worry about it." She was trying hard not to laugh at something her mother said. "Okay.... Okay....
I love you, too." She hung up and turned to her sister. "Oh. My. God. Let's go."
Even without a degree in child development, you could tell the Princesses were up to no good. I
wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. I mean, it wasn't like I was some kind of authority figure.
Still, if they were about to do something really stupid, maybe they could use some adult
intervention. Or at least some pre-adult intervention.
"What's up?" I asked. I tried to keep my voice light, as if I just wanted to chat. "Big date tonight?"
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"Wouldn't you like to know, Lucy?" asked Princess One, turning on her heel and flouncing out of
the kitchen. Her sister followed with an equally indignant flounce. "Get a life, Lucy," Princess One called over her shoulder.
Ever since attending Jason Goldberg's QM Two extravaganza, the Princesses had been
complaining there were no good bat-mitzvah party themes left, but their parting shot gave me an
idea for one.
Something wicked this way comes ...
I ' d have to remember to suggest it.
When Connor picked me up to go to Piazzolla's, he was in a really bad mood. Apparently his car
was in the shop again, and his parents blamed him for not taking good enough care of it.
"Like I want to be driving this piece of crap," he said, hitting the dashboard of the Lexus.
I didn't say much for the whole ride to Piazzolla's besides, "Mmmmhmmm" and "Yeah" and
"Really?" As we pulled into the parking lot across from Piazzolla's, Connor finally said, "But enough of my bitching. How's by you, Red?"
Just as I opened my mouth to say something, he gave a shout. "Oh, yeah! A spot!" And a second
later he was explaining why the Lexus was easier to park than his SUV. By the time we were out
of the car and crossing the street, we'd gotten back on the subject of his parents.
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"Oh my god," said Madison, waving us over to the table where she, Matt, Jessica, and Dave were
already sitting. "You have to hear about the bags my mom saw at a store in SoHo. They're
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