This is more like it. I am standing in the middle of a huge hotel room. It’s bright and spotless. On one wall there’s a blond wood dresser with a gorgeous pink orchid in the middle of it. Against the other wall is the softest-looking bed I have ever seen, with a gazillion fluffy white pillows on top. Below me is a cream-colored rug.
I am wearing a cute purple minidress and one of those Hawaiian-flowered-necklace things—a lei. And it’s adorable. I am adorable. There’s a gigantic full-size mirror here, as well, so I have proof.
Over the dresser is a beautiful photo of the ocean. And to the left of that—something even better: the actual ocean. It’s so blue and sparkly!
I go out onto the balcony to get a closer look, to take in the scent of it. Yes, I have a balcony. How awesome is this? It’s hard to see how things can get any better.
And no, the recent past does not make any sense, but if I had to go through that crazy, horrible ordeal to end up here, well then so be it. I am in Hawaii and ready to have the best vacation of my life.
I lean forward and gaze at the gorgeous view and take in a deep breath so I can smell the fresh, salty air.
Then I hear someone behind me. “What are you still doing in my room?” a strange woman asks.
I spin around, confused. She seems to be speaking directly to me, but how is that possible? I’ve been invisible for so long, I thought I’d never reappear as an actual, living, breathing human. But here I am, no longer a ghost.
I am back in my own body, and in a cute sundress. So cool! But how did this happen? I seemed to have skipped a few steps in between falling off the ladder and ending up on this island.
Did I somehow sleepwalk through the entire dance? And still manage to pack, sneak out of the house, get to the airport and on a plane, and then arrive here? To this gorgeous hotel room?
Or is there magic still happening? Did the Girl in Black lead me through some sort of metaphysical time warp? Or maybe I’m overthinking things. I don’t know how to figure this out, so maybe I should just enjoy it.
After all, I’m in Hawaii!
“Hi,” I say, waving to the tall woman who has stepped outside to join me. At first I figure she must be the housekeeper, but on second glance I think not. She’s dressed too fancy to clean a room. She’s tall and blond and tan and in a white, silky, sleeveless jumpsuit. She’s got on white, platform-heeled sandals, which must add five inches to her already considerable height. This woman is an Amazon and dripping in diamonds—from her ears, to her neck, to her fingers.
“I said, what are you doing in my room?” she asks, and not very kindly.
“Oh, I think you must be mistaken. I’m Ellie Charles and this is my room. And my balcony. I think. I mean, I assume this is where I’m supposed to be. I’m meeting my dad here. His name is Nick and—”
She holds up her hand and says, “Yes, I know all that. I only wish your father had prepared you better, instead of leaving everything up to me.”
“Wait, you know my dad?” I ask.
“Of course I do. I’m Nikka, his fiancée.”
I blink a few times, stare at this woman. “I’m sorry … his what?” I ask.
“Didn’t you read the note?” she asks.
“Note?” I am completely confused, with no idea what this woman is talking about. My dad can’t have a fiancée. That would be too crazy. How could he not tell me? And where is he, anyway? “I think you must be in the wrong room,” I tell her. “There’s got to be some kind of mistake…”
She shakes her head. “No, you’re the one in the wrong room,” she says.
She walks over to my bedside table, picks up a small envelope, and shows me the front of it:
To Ellie, it reads.
“Um, I kind of just arrived. I guess I didn’t have time to open it?”
She smirks, unimpressed, and opens the letter for me.
“Hey, wait. That’s addressed to me!”
She holds out her hand. “Yeah, and you already failed to read it so I’m going to do it for you. Ready? Listen up, because I don’t want to do this twice.” She clears her throat and begins.
“‘Dear Ellie,
Great news. I’m engaged to Nikka Prune. She is a model I met while working in Romania last month. I know you two will have a lot in common and I wish I could introduce you in person, but there was an emergency in Denmark that I had to attend to. Merry Christmas! Please enjoy yourself. Think of it as a great opportunity to bond with Nikka. I know you two will have fun. I will try to make it back in a few days, and if not, well, I’m sad to have missed you.
“Love, Daddy.’”
“Is this a joke?” I ask, moving toward Nikka and the note.
“‘P.S.,’” she reads. “‘Your room is downstairs on the other side of the resort, next to the maid’s quarters. You are too young to have a room this spectacular. If your vacation is this cushy now, what will you have to look forward to?’”
“It does not say that,” I reply.
“Read it for yourself,” Nikka says, handing it over.
I scan the note quickly. The words are all there, except the postscript looks like it was added more recently. The handwriting doesn’t match and the ink is even a different color.
“My dad didn’t write the part about me having to give up my room,” I say. I squint more closely at the letter. “And what’s this bit that’s crossed out? Something about me being allowed to charge whatever I want to his account? I need to talk to my dad immediately.”
“Well, your dad isn’t here now, is he?” Nikka asks, raising her thinly plucked eyebrows. “So maybe you should stop complaining and start packing.”
My heart sinks. Tears well up in my eyes. I blink furiously to hold them back. I don’t even care about the room, necessarily. It’s the news, which is so typical. This note. My dad. I should’ve known. No matter how perfect I am, how cool and in control, I always fall for it. Again and again.
It doesn’t matter that I’m on the honor roll, at the top of my class, a straight-A student, popular, and well-dressed, the leader of every school committee that matters. My dad doesn’t care. He doesn’t even seem to know me. And he doesn’t bother trying, either. We make plans to see each other. I get my hopes up. I think we’re going to spend time together. And then he flakes.
“This can’t be happening. Where are you, Girl in Black?” I shout, looking around the room, under the bed, behind the mirror, in the bathroom and closet.
Nikka stares at me. “Your father didn’t tell me you were crazy.”
“Wait, what? You can’t say that. I’m not crazy!” I insist, spinning around to face her.
She shrugs. “Oh well. I suppose it doesn’t really matter.”
“Is your last name actually Prune?” I ask.
“For now,” says Nikka. “But soon it will be Charles.”
“Right.” I think about this for a few moments. “So that means you’ll be my … stepmother?”
“Oh, technically, but please don’t call me that. Ever. I mean, come on, Ellie. I’m way too young to be a mother of any kind. Even step.”
It’s true. She barely looks old enough to be my babysitter. Not that I need a babysitter anymore. “Well, what should I call you?” I wonder.
“Everyone calls me Nikka. You can do the same. Or call me whatever you want. I really don’t care. Your dad promised me you wouldn’t be around that much.”
I didn’t think things could get any worse, and then they did. “He actually said that?” I shake my head. “No, it’s impossible. I don’t believe you.”
This is what I tell her, but deep down I have my doubts. Maybe I am a nuisance. Maybe I’m the reason my dad left us in the first place. Maybe he never even wanted a child.
That thought sits there, an icy cold feeling in my chest.
I’m close to tears and it’s obvious, but Nikka couldn’t care less. She smiles coldly and picks up her purse.
“Well, I’m late for a spa appointment. See you later.” She waves and heads for the
door.
“Wait!” I call.
“Yes?” she asks.
“Um, can I come to the spa with you?”
She laughs and crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me like I’m a cockroach she found in her soup. “Oh, Ellie. I’m going to the spa. We’re not going to the spa. You, my dear, are busy. You’ve got to change rooms. And after that, well, I’m not going to sit around and entertain you all day. You’re a big girl. You can get lunch at the pool, but don’t order anything too expensive, okay?”
“Um…”
Before I can say another word, she is gone.
I whip out my phone and call my dad. He doesn’t pick up. I send him a text. CALL ME!!!!
I wait, but he doesn’t respond. There are no three dots that he is typing, even. He must be on the phone. I sit in my room and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
I can’t believe my dad flew me to Hawaii only to go to Denmark without me, before I even arrived.
I can’t believe he got engaged and didn’t tell me.
And I can’t believe Nikka. What is her problem?
How am I supposed to spend Christmas with someone I’ve never met before? Someone who so clearly doesn’t want to have anything to do with me? It’s absurd. And I miss my mom. It’s hard to admit it, but I do. I made a mistake. Messed up big-time. What was I thinking? How could I be so awful? Ugh. I flop down on the bed, faceup, and stare at the ceiling. This stinks.
But wait a second, despite this ridiculous situation, I’m still in Hawaii. What am I complaining about? So Nikka doesn’t want to go to the spa with me. So she seems to be angry with me, even though we’ve never met. She wouldn’t act this way if my dad were around, I don’t think. And maybe we won’t have to spend time together alone again. I can make sure of that.
I try my dad again and the phone goes right to voicemail.
Is he ignoring my calls?
No, he is probably in an important meeting. I’m sure he’ll call me as soon as he has a moment. I text him, Emergency, so he knows how important this is.
Then I try to relax. I need to make the most of this vacation. Especially since I totally bragged to every single one of my friends, and plenty of my enemies, and the lady who sold me this sundress, about going to Hawaii. What am I going to tell them now? That I cried in my hotel room the whole time? There’s no way. I must save face. Turn things around. This trip is a disaster, but no one else has to know how miserable the situation is. The sun still shines. The ocean is still blue. I am still gorgeous. And my wardrobe is fabulous.
I drag myself out of bed and splash cold water onto my face. Figuring I can change rooms later (or never, if I actually get to speak with my dad), I put on my favorite pink bikini, the matching sarong, and flip-flops, and head to the pool.
Grabbing a soft white towel, I place it on an empty lounge chair with a view of the pool and beach. This is more like it. On the surface, I am in paradise.
And surface stuff matters. So do pictures. I must remember who I am, where I come from. Everything that matters to me. There’s so much pressure to maintain my picture-perfect image. Otherwise I won’t be envied. And what’s the opposite of envy? Pity. I will not go back there.
So I pull my phone from my purse, and position myself so I’m in the shot with the ocean and pool in the background.
I smile like mad and click. Then I take a few more shots in different positions. I change my lipstick and do some close-ups with duck lips. I take a picture of my hand holding a glass of strawberry lemonade, zooming in on the fresh mint leaf floating on top. And then I sit back and scroll through my options. So many amazing shots to choose from! I post one, then sit back and relax.
Then I close my eyes.
Except it’s too loud to actually nap. There are so many kids at this resort, laughing and having fun. I prop myself up on my elbows and watch.
In the pool are three kids, siblings, I assume, swimming around one tall dude—obviously the dad. They are rowdy and rambunctious, pushing and shoving and yelling and laughing. The littlest one is a girl who is around eight. She is holding on to a donut-shaped floatie. It’s got pink frosting with rainbow sprinkles on top. And her tank suit matches it perfectly. Like they came as a set.
The other two are boys—maybe twins, or maybe they are simply really close in age. One is blond and one has red hair and they both have matching blue-and-yellow-striped swim trunks. All three hang on their dad, who throws them across the pool, one by one. They scream with delight.
“More, more, more!”
“Higher!”
“Faster!”
“Me next!”
Soon a woman approaches, and the little girl’s eyes light up. “Mommy, Mommy, come in!” she screams.
“I will in a bit,” the mom says, kneeling down and feeling the water. “I need to take care of some things first, though. What does everyone want to do for dinner? We can go to that pizza place from the other night, or try sushi this time.”
“Pizza!” the kids all yell.
“And then I need to sign up for the mountain biking tour. Should we do that later this afternoon or tomorrow morning?”
“Tomorrow!” They are chipper and cheerful and in agreement. They remind me of baby birds, for some reason.
“Okay, then. Let me make those reservations and change into my suit and then I’ll join you.”
“Yay!” the boys cheer. The dad grabs the kid closest to him and throws him again. Splash!
I watch as the mom laughs and shakes her head at the silliness. She’s joyful as she walks away. She won at life. Clearly.
I wonder what that’s like—being part of a big, happy family?
I try to imagine the life I could’ve had if my parents had stayed together. Or the vacation that my mom and I might have gone on with Marley and her dads, the many vacations by now, if only I hadn’t betrayed her. If I hadn’t ghosted her.
Instead I have Mom, and it’s always so quiet at my house. I wonder what she’s going to do for Christmas.
She’ll be all alone. We never have plans these days. I wonder if she even realizes I’m gone. I didn’t leave a note, I don’t think. I didn’t have the opportunity to write one, but that’s just a pathetic excuse—I never planned on leaving her a note. I meant to text her from Hawaii, and scrolling through my old messages, I can see I haven’t yet done so.
I should text her now. But what am I supposed to say?
I am rotten. Worse. I am treating my mom in the same way that my dad treats me. Why am I doing that? I hate how my dad treats me.
What have I done?
Ugh! I don’t want to think about this so I put my phone away again. Why am I so worried? There is nothing I can do. I am in Hawaii. I should do something fun. Make the most of my time here. Do something beach-y. Like, I know. I’ll go for a swim.
I stand up and stretch and walk to the edge of the deep end. Then I dive into the pool.
The water is cool and refreshing. I swim a lap or two and then decide to do a somersault. Except, when I emerge from the water, I’m in a bathtub.
Weird …
I look around, and see that I am not simply in any bathtub. I’m in my own bathtub—the one back in Lincoln Heights.
It’s kind of creepy, but maybe good, as well, because I was feeling a little guilty about going to Hawaii without telling my mom. Maybe I’m still real, and simply magic. It sure seems that way. In the bathtub, I see I’m in the same pink bikini.
But as soon as I pull myself out, I find myself fully clothed and dry as a bone.
“Cool effect,” I call out to the Girl in Black.
She ignores me and I find this irritating.
“That was a compliment,” I tell her.
No response. Oh well.
I wander into the living room and find my mom.
“Hi there!” I say, but she doesn’t even look up. “Hello?” I wave my hand in front of her face. It seems that I’m invisible again. I hang back
and observe.
My mom is staring at her computer screen. The overhead lamp is switched off, but the pale-blue glow from the screen lights up her face.
And I see pain in her eyes, tears running down her cheeks.
I wonder what she’s looking at. I walk around the couch and lean over her shoulder so I can see the screen.
Oh wow. She’s pulled up my Instagram account. My mom is looking at pictures of me, in Hawaii, posing with the beach in the background and a huge fake smile plastered onto my face. I look so happy and glamorous on the surface. Anyone who saw this shot would think my life was perfect, that I was the luckiest kid around and exactly where I wanted to be. My mom certainly seems to have this impression.
She’s looking at me and her fingertips brush the computer screen and she’s crying. Because she thinks I’m having an amazing time without her.
And suddenly I realize something even worse—I didn’t even get my mom a present, didn’t even send her a postcard or call her on Christmas.
My heart aches for her and my entire insides feel rotten.
I know I won’t be able to touch her but I need to try. I reach out and place my hand on my mom’s shoulder.
And then another crazy thing happens.
Within a millisecond I am gone—again.
chapter twelve
Now I am somewhere else—in yet another new gym. This one smells freshly painted. It’s got shiny, polished wood floors. In the middle of the basketball court is the image of a roaring lion with the words LINCOLN HEIGHTS LIONS written around it. The logo is painted orange and black and white. I’ve seen the insignia before—the lion is our town’s high school mascot. So this must be the high school gym. Things are beginning to come together. And suddenly it dawns on me. I look around for the Girl in Black. I don’t see her but sense she is nearby.
“I get it now. You are taking me on a journey of my past, present, and future. How awesome! I’ve totally seen this movie!”
“Have you?” The Girl in Black ducks out from behind red velvet curtains onstage. She hops down to my level and walks on over.
“Yes,” I say, proud of myself. “I figured it out.”
“You know it was a book before it was a movie?” she asks.
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