Mom stared off at the Gustafsons again. It looked like Mr. Gustafson was working a corkscrew on a bottle of something.
“I’ll be honest. I think it’s really weird.”
“Well, of course it’s weird. That’s the point.”
She sighed. “It’s so different, being a fan of anything now.”
“It’s better . . .”
“Maybe,” she said.
What I was really asking was, Mom, do you think I make a good Satina the same way I used to ask Mom, do you think my drawing is good? Mom, look how high I climbed! Did you see I got a 100 on my spelling test?
I hated that I had to ask. I hated that the answer she would have given, regardless of what she thought, would have been the Yes she always gave. But maybe that would have been enough, because I suddenly realized that I needed her approval on Satina even more than I needed her approval on Camden.
Finally, I decided to make the most of my window. “There’s a convention next week in Connecticut called the SuperCon,” I said. “It’s a pretty big gathering of fans, anyone who’s into comics, science fiction, video games. We want to go as our cosplay group. It’ll be on a Saturday when you’re off, and it’s only a day trip.”
“Cosplay group,” Mom repeated, arching one eyebrow.
“This is where most people are in costume, so we won’t look like freaks. Plus, Eliza thinks by then that so many people will have seen the fair photos, we’ll practically be celebrities.”
Mom’s eyes swiveled to my phone, which I was still holding in one hand. “Why will so many people have seen these photos?”
Oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that.
“Because they’re posted on Eliza’s page in an online community where a lot of cosplayers hang out, called AlternateArt,” I said as casually as I could. “The whole point is to take the photos and then share them.”
Her frown line deepened. “Pictures of you dressed like Satina Galt are all over the web?” She sounded so horrified, so embarrassed.
“Not all over,” I said, feeling anger form into an actual shape in my throat. “Just on this one page.”
Mom shook her head. “This sounds dangerous to me. Is your name associated with the photos?”
“No!” I felt my voice getting louder and higher. “Eliza uses an alias on her page. I’m sure she gave us aliases, too.” Then, because that anger was getting big and there was no way I was going to swallow it down now, I added, “But way to take all the awesomeness out of it, Mom.”
She looked at me like I’d kicked her.
“I’m sorry, but it’s my job to keep you safe. Especially after everything you’ve been through. Especially now that things are going so well.”
I laughed. “Going so well? For you, maybe! Have you looked around at the rest of us?”
Mom stood up. “Ari. We’ve had such a nice day. Don’t ruin it.” The same tone she used with Danielle, but stripped of at least three more layers of softness.
I laughed again. It may have sounded a little maniacal. “You’re using that line on me now?”
She held up her hands. “I’m not continuing with this conversation. I’m done.”
“Okay,” I said, standing up, too, and climbing a step so I was taller than her. “Are we also done with our little show for Camden’s sake? We can take off all the makeup now. We can stop pretending we’re a family that actually cares about one another.”
Mom stared hard at me, scanned me head to toe in much the same way Eliza once had. It was possibly the most she’d looked at me in a long time. Then she flung open the door and disappeared inside the house, slamming it behind her. There was something profoundly satisfying about the sound of that slam. Boom.
I waited a few minutes, staring out at the street, watching the top of Mr. Gustafson’s head bob up and down. Finally, I went inside.
It was dead quiet.
I paused in the hallway to look at that fifth grade picture again. The girl in the photo looked different to me now. Camden had seen her. She stared back at me with a knowing expression, like she’d seen him back.
As I moved down the hall toward the bedrooms, I started to hear some noises. I lingered between the closed door to Dani’s room and the closed door to Mom and Richard’s room.
Behind the door to Dani’s room, I heard the sound of Richard’s voice, rising and falling in a lilt from Narnia.
Behind the other door was the sound of something high-pitched yet soft, jagged but shapeless. It was something I used to hear a lot.
My mother, crying.
I went into my room and picked up the copy of Planet Jasmine that Camden and I had left on the floor. Then I started to read.
16
Vera the dog had been found.
She and her owner stopped in to the store the next day to give us the good news and remove the flyer from the bulletin board.
“Where did she turn up?” I asked the guy after he crumpled the flyer with great ceremony.