“Food!” I jumped up and helped him get it all on the counter.
The intercom beeped and Mom’s disembodied voice said, “Ellie, can you ask George if he can stick around and drive Roger home in an hour or so? We’ll pay him for his time, of course.”
“Of course,” I said to George.
“I can stay,” he shouted at the intercom as he dumped the bags on the counter.
“It works better if you push the speak button.” I pointed at the monitor.
“Right.” He went over and touched the screen and repeated his response.
My phone vibrated on the table. Heather was sitting nearby and glanced down at it. “It’s from Aaron. He says he can’t come tonight and he’s sorry.” She looked up. “I thought I was going to help you babysit tonight.”
“You are. I invited him over so you guys could finally meet. But I guess it’s not going to happen.”
George headed toward the hallway. “I’m going to Starbucks,” he said.
“Why not just make a cup here?”
“I want to get some work done. Tell Roger to text me when he’s ready to go, and I’ll come back and grab him. If I don’t see you when I get back, don’t forget to work through the pages I gave you before Wednesday.”
“George, George,” I chided him gently. “When have I ever once done the homework you wanted me to?”
“Never.”
“Then why do you foolishly persist in thinking that I will?”
“I know there’s a responsible person in there somewhere. I’m just waiting to meet her.” He slipped out the doorway.
“You wouldn’t like her,” I called after him. “She’s boring.”
“I like boring,” he called back, and kept going.
“Of course you do,” I said, but he was already gone.
twelve
Heather’s mother called around seven and said, “Don’t you have a Spanish quiz tomorrow?” and Heather said she did, but it wasn’t a big deal, and her mother said that she would like Heather to come home and study. So she left, apologizing profusely for abandoning me.
But I was fine. I read a book while Jacob watched TV and then I put him to bed. The thing about Jacob was that so long as you didn’t change his routine, he was super easy to babysit. I read the five picture books he loved in the exact same order that Mom always read them in, and he curled up after the last one and let me leave without a single complaint.
I crept out of his room, went to my own, and changed into sweatpants and a soft old Dire Straits T-shirt that had been Luke’s when he was a teenager, then got into bed with my laptop; I decided I would do some of the homework that George had assigned me. He expected me not to do it, and I liked to be unpredictable.
But first I had to check my email. And then my Tumblr, Instagram, and Twitter feeds.
Riley had posted a link to a music video on her Tumblr page, so I watched that, and that reminded me there was another music video I’d been wanting to see, then I clicked on a link to another video . . . and that led me to some others. . . .
It was past ten when the wall monitor beeped: someone was at the front gate. I touched the screen and said, “Who is it?”
“It’s Aaron. I was texting you but you didn’t answer—I’m right outside.”
“Cool! Come on in.” I hit the gate button and ran downstairs. I opened the front door just as a minivan came crunching through the gravel in front of the house. We had a pretty long driveway: Mom and Luke had deliberately chosen a house that was set far back behind high gates to keep paparazzi from getting any shots from the street.
“Hi!” I called out as Aaron swung his car door open. I was happy to see him, even if it was late and I had already gotten ready for bed.
He looked much more elegant than I did. He was wearing slim black pants and a V-neck sweater over a collared shirt. “Hello!” He ran up the steps and kissed me on the cheek. “Look at how adorable you are. I didn’t know you were a Dire Straits fan.”
“I’m a huge fan—of this very soft T-shirt. You’re coming in, right? Luke and Mom are still out, so you’re stuck with just me.”
“Exactly who I wanted to see. Sorry about ditching you earlier.”
“No worries. What happened?”
He followed me into the house and down the hallway into the kitchen. “My father was working late and he gave me this whole guilt trip about keeping Crystal and Mia company. As if either of them cares. So . . . awkward evening trying to make conversation with the ice queen.” He sighed. “Family duty. It’s a bitch.”
“Want a cup of tea? Or something to eat?”
He sat down at the table. “Tea sounds good.”
I spun the coffee pod Christmas tree so I could see what kinds we had. “Chamomile okay?”
“Whatever. It’s all disgusting as far as I’m concerned.”
“Then why do you want some?”
“I just like seeing you bustle around the kitchen. You’re so cute when you’re domestic.”
I smiled at him sweetly as I gave him the finger.
“Ah, a feminist,” he said jovially.
“Don’t you forget it.” I put in a chamomile pod for him. “What did you do for dinner?”
“Crystal’s never cooked a meal in her life, so she dragged me out to some fancy Beverly Hills steakhouse, where she paid seventy-five dollars for a plate of food she only pretended to eat.” He glanced around. “So why are you home alone? I’d have thought you’d be out doing something spectacular.”
“Nah,” I said. “I got invited to a birthday party, but—” I shrugged.
“Not interested?”
“I barely know the kid. He only invited me because I’m Luke Weston’s stepdaughter. You know what I mean?”
“Are you kidding?” Aaron said. “People wanting to get close to you because your father’s famous? That’s like my middle name. Like last summer—this older girl in my film program made this ridiculous pass at me. She showed up in my room wearing a coat with nothing on underneath. I’m sure she’d seen it in a movie.”