“Brian!” Mrs. Wade called out. “Say hello to our new neighbors.”
Mr. Wade came over cheerfully, a smile on his face, and joined our little confab on the deck. Standing together, he and Anne looked like a matched set of rumpled academics in their thick glasses, he with his helmet, she with her NPR tote bag over one shoulder. “Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking my hand and then my dad’s. “Welcome to the burg.”
“Thanks,” my dad said.
“Gus is the interim chef at Luna Blu,” Anne informed him.
“Oh, we love Luna Blu!” Brian said. “Those rolls! They’re the perfect dinner on a cold night.”
I bit my lip, making a point of not looking at my dad as we all just stood there, smiling at each other. Meanwhile, behind them, Dave gave me a look that was hard to read—almost apologetic—and walked back to the house, going inside. The sound of the door swinging shut behind him was like a whistle being blown to end a huddle. With it, we all broke.
“I’ve got to run to the lab,” Dave’s mom said, stepping back from the door. Brian smiled, following her as he put on his helmet. “Please let us know if we can be of any help as you get settled.”
“We’ll do that,” my dad said. “Thanks again for the brownies.”
They waved, we waved. Then we stood there, silent, watching them as they went down the deck stairs, back to their driveway. Under the basketball goal, they stopped, and Brian leaned down so Anne could give him a peck on the cheek. Then she went to her car, and he to his bike, which was chained to their front deck. He wheeled it down the driveway, she backed out, and at the road, he went left, she right.
“Well,” my dad said after a moment. “They sure do like those rolls, huh?”
“No kidding.” I lifted up the pan she’d given me, taking a hesitant whiff. “Can brownies actually be sugar-, gluten-, and nut-free and still be good?”
“Let’s find out,” he said, lifting the Saran Wrap covering it. He reached in, took one, and stuck the entire thing in his mouth, devouring it. After chewing for what seemed like a long time, he finally swallowed. “Nope.”
Point taken. I put the pan down. “Everything okay on the produce front? It sounded kind of intense.”
“That guy is an idiot,” my dad grumbled, getting up to slide his breakfast plate into the sink. “Not to mention a thief. Maybe now I’ll get some decent vegetables. Shoot, that reminds me, I set up a meeting at the farmers’ market in ten minutes. You going to be okay here?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Absolutely.”
As he picked up his phone and left the room, I looked back at Dave’s house. His parents seemed nice enough, hardly the strict Gulag types Heather had described. But then again, as Riley ha said, no one was really normal, and you couldn’t tell a thing from the outside anyway. One thing, however, was clear: there was no escaping Mclean now. I was her, I was here, and it looked like we’d be sticking around. Nothing left to do but bail, and rise.
Four
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” my mother said. “Don’t hang up.”
I knew it had been a bad idea to answer without looking at the caller ID. Normally, I was vigilant about such things, but in the crush of the pre-homeroom main hallway, I’d let down my guard.
“Mom, I can’t talk right now,” I said, as someone with a huge backpack bumped me sideways from behind.
“You always say that, no matter what time I call,” she replied. “Surely you can spare a moment or two.”
“I’m at school,” I said. “My next class starts in five minutes.”
“Then give me four.” I rolled my eyes, annoyed, and as if she could see this, she added, “Please, Mclean. I miss you.”
And there it was, the tiniest twinge, like that tickle in your throat right before the tears begin. It was amazing to me that she could always find my tender spot, the one I was never even able to pinpoint myself. It was like she’d had it built into me somehow, the way scientists in sci-fi movies always put a secret button to deactivate the robot if it goes crazy and turns on them. Because you just never know.
“Mom,” I said, ducking out of the main hall and down a side alcove, where I was pretty sure my locker was supposed to be, “I told you. I just need a little time.”
“It’s been two weeks!” she protested. “How long are you planning to stay upset with me?”
“I’m not planning anything. I just . . .” I sighed, so sick of trying to explain why I needed space from her. It was constantly under negotiation, her trying to yank me closer, me straining to pull back. Even with hundreds of miles between us I still felt under her thumb. “I need a break.”
“From me,” she said, clarifying.
“From all this. I’m in a new place, and new school. . . .”
“Only because you want to be,” she reminded me. “If it was up to me, you’d still be here, enjoying all the perks of your senior year with the friends you’ve known forever.”