“Do they teach a course on making guys jealous at Orange Cove High? That’s exactly what Phoebe did,” I pointed out.
“And it worked,” Hannah said.
“But she looked ridiculous in the process. At some point, Finn’s going to wake up and realize it,” Charlie said stubbornly.
Hannah gave Charlie a pitying look. “No, he won’t,” she said. “He’s a guy. He won’t care that she was trying to make him jealous. If anything, he’ll be flattered that she went to that much effort to get his attention.”
“Really?” Charlie asked. She glanced at me. “Is that true?”
“You know what I think. I think you should just tell Finn how you feel,” I said.
“Don’t listen to her! That’s terrible advice,” Hannah said.
Charlie collapsed back on my bed and groaned.
“I don’t know what to do. Maybe Finn and I have been friends for too long. They say that once you get into the friend loop, it’s impossible to get out of it. Maybe I should just forget about him. Date Luke or someone else instead,” she said in a hollow voice.
Hannah and I glanced at each other. Every time I looked at my stepsister, I got a shock of surprise to see her sparkly silver hair and eyebrow-less face. It was a little like looking at an alien.
“You can’t just give up,” Hannah said. “Right, Miranda?”
But I wasn’t sure what to say. Maybe Charlie was right. Maybe she and Finn had been friends for too long to now make the jump into romance. And maybe I was wrong to advise Charlie to tell Finn how she felt—it could turn out terribly wrong, and maybe even ruin their friendship.
“I just don’t know,” I said, shrugging. “I don’t know what the right thing to do is.”
Charlie sighed. “This stinks,” she said.
“Yeah, it does,” I agreed.
“Look at the bright side,” Hannah said.
“What’s that?” Charlie asked.
“At least you two still have your eyebrows,” Hannah said ominously as she popped another pretzel in her mouth.
Chapter Thirty
O
n a Saturday morning two weeks after Amelia’s near-drowning scare at the beach, Amelia and I biked to downtown Orange Cove together. Downtown Orange Cove consisted of one main street—which was oh so originally called Main Street—that was lined with restaurants and shops. At the far end, there was an adjacent boardwalk that jutted out into the Intracoastal Waterway. There was a music festival going on with a series of concerts at the stage down by the water, so Main Street was blocked off to traffic and dozens of people were milling around.
“I thought you said you got your driver’s license,” Amelia said as we dismounted from our bikes and locked them to the downtown bike stand.
“I did,” I said.
“Then why are we biking instead of driving in a nice, air-conditioned car?”
“I have my license. What I don’t have is a car,” I said. “Or a job, for that matter.”
Mrs. Fisher had decided to take the rest of the summer off work to spend time with Amelia. In fact, the Fisher family had just gotten back from a vacation to the Florida Keys. It was great for Amelia, but I was really missing the regular paycheck. I’d even put in an application at the bowling alley. Charlie was rooting for me to get the job. If I did, she informed me, I’d have to take over the shoe rental counter, while she would be promoted to the snack bar.
“Can we get an ice cream?” Amelia asked hopefully.
“If you’re treating,” I teased her. We started to walk up Main Street to Hudson’s, which sold ice cream, fudge, and T- shirts to the tourists. “How was your trip?”
“Awesome. I got to go swimming with dolphins,” Amelia said, skipping a bit.
She looked exactly the same at first glance, and yet there was something different about her. Maybe it was the sun-kissed glow on her formally pallid face, or maybe it was the relaxed line of her shoulders.
“No way!” I said. “Were you scared?”
“No, it was fun! And you have to tell Dex—I took a beginners’ surfing class,” Amelia said proudly. “I’m going to keep taking lessons here.”
This surprised me, especially after her scare at the beach.
“My mom said that if I was so determined to learn how to surf that I’d sneak off to the beach and nearly drown, she said I should take lessons and learn how to do it safely,” Amelia said. She grinned. “But she also said that I shouldn’t think that in the future I’ll be able to get my way just by doing something dumb and dangerous. Dex was right, by the way. They started off teaching us how to stand on the board while we were still on the beach. You don’t get to move to actual waves until you pass a swimming test.”
“Just do me a favor and watch out for the undertow,” I said, shuddering at the memory of her being fished out of the water by Dex and the beach lifeguards.
“I will,” Amelia promised.
When we got to Hudson’s, Amelia ordered a mint chocolate chip cone, while I opted for the peanut butter swirl. After I paid, we headed back out into the heat and strolled up the street toward the boardwalk.
“How are things going with your mom?” I asked, licking a dribble of ice cream off the side of my cone.
“Actually, really good. When I got home from the hospital, my parents and I had a big talk. They said they’d been putting too much pressure on me to be a concert pianist, and told me that I should have a say in what I do with my life. Which is exactly what you told me,” Amelia said.
I remembered. I also remembered that Mrs. Fisher had been furious with me for saying these things to Amelia. But since the Fishers had been so nice not to blame me for Amelia nearly drowning, I decided that it was only fair that I didn’t hold a grudge against them.
“What did you say?” I asked.
Amelia paused to take a bite out of her ice-cream cone. When she finished, she had a spot of ice cream on the tip of her nose.
“You have some right here,” I said, pointing to my nose and handing her a napkin.
“Thanks,” she said, wiping up the ice cream. “I told them I still want to play the piano. Just maybe not quite as much.”
I nodded. I wasn’t surprised. I knew how much she loved her music, and how talented she was.
“And what did they say?” I asked.
“They were actually really cool about it. I thought my mom would be disappointed, but she said the important thing is that I’m happy and healthy, and everything else will fall into place,” Amelia said. She grinned at me. “And she agreed to the surfing lessons. I might even take up the drums. I’ve always wanted to play percussion.”
“Really? The drums? I have a hard time picturing you as a rocker chick,” I teased.
“Are you kidding? I was born to rock,” Amelia boasted.
The strains of a funky jazz beat reached us before we got to the end of Main Street. We turned right and headed down a short side street and then down a flight of stone stairs to the boardwalk. The band came into view, set up on the riverside stage. Lots of people had come out for the concert. Some were sitting on the steps, some were lounging on folding chairs, and others stood to one side, clapping appreciatively as the jazz band finished its song. Amelia and I found space on the stairs to sit down. The band played for a while longer, and Amelia and I lounged in the sunshine, soaking in the music and finishing our ice cream.
When the band took a break, Amelia said, “They were really good. I haven’t played much jazz. Maybe I should try it.”
“Maybe you should,” I agreed. It was good she was trying new things, I thought, although the vision of Amelia putting on a concert, complete with a classical piano concerto, followed by a drum solo, and then finishing up with a funky jazz piece made me smile. “Whatever happened with your piano teacher problem? Are you staying with your old teacher, or are you still going to take lessons from that teacher in Miami?”
“Didn’t I tell you? After I got out of the hospital, I finally showed my mom that list we made with all of the reasons why I wanted to stay with Miss Kendall. My mom listened, and we came up with a compromise. I’m going to keep taking lessons with Miss Kendall, and then twice a month, I’ll go down and take a lesson with Mr. Gregory, the teacher in Miami,” Amelia said.
“That sounds like a good solution,” I said. “Are you happy with it?”
“Yeah. We stopped by Mr. Gregory’s school on our way down to the Keys, and he was actually a pretty good teacher. He was a bit scary at first—he had these weird, bushy eyebrows, with long hairs sticking out like antennas,” Amelia said, giggling. She wiggled her fingers over her eyes to demonstrate. “But he was really nice. And a good teacher.”
“And he probably can’t help the eyebrows,” I said.
“Probably not,” Amelia agreed. “Although he could get some tweezers.”
The next band was setting up. From the ripped denim and leather they were wearing, I guessed that they were probably a rock band. Something about them looked vaguely familiar. I frowned, trying to place where I’d seen them before.
“Miranda?” Amelia asked shyly.
“Yeah?”
Amelia was staring determinedly down at her feet, scuffing the toe of her canvas sneaker against the cement stair.
“I was just wondering,” Amelia finally said. “You know next year?”
“Yes, I know next year,” I said.
“I mean when we’re back at school,” Amelia clarified. She would be returning to Geek Middle, although she didn’t know, of course, that I might not be back at Geek High next year.
“What about it?” I asked.
“Will you talk to me?” Amelia asked.
Surprised, I laughed. “What do you mean, will I talk to you?”
“You know. When you see me at school. Will you say hi to me, even though I’m just at Geek Middle?”
“Of course I’ll say hi to you! Why wouldn’t I?” I asked.
“There’s a girl in my class—Madeline Davies—whose older sister, Milly, goes to the high school. Madeline says Milly never, ever speaks to her while they’re at school,” Amelia said.
“Maybe that’s because they’re sisters,” I suggested. “Sisters tend to get weird around one another.”
“Really? Oh. Well . . . good. I’m glad you’ll say hi to me,” Amelia said, sounding shy again. “I wasn’t sure if you would, so I thought I’d ask.”
“You don’t have to ask,” I told her. I still felt a little guilty for not confessing that I might not get a chance to say hi to her, since I might not be there, but then Amelia said something that made me forget my ongoing confusion over my future plans.
“It’s just that . . .” Amelia began, then stopped. Her face flushed red.
“What?” I asked, poking her with my elbow.
“I thought maybe I could pretend that you’re my sister,” Amelia said in a rush. “I know, that sounds really stupid, but I just thought . . . well, since I don’t have a sister, and you don’t have a sister . . .” Amelia fell silent, clearly mortified.
I was so touched, it took me a moment to collect myself and speak. “I’d like that,” I said.
“Really?” Amelia looked at me for confirmation.
“Absolutely,” I said.
“But I forgot—you actually have a sister,” Amelia said. “Or a stepsister anyway.”
“I do. But I don’t think Hannah would mind if I had an adopted little sister, too,” I said.
“Adopted little sister,” Amelia repeated. “I like that. It sounds better than being pretend sisters. What do adopted sisters do?”
“They hang out together sometimes. Just like this,” I said, with a gesture around me. “And they can talk whenever they want. Adopted sisters don’t ignore each other at school.”
“Cool,” Amelia said happily.
The people around us began to clap as the members of the rock band took their places.
“One, two, one two three,” the lead singer called out, and the band began to play. The singer gyrated in front of the microphone, twisting his hips from side to side. I frowned. The band sounded oddly familiar. . . .
“Oh my gosh!” I said as it finally clicked. “That’s Snake House!”
“What?” Amelia asked.
“The band! They’re called Snake House. You see the guitarist with the piercings and the tattoo? His name is Snake,” I explained. “Although I think that’s just a nickname. He dates a girl in my class. They played at the Geek High Snowflake Gala last year.”
Amelia wrinkled her nose. “They’re not very good.”
“No, they’re not,” I agreed. “But we might as well listen. We’re in no hurry to get back home, right?”
Chapter Thirty-one
“M
iranda, may I speak with you?”
I looked up from the book I was reading while lounging on my bed. Peyton stood at the doorway, looking uneasy. Her hands were clutched together and her bony shoulders were even more tense than usual.
“Um, okay,” I said, putting down my book and sitting up.
Peyton walked into the room and glanced around. “You haven’t changed much in here,” she said. “Hannah thinks we should have your room painted.”
“Yeah, she said something about that to me, too,” I said cautiously. It was the first time Peyton had ever called it my room.
“Would you like to do that?” Peyton asked. Her tone was curt, almost testy.
“Would I like to do what?” I asked.
“Paint. The. Room,” Peyton said, spitting out each word as though it tasted foul in her mouth. Her thin nostrils flared, and I could practically feel the waves of cold dislike rolling off her.
“Okay. Sure,” I said cautiously.
Since the Peyton I knew would never voluntarily do anything nice for me, much less have a whole room painted to suit my tastes, I had a feeling there was something more going on here than she was letting on.
Peyton stared at me for a long, cold moment. I stared right back at her, waiting for her to get to the point.
Finally, Peyton said, somewhat abruptly, “May I sit?” She nodded toward the uncomfortable modern white chair in the corner of the room.
Taken aback, I said, “Sure.”