The Appearance of Annie van Sinderen

“And my mom doesn’t have it, ’cause she lives on Antigua with her tennis instructor,” Maddie says to one of her boots. “Dad took back the family jewels in the divorce.”


Tyler snorts on family jewels, but doesn’t say anything.

Annie keeps staring up at the painting. I can’t imagine what it must feel like, to see such a wrong painting of yourself. Especially after you’re . . . after you’re . . . Anyway.

“Great,” I say, leaning my head back on the sofa and staring at the ceiling.

Perfectly smooth plaster patterned in delicate florets.

No divots.

“How the hell are we going to get it out?” Tyler asks the room at large.

“Depends on their security,” I say. “Like, is it more Thomas Crown Affair, or more Ocean’s Eleven?”

“Please. Thomas Crown is bullshit. They’re not going to have sliding metal doors on the walls. Now, Pink Panther, on the other hand,” Tyler says. “They might have lasers. Lasers are way cheap now. With motion sensors.”

“The Italian Job!” I add, getting excited. “The remake, though. The original sucks.”

“Mmmmm.” Tyler sighs in a Homer Simpson voice. “Charlize Theron.”

“But where are we going to get equipment?” I say. To Maddie, I ask, “Is there, like, a spy gear store around here? Or police supplies?”

“You need ID to buy at the police supply place. What about an REI? They’d have grappling equipment,” Tyler points out.

Maddie is watching us, disbelieving.

“Are you guys insane?” she asks. To Annie, she says, “They’re insane, right?”

Annie suppresses a giggle. “At least I know what an ID is now,” she remarks. “Everything else, I’m just guessing. What does ‘spy gear’ mean?”

“Huh?” I say.

“I can just go pick it up tomorrow,” Maddie explains.

“You . . . what?” Tyler looks disappointed.

“Duh. I turned eighteen last week. And thanks for the flowers, by the way,” she says pointedly at me. “And the card and the pony.”

“I had a pony.” Annie sighs, but nobody pays any attention.

“So you can just go get it?” I ask, incredulous.

“Yeah. Pretty sure. Anything that’s on deposit that’s ours, I can just go pick up.”

Tyler and I stare at each other, and then we both look at Annie.

“We can go get my cameo?” Annie says. “Tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Maddie says. “There’s just one thing.”

“What?” I ask her.

Maddie casts a baleful eye down on her clothes: ragged cutoffs, ripped fishnets, white ribbed undershirt.

“I think I need a costume change,” she says, arching a penciled eyebrow. “When I moved to the squat, I sold my other clothes.”

“I know just who to call,” I announce, feeling pleased with myself and pulling out my phone. “And he doesn’t have to be at Abraham Mas until ten.”





CHAPTER 12


Outside on the street, so far uptown that I have trouble reconciling myself to the fact that we’re not standing on a wooded stretch of the post road under the watchful eyes of cows, I stare up at the face of Malou’s tenement building, trying not to be afraid.

Wes and Tyler are conferring between themselves, as boys are wont to do. I don’t know if they’re not including me in their conversation out of habit, or for fear that I’m such a being out of time that I can’t conceive of whatever it is that they’re saying. The funny part of that is, though it’s bigger than I would have expected, and taller, and better lit, and with fewer horses, it’s not after all so very different. The pace is the same. The crowded streets, the smell of food and spirits, the thrum and noise and crush.

New-York is always New-York.