All the Answers by Kate Messner

eyes got even bigger. “You didn’t know, did you?! You came to vote, too, you stinker!” She shook her head, then held out her arms, and Dad wrapped her up in a big hug.
    Ava stared. They didn’t look like they were about to get divorced, but the pencil would probably say you could never tell about these things. Free will and everything. Still, she couldn’t help feeling a little better.
    â€œCome on, Ava.” Her dad held one arm open. “Family hug, and then you can come with me to cancel out Mom’s vote.”
    Ava went into the booth with her dad and helped him fill in the little bubbles while her mom waited. Then Ava slipped her dad’s ballot into the counting machine, and they left. Ava still felt full of nervous prickles, but neither of her parents seemed mad on the walk, so she tried not to worry.
    It was past nine when they got home. Dad went to say good night to Emma, but Ava stayed in the kitchen while Mom started the dishes.
    â€œAt least you really did get dish soap,” Ava said, reaching for a towel to dry. “So it wasn’t a total lie.”
    Mom sighed and squirted some soap into the sink. A few bubbles floated up toward the ceiling. “How much have I damaged your image of me tonight?”
    Ava thought about that. “Not much,” she said. If Dad wasn’t mad, she figured it was okay. “But I’m never going to forget the look on your face when Dad jumped out at you.”
    Mom laughed and handed Ava a plate to dry. “Never is a mighty long time.”
    Ava smiled. That was a quote from
Peter Pan
, almost. As usual, Mom had made up her own version. “It’s supposed to be an
awfully
long time,” Ava told her. “It was also an
awfully
funny expression on your face, so I think it’s fair to say I’ll never forget.” She wiped off the plate and slid it onto the pile in the cupboard. “Hey, Mom … I was wondering about something.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œWhy don’t you and Grandpa talk very much?”
    â€œGrandpa doesn’t talk much to anybody.” Mom held out a handful of dripping silverware.
    â€œYeah, but … it seems like …” Ava dried the forks and spoons and put them away. She should have planned this conversation better. It wasn’t like she could tell Mom what the pencil said. “I don’t know. It just seems like maybe you’re mad at him or something.”
    â€œNope.” Mom ran some more hot water into the sink. “We just don’t see things the same way.” She turned off the water, reached over with her sudsy hands, and gave Ava a quick hug. “Get ready for bed, okay? I’ll come to read in a bit.”
    Ava nodded. She’d have to try asking about Grandpa another time. She was tired anyway.
    Ava went upstairs and changed into her pajamas. She was on her way to brush her teeth when she heard music coming from the kitchen. Jazz music. Ava figured her parents would be watching election results on TV, but this sounded like that Johnny Hodges song she’d found online earlier.
    She crouched at the top of the stairs in her pajamas and peered through the spindles on the railing. The TV was off. But there was Johnny Hodges, playing on the computer screen again, all
da-ba-doo-ba-doo-wahhh-wahhh
, with his eyes half closed, lost in the music, while his drummer grooved away behind him.
    And there were her parents—her father, holding her mother close, Mom’s tight black curls tucked under the blond-gray stubble on Dad’s chin. They were smiling. Dancing while the soap-suds sat in the sink.
    Ava brushed her teeth, went to her room, and picked up the pencil.
    Are Mom and Dad really okay with each other and as happy as they look right now?
    â€œThey really are,” the voice answered.
    This time, Ava believed it.
    What’s up with Mom and Grandpa?
    The pencil didn’t answer. Ava figured she’d