CHAPTER 25
Neal didn’t call her back.
Georgie lay on her bed and watched the phone. She was trying to figure out whether she could see the magic if she looked hard enough. Whether the phone shimmered or glittered or made some sort of spooky Freaky Friday noise when it was doing its thing.
One of the pugs, the boy, wandered into the room. He stood next to the bed barking until Georgie hauled him up with her.
“I don’t like you,” she said. “I don’t even know your name. In my head, I call you ‘the Sweaty One’ and the other one ‘the One Who Looks Like It Bit a Brick.’”
She did know their names. They were Porky and Petunia
Porky nuzzled his flat face into Georgie’s stomach and whimpered. She rubbed her knuckles into the skin at the back of his neck.
The door was open, and Heather leaned in.
“I’m still fine,” Georgie said. Heather had been checking on her ever since they got back from the mall and Georgie had run to her room to brood over the phone.
“I brought you some Pringles,” Heather said.
“I don’t want any Pringles.”
Heather walked over and sat on the bed. “Well, now you’re just lying.” She shook a stack of chips out onto the bedspread, and Georgie and Porky started eating them. When the can was empty, Heather wiped her fingers on Georgie’s borrowed velour pants and lay down on the bed next to the dog. “Are you okay?”
Georgie didn’t answer. She started crying instead.
Porky climbed into her lap.
“He hates it when people cry,” Heather said.
“Well, I hate him, so he’s making it worse.”
“You don’t hate him.”
“I do,” Georgie said. “His face is always wet, and the best thing he smells like is bacon bits.”
“Why don’t you just call Neal?”
“He probably isn’t home. Besides, I don’t want to talk to him if he doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“Maybe you’ll change his mind.”
Georgie tried to smooth out the wrinkles over Porky’s eyes.
“If you and Neal split up,” Heather asked, “will you move back in here?”
“Why? Am I in your way?”
“No. I kind of like having you here. It’s like having a sister.” Heather elbowed Georgie. “Hey. You’re supposed to say, ‘We’re not splitting up—Neal’s just visiting his mom.’”
Georgie shrugged.
After another minute or so, Heather elbowed her again. “I’m hungry,” she said.
“Where’s Mom?”
“At her work Christmas party.”
“We could make some more cheesy apples,” Georgie said.
“I ate all the cheese slices.” Heather turned on her side and rested her head in her hand. “I guess we could order a pizza. . . .”
Georgie forced a smile she knew wouldn’t happen on its own. “That sounds perfect.”
“I guess I could call Angelo’s,” Heather said.
“Perfect,” Georgie said, “but tell them we don’t want any of those wrong pizzas. If we get a wrong pizza, we’re sending it back.”
Heather smiled back at her. “Do you like artichoke hearts?”
“I love artichoke hearts. I love all hearts.”
Heather bounced up and pressed redial on her phone. She ordered the pizza, already jiggling her leg and biting at her lip. “I’ll wait in the living room for it,” she said as soon as she ended the call.
“Good idea,” Georgie agreed.
Georgie and Porky went back to their melancholy staring. Georgie at the phone. Porky at Georgie.
“I’m sorry,” Georgie said, scratching under his collar. “But I really don’t like you.” She thought of Noomi. Noomi liked the pugs; she said they looked like really ugly kitties. “Meow,” Noomi would say, getting as close to Porky’s face as he’d let her. (Which, to Porky’s credit, was pretty close.) “Meow,” Georgie said now.
Porky sneezed.
Both the pugs loved Neal. Georgie knew he fed them table food. (Because he was a soft touch. And because he hated her mom’s cooking.) As soon as Neal sat down on the couch, the pugs would start nipping at his jeans until he had both of them in his lap. That’s how Neal ended up every Thanksgiving afternoon and every other Christmas—with two little girls and two little dogs sacked out in his lap. Neal, tired and bored, but smiling at Georgie from across the room, his dimples playing hide-and-seek with her.
She felt the tears welling up on her again.
Porky whined.
“Oh God,” Georgie said, sitting up. “I have to do something.”
She took one more look at the phone. It didn’t ring.
“Come on.” She set the dog on the floor and left the room.
“What’re you doing?” Heather asked. She’d taken down her hair and spritzed the curls with something, and she was waiting by the door—literally, leaning against the frame.
“Losing my mind,” Georgie said.
“Can’t you do that in your room?”
“I thought you were worried about me.”
“I was. I will be. But now—” Heather pointed emphatically at the door. “—there’s a pizza coming.”
“That’s what happens when you order one.”
“Right,” Heather said, goggling her eyes at Georgie. “The pizza will be here any minute.”
“Oh, right.” Georgie said. “I’ll just . . .”
The doorbell rang. Heather jumped.
“I’ll just get my clothes out of the dryer.”
Heather nodded.