Page 21

He shoots me an unimpressed look. “Believe it or not, I don’t live my life by Maya Livingstone’s schedule.”

My eyebrows rise. I’m unconvinced.

“Whatever,” he grumbles. “I’ve got nothing better to do tonight, and without any homework to keep you busy, I know you don’t, either. Come on. Let’s go check it out.”

I picture it. Me, Jude, and Ari, swigging sodas by a huge bonfire, sand in our shoes, sun in our eyes, watching as the seniors get drunk on cheap beer and wrestle one another in the waves.

My utter disinterest must show on my face, because Jude starts to laugh. “I’m going to bring a book,” he says. “Just in case it’s awful. Worst-case scenario, we stake out a place near the food and read all evening. And I’ll tell Ari to bring her guitar.”

My interpretation of the night changes, and I see the three of us lounging around, books in one hand, s’mores in the other, while Ari strums her newest tune. Now that actually sounds like a delightful evening.

“Fine, I’ll go,” I say, grabbing my backpack. “But I’m not getting in the water.”

“Wasn’t even going to ask,” says Jude. He knows that I find the ocean terrifying, mostly becausesharks.I would also be lying if I didn’t say that the thought of putting on a swimsuit in front of half the students at our school didn’t fill me with an abundance of unmitigated horror.

We head downstairs. Dad has just put on a new record, and the upbeat harmonies of the Beach Boys start to fill up the living room. I glance through the doorway and see Dad swaying around the coffee table. He tries to get Penny to dance with him, but she’s lying on the floor, playing a video game on Dad’s tablet, doing a superb job of ignoring him.

I generally try to avoid the living room, because over the years it’s become a bit of a junkyard. Cleaning and organizing hasn’t taken priority in my parents’ lives in a while, and all the random things we don’t know what to do with tend to get piled up in the living room corners. Not just my old keyboard, but also boxes of abandoned craft projects and stacks of unread magazines. Plus, thereare the records. So many vinyl records, spilling across every surface, piling up on the ancient carpet. It stresses me out just looking at it.

Jude and I turn the other way, into the kitchen. Ellie’s tantrum seems to be over, thank heavens, and she’s sitting in the breakfast nook, wearing her favorite dress with the sequined monkey on the front and mindlessly shoveling cereal into her mouth. She has a magazine spread out in front of her. She can’t read yet, but she likes looking at the photos of animals inNational Geographic Kids.Through the window I spy Lucy in the backyard, kicking a soccer ball against the back of the house.

The elementary and middle school terms ended yesterday, making this Penny’s and Lucy’s first official day of summer vacation. Eleanor’s preschool got out last week. One glance at Mom, sitting across from Ellie with a glass of tomato juice, her laptop, and a couple piles of receipts spread around her, suggests she’s already feeling frazzled by the change.

“I wanted to make pancakes for your last day,” she says when Jude and I enter, before giving us a helpless shrug. “But I don’t think it’s going to happen. Maybe this weekend?”

“No worries,” says Jude, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet. He would gladly survive on cereal alone if our parents allowed it.

I plug in the blender on the counter to make my usual morning smoothie. I pull out the milk and peanut butter, then turn to reach for the fruit bowl. I freeze.

“Where’d all the bananas go?”

No one answers.

“Uh, Mom? You bought two bunches of bananas, like, two days ago?”

She barely glances up from her screen. “I don’t know, honey. There are five growing kids in this family.”

As she’s talking, a movement catches my eye. Ellie has lifted her magazine, holding it up in front of her face.

“Ellie?” I say warningly, crossing the room and snatching the magazine from her hand, at the same time that she shoves the last few bites of a banana into her mouth. Her cheeks bulge and she struggles to chew. The peel is still in her hand. A second banana peel lies next to her empty cereal bowl. “Eleanor! Seriously? That’s so rude! Mom!”

Mom looks up, glaring—at me, of course. “She’s four, and it’s abanana.”

I start to groan but bite my tongue. It isn’t because it’s a banana. It’s the principle of the thing. She heard me saying I wanted it, which is the only reason she stuffed it into her mouth. If it had been Jude, she would have passed it to him on a silver platter.

I toss the magazine back onto the table. “Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll find something else.”

But I’m still simmering as I start rummaging through the freezer, hoping for a bag of frozen berries. When I come up empty, I step back, balling my hands into fists. I cast a withering look at Ellie over my shoulder, just as she swallows the banana. Ugh. That selfish little—

A soccer ball comes sailing into view. It strikes Mom’s glass, knocking it to the table. Mom yelps as tomato juice floods over the surface. She snatches up the nearest piles of receipts, while Ellie sits frozen, wide-eyed, doing nothing as a river of deep red juice spills over the edge of the table and straight into her lap.

I blink, having flashbacks to the drunk hecklers at Encanto last night. The cherry. The spilled beer. The déjà vu is bizarre.

“Lucy!” Mom shrieks.

Lucy is standing in the back door, her hands still extended as if there were an invisible soccer ball in them. She looks bewildered. “I didn’t do it!”

Mom makes a disgusted sound. “Oh, right. I’m sure the universe just plucked it out of your hands and threw it at the table!”