even though I knew I wouldn’t be here for the show.” As the words come out of my mouth, I understand that this one fact alone is bad enough, and Dad confirms it.

  “Can I ask why you’d do that?” he says.

  I wipe at my eyes again. “I wanted to be a regular kid,” I say. “To do middle-school things and be a part of it all. I thought it was the only chance I’d ever have.”

  Dad pulls his chair over close to me and sits down. “Go on.”

  “I got the lead, and I still didn’t say anything. I went to practices like nothing was wrong,” I say. “And then Ashia wanted me to run for student council as her vice president, and it sounded fun and I didn’t want to let her down, so I did it. And I got that, too. Sort of. It was a tie, and this kid Tate won for president too.”

  “And who is Tate?” asks Dad.

  “Yeah, that’s a whole other story. On my first day, I actually told the kid he was cute,” I say. “Do you believe that? Me, Kenzie Rhines, I got all bold and brave because I knew—I mean, I thought—I’d never have to face any of them again after we left. It was like a free pass to try out all the rides and then go home and forget it ever happened.”

  I’m relieved to finally be telling Dad the truth. I can’t imagine he’ll be anything but disappointed in me, but at least it’s all out there.

  “Did they find out?” he asks.

  “They sure did,” I say. “This girl Shelby had it out for me from day one, and she overheard me coming clean to Ashia. Then I wrote this letter and I was going to tell everyone the truth before she did, but apparently she couldn’t wait another day to ruin my life.”

  “I wish you’d told me,” says Dad. “And maybe I should have told you sooner about the possibility of staying here.”

  I sit up straight, clutching the napkin. “You knew we might not be leaving?”

  “That’s why I took on this project, because the potential for a permanent position was there,” he says. “I never mentioned it because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. I’m so sorry, Kenzie. It didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t tell people our situation.”

  I run through this whole mess in my mind. “That’s why Mr. Kumar didn’t know,” I say, putting it all together. “Because you figured we’d be staying.”

  “Yes,” says Dad. “I mean, there was a good chance we’d be staying. But I guess I should have mentioned our situation just in case.”

  There’s a part of me that’s so, so mad right now. If he’d only told me that from the beginning, I wouldn’t be in this mess. But the rational side of me is reminding me that I’m the one who caused this problem and there’s no one else to blame.

  “I shouldn’t have hidden the truth. This is all my fault, and now I’m stuck in this place where no one wants anything to do with me.”

  Dad grabs a tissue box off the counter and hands it to me. Much better idea than the napkins. He leans back in his chair with a faraway look in his eyes.

  I give him a minute, so whatever is going through his head can work itself out.

  He takes my hands again. “Listen, sweetheart. The first time we left home, I didn’t give you a choice. I needed my job to support us, and honestly, I convinced myself that leaving was the best thing. I thought a new adventure might be good for both of us, and I wanted to be with you as much as possible. But you should have had a say.”

  I focus on Dad. Not just on his words, but on his face and his eyes, which are so full of both pain and love right now. I focus on his shoulders, slumped but strong.

  “So I’m giving you the choice this time,” he says. “It’s up to you, Kenzie. If you want to stay, we’ll stay. But if you want to go . . .”

  I wait for him to complete the sentence to be sure he’s saying what I think he’s saying.

  “Then we’ll go,” he finishes.

  And now, with the decision completely in my hands, I have no idea what to do.

  chapter twenty-seven

  Today is supposed to be my last day of school. Bags should be packed to leave this place tomorrow. But Dad has given me the weekend to make a decision. To make the biggest decision of my life.

  We’ll leave after school for Orlando, which means a stop at Disney World is definitely on the agenda.

  At school, though, nobody knows that. Now they all think I’m staying; they don’t know there’s a choice to be made. Do I tell them? Would anyone even care? Most of them would probably make the choice easily for me—they’d tell me to go. But in order to make the right decision, I need all the information. A real pros-and-cons list that isn’t secretly a way to convince Dad one way or the other.

  In English class, I don’t avoid Bren. Instead I turn around and act like nothing is wrong.

  “Hey, you never told me what happened last year with the election posters,” I say.

  He leans forward and whispers. “Oh, right. We call it the Mustache Incident.”

  With a tell-all title like that, I don’t even need to ask for more details, but I want to keep the conversation going. “The Mustache Incident?”

  “Somebody decided all the posters needed some sprucing up,” he says. “There were even red eyes and top hats. Candidates were not happy with their new looks.”

  “So that’s why posters aren’t allowed up early,” I say, finally understanding. “Because of a rogue group of mustache-drawing vandals.”

  Bren and I laugh, a little too loudly, apparently, getting a shush from the girls next to us.

  After class I ask Mrs. Pilchard if there’s still a chance I might be able to read my poem at the awards dinner. I don’t give her the latest update when she says, “Yes, I heard the good news that you’ll be staying with us.” I might have told her that I still need to make that decision if she hadn’t used the word “good” to describe the news, but I decide to enjoy the moment.

  When it’s time for lunch, I go to the caf. My days of hiding out in the library are done.

  “Hi, everyone,” I say. “Is it okay if I sit here?” I’m more than surprised when most of them smile and say yes.

  “Wasn’t sure you’d be back,” says Bren.

  For a second, I wonder if he knows about the choice I have to make. “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Thought we’d lost you to the library at lunchtime,” he says with a chuckle.

  “Ah, got it,” I say. “Have I missed any interesting performances?” There hasn’t been any spontaneous singing in several weeks, and I’m afraid I might be jinxing myself. As much as I’m pretty sure I don’t want Tate singing to me, I certainly don’t want to see him singing to another girl either.

  “Nope, nothing to report,” says Ashia. “Are you going anywhere this weekend? A bunch of us were thinking of seeing a movie.”

  I run her words through my mind again, but yes, that was definitely an invite to hang out with everyone. Maybe things could get better here. Having friends to go to movies with woul
d be a plus for sure.

  “I’d love to, but yeah, Dad and I will be in Orlando this weekend,” I say.

  “Lu-cky,” says one of the girls.

  “Wish I could hop off to Orlando this weekend,” says another.

  The rest of lunch goes fine, if you don’t count all the looks I’m getting from some of the seventh graders, but it still doesn’t feel right. It’s like I’m walking around in some world that isn’t mine. Like I’m an impostor trying to fit in. And I wonder if this place could ever be a real home for me and Dad.

  * * *

  It’s kind of hard to think about anything else when you’re at the top of the Tower of Terror and you know the floor’s about to drop, sending you many, many stories down at warp speed. Dad grabs my hand.

  “You ready?” he asks, knowing as well as I do that the “terror” is only seconds away.

  Right as the floor comes out from under us, everyone on the ride goes silent, except for one girl, who picks that exact moment to yell out, “I’ve never been so scared in my life!” making all the riders do a mix of both laughing and screaming on the way down.

  “Let’s do it again!” I say to Dad when it’s over.

  He laughs. “Can we take a break? I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  I sit on a nearby bench, and Dad goes to get us a couple of waters. While I’m waiting, two completely separate things go through my mind because, somehow, they fit together: I’ve never been so scared in my life and I’m not as young as I used to be.

  There isn’t much that could compete with my never-been-so-scared moment; being afraid of losing my mom tops everything. But as next most scared? I’d say being afraid of making the wrong choice right now is totally a nominee. And, sure, I’m too young to be using Dad’s line, but I won’t ever be this age again. I won’t ever have the chance to do twelve-year-old things when I’m older. But this life with Dad? Disney World and NYC and, maybe, if I can convince him, Venice and Barcelona? Not many kids my age get to do that, either.

  Dad and I spend the rest of the day, the entire day, going from one ride to another. We even park hop a couple times.

  On Sunday, I sleep in until noon. Because whatever world I choose to live in, that is definitely something preteens get to do on the weekend. When I make my way to the dining area (they’ve upgraded us to their best suite), there’s a catering tray full of breakfast and lunch choices for me. I actually don’t like when they do this—it must be a new concierge—because Dad and I can’t stand wasting the food we don’t eat. I pick the pancakes with a side of fruit and call down to the desk to have them send someone up to bring the food to their hungriest employees who haven’t had a lunch break yet. “No, no, I insist. Check with Philippe; he knows.” I sit down to eat, and it’s super quiet. Like, no music playing on a chaperone’s iPod, no one chatting on the phone. I get up and check out one room at a time (part of the problem with having more than one room in a hotel), but there’s no one anywhere. No one. Dad never leaves me alone at a hotel.

  “Dad?” I call. No answer. I peek into the hall. “Dad?” I step out, careful not to let the door close behind me.

  “Excuse me?” The voice behind me startles me so much that I let go of the door. I reach for it, but I’m not quick enough to catch it before it locks shut. It’s a girl, maybe a couple of years younger than I am.

  “Can I help you with something?” I ask her.

  “I was actually wondering if I could help you,” she says. “I’m next door and I heard you calling for your dad.”

  Just as I’m wondering where her parents are, a woman sticks her head out the door. “Everything okay?” she asks.

  “I was looking for my dad,” I say. “And now I’ve locked the door and I don’t have a key.” This is what I mean when I say life on the road isn’t as glamorous as it looks. I lock myself out, and instead of going next door to get a spare key from a friend, my next-door neighbor is a hotel guest and total stranger.

  The woman steps into the hall. “Would it help to call him? You can use my cell phone.”

  “Yes, thank you.” I take the phone and dial Dad’s number, and his ringtone echoes through the hall immediately. Within seconds, there’s Dad with a bucket of ice and three hotel employees offering to carry it for him.

  “Kenzie, you’re up,” he says. “I’m so sorry—I stepped out for a few minutes to get some ice. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  As if Cinderella herself is parading down the hallway, Dad stops and stares. “Oh, hello,” he says to the girl’s mom. “I’m Brian, and this is my daughter, Kenzie.”

  She introduces herself as Catherine and her daughter as Jolene. And as the three of them laugh at something Dad says, I can’t believe it hasn’t ever occurred to me that maybe Dad needs a home so he can make new friends and move forward too.

  chapter twenty-eight

  We ended up having dinner with our new hotel friends Catherine and Jolene. They were both so nice, and to be honest, it was pretty amazing to see Dad smiling and laughing like he was.

  Now we’re sitting in the airport, on our way, well, home? Or is it just back to Vegas?

  My phone needs a charge, so I plug it into the outlet, and it immediately lets me know I have new messages.

  There’s one from Mayleen. Have you made a decision?

  One from Ashia. Hey, friend. Hope you’re having fun.

  And one from Bren. What time does your flight get in?

  I answer them one at a time.

  Nope. Someone I need to talk to first.

  Very fun weekend. Can’t wait to see you. And I quickly realize it could be the very last time I see her.

  7 tonight.

  I attempt to text back and forth with all three of them, but eventually the announcement comes on that they’ll be preboarding, so I pack everything up.

  “How are all your friends?” asks Dad.

  “They’re good,” I say. “Turns out not everyone hates me.”

  “I figured that might be the case,” he says.

  “Dad?” I wait for him to answer to make sure I have his complete attention.

  “Yes, honey?” he says as he stuffs a magazine in his suitcase.

  “You said I didn’t get a choice, but I did,” I say.

  He stops zipping his bag and turns to me. “What do you mean?”

  “I choose all the time,” I answer. “Which city to go to next. The hotel we’re going to stay in. What activities to do. You’re always thinking of what I want.”

  “That’s what dads do for their daughters,” he says.

  And I know the conversation could stop right here. I could decide whatever I want and Dad would do it, for me. But if there’s anything I’ve learned in the last six weeks, it’s that this isn’t just about me.

  “What do you want, Dad?” I ask. “Do you want to stay in Vegas or do you want to leave?”

  “It’s not my decision to make, Kenzie,” he says without a second thought.

  “I know. You’ve left it up to me. But in order to make the right decision, I need to know how you feel about the whole thing,” I say. I repeat my question: “What do you want?”

  He smiles and taps me on the nose like he did when I was a little kid. “Honestly? I think it could be a really good thing for us to stay,” he says. “But what I want more than anything is for you to be happy. For you to feel like you’re getting everything you need in life. So whatever—and wherever—that is, that’s what I want too.”

  I lean over and hug my dad like I haven’t seen him in years. And I don’t let go until they call us to board.

  While we’re on the plane, I let everything run through my mind. All of it.

  My old house. Neighborhood. Friends.

  Our life in the air. The hotels. All the cities. Our friends on the road.

  And Vegas. It could either be our new life, or it could be the one we leave behind and maybe only think about every once in a while.

  I’ve been living in two different world
s at the same time. There’s one world where everyone gives me anything I need, but I’m constantly on the go. And there’s another one where I’d have to fight for what I want, but I’d finally have a chance at a real home again.

  When the captain comes on with the usual announcement about landing soon and local weather, I’m pretty sure I know what I want to do, but one little part of me is holding back. Am I sure?

  When the Vegas strip and all the mountains come into view through my window, I’m almost positive I’ve made my choice.

  And when the plane touches down, the captain makes his announcement: “Welcome to Las Vegas, folks. If this is a stop on your journey, we wish you safe travels. If this is your final destination, enjoy your trip. And for those of you heading back to friends and family . . . welcome home.”

  That’s when I know for sure.

  “I’ve made my decision,” I say to Dad.

  chapter twenty-nine

  Ashia and Bren are the only ones I tell that I had a choice, and I chose to stay.

  “So you picked us,” says Ashia on Monday morning as we stand in the hallway. “Over Disney World and yellow brick roads and movie premieres. You picked us.” She’s smiling from ear to ear, and I couldn’t be more thrilled that she’s happy about the news.

  “Yes,” I say. “Although Dad says we can still do that stuff every once in a while. He has a ton of travel points, and connections are connections, you know?”

  Ashia gives me a giant hug, and while I know I still have a lot to make up to her, we’re on the right track.

  Bren is quiet, and I’m so scared he’s changed his mind. That maybe he only thought he’d miss me, but now that I’m here, he’s wishing I’d decided to leave.

  “Bren?” I ask. “Is this okay?” Not that I’m prepared to change my mind or have Dad say no to his new position at this point—the decision has been made. But I need Bren to be on board with this. I don’t know why, but his opinion is the last piece of this puzzle.