Chapter 8

Izzy and Waylonhave a friend coming over after school.

It's the first time they've brought someone home.

She tried to tell me about this new friend yesterday after the bus dropped her off, but Mommy shooed her out of my room to get started on homework, because she and Daddy were going on errands before having dinner with his band.

Izzy loves going on errands. She likes hanging out with Daddy's band too. Unless it's to AC Moore or Inferno—the comic store, which is almost an hour-long drive—I don't like going places. Especially grocery stores, or places I've never been before, or with people I don't really know, like Daddy's band.

By the time my Izzy got home, I was already in bed, even though it was early. I pretended I was asleep. I didn't wanna hear about her new friend. It just made me sad that I still didn't have any of my own. I think she knew I was faking, because she said, "I'll tell you about him tomorrow," and closed the door.

Now, I'm sitting at the kitchen table, copying a picture of Spider-Man from my comic book onto a blank sheet of paper, while Mommy sets out a bunch of different snacks. Usually she just makes PBJ's or throws chips and stuff in bowls, but this time there's like a whole buffet of stuff.

Music plays from the radio next to the sink. I don't know who it is, but Mommy's singing along and I'm wiggling my toes to the beat, shading in Spider-Man's suit with a red colored pencil, tongue poking out of the side of my mouth.

Izzy asked once why I stick my tongue out while I draw, and I said I don't know. I never noticed, but now I do. I try not to think about it though 'cause then I feel all yucky. And I don't like feeling yucky when I'm making pictures.

My belly grumbles when I smell peanut butter—I didn't eat lunch today. Just some salty crackers Mommy said would help my belly after what happened earlier.

"Feeling better?" she yells out to be heard over the music.

I nod, and she comes over with a plate. I pick up a triangle and bite into it, making a face when the sticky peanut butter gets all stuck against the roof of my mouth.

Mommy chuckles and ruffles my hair—or tries to. She sighs, and I look down, feeling bad. I miss my hair too. Cutting it was stupid.

But rather than say anything about it, she just drops a kiss to my fuzzy head, and goes back to making the other sandwiches. And then she's singing and dancing again, so I guess she's not too sad about my hair.

Crumbs fly all over my picture, so I brush them away, then scoot over to the next chair so I can eat away from it. I wait to feel sick again, but it never comes. It never does when I'm home. Only at school.

After what happened yesterday, Mommy walked me straight inside this morning, right to my classroom. So if Mason was outside today, I didn't see him.

I'd made it all the way up until lunch, hoping maybe I'd see him then, when everything went to crap.

"Aw, you cut your hair."

"Did you think that would help? You're still a girl…"

"Where's your little boyfriend?… Aw, did he not like you back?"

"Ha! I knew you were a little freak. Just wait till I tell?—"

I squeeze my eyes shut,and drop the sandwich I was eating on the plate, but behind my closed eyes, all I see is Clay.

Hands come up to my shoulders, and shove me.

Not expecting it, I stumble back, and fall on my butt with a cry.

My chest hurts, and I can't breathe. I grab my throat, and look up, shaking as Clay steps closer. He looks bigger than he ever has. We're the same age, but he's so much taller and wider than me.

I dig my nails at the skin around my neck, twist my hands in my shirt collar, and pull.

Why can't I breathe?

There's a roar in my ears, and I close my eyes.

"What's going on in here?" a deep voice booms into the cafeteria.

I gasp, air rushing down my throat. I open my eyes to find Mr. Carter there, glaring at Clay. He points toward the hall, and says something, but I don't hear it.

My throat feels all numb then wet, and before I can get to a trash can, I throw up all over the floor next to me.

Someone laughs, followed by more angry yelling.

I hate this…

"JJ? Bubs, are you—"

A door bangs into the wall, cutting Mommy off. My eyes fly open, and it's suddenly all loud and crazy as Izzy skips into the kitchen with Waylon right behind her.

Mommy lowers the music, and is trying to keep up with Izzy's rambling.

And then?—

Mason.

Pale blue eyes look around the kitchen from where he lingers in the doorway. When they fall on me sitting at the table, he freezes. And I gulp.

I've never seen such light blue eyes before. They seem even lighter than last time I saw them. I thought only kids with blond hair could have eyes that light.

He frowns at first, his brows pulling together. And a lump fills my throat.

Did he forget me?

But then a grin lights up his face, and it's like magic, because Clay's mean voice in my head from moments ago is gone—poof!—and I feel a smile of my own tugging at my mouth.

"Mom, this is Mason. He's from New York, but not the city. He's from Buffalo. And…" My sister rambles on and on, her voice fading to the background.

Mason gives me a hesitant little wave, and I wave back.

"Oh! This is my brother I was telling you about. We're twins," Izzy says, rushing over to me. "His name's Jeremy, but everyone calls him JJ for short."

JJ…

But he called me Jeremy.

Mason's eyes bounce between us, and he says, "Hi."

He says nothing about yesterday—that we already met—and I feel a funny sinking feeling in my chest, falling and landing somewhere in my belly, just like the night Izzy found me by the treehouse after finding out I was being held back.

He glances away, his floppy brown hair curling over his forehead.

It doesn't hide him, like mine did, but it still makes me sad because now I can't hide.

Maybe…maybe he doesn"t actually remember me…

Maybe he was just being nice.

Oh! Maybe he doesn't recognize me with short hair!

But then why did he smile and wave?

I bite my lip and duck my head. Shoving the plate of half-eaten sandwich away, I drag my coloring stuff back over and wrap an arm around it, lowering my head so no one can see, and grab my red pencil.

It shakes, drawing outside the line, and I mash my teeth together, my eyes and cheeks growing hot as I fight tears.

"Aw, are you crying? You poor baby."

Clay's voice is back in my head, and I sink lower.

Just say something! Stop being so weird. He can't be your friend, if you won't even talk to him. Maybe he thinks you don't remember him.

Sucking my cheeks in, I start shakily coloring in Spider-Man's leg. I feel his gaze on me, but my eyes are locked on the picture.

"Come on, come on, I have to show you!"

At that, I'm finally able to peek up over my arm.

Izzy's got Mason's wrist in her hand, and she's tugging him toward the basement door. He's no longer looking at me.

"Isobel," Mommy says in that huffy voice she gets sometimes. She chuckles. "Slow your roll, girl."

My sister whirls around, her hair flying, and she makes that pout thing she does when she wants something. "I just want to show him the piano first. Then we'll do homework, I promise. He likes music and he wants to try! Pretty, pretty please?"

Mommy sighs and looks to Mason. "Only if you want. Don't let her bully you. You can say no."

Izzy throws her head back with a huff, ever the drama queen. "Mom."

Mason shrugs with a small smile. "I…I wanna see. I never played one."

Mommy smiles softly, nodding. "Okay. Go on you two. Here," she says, handing a bowl of pretzels. She pauses, before letting Izzy take it from her. "Remember the rules?"

"No food or drinks by the instruments."

Mommy releases the bowl. "Sodas are in the fridge downstairs. Help yourselves."

Izzy all but drags Mason downstairs with one hand, while she balances the big orange bowl full of pretzels against her chest with the other.

"Twenty minutes, Isobel!" Mommy says, calling after them. "Then it's homework time, or Mason's mom's never gonna let him come back here."

"Okay, Mom!"

When they're gone, their footsteps and Izzy's laughter fading, I look up to where Waylon stomps across the kitchen toward the fridge.

Now that it's quieter, I can hear the radio again. I don't know this song either, but it's rougher and more angry sounding.

Mommy cuts Waylon off before he reaches the fridge, arching a brow and crossing her arms.

Waylon looks up at her, a blank expression on his face.

She sighs and crouches down, grabbing his hands. She smiles up at him, but it's a sad kind of smile. "What's going on, kiddo?"

"Nothing."

She tickles his stomach. "And you're a little liar."

He scowls, but his dimples show, which means he's trying not to smile—or laugh. He tries to get away from her, but she grips his shoulders, holding him there.

"That girl's got a big heart," she says seriously. "And friends are gonna come and go. Some might even stay, and that's a good thing. Okay?"

She ducks her head, smiling up at Waylon, and nudges his chin with her fingers. "It's okay to have more than one friend." She pauses, and glances over at me. "You three will always have each other. That'll never change. I won't let it. You're stuck with each other for life."

Waylon peeks over at me, and his lips twist with a little smile.

Chewing my lip, I smile back with a shrug.

"But maybe that boy could use some friends too, yeah? It's gotta be scary being new."

"I guess," Waylon whispers.

I frown. I'd be his friend.

"Here," Mommy says, standing up and opening the fridge. She grabs two chocolate milks—the last ones. She gives us a wink when she pops them open and sticks straws in them, then sets them on the table. "Our little secret."

Waylon sits in the seat across from me and takes his carton, while I take mine. Our eyes meet and we grin. Mommy's always saving the last of whatever's chocolate in the house for us.

She comes back with a book, setting it in front of Waylon. It's not as thin as my comic books, but it's all words, no pictures. He's really good at reading. He learned first, then Izzy, then me. "Got this from the store today if you want it."

He looks at it, and nods. "Thank you."

She ruffles his hair. "You're welcome."

Mommy returns to the sink and turns up the radio, but only a little, not like earlier.

Waylon bites his lip and flips open his book, sipping his chocolate milk through the straw.

And I go back to my coloring.

Waylon and I don't always talk, but it's okay. I like that. We can just sit and it doesn't feel weird if we say nothing. He likes to read, and I like to draw, and it's nice.

But still. Sometimes I wish it was like how Izzy and Waylon are. He's quiet with me, and nice, and gets all excited when we make up stories and play superheroes and stuff when he sleeps over and stays in my room. But with her he just…smiles more. Talks more too. I don't know, it's just different. I always feel like I'm in the way when it's the three of us. Like it's them versus me, and it's not fair.

But when it's just the two of us, I like it.

Still…

It would be nice if I had a friend that I didn't have to share with Izzy.

I pause with my crayon to the paper, and look over my shoulder toward the basement door. It's quiet, but I can just make out the sounds of a piano.

And all I can think is…

I hope he's bad at it.

I hope he hates it.