Jaime sat on the Biedermanns’ couch, chewing on some sort of pastry that Mr. Biedermann called a blintz, which sounded more like something that happened to you rather than something you ate. That guy? Oh, yeah, he was totally blintzed. Look at him. He’s just a zombie now.
Mima, as blintzed as Jaime was by the news that their building had been sold right out from under them, was doing what she always did when she was stressed: cleaning. She’d found an ancient hand vacuum shaped like an anteater and methodically removed the cat hair from every piece of furniture in the Biedermanns’ living room. When she was done with the furniture, she followed Mr. Biedermann around making odd gestures in the air behind him, as if she were trying to figure out how to vacuum his pants without being rude.
But then, Mima wasn’t the only one behaving oddly. The Biedermanns’ apartment was packed with people—all of them blintzed out of their minds. It was as if the entire population of 354 W. 73rd Street had decided that a police detective like Mrs. Biedermann would surely be able to rescue them from this disaster. She could call in some favors, help them fight city hall, and they wouldn’t be forced from their home.
So, Mrs. Biedermann was making calls. From the look on her face, she didn’t seem to be getting the answers she wanted, but she kept calling. Mr. Biedermann had put up a big pot of coffee and was passing out cups. Mr. and Mrs. Adeyemi huddled with Mr. and Mrs. Yang and Ms. and Ms. Gomez. The Hornshaws talked to Mr. and Mrs. Moran while the Morans’ daughter, Cricket, darted through the apartment on her tricycle. Her little brother, Otto, demonstrated a blur of “karate” moves on top of the coffee table until his father plucked him off it. Under the coffee table, the giant spotted cat sprawled on what looked like a pile of laundry. Mr. Perlmutter, who had lived approximately a thousand years so far and didn’t seem too happy about it, brandished his walker at no one in particular. Tess Biedermann went around the room, asking various adults if they should band together and sue the city. The adults did what adults usually do to kids during a crisis: they ignored her.
Most fascinating to Jaime was Theo Biedermann, who was stomping through a huge, sprawling Lego castle like a slow-motion Godzilla destroying a fictional Tokyo. He’d reel back his foot and send it through a wall. Reel it back again and knock out a tower. Kind of horrifying, kind of awesome. Even Otto stopped wriggling in his father’s arms to watch the blocks flying in every direction.
Watching Theo got a lot less awesome and way more horrifying when Mr. Moran pointed at the blocks and said, “That’s exactly what Slant will do to this building. Knock it down to the ground. He’ll build condos that cost millions apiece and we’ll all end up in Staten Island.”
“Try Idaho,” said Tess Biedermann, who elbowed her way into the conversation.
“Are you sure there’s nothing we can do?” said Mrs. Hornshaw.
“The detective is making some calls.”
Mr. Moran said, “She’s not going to be able to do anything. The city owns the building; the city can sell it.”
Mrs. Yang said, “We’re nothing to any of them.”
The taller Ms. Gomez agreed. “We’re bugs.”
Otto yelled, “I’M NOT A BUG I’M A NINJA!”
“But I thought this place was a historical landmark,” said Mrs. Adeyemi. “I thought it was protected.”
“The motion never passed. Who do you think is on that board?” said Mr. Yang.
Mr. Moran nodded. “Bajillionaires.”
Theo paused midstomp. “There is no such number as ‘bajillion,’” he said, and then brought his foot down. Blocks sprayed up.
“Can’t we sue?” said Tess, “I mean, if we all band together . . .”
Mrs. Biedermann laid her phone on the kitchen counter. It hadn’t even made a sound, but everyone stopped talking. Theo Biedermann stopped stomping. Cricket zoomed around the room on her trike till her dad caught her.
“Well,” Mrs. Biedermann began. And that’s all she had to say for every face in the room to fall.
“What?” said Tess. “Well, what?”
“I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Biedermann.
“You’re sorry,” spit Mr. Perlmutter. He brandished his walker again, then hobbled out the door.
The rest of the people took a last sip of coffee, a last bite of blintz. Mrs. Moran took ahold of the trike while Mr. Moran gathered one kid under each big pink arm.
Cricket, dangling in her father’s grasp, looked at Jaime. “Your hair looks like little worms.”
“Be nice, Cricket,” said her mother wearily.
“My hair is little worms,” Jaime told Cricket. “They dance when no one is looking.”
“Mommy, I want hair worms that dance when people are looking. I want famous hair.”
“Sure you do,” her mother said, patting her own short and tidy black ’fro.
“I’M A NINJA!” shouted Otto.
“You’re just a dumb baby,” said Cricket to her brother, who had Cricket’s bronze skin but limp hair. “You’re not famous at all.”
Jaime sat on that couch, feeling like a dumb baby, not famous at all. Slant, Inc., had offered everyone relocation money, but not nearly enough to keep everyone in this borough, let alone this neighborhood. And who would find Mima another job? She loved this building. She loved the goofy elevator and the old windows and the ancient plumbing and the plaster that always needed fixing. For Mima, there would never be another building like this one. She had stopped following Mr. Biedermann around and was now standing alone in the middle of the room, frowning at the vacuum as if it had failed her.
Plus. Plus.
His mom had lived here.
Mrs. Biedermann scooped up her phone and made another call. “Ronnie? Yeah, it’s me. Great, thanks. You? Glad to hear it.”
“Mom, I just need to talk to you for a minute,” Tess Biedermann said. “If we could—”
Her mother held up a hand, kept talking. “Listen, your sister’s a real estate agent, right? She any good? Be honest! Okay. Can I have her name and number? Something’s come up and we might have to find a new place. Yeah, I know. I’ll explain later. I have a pen, go ahead.”
Tess Biedermann finally gave up. She slumped on the couch next to Jaime, the two of them watching Theo knock down the last wall standing. Tess said, “He never does stuff like that.”
“Like what?”
“Never freaks out. Never messes things up.”
“Oh,” said Jaime. He didn’t know what else to say. Everything was already messed up.
The Biedermanns’ apartment emptied out. Mr. Biedermann gathered the plates and coffee cups. Mima put the little vacuum back wherever she’d found it. Jaime stood to follow her out, but she said, “Why don’t you stay with your friends? I have some calls to make, too.”
Friends? He’d gone to grammar school with the twins and knew them a little. But they were like a set of salt and pepper shakers; they didn’t seem to need anyone else. Jaime wasn’t sure what he needed. He wanted to crawl under the coffee table and curl up with the cat till the whole thing was over, but what kind of chicken did that? He should march his famous hair to the mayor’s office and stage some sort of protest. Make speeches or chain himself to a radiator or go on a hunger strike or all three. Something. Something.