I nodded happily. But as we got farther away from our house, closer to Amanda’s, I started thinking. I hugged Spidey, who didn’t go to school anymore but mostly resided in our car, suctioned to the back passenger window. What if Mom didn’t like Amanda? Or her dad? I’d never been to a house where there was no mother. What if it was messy or smelled funny, so my mother would wrinkle her nose? What if they weren’t back from Amanda’s soccer game yet, so we had to stand outside and maybe see Nolan? What if she had another friend over, and they didn’t want to play with me?
Mom pulled into the driveway of a peach-colored house bigger than ours. The front yard had a tire swing and a bunch of equipment for sports. As our car slowed, the white front door flew open, and Amanda, in an orange soccer jersey that said Hurricanes, flew down the path, yelling something. When I opened the car door, I heard her.
“Chris! You’re here!”
A man with a red beard and a soccer jersey that matched Amanda’s came out next. A little girl in a pink ballet outfit followed him, twirling around and trying to run on her toes. The man was laughing.
“Mandy, Mandy, we’ve been home, like, five minutes. Don’t lay a guilt trip on the boy. He’s not late.”
Amanda reached our car first. I had this weird feeling she was going to hug me, but she detoured back to Mom. Then she stuck her chubby little arm out like someone had told her to. “Hello, Mrs. Burke. I’m Amanda Lasky.”
Mom looked dumbfounded, but finally, she held out her own hand with an Isn’t that cute? expression I knew Amanda would hate and said, “How do you do, Amanda? Laura Burke.”
My mom was being totally embarrassing, but Amanda said, “I’m fine, Laura.”
I saw Mom decide to ignore her first name, though she’d told me never to call adults by them, even if they said it was okay. Mr. Lasky had reached us by then. “Nice to meet you. Tim Lasky.” He held out his hand, realized it was dirty, and wiped it on his shorts. “Sorry. Coaching girls’ soccer is messy.”
Mom took his hand. “Our children seem to have become fast friends.”
“My Mandy’s pretty outgoing.”
Beside my mom, still holding Spidey, I mouthed, Mandy? Amanda scowled.
Mr. Burke invited us in. I figured my mother was dying to get a look inside, and I wasn’t wrong. We followed him inside. The house smelled like lemons, and Amanda’s sister leaped and spun in front of us.
“Do you do ballet too?” my mother asked Amanda.
“No,” she said, and I was glad she didn’t talk about ballet being dumb.
“The ballet was more my wife’s thing,” Mr. Burke explained in a low voice. “Can’t say I was devastated when Mandy quit. I’m terrible at buns.”
Mom laughed but said, “Christopher thought you didn’t have a wife,” pumping him for information.
Mr. Burke shrugged. “Like they say, it’s complicated.” He tousled Amanda’s curls. “Why don’t you guys go up and play in Amanda’s room. We’ll play some catch in a few.”
Amanda grabbed my arm. “Come on, come on!” She dragged me toward the stairway. Her little sister followed, but when we reached the threshold, Amanda said, “Go to your own room, Casey,” and slammed the door. I heard footsteps running downstairs and something about telling.
I looked around. The room was painted the color of cotton candy, with a dollhouse and about five of those dolls with the big eyes. Not what I expected from Amanda. Would there be anything for me to play with? There was also a poster of a women’s softball team and a bunch of other softball stuff, including trophies and a batting helmet, which sat on the bedpost of her flouncy pink bed.
She squinted at Spidey. “You brought that?”
“It was just in my hand when I got out of the car. It’s cool.” I walked over and suctioned it to her wall. “He could play with your dolls. One of them could be Mary Jane.”
“Ha!” Amanda picked up a blond doll, who was taller than Spidey in about the same proportions Amanda was to me. She made her voice high and girly. “Help me, Spidey! Help meeeee!”
She tossed the doll down and grabbed my arm. “I’ve got a ton of Legos in the closet. The nanny just puts them away.” She opened the door to reveal thousands of Legos packed in plastic containers. She took out two of the boxes and pulled a pink Lego table from the corner. “You good with Legos?”
I was good with Legos. I totally coveted her Legos, which would have made Matt drool with envy. “My mom says they’re too messy.”
“Let’s make a skyscraper. Last year, we went to New York for Christmas, and my dad took us to the top of the Empire State Building.”
“Cool.” I started taking out gray pieces to make the building. “Why does your dad call you Mandy?”
“Don’t call me that!”
“I didn’t. I just asked why he does.”
She didn’t answer, and I kept gathering grays.
Finally, she said, “It’s from some dumb song my mom likes about some girl who gave without taking. I hate it. You’re so lucky your name’s Chris.”
There were three boys in our grade named Chris. “My mother wanted to call me . . .” I stopped. What, was I stupid?
“What?” Amanda was gathering windows now.
“Never mind.”
“Wha-at?”
“I don’t want you to call me it.”
“I won’t call you it if you don’t call me Mandy.”
“I’d never call you Mandy. Okay, she wanted to call me Topher.”
Amanda giggled. “Topher! That sounds like an animal.”
“I got attacked by a vicious topher. It ripped off all my toes.”