should tell you—Sadie has asked me to move to London to live with her there,” I said carefully.
My dad looked at me sharply. “Is that what you want to do?”
I shrugged. “I have mixed feelings,” I said. “I keep pro-conning it. You know: coming up with all the reasons why I should go, and all the reasons why I shouldn’t.”
“You’d have to leave your friends. And Willow,” Dad said.
“No, I can bring Willow with me. Although she’d have to travel in the cargo hold on the plane, which would probably freak her out,” I said. “But yeah, there are my friends. And my school.”
“You’d go to school there,” Dad pointed out.
“I know. But I’m going to be writing for Geek High’s literary magazine next year. That’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time,” I said.
Dad nodded. “It sounds like you have a lot of thinking to do.”
“Yes,” I said. Willow whined and looked longingly out at the beach. “I’d better take her for her walk.”
“Okay,” Dad said. He hesitated. “Honey?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll understand if you decide to go to London. It would be a great experience and I know you miss your mom. But please don’t go because you think you’re not wanted here,” Dad said earnestly. “I’ve loved having you live with us.”
I smiled at him. “Thanks, Dad.”
“And Peyton . . . well, I know she hasn’t been entirely welcoming to you.”
That was the understatement of the year, I thought. Peyton’s nostrils flared with dislike every time she saw me.
“But it’s not personal. I know that might not make sense to you, but it’s really not about you. It has more to do with her relationship with me. I don’t think she ever envisioned sharing her house with a stepchild,” Dad continued. “She has a hard time adjusting to new situations.”
I nodded. “I understand,” I said, although I really didn’t. Peyton had everything in the world—money, status, a beautiful house, a nice husband, a gorgeous daughter. She spent her days getting facials and having lunch with her friends. What did she have to be bitter about? But I appreciated that for once my dad hadn’t lied to me by insisting that Peyton loved having me live with them.
Willow whined again as she caught sight of a flock of seagulls foraging on the beach. In Willow’s mind, she was a great hunter. I decided not to point out to her that she’d never actually managed to catch anything. It wouldn’t be good for her self-esteem.
“Come on, girl,” I said, giving her leash a gentle tug. “Let’s go for our walk and see if today is the day you finally catch a seagull.”
Chapter Eight
W hen we got to the bowling alley the next afternoon, Amelia seemed nervous. She hesitated just inside the front door, standing with one leg twisted around the other, and her arms folded over her thin chest. Her eyes, normally large, seemed huge and dark in her small, angular face.
“There’s nothing to be worried about,” I said encouragingly.
Amelia shot me a scathing look. “I’m not worried,” she said.
She’d been touchy all morning, ever since I first got to the Fishers’ house. Any progress we’d made the day before seemed to have vanished. Amelia had barely acknowledged me when I greeted her—although she was practicing her scales at the time—and then became positively mulish when I’d reminded her we were going bowling.
“I can’t,” Amelia had said flatly. “I have to practice extra today to make up for the time I took off yesterday to go paint pottery.”
“We were only at the ceramics studio for an hour,” I’d said.
“I know! A whole hour!”
I’d tried to sweet-talk her into going with me, then tried to bribe her—promising that we’d cut tomorrow’s activity short to allow her more practice time—and when that failed, I resorted to threats.
“Bowling,” I said firmly. “Or else, I won’t give you a moment of peace for the rest of the day.”
Amelia had not
My dad looked at me sharply. “Is that what you want to do?”
I shrugged. “I have mixed feelings,” I said. “I keep pro-conning it. You know: coming up with all the reasons why I should go, and all the reasons why I shouldn’t.”
“You’d have to leave your friends. And Willow,” Dad said.
“No, I can bring Willow with me. Although she’d have to travel in the cargo hold on the plane, which would probably freak her out,” I said. “But yeah, there are my friends. And my school.”
“You’d go to school there,” Dad pointed out.
“I know. But I’m going to be writing for Geek High’s literary magazine next year. That’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time,” I said.
Dad nodded. “It sounds like you have a lot of thinking to do.”
“Yes,” I said. Willow whined and looked longingly out at the beach. “I’d better take her for her walk.”
“Okay,” Dad said. He hesitated. “Honey?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll understand if you decide to go to London. It would be a great experience and I know you miss your mom. But please don’t go because you think you’re not wanted here,” Dad said earnestly. “I’ve loved having you live with us.”
I smiled at him. “Thanks, Dad.”
“And Peyton . . . well, I know she hasn’t been entirely welcoming to you.”
That was the understatement of the year, I thought. Peyton’s nostrils flared with dislike every time she saw me.
“But it’s not personal. I know that might not make sense to you, but it’s really not about you. It has more to do with her relationship with me. I don’t think she ever envisioned sharing her house with a stepchild,” Dad continued. “She has a hard time adjusting to new situations.”
I nodded. “I understand,” I said, although I really didn’t. Peyton had everything in the world—money, status, a beautiful house, a nice husband, a gorgeous daughter. She spent her days getting facials and having lunch with her friends. What did she have to be bitter about? But I appreciated that for once my dad hadn’t lied to me by insisting that Peyton loved having me live with them.
Willow whined again as she caught sight of a flock of seagulls foraging on the beach. In Willow’s mind, she was a great hunter. I decided not to point out to her that she’d never actually managed to catch anything. It wouldn’t be good for her self-esteem.
“Come on, girl,” I said, giving her leash a gentle tug. “Let’s go for our walk and see if today is the day you finally catch a seagull.”
Chapter Eight
W hen we got to the bowling alley the next afternoon, Amelia seemed nervous. She hesitated just inside the front door, standing with one leg twisted around the other, and her arms folded over her thin chest. Her eyes, normally large, seemed huge and dark in her small, angular face.
“There’s nothing to be worried about,” I said encouragingly.
Amelia shot me a scathing look. “I’m not worried,” she said.
She’d been touchy all morning, ever since I first got to the Fishers’ house. Any progress we’d made the day before seemed to have vanished. Amelia had barely acknowledged me when I greeted her—although she was practicing her scales at the time—and then became positively mulish when I’d reminded her we were going bowling.
“I can’t,” Amelia had said flatly. “I have to practice extra today to make up for the time I took off yesterday to go paint pottery.”
“We were only at the ceramics studio for an hour,” I’d said.
“I know! A whole hour!”
I’d tried to sweet-talk her into going with me, then tried to bribe her—promising that we’d cut tomorrow’s activity short to allow her more practice time—and when that failed, I resorted to threats.
“Bowling,” I said firmly. “Or else, I won’t give you a moment of peace for the rest of the day.”
Amelia had not
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