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“No, thanks. Fatuous.”
I put a tea pod into the coffee maker and hit the start button. “I’m not sure I can define it, but I’m pretty sure you’re an example of it.”
“Wrong,” he said. “It doesn’t mean wildly handsome.”
“Oh, well played, Georgie! You win that round.”
Soon after that, Heather buzzed in at the gate. “I have good news and bad news,” I told her as we walked along the hallway toward the kitchen. “The good news is we’re going shopping later.”
“And the bad news is that I can’t afford to buy anything.”
“Yes, you can. I’m treating.”
“Then the bad news is that it’s so hot, my car will melt before we leave.” She was dressed for the brutal heat in a pair of Daisy Dukes and a gauzy tee.
“Not that either.”
“Then what’s the bad news?”
We entered the kitchen and I gestured toward George, who was sitting there in his usual jeans and oxford shirt—dressed for a completely different climate. “First we have to take a practice SAT.”
“Oh no,” she said, backing away. “You didn’t tell me we were going to do that. That’s not fair.”
“Come on.” I took her hand and pulled her toward the table. “It’ll be fun. We’ll do it together.”
“No, you won’t,” George said. “I’m putting you in separate rooms. You need to take this seriously or there’s no point.”
“You go ahead,” Heather said. “I’ll wait. I can watch something or talk to George.”
“George doesn’t want to talk to you,” I said.
“I beg your pardon!” he said. “I’d be happy to talk to Heather.”
“Thank you,” she said to him. “I’d be happy to talk to you, too.”
“You have to take this test so George can help you raise your scores.” I turned to him. “I’ve got it all pla
“We hope we’ll get in,” Heather said. “I mean, I’m sure you will, but I’m not so sure about me. Elton College is hard to get into and I haven’t been the best student.”
“That’s why we’re going to apply early. They like people who apply early, especially people who are quirky and interesting, and who’s more quirky and interesting than us?”
The dimple on Heather’s right cheek appeared. “No one.”
“Plus George is going to make sure we do well on the SATs. Now get into the dining room and take that test.” I took her by the shoulders and steered her across the kitchen and through the archway that separated it from the dining room.
“Why do I have to be in here?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Because I need to be in the kitchen. My tea’s in there.” I came back in and sat down, folded my hands, and looked up at George like an obedient pupil. “We’re ready to take your test, Mr. Nussbaum, sir.”
He handed me the packet and told me to get to work.
On Friday, I was coming down the stairs in the morning and spotted George heading out the front door
“What are you doing?” I called out.
He turned around and greeted me in his usual measured way—he never seemed particularly excited to see me, but he was always pleasant enough. “Your mom asked me to get her laptop fixed.” He showed me the computer sleeve in his hand. “I’m ru
“What about?”
“Heather’s not here, right?”
I looked to my left and to my right, then patted the pockets of my jean shorts. “Doesn’t seem to be. Why?”
“I just wanted to say that maybe you shouldn’t be pushing her to apply early to Elton.”
I leaned against the banister. “Why not?”
“After scoring that test you guys took, I’m worried she doesn’t have much of a shot there.”
I shrugged. “Neither of us was taking it very seriously.”
“You still managed to do incredibly well.” He shifted the computer from one hand to the other. “Elton would be a big reach for her, I think.”
“You’re not a college counselor,” I said. “You don’t really know.”
“Right,” he said. “And you’re not one either. So tell her to talk to hers. And be aware that she’ll do whatever you say, even if you’re totally wrong.”
I scowled at him. “First of all, I’ve researched Elton a lot, and they like people who are creative, which Heather totally is.” She wrote a lot of fan fiction, mostly about characters from her favorite TV shows. That was creative, right? “They’re going to want her. And secondly, you’re wrong—she doesn’t do whatever I say. That’s ridiculous.”
“I’ve seen you order her around. She worships you.” He raised his eyebrows. “Which seems to be what you like best about the relationship.”
“That’s so not true! Not to mention rude.”
“Uh-huh.” He was really starting to a
I gestured toward the door. “Aren’t you going to be late for your genius?”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding tired. “I am. Good-bye. We can talk more about this on Sunday.”
“I’m canceling Sunday,” I said even though I hadn’t thought about it before now. “I have other plans.”
“Your mother said I should come.”
“Well, she’s wrong.” I turned my back on him and went into the kitchen. Why should I let him tutor me when he had just proven that he didn’t know anything about anything?
I was kind of lying when I said I had plans, except that it turned out I really did have plans, I just hadn’t known about them. That night, Luke informed the rest of the family that he’d invited the Marquands over for a barbecue on Sunday, which was the day before Labor Day and two days before the start of school. Aaron was flying in on Saturday, so he’d be coming with them.
I spent a long time getting ready for that barbecue. I washed my hair that morning and scrunched it under a diffuser so it was just about as curly as it could get—which was pretty ridiculously curly—and used some gel that made the copper highlights catch the light. Since it was still super hot and we were pla
As I was leaving my room, I heard Jacob calling out from his and checked on him. He was just waking from a nap. Mom had recently moved him from his crib to a small bed that looked like a race car, but he never got out of it by himself, just sat up and cried until someone rescued him, like he’d always done in the crib.
“Hey, baby dude,” I said, and picked him up. His diaper felt heavy through his shorts. He wasn’t anywhere close to being toilet trained yet—since he didn’t talk or seem to understand all that much, it was hard to explain the whole potty concept to him. “Have a nice nap?”
He rubbed his forehead against my bare shoulder and I nuzzled his sweat-damp hair. I liked him best like this, right after a nap, when he was all drowsy and cuddly.
“We’re going to have a barbecue,” I told him. “Hot dogs. I know you like hot dogs. And Daddy will be home all day. Fun, right?”
He didn’t react, just rested against me, breathing lightly.
“We have guests coming over. You remember Michael? And Crystal? And little baby Mia?” I was never sure what he understood and what he didn’t. Sometimes it seemed like your words meant nothing to him and then all of a sudden he’d go and grab something you were just talking about and bring it to you. “Let’s find you something special to wear.” I pulled a shirt out of his drawer.
Instantly he started arching back in my arms—so violently that I almost dropped him—and shaking his head and making a low moaning sound that I knew would turn to screaming in a second if I wasn’t careful.
“Sorry,” I said, dumping him back on the bed. I quickly crammed the shirt into the dresser. “It had buttons. I know. Forget that. See? All gone now.”