by Emily Asad
“Careful,” David complains as stew sloshes onto his bedding.
But Nathaniel’s too busy watching me to pay him any heed. His grin grows lopsided, like a puppy. “Mother has a whole pile of costumes lined up for you to try on. I can’t wait to see them.”
“Costumes? What for?”
“Halloween’s next month, silly. It’s one of her favorite holidays. She lives to sew.” With a swift movement, he removes the guitar from my arms and plops it back on its stand in the corner, and then tugs me off David’s bed to twirl me in an elegant maneuver.
I know I’m grinning at him, but I can’t stop myself. He’s contagious. I always feel so welcomed around him.
I slide my hand around Nathaniel’s neck and start bouncing to a jitterbug beat. He catches on immediately and sends me out to starting position, then pulls me through so we switch sides. We glide through a shoulder-twist and a quick release, all the while keeping our feet tapping to an internal beat. It’s just the first ten seconds of the dance, but I’m so clumsy that it’s taken me an entire week to learn the steps. Still, Nathaniel applauds when we come to a stop.
I look over at David for his approval, but he’s glaring at us. Am I that bad a dancer?
“We’re going to be great at the party!” Nathaniel tells me.
“Napkin, please. I said, napkin.” David swats Nathaniel to get his attention. “You’ve spilled.”
Nathaniel ignores him. “Come downstairs. Mother’s been waiting for you all day.”
I turn to David. “I really should tell them I’m here.”
“Probably should.”
“Thanks for the lesson. See you tomorrow?”
He picks at his food. “See you tomorrow.” The words are cordial but the warmth has disappeared from his voice.
“Ignore him,” Nathaniel tells me as he holds open David’s door. “He’s always in a bit of a snit. Come see your surprise.”
Eleanor points to the place I usually take at the dining table, right beside Henry. She’s made me a sitting cushion and cross-stitched my name onto it. “Your own place at our table,” she tells me. “For always and ever, even when you’re not here.” She gives me a quick hug and then tells me to call Henry and George inside.
As I pass the biscuits without skipping a beat, it’s easy to pretend I’m a Whitman. Mother, father, brothers – I’m the sister they never had, although I’ll never tell them that out loud. It might jinx everything.
Then again, they can’t stay here forever. When Mamá returns – and she will – I’ll have to leave the mansion. Maybe even Otter Paw. Forever. I can’t tell Amelia what I’ve done, and there’s no way I’ll be able to take the dollhouse with me.
Without more information, though, my quest to solve the riddle has come to a standstill. Why is the Ambassador still alive if he’s bonded to his Artemic wife, who’s been dead for a century? What exactly did Alexis and Henry do that made Alexis fall into her own sister’s trap?
I’m almost certain I’m the boat. I just haven’t figured out who’s the timber wolf, loon, or wild rice. That part of the riddle fails to make sense, when I apply the restrictions to the Whitmans.
Maybe I’m too stupid to help them, after all.
There must be a way to confront Phoebe and get her to help the Whitmans before we’re separated forever.
But… not yet. George hates the dollhouse so much he says if he ever escapes, he’ll never set foot inside it again. Right now, everything’s perfect. We’re all together.
I’m happy.
Why would I want to change things?
“Mother, these are delicious,” George tells Eleanor, piling a stack of biscuits on his plate.
“I’ve been practicing.” Eleanor beams at her humble accomplishment. “Your recipe is easy to follow.”
“I’ve been practicing, too.” I glance at Nathaniel. “I think I could get through that waltz now, without breaking your toes.”
“Or tripping him, like last time?” Henry asks.
“What about that little kicking thing you do, right on the shins?” teases George.
Nathaniel reaches across the table for my hand. “They say love hurts. Must be true!”
The family grows very quiet at his comment.
I drop honey into my soup instead of on the biscuit.
Ever the peacemaker, Eleanor speaks up. “That’s not something you joke about, dear.”
“Who’s joking? I’m in love. It’s not like we can keep secrets in this family, anyway. I’m sure she has the same feelings for me. Right, Zenia?”
Guilt overwhelms me. I knew we were flirting, but he got the wrong impression.
His jaw tightens. “Right, Zenia?”
My words came out scratchy and whispered. “I like you Nathaniel, but love is…” I break off, my eyes pleading with him to understand.
“Something that grows over time,” Eleanor finishes.
“Yes. And we’ve only known each other for a month.”
“Well, what I feel for you grew pretty quickly, then.”
I start to frown. We should be having this conversation in private. “Mamá always says people who fall in love fast can fall out of love just as fast. But people who choose to love tend to stay there. Like gardens. Weeds sprout quickly and die just as fast. The slower something grows, the more likely it is to withstand storms or drought.”
“Your mother is a wise woman,” says George. He bobs his head toward Eleanor. “Marriage takes work. There are days when this pretty lady here just infuriates me and I’d rather be all alone. I have habits that bother her, too. And let’s face it.” He pats his balding head. “I’m not as pretty as I used to be.”
“You’ll always be good-looking to me, dear,” she murmurs, rubbing his head.
Theirs is true love, tested and strong. They gaze at each other with such sincerity! Nathaniel and I are only playing house like two kindergartners.
I haven’t had much experience in the romance department. What’s the point, when I’ll just move away? Long-distance relationships don’t work well, not even friendships. Now I wonder: have I been alone so long I don’t know how to enjoy a good thing when it’s right in front of my face?
Nathaniel drops his whisper to match mine. “I know how you feel about my brother, but… he’s not the romantic kind. He’s too withdrawn to recognize how special you are. But I do. Don’t let your heart go to waste. Let me fill it and make you happy.”
George, Eleanor, and Henry are staring at their salad, pretending to give us some privacy in this exposed situation. My chest is too tight. I hate public speaking. I feel like everyone’s giving me ten seconds to make a decision. It’s not enough time to gather all my thoughts.
“I love David,” I tell Nathaniel, hoping my whisper is quiet enough that it reaches Nathaniel’s ears only. Henry’s sitting next to me, but I trust him to not repeat what he hears.
“Forget David. He doesn’t want you. I do.” His voice breaks.
Poor Nathaniel. He’s no longer bold or defiant. Now he’s staring at me like a puppy who just got yelled at and doesn’t know how to beg forgiveness.
I like him. I don’t know if I could love him. We’re not right for each other. Still, it’s so nice to be greeted with enthusiasm and affection every single day. And he’s so good at cheering me up. Why shouldn’t I try to love him?
Forgetting David is impossible. The best I can do is tuck him into the farthest corner of my heart and try to squelch my unrealistic hopes. Nathaniel’s a poor substitute, but if I can’t be happy, perhaps at least I can make him happy. He wants it so badly.
His hand is still on the table, halfway to mine. I bite my lip. He’s everything a girl could want for a boyfriend. Tall, handsome, fun… the perfect Musketeer. Overly-confident sometimes. Not much for deep conversation, but always sweet.
I’m learning to dance, sew, and play the guitar. Maybe loving is also a skill to be learned, like calculating roof angles?
Of their own accord, m
y fingers inch toward his until they touch. “Okay, then. We’ll learn together.”
“Together,” he repeats. “So I can call you my girl now?”
It’s not the most romantic way of asking me to go steady. But my answer, “I guess so,” isn’t the most promising response to kick off my first romance, either.
He flashes me his best Musketeer smile, the one that sends tingles down my spine. Maybe this will be a good decision, after all.
Just past him, at the top of the steps, David is limping down to join us for dinner. I nearly call out a greeting, but the storm cloud on his face stops my words before they form on my lips. He turns around and heads back upstairs.
Worst decision ever. And now I’m stuck with it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:
MID-TERMS
Outside my dollhouse, the world has become hopeless and dreary. With October’s blazing orange and crimson leaves long turned to crunchy brown piles, all I see out the window are cloud-heavy skies and frosty gray lawns. I suppose there will be something to celebrate with Halloween next week. For now, I’m staring down at another F on my English mid-term. And I know, once again, I got all the answers right.
As I gather my books at the end of the period, Mrs. Halverson stops by my desk to hand me a yellow excuse pass. “I’ll see you after school.”
“Oh? Did I do something wrong?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she stalks away with the smug, satisfied look of a bobcat who has made a glorious kill.
“What was that about?” Diana asks.
“Beats me.” My stomach begins to do flip-flops. “I’ve been summoned to the principal after school.”
“Wow. Maybe they found out about you skipping. Good luck.”
By the end of the day, I’m a nervous wreck. I’m rarely in trouble. The suspense gnaws at my stomach. Am I getting detention? In-school suspension? Will I have to quit my job at the bakery now?
My skin turns cold and clammy as I make my way down to the office. The principal’s secretary tells me to wait in the conference room, where I find all my teachers – including Mrs. Halverson – already seated at the table.
I collapse into an empty seat. “What’s this about?”
“We’ll wait until everyone’s here.” Mrs. Halverson seems to be enjoying my discomfort.
Just then, Principal Lathrop arrives. Behind her, to my dismay, follows the Ambassador. He cocks an eyebrow at her. I just gulp.
“Thank you for coming.” Mrs. Halverson passes out official portfolios to everyone at the table, including me. “I called this conference because I’m very concerned about Zenia. I’ve documented several incidents of inferior performance. I must say, considering her mother’s situation, I’ve been lenient. But she stands in danger of flunking my class unless she can make some improvements.”
She shoves a folder toward the principal and one toward the Ambassador. “As you can see, I’ve marked dates for each incident. She frequently passes notes with the student behind her, although she thinks I don’t notice. They’re very disrespectful.” She presents a piece of paper with three of Diana’s drawings taped as evidence. “I heard she’s been throwing up. I suspect bulimia or drug use.”
Principal Lathrop shakes her head. “You know it was her mother’s birthday. You can’t count that against her.”
I’m surprised at the principal’s support. She has a reputation for being hard on trouble students. I didn’t expect her to be fair. Still, I’m queasy. I’d like to throw up right now. Maybe all over those horrible folders.
Mrs. Halverson shrugs. “You cannot deny she’s a disruption to class. Look at these dates. These are times I’ve had to ask her to refrain from talking out of turn.”
Mr. Akakios clears his throat. “You’re saying she talks to other students? I find that hard to believe. She’s one of the quietest kids I know.”
“She’s the chattiest Latina in class, Ambassador. City manners are not acceptable here.”
“Chatty Latina…” The Ambassador’s jaw drops. “You mean the only Latina. And the only non-white student in the whole school, if my demographic reports are current. Is that what this meeting is about?”
“Absolutely not,” she huffs. “How dare you accuse me of… I won’t even say the word. No, this is about her behavior in class. How she’s disrespectful and rude. I can’t teach while she’s talking to other students. I appeal to you for help.”
“Wait a minute.” He snaps his fingers. “Mary Halverson? You auditioned for the pastry chef position last May. You were good, but I chose…” His gaze flickers over to me.
My mother.
He chose my mother.
He shakes his finger at her. “I’m beginning to see the true problem.”
She levels a dark glare at him. “I don’t hold grudges, sir. Ultimately, she’s flunking my class because of her poor attendance. She skips every Tuesday and Thursday. My colleagues can confirm.”
The other teachers nod their agreement.
I can barely breathe.
“Anything else?” asks Principal Lathrop. “Zenia, what do you have to say for yourself?”
I make fists to keep my hands from trembling so much. “I know it looks bad. But I’m really a good student. I think my records from my other schools will prove that much.”
“Why have you been skipping?” she presses.
I almost choke at the disappointment in the Ambassador’s eyes. “I had to pay bills.”
“Speak up.”
“Bills,” I repeat, trying not to mumble. “I was going to lose the apartment and my mother’s car unless I could meet the monthly payments. So I took a job at the bakery.”
The Ambassador folds his arms.
“I didn’t fall behind in any of my classes.”
Mrs. Halverson snickers.
“Well, except for yours. Only because you don’t grade fairly. It’s like you’re taking revenge for something. You’ve hated me since the first day of school, and I don’t even know why.”
“Your work is inferior and you have a bad attitude. You don’t belong in advanced classes. You’re not even a real senior.”
“Actually, she’s not.” Principal Lathrop flips through a second set of records. “Let’s talk about these. You’ve attended four different high schools, including the Minnesota Virtual School, and you’ve totaled fourteen different schools since first grade. You home-schooled for two years, too. Your credits are a mess.” She shoves her records toward Mr. Akakios, covering Mrs. Halverson’s file. “Look at all these advanced classes. And extra summer courses. Zenia, do you know you’ve already filled most of the requirements for your high school diploma?”
“Yes.”
She scowls. “It’s a performing art credit – only one semester. You could have taken it this semester, and you’d have been done with high school. You knew that?”
I gulp. “Yes.”
My science teacher snorts. “I couldn’t wait to be done with high school. Why don’t you just finish up?”
Tears of utter shame leak out the corners of my eyes. “Free college credit,” I try to explain through my tight throat. “If I stay in high school, I can keep taking new AP courses. Advanced placement classes transfer as college credit, so they’re one less thing I’d have to pay for…”
“There are student loans for things like that,” Principal Lathrop says. “Grants, scholarships. The counselor could help you.”
“No, thanks. I’ve lived my whole life in debt, and it’s not even my debt! I don’t want to start my life like that.”
“I see. One last question.” Her voice is gentle. “You were doing fine online. Why did you choose to come to a public school when you moved to Otter Paw?”
“I was lonely. I mean, I probably should have stayed in virtual school, since I could study at my own pace and my credits were easier to track. But when we moved here, I thought I could make some friends…”
“You see?” says Mrs. Halverson. “She came here to so
cialize. Academics are not her main priority.”
I’ve practiced being invisible so long it’s hard to stand up and confront Mrs. Halverson. In the past, Mamá’s been the bulldog who defended me. Now I’m on my own, a damsel in distress tied to a rock for the dragon to devour, waiting for a prince to come to my rescue. But there’s no prince. No musketeer, either, to run his blade through my troubles. I have to rescue myself.
I trace the wood grain of the conference table, my finger swirling around a whorl that looks almost like David’s face. My voice comes shaky, but at least it comes out. “You’re wrong, Mrs. Halverson. School is very important to me. My mother barely made it through high school. I want to be the first girl in my family to get a college degree. Ask my other teachers. I do well in their classes. Just not yours.”
“It’s true.” My math teacher holds up a printout of my current grades. “She could teach my class if she wanted to.”
“Mine, too,” says my chemistry teacher. “She doesn’t seem to listen, but she’s never turned in a late assignment. And her work is top quality.”
Mrs. Halverson glowers at me. “There’s still the matter of you skipping school on multiple counts, young lady. That’s truancy. You could be arrested for it.”
“Ah, Principal Lathrop?” The secretary stands at the door. “There are some students who say they need to talk to you.”
“I’m busy right now.”
“They can’t wait. One of the students is the twelfth grade valedictorian. She knows better than to interrupt. She said it was urgent.”
Principal Lathrop shrugs at the Ambassador. “Please excuse me.”
I crane my neck to see what they’re doing on the other side of the window. I can’t hear the words, but Diana’s part of the group. She gives me a friendly wave. It looks like she gathered a posse of other kids who know me.
Principal Lathrop listens to them for a while and then dismisses them. As she slides back into her chair, the secretary passes her a single white piece of paper. She stares at it, a look of triumph on her face. “Well, I think we have a way to solve some of this. Ambassador, I understand you currently hold Zenia’s power of attorney, due to her… unique… situation.” She waves the paper in the air. “This says that, as of this moment, she’s taken enough advanced placement and dual enrollment course to qualify as a sophomore in college. In fact, she’s pretty close to finishing an Associate’s degree.”