by Ronni Arno
“The Sox. For winning.”
“Oh, they’ll totally win.” Cassandra puts her hands on her hips.
“You think?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t they?”
“Well, you do know who they’re playing.” Connor raises his eyebrows.
Cassandra shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Of course.”
Connor nods. “Tough team. Especially with who’s pitching.”
Cassandra doesn’t say anything.
“And you know, the Sox have a few guys—”
“Whatever. They’ll totally win.” Cassandra puts her hand on Connor’s shoulder.
“You seem awfully sure.” Connor tilts his head. “What do you think the score will be?
“What?” Cassandra’s smile is unsteady.
“The score?” Connor raises his eyebrows. “Any predictions?”
Cassandra’s face goes blank, until she blurts out, “Oh, you know, it will be high.”
“Like thirty-two to forty-seven?” Connor asks, straight-faced. I purse my lips to stifle a giggle.
“Yeah, something like that.” Cassandra stands up taller, smiling.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Connor steps forward, and Cassandra’s arm drops to her side. “Well, I gotta run. See you guys.”
Summer laughs when Connor’s out of earshot. “You’re so funny, Cassandra. If you’re going to fake like baseball, at least study a little!”
“What do you mean?” Cassandra tilts her head.
“Thirty-two to forty-seven? Baseball scores aren’t that high.” Summer laughs.
“I didn’t think he’d really want to talk about it,” Cassandra says, her hands flying up to put her cap back on.
Summer shakes her head, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling. Connor is too smart for Cassandra’s games. I knew there was a reason I liked him. Besides the dimples, I mean.
We get to our dorm room, and I pull the dresses out of my closet. I hand them to Summer, and she holds them up in front of her and prances around the room like a runway model.
“Wow, Bea.” Katie takes one of the dresses out of Summer’s hand. “These are amazing!”
“I told you!” Summer says.
“You actually made these?” Katie holds the dress at arm’s length, looking it up and down.
“It’s not that hard.” I point to Ellie’s sewing machine. “I use this.”
“You know how to use a sewing machine?” Katie sounds amazed.
“Ell—” I stop myself and remember that nobody calls their grandmother by her first name. “My nana taught me.”
Cassandra’s holding up my silver dress, the one I wore to Sarriette’s on my birthday. “This one’s not bad.”
“Not bad?” Summer stares at the dress. “It’s incredible. I think it’s my favorite.”
“Okay, I’ll be in your fashion show.” Cassandra throws the dress on my bed. “We’d better go or we’ll be late for language arts.”
“We’ll meet you there in a few.” Summer picks up the silver dress Cassandra threw on the bed and hangs it up.
“Sometimes I wonder why I’m even friends with her,” Summer says after Cassandra leaves.
“Why are you?” I’m glad she said something, because I was wondering about that myself.
“She wasn’t always like this—she used to be really nice and fun. Now she’s just selfish and fake. I know she’s going through a rough year. Her parents are getting divorced so I try to give her a break.”
“You’re a good friend,” I say. I can’t imagine that Cassandra was ever nice. But then again, she’s nowhere near as selfish and fake as Sophie was.
“Hey, you want to come to my house this weekend?” Summer asks on our way back to class.
I grin. “Sure, I’d love to—if you’re sure it’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay.” Summer jumps plop in the middle of a gigantic puddle. “Connor will probably come too.”
“That’s nice.” My stomach does a little flip.
“Yeah, my parents like to have us home once in a while. And Connor loves coming to my house because my parents feed him well. Plus, he’s got a huge man-crush on my dad.”
I laugh. “A man-crush?”
“Yeah, you know—when a guy totally idolizes another guy? That’s Connor with my dad.”
I laugh again.
“It’s fun for both of them,” Summer says. “My dad only has daughters, so it’s like Connor’s his son. And Connor needs a father figure. Since his uncle’s never around and all.”
“Poor Connor,” I say under my breath. I’m not even sure if Summer hears me.
“You’re lucky you have your nana.” Summer smiles at me. “Could you imagine what your life would have been like without her?”
“No,” I say. And I mean it. I can’t imagine my life without Ellie.
And then it hits me. Even though my parents aren’t really dead, Connor and I do have something in common. We were both raised by people who aren’t our parents. I know I can’t compare us, not really. My parents love me, but sometimes I wonder if they love their careers just a little bit more.
Chapter
16
THERE’S A KNOCK on the door, and Ms. Goldberg peeks her head in.
“Hi, girls. Bea, this came for you.” She hands me an envelope with the Midcoast Academy logo and address in the top left corner.
Summer runs over to me. “Open it, quick! It’s probably about the Spotlight Project application.”
My hands shake as I gently tear open the envelope and pull out the letter inside. Summer reads over my shoulder.
Dear Ms. Miller:
Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as one of the finalists for Midcoast Academy’s Parents’ Weekend Spotlight Project. The next step in the process is to set up an interview with the selection committee.
Please be prepared to discuss your project in more detail.
Please check your school e-mail as your invitation will be sent to you electronically.
Again, our congratulations, and I look forward to meeting you soon.
Sincerely,
Betsy Banks
Selection Committee Chair
Summer screams and jumps up and down. “You’re a finalist, Bea!”
I’m still standing there, holding the letter. I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open, but no words come out.
“Aren’t you excited?” Summer’s still jumping up and down.
“I—I just can’t believe it.”
“I told you! You’re definitely going to win.”
I run to my computer to check my e-mail. As promised, there’s something in there about my interview. “They want to talk to me on Monday.”
“Woo-hoo!” Summer jumps on her bed.
“But what will I say? I’m terrible at interviews.” I slump in my chair.
“You’ll do great. Just pretend you’re talking to me.”
I chuckle. “Maybe I can spray-paint the selection committee hot pink.”
“Or, you can just picture them as hot pink people. That will relax you.”
I don’t realize, until this very minute, what the fashion show means to me. I squeeze my eyes shut and picture my friends walking the runway in my designs. My daydream is interrupted by Summer’s groan.
“What’s wrong?”
Summer slumps down in her desk chair. “I still have to study for the math test, and I hate math.”
“But Mrs. Giraldi reviewed it in class.”
Summer bites her lower lip and stares down at her book.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
“I don’t get it.” Summer shakes her head.
“The math?”
“Yeah.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
I laugh, but for once Summer doesn’t. She looks drop-dead serious.
“Want me to help?”
Summer looks up at me, and her eyes widen. “Can y
ou?”
“Sure.” I drag my desk chair next to hers and peek over her shoulder to the open math book.
“We have to find the radius of a circle.” She says it like the words burn her tongue.
“That’s easy!” I pull a sheet of paper out of her notebook. “I have to do this all the time when I’m making dresses.”
“You mean you use math? In real life?” Summer raises one eyebrow.
“I guess I do.” I shrug. Since it’s so fun, I never thought of it as math. “First, we have to find your waist measurement.”
I pull my measuring tape out of my desk drawer. Summer stands up, and I pull the tape tightly around her waist. “Twenty inches. So that would be the circumference.”
I draw a circle on the piece of paper, as Summer looks over my shoulder.
“Ohhhhh,” she squeals, then pokes her math book. “It says here that the formula for radius is circumference divided by pi, then divided by two.”
“Yep, that’s it. So if I measure the radius from the center of the circle, I’ll know how much fabric I need.” I draw this out on my paper, so she can see what I mean.
“I get it!” Summer bounces up and down. “It makes total sense when you explain it. Maybe you should be our math teacher.”
I smile. Even I didn’t realize I knew so much about math. Or maybe I just know a lot about sewing!
“Thanks, Bea.” Summer grabs her pink fuzzy pencil and writes furiously in her notebook. “You really helped me a lot.”
“Are you kidding?” I laugh. “You’re the one who helped me with all this Spotlight Project stuff.”
“That’s what friends are for.” Summer flashes me a quick smile, then dives back into her math homework.
A burst of happiness bubbles from my stomach. I finally have a friend. A real friend.
But the bubbles pop when I remind myself that I’m still lying. And I’m suddenly scared, really scared. Because now I have so much to lose.
Chapter
17
ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON Summer and I roll our suitcases out to the main entrance. Holly is already there, talking to Mrs. Kearney.
Summer parks her suitcase and plops down on the brown couch. “TGIF,” she says with a smile.
Veronica and Eric open the front door. They chat with Mrs. Kearney and Holly for a few minutes. I look down the hall but don’t see Connor. I wonder if he’s still coming. Summer hurls herself off the couch and wheels her suitcase over to her parents.
“Can you take this?” she asks Eric. “I’m soooo tired.”
Eric chuckles. “I think you can manage, kiddo.”
“Mommy?” Summer hands her suitcase handle to Veronica.
“Your father says no so you ask me? I don’t think so, munchkin.”
“Fine,” Summer sighs. “It was worth a try.”
“Is Connor coming?” Veronica asks.
I hold my breath before Summer answers. “He should be.”
Just as I exhale, Connor comes down the hall, a backpack strapped to his shoulders and something in his hand that I don’t recognize.
“There he is,” Eric says, and he and Connor shake hands. “Is that the sketch?”
“Yep, I think it’s ready.” Connor hands what looks like a rolled up poster to Summer’s dad.
“Great, let’s take a look when we get home.” Eric pats Connor on the back, and Connor’s dimples pop into full view.
“Have a great weekend,” Mrs. Kearney says. “Oh, and Bea . . .”
I freeze. It takes me a few seconds to remember how to move my body, and I turn to look at her.
“I haven’t yet heard back from your family about Parents’ Weekend.”
My hand is holding on to my suitcase handle so tight I think it might be stuck in a fist forever. Did she say “family” or “parents”? I think she said family. Family could mean anybody, right? Grandparents, aunts, cousins. So the fact that she said family won’t seem too weird. I look around at the faces of Summer, Holly, and Connor. They’re just staring at me, waiting for me to answer the question, so I take a deep breath and focus.
“Oh, yeah.” I shift from one foot to the other. “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll let you know.”
“Okay, great.” She holds the door open for us, and we all shuffle out, our suitcases making a steady rolling noise as we go.
Note to self: Be very careful around Mrs. Kearney.
“You guys actually drove?” Summer says as she eyeballs a Prius parked on the street.
“It looked like it might rain,” Veronica says.
“My parents usually walk everywhere,” Summer tells me.
“That’s so cool,” I say.
“You think so?” Summer slumps her shoulders. “Sometimes it gets tiring.”
“We can’t walk anywhere back home.” We squeeze into Summer’s car and load our suitcases in the back.
We drive for about three minutes, until we pull into the driveway of the cutest house I’ve ever seen. There are two rocking chairs on the front porch, which takes up half the front lawn. I take a deep breath when I get out of the car. The air smells like ocean, and when I turn around toward the backyard I see why. Half of the yard is a garden, and even though the flowers aren’t out yet, the garden beds are clearly marked. The yard then continues to the bay, and a small dock juts out into the water. Two upside-down kayaks sit near the water’s edge.
“C’mon.” Summer skips to the front porch, rolling her suitcase behind her. A very excited yellow lab greets us as we open the door.
“Topaz!” Summer bends down, and Topaz immediately rolls over onto her back. Summer scratches the dog’s belly and tells her how much she’s missed her. Summer stands up and skips through the house, Topaz trotting after her.
“Let’s go up to my room,” Summer says. “I’ll show you where to put your stuff.”
Summer’s room at home is practically identical to her room at school—an explosion of pink. There’s a trundle bed already made up for me, complete with a hot pink fuzzy blanket. I drop my suitcase on the floor near the bed, and we make our way downstairs.
Connor and Eric are leaning over the kitchen table, the sketch Connor brought laid out in front of them. Veronica’s sitting on the couch in the family room, her arm draped around Holly. They’re looking at something in a magazine. Summer throws herself onto the couch, stretching her legs over Veronica’s lap, and I sit down on a rocking chair. I’m amazed that I can see Connor and Eric from where I’m sitting. I can even hear every word they’re saying—the rooms are that close to each other. I sink down into the chair as I realize the entire downstairs of Summer’s house can probably fit in my bedroom. And yet, there’s plenty of room for everyone. I feel warm and cozy—and included. I wonder if this is how a normal family is supposed to be, everyone home and hanging out. Together.
“Okay, gang.” Veronica stands up. “Do we want pizza or Chinese?”
“Pizza!” Summer yells.
“Chinese,” Holly says.
“We had Chinese last time.” Summer sits up on the couch.
“Very true,” Veronica says. “Is pizza okay with you, Bea?”
“Sure,” I say. “I love pizza.”
When the pizzas are delivered half an hour later—one plain, one veggie—Eric carries them into the family room and places them on top of the coffee table. Veronica puts a stack of plates next to them.
“Dig in,” Eric says.
“Yes!” Summer fist-pumps the air. “I love Fridays. It’s the one day in the week that we get to eat in the family room.”
I’ve never eaten in our family room. Ellie and I usually eat at the kitchen counter when it’s just the two of us. When my parents are home, we eat at the dining room table. Usually we have guests—my mom’s agent or my dad’s teammates—and dinner is all fancy. I can’t remember the last time we ordered pizza, and suddenly I realize that’s something we need to do more often.
Once everybody has a slice, Veronica turns on the TV. “Any sugges
tions?”
Summer turns to me. “Friday night is always take-out-and-TV night.”
“That sounds fun.” We’re all sitting around the coffee table. Veronica and Eric are on one end of the couch, Holly’s on the other. Connor is sitting on the floor, his back leaning against the couch, and Summer and I are each on a rocking chair.
Eric flips to the TV menu. “Sorry, Connor. No Sox game tonight.”
“Who’s playing?” Connor asks.
“Let’s see.” Eric scans the menu. “Yankees and Phillies.”
Connor groans. A true Red Sox fan.
“How about the Dodgers and Cubs?”
“That could be a good game,” Connor says. “Who’s pitching?”
Eric flips to the game, and I almost choke on my pizza.
“Are you okay, Bea?” Veronica jumps off the couch. “Let me get you some water.”
“I’m—I’m okay,” I manage to say in between coughing fits. I try to cover my face with my hair so nobody—especially Connor—can see how red I am.
Veronica hands me a glass of water, and I gulp it down. “Thank you,” I manage.
“Is the pizza too cheesy?” Summer asks.
“No, I just swallowed wrong.” I take another gulp of water.
Now that I’m no longer choking, the attention turns back to the TV, which is still playing the Dodgers game.
“Is Zack Miller pitching?” Eric asks.
“I hope so,” Veronica begins. “He’s nice to look at.”
I practically pour water down my throat to keep from gagging.
Please, please, please, Dad, don’t be pitching tonight, I silently beg. Please please please. I absolutely cannot watch my dad on TV right now without losing it.
“No, Roberto Sanchez is pitching,” Connor says. “He’s not that good.”
I’m so grateful to Connor I could hug him. Well, almost.
“How about a movie instead?” Veronica asks.
“That sounds great!” I say just a little too loudly.
We settle in for a movie. It’s one of those lighthearted family-friendly flicks. When it’s over, Summer and I stand and stretch. Luckily, I have the weekend off from FaceTime. I told my parents that Summer’s family doesn’t have a good Internet connection. I know I should feel bad about lying to them, but that’s the smallest lie of all the lies I’ve told, so I shake it off. I promised I’d text instead, but that’s easy—I could do it from under the covers.