Wish You Were Eyre Hardcover - 2012

Summary

Excerpt

Megan

âÈê . . . if she were a nice, pretty child, one might compassionate her forlornness; but one really cannot care for such a little toad as that.âÈë

âÈ'Jane Eyre

âÈêWould you like fries with that?âÈë

I frown at the menu. Since when had my grandmother started serving french fries at the tea shop?

I look up to see Becca Chadwick tapping her pen against the notepad sheâÈçs holding. âÈêGotcha,âÈë she says, grinning at me.

I swat her with the menu. âÈêDork.âÈë

âÈêHey,âÈë she replies, âÈêwhoâÈçs the one with the job, huh? WhoâÈçs the one earning money right this instant? Speaking of which, you are planning to leave me a big tip, arenâÈçt you?âÈë

This is BeccaâÈçs first day as a full-fledged waitress at Pies & Prejudice, the wildly successful tea shop my grandmother opened here in Concord last year. Things got so busy that Gigi decided to hire some extra help. BeccaâÈçs been her assistant since the beginning of January. She started out working on Thursday evenings at GigiâÈçs new cooking classes, and today is her first shift waiting tables.

âÈêA big tip?âÈë I pretend to think it over. âÈêI guess it depends if you give me extra whipped cream on my hot chocolate.âÈë

âÈêYou want a little cinnamon sprinkled on that?âÈë BeccaâÈçs all business as she writes my order down.

âÈêOf course.âÈë

âÈêGot it. Back in a flash.âÈë She trots off to a neighboring table to take another order, her apron strings fluttering behind her. Like my grandmother, Becca is wearing the Pies & Prejudice uniform: black dress, frilly white apron, frilly white cap. Gigi had me design them, but I hadnâÈçt imagined someone my age actually wearing one. Becca looks kind of like a French maid in a bad sitcom. SheâÈçs being a really good sport about it, though. She wanted this job so badly. Her fatherâÈçs been unemployed for a while, and working here has been a way to help her family out.

My gaze drifts over to the window, and I note gloomily that itâÈçs started to snow again. This has to be some sort of record. Usually this time of year we get New EnglandâÈçs famous January thaw, but the monthâÈçs almost over and so far thereâÈçs been no sign of it. WeâÈçve missed more school this winter than any other year I can remember. Not that IâÈçm complaining.

A little while later the bell over the door jangles and Emma Hawthorne and Jess Delaney come in, stomping their snow-covered boots on the mat. They spot me and wave, then cross the room to my table.

âÈêHey,âÈë says Emma, taking a seat. Jess does too.

âÈêHey back,âÈë I reply as Becca reappears with my order.

âÈêIâÈçll take one of those,âÈë says Jess, pointing to the hot chocolate that Becca sets down in front of me.

âÈêDitto,âÈë adds Emma. âÈêBut hold the cinnamon.âÈë

Jess shrugs off her jacket, giving Becca the once-over. âÈêYou look good,âÈë she tells her. âÈêJust like a real waitress.âÈë

âÈêI am a real waitress,âÈë Becca snaps.

âÈêI just meantâÈ'âÈë

Becca whooshes out a sigh and smiles. âÈêI know. Sorry. IâÈçve just got a lot on my mind here. I was hoping for a quiet first day, but weâÈçve been swamped. It seems like everybody in ConcordâÈçs stopped by for something hot to drink.âÈë

âÈêCan you blame them?âÈë says Emma, and we all look out the window.

âÈêI sure hope they donâÈçt have to cancel tonightâÈçs hockey game,âÈë says Jess.

âÈêNot to mention my birthday party tomorrow night,âÈë I add. IâÈçve been planning it for agesâÈ'you only turn sixteen once, after allâÈ'and IâÈçve hardly slept a wink the past few nights, IâÈçm so excited. I think my parents have a surprise up their sleeves, too, because thereâÈçs been a lot of whispering around the house lately, and they keep giving me these goofy smiles. IâÈçm thinking maybe they got me a car.

âÈêIâÈçm coming if I have to snowshoe up Strawberry Hill to get there,âÈë Becca tells me.

As she heads back to the tea shopâÈçs tiny kitchen, Emma and Jess and I discuss the odds of the hockey game getting canceled. Emma swears that the snow is tapering off, but Jess is less optimistic. I am tooâÈ'IâÈçve been sitting here for nearly an hour, and it looks to me like the snow is still coming down thick and fast. I donâÈçt care as much as the two of them do, thoughâÈ'EmmaâÈçs brother Darcy and boyfriend Stewart Chadwick both play for the team, plus Jess is dating Darcy. IâÈçm not dating anybody here in Concord, but I know the guys will be really disappointed if they donâÈçt get to play.

Becca returns with two more hot chocolates plus a plate of brightly colored round cookies. âÈêOn the house,âÈë she tells us. âÈêCourtesy of Gigi.âÈë

My grandmother blows us a kiss from behind the bakery counter. âÈêMacarons,âÈë she calls, pronouncing them the French way. My grandmother loves everything French. âÈêIâÈçm trying out some new recipes in honor of the big birthday.âÈë

Somehow my party has turned into a weekend-long celebration. Things kick off tonight after the hockey game, with my friends taking me out to Burger Barn. Then tomorrow night my parents are treating us all to dinner at La Belle ÃÓpoque, my grandmotherâÈçs and my favorite fancy French restaurant. Afterward weâÈçll go back to our house for cake and ice cream, and a dance. My father rented sound equipment and hired a DJ, and heâÈçs been busy for days turning our family room into an âÈç80s dance club. Becca and Ashley talked me into a retro theme for the evening.

That alone should be enough for anybody, but our next mother-daughter book club meeting is on Sunday afternoon, and that always feels kind of like a party.

I reach for a bright pink cookie and take a bite. It practically melts in my mouth. âÈêMmm. Raspberry.âÈë

âÈêLemon,âÈë says Jess, nibbling on a yellow one. âÈêDreamy.âÈë

âÈêUh, hazelnut, maybe?âÈë says Emma. She turns around and waves the pale brown cookie in the air. âÈêThese are great, Gigi!âÈë

âÈêMerci beaucoup,âÈë my grandmother replies.

âÈêSo whatâÈçs going on with you guys?âÈë I ask my friends. âÈêIâÈçve hardly seen you since the New YearâÈçs Eve party, Jess.âÈë

Jess goes to Colonial Academy, a swanky private school here in town. SheâÈçs on a full scholarship, thanks to the fact that sheâÈçs just about the smartest person I know, and thanks also to BeccaâÈçs mother, who recommended her for it.

âÈêI know,âÈë she replies. âÈêThings have been really busy. LetâÈçs see.âÈë She starts ticking items off on her fingers. âÈêI got my cast off, but you knew that already. IâÈçm riding again. My MadriGals solo audition is coming up next week and IâÈçm freaking out a little over that. Correction, a lot. Oh, and calculus is really, really hard.âÈë

âÈêPoor you.âÈë I donâÈçt mean for this to sound as sarcastic as it does, but itâÈçs hard to work up a lot of sympathy for someone whoâÈçs taking calculus in tenth grade. Math is JessâÈçs favorite subject. For me, on the other hand, itâÈçs sheer torture.

She makes a face at me. âÈêBut having Mr. Crandall for a teacher again is great,âÈë she continues. âÈêHeyâÈ'did you know that MaggieâÈçs getting a little brother any day now?âÈë

IâÈçd totally forgotten that the Crandalls were expecting again. âÈêHave they picked a name?âÈë

âÈêTrevor.âÈë

âÈêCute. Maggie and Trevor. I like it.âÈë The Crandalls were JessâÈçs houseparents when she started at Colonial back in eighth gradeâÈ'theyâÈçre really nice, and all of us have done some babysitting for their daughter Maggie.

Emma turns to me. âÈêHave you heard anything from Simon?âÈë

I nod, smiling. Simon Berkeley is my back-on-again boyfriend, as of New YearâÈçs Eve. He broke up with me for a while last fall, telling me he thought we should be free to date other people, which was really awful. Simon is British, and living three thousand miles away from each other is tricky. ItâÈçs not like we get to just hang out on the weekends and stuff, you know? We have to rely on e-mails and text messages and videoconferencing to stay close. It seems as if weâÈçre over our rough patch, though.

âÈêHe sent a package for my birthday,âÈë I tell her. âÈêIâÈçm dying to open it, but he made me promise IâÈçd wait until tomorrow. Oh, and his father is guest lecturing at some university in the north of England this winter. York, I think. He and his mom and Tristan drive up on the weekends whenever they can to visit him.âÈë

âÈêCool,âÈë says Emma, who lived in England our freshman year. ThatâÈçs how Simon and I metâÈ'his family swapped houses with the Hawthornes. âÈêWe went to YorkâÈ'itâÈçs amazing. ThereâÈçs a medieval wall around the whole city, and it has this gorgeous old cathedral.âÈë

EmmaâÈçs cell phone buzzes, and she pulls it out of her pocket and glances at the screen. âÈêCassidyâÈçs still at practice,âÈë she tells us. âÈêSheâÈçs not going to make it here in time to join us.âÈë

Cassidy Sloane is our other friend from book club. She eats, breathes, and sleeps ice hockey.

âÈêShe says we should have cranberry almond oat scones on her,âÈë Emma continues. GigiâÈçs signature scones are CassidyâÈçs favorite treat.

âÈêTempting, but IâÈçve already eaten way too many macarons,âÈë I reply, pushing the plate away. Cassidy may eat like a horse, but I canâÈçt. Designing clothes and sewingâÈ'my two favorite things in the worldâÈ'are not cardio activities.

Before Emma can slip her cell phone back in her pocket, it buzzes again. âÈêOh good!âÈë she exclaims happily, checking the message. âÈêZach just stopped by the rink and told Cassidy that the game is definitely on for tonight.âÈë

Zach is Zach Norton, the most gorgeous guy at Alcott High School. At least I thought so until I met Simon Berkeley. We all used to be in love with Zach back in elementary school. Okay, and middle school, too. In fact, some of us carried the torch into high school. I give Becca a sidelong look. SheâÈçs wiping down the table next to us, but I notice her face flush at the mention of his name. She had the biggest crush of all of us, and sheâÈçs still trying to come to terms with the fact that Cassidy and Zach are dating. Well, sort of dating. ItâÈçs not like anybody ever sees them holding hands or anything. But they hang out all the time now.

I glance at the clock. The crowd in the tea shop is thinning out as closing time approaches. My father should be here any minute to get Gigi and me. Pies & Prejudice serves breakfast, lunch, and afternoon tea, so he always swings by to drive my grandmother home in time for dinner. Sure enough, a few minutes later the bell above the door jangles and my father appears, right on the heels of Mrs. Chadwick.

âÈêYoo hoo!âÈë BeccaâÈçs mother calls, waving at Becca likes sheâÈçs on the far side of the Grand Canyon. Even though weâÈçre the only ones still here except for a lone table of two, Becca turns beet red. Her mother has that kind of effect on people. âÈêThatâÈçs my daughter,âÈë Mrs. Chadwick tells the other customers proudly. âÈêThis is her first day waitressing. HowâÈçd she do?âÈë

Becca makes a beeline for the back of the shop and dives behind the curtain that serves as a door to the kitchen. I donâÈçt blame her. I would too.

As Mrs. Chadwick badgers the trapped customers, my father beckons to me. âÈêSee you guys at the game later,âÈë I tell Emma and Jess, putting on my jacket and scooping my backpack off the floor. I give my grandmother a kiss on the cheek on the way out.

âÈêCalliope is going to drive me home tonight,âÈë she tells me, and I nod.

My fatherâÈçs SUV is parked right outside. As I slide into the front seat, I glance over and notice that heâÈçs got that funny smile on his face again. âÈêWhat?âÈë I ask him suspiciously.

âÈêNothing,âÈë he says, popping one of the macarons that Gigi gave him into his mouth. âÈêOh man, these are good,âÈë he mumbles. âÈêHow was school?âÈë

âÈêFine.âÈë

âÈêThatâÈçs it? Fine?âÈë

âÈêIt was school.âÈë

âÈêDid you have art today?âÈë

I nod.

âÈêAnd?âÈë

Why is it that parents always want to know every detail about your boring day at school? I heave a sigh and relent. âÈêArt was great. WeâÈçre working on some woodcuts, and when weâÈçre done, Ms. Malone says we might get to do some soapstone carving.âÈë I love art class, actually. ItâÈçs my favorite thing about school.

My father whistles happily to himself as we head down Lowell Road, passing first the ChadwicksâÈç house and then the HawthornesâÈç, and on over the bridge toward Strawberry Hill. Emma was right about the snow; itâÈçs tapered off to flurries. Even though IâÈçm pretty sick of this endlessly bleak winter, I still canâÈçt help thinking how pretty the snowflakes look drifting across the headlights of our car.

âÈêI guess weâÈçre the first ones here,âÈë my father says as we pull into the empty garage a few minutes later. He sounds kind of disappointed.

âÈêI think mom had a Riverkeepers meeting this afternoon,âÈë I tell him.

âÈêOn a Friday? DonâÈçt they usually meet on Tuesdays?âÈë

âÈêIt got postponed because of the snow.âÈë

âÈêAh.âÈë

Leaving our boots on the rack in the garageâÈ'my mother hates wet shoes in the houseâÈ'we go inside and hang our coats in the front hall closet. Then I head down the hall to my room to change. Mirror MeganâÈ'thatâÈçs what I call my reflectionâÈ'frowns at me as I pull on my oldest sweats and put my hair up into a sloppy ponytail, but I promise her IâÈçll change before the game tonight. Right now I just want to be comfortable.

Sliding my feet into my favorite pair of slippers (pink bunnies so ratty theyâÈçve lost most of their fuzz), I notice that one of the ears on the left slipper is flopping forward like itâÈçs about to fall off. And thatâÈçs exactly what it does as I reach down to adjust it. I shrug and toss it in the wastebasket next to my desk. With any luck, IâÈçll get a new pair for my birthday. IâÈçve been hinting big-time to Becca, because I know that theyâÈçre cheap and wonâÈçt break the bank. With her father out of work, she doesnâÈçt need to be buying me expensive presents.

Grabbing my laptop off my desk, I settle cross-legged on my bed, throwing the quilt Summer Williams gave me a few years ago over my shoulders. As I pull it around me, one of the corners flaps over, revealing an embroidered message. I smile when I see it, even though IâÈçve long since memorized the words: To Megan from her pen pal Summer. Friendship is where the best stories begin.

SheâÈçs right about that, I think as I check my e-mail to see if thereâÈçs a new chapter in the Simon Berkeley story.

There is! He sent me an e-card! I click on the link, and it opens to a wintry scene, with snowflakes falling on evergreens and little kids skating on a pond. I smile. Simon has been looking at the Weather Channel again. He likes to do that, so he can see whatâÈçs happening here in Concord. The snowflakes and skaters onscreen swirl around for a bit while a little tune tinkles in the background, then the snowflakes arrange themselves into the words Keep warm! Happy almost birthday! XOXO Simon.

I canâÈçt help laughing. ItâÈçs really cute, and so is he for sending it.

I hop online to check out the weather in Bath, where he and his family live, so I can send him a card back. Not surprisingly, the forecast is for rain. ThatâÈçs what happens in England this time of year. I find a funny card for him with frogs carrying lily pad umbrellas, and add a message: Keep dry! Miss you! XOXO Megan.

The garage door rumbles as I press send. My mother must be home. Sure enough, a few moments later the intercom on my wall crackles. Our house is on the large sideâÈ'Emma calls it sprawlingâÈ'and my father had this system installed so we donâÈçt have to holler at each other. âÈêMegan!âÈë he says. âÈêYour motherâÈçs home. Can you come here for a minute?âÈë He sounds excited.

My pulse quickens as I scuff back down the hall to the living room. Maybe this is it. A car of my own would be so cool!

My mom is hanging up her coat in the hall closet. âÈêWhereâÈçs Mother?âÈë she asks my dad. âÈêI thought you were going to bring her home.âÈë

âÈêCalliope Chadwick offered to give her a ride,âÈë he replies.

My mother spots me and breaks into the same goofy grin my father was wearing on the drive home. âÈêHi, sweetie!âÈë

âÈêHi,âÈë I reply cautiously.

She crosses into the living room, where my father is sitting on the sofa reading the newspaper. Or at least heâÈçs holding it. Mostly heâÈçs smiling at me. What is up with the two of them?

My mother leans down and gives him a kiss, then straightens, frowning. âÈêHas anyone seen my cell phone?âÈë she asks, patting the pockets of her pants. She starts looking behind the sofa cushions. âÈêI know I had it earlier today.âÈë

âÈêYou probably left it in your coat,âÈë my father tells her. âÈêMegan, why donâÈçt you go check for her.âÈë

âÈêSure.âÈë I scuff over to the hall closet. My motherâÈçs winter coat is on a hanger next to my jacket, and I go right to the inside zip pocket where she usually stashes her phone. âÈêNot here!âÈë

âÈêAre you sure?âÈë she calls back. âÈêDid you check all the pockets?âÈë

The keys! I think. She probably hid the keys to my birthday present in one of the pockets! I rifle through the rest of them. Nothing. As I slip my hand into the last one, my fingertips touch something soft. Something soft thatâÈçs moving. I snatch my hand back, startled.

The pocket squeaks. Holding it open gingerly, I peer in.

My heart stops.

I gasp in disbelief.

The pocket is full of white fur. White fur thatâÈçs attached to a kitten! Reaching in again gently, I draw out a mewing ball of fluff.

âÈêOmigoshâÈ'you little angel!âÈë I whisper, holding itâÈ'him? her?âÈ'up to my cheek. ItâÈçs the softest thing IâÈçve ever felt. As I kiss its little nose, I spot something out of the corner of my eye, and look over to see the lens of a camcorder peeking around the edge of the closet door. My father is behind it. HeâÈçs not even trying to hide his broad smile now.

âÈêSurprise!âÈë he and my mother shout.

âÈêIs it really mine?âÈë I exclaim, still stunned. âÈêTo keep?âÈë

âÈêItâÈçs a she, actually, and yes, she is,âÈë my mother replies.

âÈêHappy early birthday, sweetheart,âÈë adds my father.

âÈêHow . . . when . . .,âÈë I stammer. IâÈçve been asking for a petâÈ'or for a sister or brotherâÈ'for, well, forever. The answer has always been no. My motherâÈçs all into zero population growth, plus both of my parents are neat freaks, especially my dad, and theyâÈçve always said they donâÈçt do pets.

âÈêItâÈçs all your grandmotherâÈçs doing,âÈë my mother tells me. âÈêShe and Shannon Delaney have been twisting our arms ever since the party at Half Moon Farm.âÈë

The Hawthornes lost their cat, Melville, last fall, and JessâÈçs family gave them a kitten on New YearâÈçs Eve.

My kitten is definitely cuter, though. It yawns and pats at my face with a tiny paw, and I bury my nose in her soft fur again. âÈêThis is the best present ever!âÈë I mean it too. A kitten is way better than a car.

âÈêThereâÈçs more!âÈë says my father. âÈêCome and see.âÈë

âÈêMore kittens?âÈë I reply, gaping at him.

He grins. âÈêNo, silly. More kitten stuff.âÈë He herds me down the hall toward my room, then opens the door to the guest room across from it. âÈêTa-da!âÈë

It looks like Pet Zone made a house call. ThereâÈçs not one but two baskets with pillows in them for snoozing, a pole covered in carpet and what look like branches sticking out of itâÈ'some sort of a combination climbing tree/scratching post, IâÈçm guessingâÈ'a feeding station, and another basket full of toys.

âÈêAnd her box will go in your bathroom,âÈë my mother says, grabbing something that looks like a big plastic suitcase by the handle and carrying it back across the hall to my bedroom. âÈêI found ecologically friendly cat litter for it.âÈë

Of course she did. ThatâÈçs my mother in a nutshellâÈ'saving the world, one litter box at a time.

We stand there, my parents both talking at once as they try to film me, pat the kitten, gauge my reaction, and tell me how they managed to keep it a secret all at the same time. TheyâÈçre both so excited that youâÈçd think they were the ones getting a kitten, not me.

âÈêWhat made you change your mind?âÈë I ask, perching on the edge of my bed and cradling the kitten against my shoulder. I hear the rumbling of a tiny purr as she burrows into my neck, then starts kneading the collar of my sweatshirt.

âÈêI think it was when Shannon sent us the e-mail with her picture, wasnâÈçt it, Jerry?âÈë my mother replies, glancing at my father. âÈêShe was the last one left in the litter.âÈë

He nods. âÈêShannon said she figured a white kitten couldnâÈçt do all that much damage to an all-white house.âÈë

I have to smile at this. Trust my parents to pick a cat to match our decor. Our house is really modern, and from the carpets to the furniture almost everything in it is white.

The three of us sit there playing with my new pet until she tires out and curls in a little ball in my lap and goes to sleep. SheâÈçs so totally adorable I can hardly stand it. I feel like IâÈçm going to burst with happiness. This is shaping up to be the best birthday weekend ever.

My dad is still clutching the camcorder, of course. I think my entire life is preserved somewhere on DVDs.

âÈêWhat are you going to call her?âÈë asks my mother.

âÈêHow about Snowball?âÈë suggests my father.

I shake my head. âÈêToo boring. IâÈçm thinking Coco, after Coco Chanel.âÈë

âÈêCute,âÈë says my father.

âÈêPerfect!âÈë says my mother. âÈêYour grandmother will love it.âÈë

Coco Chanel is GigiâÈçs favorite fashion designer. I figure itâÈçs a fitting tribute, since my grandmother is the one who talked my parents into getting me a pet.

My mother reaches out a forefinger and strokes the kittenâÈçs ears. âÈêDo you remember when CassidyâÈçs little sister Chloe was born, and your grandmother tried to get Clementine and Stanley to name her Coco?âÈë

I nod, grinning. âÈêThatâÈçs what gave me the idea.âÈë

A few minutes later my mother stands up reluctantly. âÈêWell, I guess IâÈçd better get dinner started. Why donâÈçt you put Coco in her basket, and come keep me company?âÈë

âÈêDo you think sheâÈçll be okay by herself?âÈë my father asks anxiously. âÈêMaybe I should install a video monitor so we can keep an eye on her.âÈë

My mother winks at me. âÈêSheâÈçll be fine,âÈë she says. âÈêLeave your door open, Megan. Cats are smartâÈ'if she needs us, sheâÈçll come find us.âÈë

The three of us gather all the pet supplies from the guest room and get Coco settled. As we head back down the hall, my father pulls out his cell phone and taps away at the screen, making notes for himself. âÈêWeâÈçll need another basket in the kitchen,âÈë he mutters. âÈêAnd I think we could probably use one in the living room, too. And another one of those climbing things.âÈë

My mother and I smile at each other. Whenever my father decides to do something, he always does it in a big way.

Just as we reach the living room, I hear the scrape of a key in the lock and the front door flies open.

âÈêBonsoir!âÈë trills my grandmother. She trots in, towing a petite dark-haired girl IâÈçm sure IâÈçve never seen before, but who still looks vaguely familiar. On the doorstep behind them is a huge pile of luggage.

âÈêUh, hello,âÈë says my mother cautiously.

âÈêThis is Sophie,âÈë announces Gigi. âÈêShe just arrived from France and sheâÈçs going to live with us!âÈë

My father blinks. Mom looks from my grandmother to the French girl and back again. Then she reaches for GigiâÈçs arm. âÈêMother, may I speak to you in the kitchen for a moment?âÈë

The two of them disappear, leaving my father and me standing in the middle of the living room with . . . Sophie? Was that her name?

She regards us coldly. I canâÈçt tell if sheâÈçs unhappy to be here specifically, or just unhappy generally. She doesnâÈçt say a word, just looks around the room with her eyebrows raised. Her gaze lingers on our white baby grand piano, and I can tell sheâÈçs impressed. Then she looks at me, and I can see that sheâÈçs not impressed anymore. My hand creeps up to my hair, which IâÈçm deeply regretting scraping back in a ponytail, and IâÈçm very conscious of the fact that my ancient sweats are not just ancient, but also now covered in white cat hair.

Sophie, on the other hand, looks like sheâÈçs just breezed in from a photo shoot. Her curly hair is perfectly tousled, and her outfit is stunning. Simple, understated, but stunning. SheâÈçs wearing jeans, knee-high black leather boots, a white turtleneck sweater, and a black peacoat, topped with a white cashmere scarf knotted artfully around her neck. Everything about her screams I am French! I am trÃús chic!

Which I am most definitely not.

The discussion in the kitchen is getting heated. My mother doesnâÈçt like surprises, and she doesnâÈçt do houseguests. Add the two things together and itâÈçs a surefire recipe for disaster.

âÈêI couldnâÈçt just leave her standing there like an orphan!âÈë I hear Gigi wail.

âÈêYou could have at least called first!âÈë My mother sounds furious. SheâÈçs got a point, actually. My grandmother is kind of impulsive sometimes. âÈêThis is not your decision to make!âÈë

Sparks are practically flying out from under the kitchen door, and my father gives it a nervous glance. âÈêSo, Sophie,âÈë he asks. âÈêDo you speak English?âÈë

The French girl shrugs. âÈêMais bien sÃđr, but of course.âÈë

âÈêRight,âÈë he says, and vanishes into the kitchen just as I hear Gigi protest, âÈêShe was supposed to stay with Peter and Polly Perkins, but after what happened today, they had to drop out of the exchange program!âÈë

A moment later the voices subside. SophieâÈçs lips curl up in a hint of a smile. Not a particularly friendly smile. A minute ticks awkwardly by. She examines her fingernails. Then the kitchen door opens and my mother and father and Gigi appear. âÈêItâÈçs settled, then,âÈë says my grandmother. âÈêYouâÈçll stay with us.âÈë

âÈêMerci,âÈë says Sophie politely.

âÈêIâÈçm sure youâÈçre tired after your long trip,âÈë my mother adds, a little stiffly. âÈêMegan will show you to the guest room. ItâÈçs Sophie, right?âÈë

The French girl nods. âÈêOui. Sophie Fairfax.âÈë

We all stare at her. My heart sinks as I suddenly realize where the resemblance comes from.

âÈêNo relation to Annabelle Fairfax, are you?âÈë my mother asks.

Sophie nods. âÈêElle est ma cousine.âÈë

Stinkerbelle has a cousin? I gape at Sophie, stunned. No way. Absolutely no way.

ThereâÈçs a small mewing noise behind me, and I look around to see my new kitten hesitating in the living room doorway. I kneel down and stretch out my hand toward her, waggling my fingers. Beside me, Sophie Fairfax does the same.

Coco hesitates for a moment, her tiny tail twitching. Then she scampers straight to the French girl.

I take it all back. This is shaping up to be the worst birthday weekend ever.

Media reviews

Citations

• Hornbook Guide to Children, 01/01/2013, Page 98
• School Library Journal, 01/01/2013, Page 97