insanely cute. I think we should each get one for prom."
"Great," I said. Suddenly I had an idea. "Wait, you know what we should do?"
"What?" asked Madison, leaning toward me.
Connor, Matt, and Dave were deep in conversation, but I pulled oh Connor's sleeve to get his
attention. "Do you want to all go into the city tomorrow? We could get the bags, and then there's
this cool Andy Goldsworthy exhibit at the Met. It's on the roof." I couldn't believe how brilliant
my idea was. How perfect would it be to see the Goldsworthy exhibit with people who didn't
spend our time together ignoring me?
A silence fell over the table. For almost a full minute, nobody said anything.
"I'm not really the museum type, Red," said Connor finally. "But I bet you can answer this. Dave says LeBron James played high school in Cleveland. That's not right, is it?"
Was this Connor's not-so-subtle way of telling me to drop the museum talk? "Akron," I said.
"The Cavaliers drafted him out of Akron."
"Totally!" said Matt. He turned and pointed at Dave. "Who's a loosa!"
Connor laughed. "That's right," he said, slipping his
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arm around my shoulders. "Is my girl great, or is my girl great?" Then he leaned over and made a big show of kissing me. Everyone was watching, so I kissed him back, but something was
definitely wrong.
Instead of feeling like the luckiest girl in the world, I felt like a well-trained dog who'd just won
best in show.
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Chapter Twenty-four
As I walked from Connor's car to my front door, I was glad I'd told him I thought I was coming
down with something, so he'd better not kiss me good night. What if his good-night kiss made
me feel like his earlier kiss had, only this time it was just the two of us there, and I couldn't
blame it on our having an audience? My stomach hurt, and all I wanted to do was get into bed
and stay there. Maybe I really was getting sick. I put my hand to my forehead. Did it feel a little warm? Probably all I needed was a cup of hot tea. I went into the kitchen to make some. The
light on the answering machine was blinking.
"Hey, guys." It was my dad. "The good news is, I'm about to board a plane to Chicago. The bad news is, that's where I may be spending the night. I'll be home tomorrow late morningish. Early
afternoon. Somewhere
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in there." The second message was from the Princesses' dad. "Hi, girls, it's Dad. I got your
message. I don't know why you're not answering your cells. Anyway, tomorrow's fine. But your
mom's going to have to drop you off because I have a squash game. All right. Sleep well."
Well, well, well. So the little Princesses were up to no good. I took some Mint Medley out of the cupboard, wondering where they'd gone. Maybe on a date? Or to a boy-girl party? I pictured a
bunch of seventh graders at the movies or playing spin the bottle. It was kind of cute, actually.
My cell started ringing, and I reached into my bag. But it wasn't there. I felt around frantically.
Where was my cell? The ringing stopped. I dug through the pockets of Connor's jacket. Hadn't I
taken it with me when I left the house?
Just as I was about to call the number myself, it started ringing again. I listened for a second,
then opened the freezer. There, next to the chicken nuggets, was my phone. I grabbed it, noticing
that in addition to having a Popsicle for a cell, I had four missed calls.
"Hello?"
"Lucy?" It sounded like more than one person was saying my name.
"Who is this?" I asked.
"Lucy? Is that you?" There were two distinct voices, both of them speaking just above a whisper.
"This is Lucy," I said. I spoke very clearly and
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loudly, like I needed to compensate for their whispering. "Who is--"
"Lucy, you have to come get us!" said one of the voices. And now that she was speaking solo, I
knew who it was.
"Emma?" I asked.
"Lucy, come get us, please," she said. "Please, Lucy, will you come and get us?" echoed Amy.
"Where are you?" I put my hand over my ear, as if the reason I was having trouble hearing the Princesses was the silent house I was standing in.
"We're at ..." there was a muffled conversation between them and then a pause.
"Where are you?" I repeated.
"We're at Bobby's house," said Amy.
"Eighteen Mill Road," said Emma.
"But what are you doing there?" I demanded. "You're supposed to be at your dad's."
"We came to the ... to the ..." Amy started to cry, and I heard Emma say, "Give me the phone."
Then there was another pause, and finally Emma's voice came on the line.
"We're at a party," she said, and her voice started to waver, too. "We're scared, Lucy," said Emma. Now she was crying, too. As much as I disliked my stepsisters, it was terrible to hear
them crying like that.
"Look, just call your dad and tell him to come
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get you. He can probably be there in, like, five minutes."
"We ... we ... can't." Emma started crying harder. Amy got back on the phone.
"If we call Dad, we'll get in trouble. We're not supposed to be here."
"Why don't you just call a cab and come home, then?" I suggested.
Rather than comforting them, my suggestion sent both Emma and Amy into a fresh round of
sobbing. By now all they could say was "We can't," and "We're scared," and "Lucy, please come get us." They sounded so plaintive I almost forgot how annoying they usually are. By the third
time Emma said, "We're scared, Lucy," I started to worry that maybe they really did have
something to be scared about.
"Okay," I said finally. "Look, I'll come get you."
My saying that only made them cry harder, though in between sobs one or the other of them
managed to say "Thank you, Lucy" a few times.
"Look, just stay where you are," I said. "I'll be there as fast as I can."
I hung up and dialed the Glen Lake Cab Company.
Eighteen Mill Road turned out to be a Tudor-style mansion set way back from the road. An
enormous beech tree with gnarled branches towered over the front lawn, and I felt a flicker of
anxiety as the cab turned into the circular driveway and pulled up to the dark, creepy
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house. What if the girls were in some kind of trouble that I couldn't handle? I told the driver I'd
be right out and asked him to wait.
I tried to see in one of the small side windows by the front door, but in addition to being about
seven feet off the ground, it was stained glass. I rang the bell. No response. And again. It took
three more rings before a voice finally asked, "Who is it?"
I squeezed my hands into fists. This was it. "Open the door," I said firmly. Nothing happened for a few seconds, and then the door swung open.
Standing before me was a skinny boy in baggy jeans who couldn't have been more than thirteen.
Seeing him made me feel ridiculous for having been scared about what I'd find in the house, but
seeing me obviously didn't have the same effect on him. His face grew instantly paler. He held
the door, nervously toying with the lock.