“We’re already in the twenty-first century, duh,” Theo said.
“Darnell Slant has been linked to some of the world’s most beautiful women, including performance artist Lora Yoshida, pop star Cath Tastic, and supermodel and entrepreneur Mink. But just last week, things took a more serious turn in his life. He pledged a hundred million dollars to biological research that could lead to cures for cancer and numerous other diseases. And that, he says, is only the beginning. In a recent interview with Channel 8 news, Mr. Slant talked about the importance of progress over stagnation, especially when it comes to the continued development of our city. ‘The Morningstarrs were geniuses, the earliest architects of New York,’ he said. ‘But the world in which they lived is gone. There is a point at which preservation becomes fossilization. We can love our heroes too much.’”
Tess dropped her end of the sock, surprising Nine. “Turn up the TV, Mom.”
“Why? What’s on?” said Mrs. Biedermann.
“‘Maybe some of you are thinking that all these old buildings in and around our city hold clues to the Old York Cipher. But I want you to focus on the word old instead of the word cipher. The old must make way for the new.’ And now, let’s turn to our own Amber Amberson, who is live at the Slant press conference.”
As soon as Darnell Slant’s boyish face popped up on the screen, American flags flying behind, Mrs. Biedermann pressed a button and the TV went black. “I wish they’d stop giving that guy a microphone. He’s not smart. He only seems smart.”
Nine brushed up against Tess’s leg before slinking under the coffee table with her prize. “I wanted to watch that,” Tess said.
“I can’t even look at his nasty mug,” said Mrs. Biedermann.
“Why can you say things are nasty and I can’t say things are stupid?”
“Because they’re not the same thing. Plus, I am a grown woman and I can say whatever I want. It’s one of the few perks of adulthood.” Mrs. Biedermann shoved the briefcase aside. “Has anyone seen my keys?”
Tess hauled herself off the floor, scooped a set of keys from the seat of the tattered recliner her dad refused to donate to Goodwill. She dangled the keys in front of her mother. “I don’t know how you keep losing stuff anyway,” Tess said as her mother took them. “You call yourself—”
“A detective, yes,” said Mrs. Biedermann, flashing her badge. “Everybody does.”
“Not everybody,” said Theo. “We call you Mom.”
“And we call you Mr. Literal,” Tess snapped.
“Okay, Tess, what’s bugging you?” said Mrs. Biedermann.
Tess bit her lip, considered not saying it. But, in the end, it just popped out, the way many things popped out of her mouth even when Tess didn’t want them to. “It’s just that Slant is on the TV again and I’m worried that . . .”
As soon as she started talking, as soon as she said the word worried, she could almost feel her brother’s eyes rolling as he scooped up his cereal bowl and dumped Fibonacci and the rest of his alphabet friends down the drain.
“I thought they were talking about the money he donated to cancer research,” said Mrs. Biedermann.
“And then they said, ‘And that is only the beginning.’ What if it is only the beginning, Mom? He’s a real estate developer. He buys real estate.”
Mrs. Biedermann took a deep breath. “Tess, Darnell Slant has been trying to buy up every building in this city since I was a little girl.”
“No, he isn’t—just the important buildings. The Morningstarr Tower. The Starr Hotel. Our building. He won’t stop talking about it. There are all these interviews all the time and—”
“Technically,” said Theo, “it’s not our building. The city owns it.”
“Not everything is technical, you robot,” said Tess. Their mother’s family had lived at 354 W. 73rd Street for more than a hundred years. A hundred years! Her grandfather, Benjamin, had the apartment on the top floor and had taught Tess and Theo everything he knew about the structure, and about the Morningstarrs who had built it. He had even talked her parents into naming them “Theresa” and “Theodore.” It was completely unfair that anyone else could lay claim to her home, even the city both she and the Morningstarrs had loved. Especially not Slant, a man who bought beautiful old buildings and replaced them with shiny cracker boxes no one could afford. A man who only dated supermodels and actresses from reality shows.
“Slant doesn’t want our building, Tess. It’s a decent enough building with a bit of history, but it’s hardly the Morningstarr Tower. And what did I say about calling your brother a robot?” said Mrs. Biedermann.
“If he doesn’t want to be called a robot, he should stop acting like one,” said Tess. “Humans have feelings.”
“Spoken like a crybaby,” Theo said.
“A crybaby who can beat you in an arm-wrestling match.”
“Your arms are longer,” said Theo.
“And a running race,” Tess added.
“Your legs are shorter.”
“And a climbing contest.”
“In summation, you’re built like a gibbon.”
“And tug-of-war.”
“You can’t even beat the cat.”
“And—”
“Tess!” said Mrs. Biedermann. “You know he only says those things to wind you up. So, who’s the robot?”
“But—”
“I think it’s time for you and Nine to take a walk. Go to the post office and pick up Grandpa’s mail for him. And you, Theo, need to get ready for your interview.”
“What do you mean?” Theo said. “I am ready.”
Mrs. Biedermann shook her head. “You are most certainly not ready. I should have gotten you a haircut. How about wetting it so it doesn’t look so . . . large.”
Theo fingered his dense curls. Tess said, “You know it will only dry bigger.”
“Okaaay,” said Mrs. Biedermann, drawing out the word, as if the riotous dark hair of her children was too tangled a mystery to solve. “How about changing your shirt?”
“What’s wrong with my shirt? It’s new!”
“It says ‘Schr?dinger’s cat is dead.’”
“I know.”
“It has a cartoon of a dead cat.”
“It’s a thought experiment demonstrating what Schr?dinger saw as a problem with certain interpretations of quantum mechanics when—”
Mrs. Biedermann held up one palm. “Now that you’ve cleared that up.”
“Not really,” said Tess. “Turn around, Theo.” He did. The back of the T-shirt said “Schr?dinger’s cat is ALIIIIIVE” and had a picture of a zombie cat.
Mrs. Biedermann threw up both hands. “Look, Theo, ‘Schr?dinger’s’ sounds like some sort of medical condition to me. Plus, the front of your shirt still has a dead cat on it.”
Theo said, “Technically, so does the back.”
“People will see it, and they’re going to think you’re weird.”
“Too—” said Theo.
“—late,” finished Tess.