Emmy & Oliver (6 page)

I
've been babysitting for Nora and Molly off and on for the past six months. It was originally my idea. I needed cash to buy a new surfboard and wet suit because my old ones no longer fit me, and Maureen had asked me to watch the girls that night so she and Rick could have a date night. Which, judging from the tension that always seems to be between them whenever I go there, they desperately need.

“Oh, hi, Emmy. Hi!” Maureen said when I let myself in through the back door. She was fluttering through the kitchen, stacking magazines and newspapers on top of the counter before going to fluff the couch cushions. Their house has always looked impeccable, even after the twins were born. My dad says that Maureen has control issues.

“Well, wouldn't
you
if your child was kidnapped?” my mom always says in her defense. “You have to do
something
, you might as well dust.”

“Is that would you do if I went missing?” I had asked her, incredulous.
“Dust?”

“It's a metaphor, sweetie.”

I do not think my mom understands the meaning of
metaphor
.

“Hi, Emmy!”

“Hi, Emmy!”

I glanced up to see the twins looking at me through the banister. “Hey, ladies!” I said to them. “What are you doing up there?”

“Playing spies!” Nora whispered in a way that, not to be critical, was not very spy-like at all. Next to her, Molly nodded.

Molly definitely had the better chance of making it into the CIA.

“I left money for pizza—” Maureen said.

“Pizza!” Molly cried, pumping her fist in the air.

“Pizza!” Nora echoed.

“—and Oliver's upstairs if you need anything. Rick's still at work so I'm going to meet him and . . .” Maureen trailed off as she wiped crumbs off the crumb-less table. “Oh, I don't know. I don't even think I should be going out tonight.”

The pizza celebration stopped midcry.

“You should go,” I told her. “We'll be fine. We're going to do awesome, fun things. Right, you guys?”

“Yeah!” Nora said.

“I'm not a
guy
, I'm a
girl
,” Molly announced as she trooped down the stairs. “And I want pizza.”

Maureen took a deep breath. “I'm just not sure that it isn't too soon. The therapist said it's important to stick to a routine but—”

Nora came over so she could hang on to my leg. Her hands were probably sticky and I tried to peel her off without wincing. “The therapist said that
I'm
a good colorer,” she said, head tilting back so she could look up at me. “I can see up your nose!”

I disentangled her. “Wonderful,” I said. “Go play spies with Molly. Pretend it's the 1980s, during the Cold War.

“And Maureen, it's fine. We'll have pizza, watch TV or something, they'll go to bed. Easy times all around.”

“The therapist said that I'm a good jumper!” Molly announced as she started jumping around us.

“The therapist said that I'm also good at playing video games!” Nora cried. “And coping!”

Maureen looked horrified. “She must have overheard us,” she whispered. “Oh God, I—”

“They're
fine
,” I said to her. “I have your cell; obviously, I'll call you if anything goes wrong, and Oliver's upstairs, right?” I didn't mean for that last part to sound so much like a question.

Maureen glanced toward the upstairs part of the house, and the two little girls followed her gaze. “Okay,” she finally said. “But if you need anything—
anything
—just call or text me. Or Rick. Or your mom.”

“Got it,” I said, half shoving, half escorting her out the door as she blew kisses to the twins. “I'll call the SWAT team if anyone gets a paper cut.”

She gave me the kind of Look that all mothers are capable of giving, then blew one last kiss in the general direction of the kitchen. “Bye, girls, love you!” she called out behind her.

“Bye!” Neither of them looked up from their game.

“Okay!” I said, clapping my hands together as I went back into the kitchen. “What do we want?”

“Pizza!” the kids yelled.

“And when do we want it?”

“Now!”

“Well, we have to order it and wait for it to be delivered, but I see where you were going with that.”

The kids just blinked at me. Sometimes they're not the most appreciative audience for my sense of humor.

“Find the menu,” I told Nora. “Let's get this party started.”

An hour later, the twins were fed and sprawled on the couch, watching a movie that was very loud and very animated. I was doing my calculus homework in the chair farthest away from the TV, with Molly's head resting on my ankles. Nora was wearing a paper crown that had been colored blue and pink, curled up on the corner of the couch, her thumb in her mouth and her finger hooked around her nose. (It's the easiest way to tell the twins apart.)

I heard the footsteps before I saw Oliver's feet on the stairs. He had on white athletic socks, gray sweatpants, and a white T-shirt, his hair rumpled like he had been sleeping. “Um, hey,” he said, waving a little. “Is there pizza still?”

The movie was immediately abandoned just as my heart started to pick up speed.

“Yes!” Molly said. “We have three kinds!” She held up three fingers as she leaned across my legs. “'Cause there's three of us.”

“Why do you guys—”

“I'm a girl, not a
guy
!”

“Oh. Sorry. Why do you
girls
need three kinds?”

I pointed at Nora. “Hit it, Nora.”

“I can't eat gluten,” Nora announced, beaming at her older brother. “It makes me barf.”

Oliver winced. “Good to know.”

Molly shoved her way in front of her sister before I could even point at her. They adored Oliver, it was obvious. I felt like I was watching a bunch of peasant girls compete for the prince's affections. “Let me guess,” Oliver said. “You . . . can't eat tomatoes.”

“No!” she giggled. “I'm a veggietarian!”

Oliver started making his way to the kitchen, both girls trailing along behind him. I was just the boring next-door neighbor/babysitter, so of course I was abandoned. “Do you eat pizza?” Nora asked Oliver. “Do you like pizza? Or do you like sushi? I like sushi, too.”

“I thought you were a vegetarian.”

“That's me!” Molly said.

“Well, I like pizza and sushi,” Oliver said, picking up a slice and folding an end expertly in half and biting off the pointed part. “This must be the gluten-free pizza,” he said after a few chews. “Who knew gluten was so important?”

Nora just smiled at him.

“Why do you eat it like that?” Molly asked. “It's all folded up.”

“That's how you eat it in New York,” Oliver told her. He was already halfway through his slice, talking with his mouth full. I tried not to be grossed out.

“Really?” Nora said.

“Yep. There, you can go into stores and just buy a slice of pizza and then you eat it standing up, like this.”

The twins immediately dove for the pizza boxes again. That was my cue.

“Hey, hey, we'll try it some other time,” I said, reaching them before they ate more pizza and caused an unpleasant end to the evening. “You both had enough tonight.”

“You're no fun,” Nora pouted.

“I think I can live with that,” I told her, then shut the boxes just as Oliver was going for another slice. “Oh! Oh, sorry, I mean . . .
you
can have more. Sure.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “You sure, babysitter?”

It took a few seconds to find my voice again. “Um, yeah. The rules only apply to anyone under four feet tall.”

“I'm taller than Molly,” Nora immediately told Oliver.

“I'm older!”

“I can count to three hundred!”

“I can count to a bazillion!”

“A bazillion plus one!”

“Got it,” Oliver said, then smiled at them before taking his slice and heading back upstairs. “Enjoy your movie!” he called behind him, and I realized that the girls and I were watching the stairs even after he disappeared.

Nora turned to look at me. “Mommy says he spends too much time in his room.”

“Oh yeah?” I said. “What do you think?”

“I think that he has the biggest room so he should spend the most time there.”

“That's very sound logic.” I smiled down at her, then used the back of my hand to wipe some stray sauce off her cheek. “C'mon, let's do what Oliver said and enjoy the movie.”

The kids enjoyed the rest of the movie.

I don't remember anything that happened in it, though. I was too busy thinking about what Oliver was doing upstairs. Homework? Watching his own movies, ones that didn't involve zany music and bright color explosions?
I should have invited him to watch with us,
I thought, then wondered what I would've done if he said yes.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

D
rew and I stayed on campus the next day at lunch while Caro disappeared to Del Taco with three senior girls from the cheer squad. “Bring me a bean burrito!” Drew called after her as she ran down the hill toward the parking lot. “With red sauce!”

“Okay!” Caro yelled back, her voice disappearing into the breeze.

“She's not going to remember,” I said to Drew as she disappeared. “She never remembers.”

“I'm forever hopeful,” he said. “That's what friends do. They hope. They have faith in each other.”

“Well, I have faith that she'll forget,” I said, hiking my backpack up onto my shoulders. “You have to be a realist with Caro.”

“I'm a hopeful realist,” Drew said. “I'm a healist! Like those guys on TV late at night that cure people of cancer.” He grinned down at me. Even when we were kids, Drew was always the tallest kid in our class and when he hit his growth spurt in eighth grade, he became the Beanstalk to our classroom of Jacks.

“Yeah, speaking of that, I saw Oliver last night,” I said.

Drew paused midstep. “What does being a healist—don't steal that, by the way, I'm having it copyrighted even as we speak—have to do with Oliver?”

“Nothing, I was just trying to change the subject.” I tugged at his elbow to keep him moving. There are conversations you have to have face-to-face, but others that require perpetual motion. Shoes scuffing, the crunch of fallen leaves, blades of grass whispering together keep the other person from looking into your eyes and realizing that you don't believe a word of what you're saying.

“So Oliver. Mr. Mystery,” Drew said. “Did you hear about the milk cartons the other day?”

“Dude, I was there with Caro. I saw the whole thing.”

“Sucks,” Drew said, scuffing the toe of his Vans along the cement walkway. “People are assholes. Milk-wasting assholes.”

“Yeah.” It was always a little easier to talk to Drew than it was to Caro. He gave people more space in between their words, let them figure out how to make their thoughts sound the same on the outside as they did on the inside. He was patient where Caro was urgent. Drew would remember to not only bring back the bean burrito, but extra packets of red sauce, too.

“I saw him yesterday morning, too,” I said. “He was in the car with his mom.”

Drew shuddered. “That's my biggest nightmare right now, having my mom drive me to school.”

I glanced up. “Really?”

Drew tucked his thumbs into his backpack straps, now scuffing his shoes in rhythm with my steps. “She's being super nicey-nice, handling me with extra care. Like I'm a
live grenade or something.”

I didn't say anything at first. I let him find the right words, the same as he does for me.

“I think they're waiting for me to freak out or, I don't know, have this crazy breakdown or something. My mom's even reading this book right now,
How to Talk to Your Teenager
.”

We both rolled our eyes at the same time.

“Gross,” I said.

“
Right?
Like, if you want to talk to me, don't read a book about it. Just
talk
to me. I'm a person.” Drew sighed and gave his shoe a final scuff. “Anyway, yeah, parents are weird. But
Oliver
.” He glanced down and waited for me to look up at him before wiggling an eyebrow.

“Stop it,” I said, laughing a little. “You know it creeps me out when you do that.”

Drew, of course, did it even more, and I shoved him away and tried to cover my eyes. “Stop!” I said. “Or I won't share my sandwich with you and you'll starve for the rest of the day!”

Drew stopped and flicked his hair out of his eyes. He always looks cool when he does that, even though I know he doesn't mean to. “Why would I want your sandwich? Caro's bringing me a delicious burrito from Del Taco.”