grateful.’
‘Cats aren’t generally known for their gratitude,’ says Spencer. ‘What was the name of this mangy, horrible cat?’
‘Never had a name.’
‘How did you call it then?’
‘I didn’t. It just showed up. It was that kind of cat.’
‘God, I named everything when I was a kid. I don’t think I had a single stuffed toy that didn’t have a name,’ he says. ‘I saved all the good names for living things. Even goldfish. I used to have a cat, too. And now Chance.’
‘Since you’re the great namer, got any ideas?’
‘None whatsoever. Tripod?’
Nina laughs. ‘How about Morrissey? As in the guy from the Smiths.’
‘How terribly hip. I like it.’ Spencer smiles.
‘If I were allowed to have a cat, I’d take him home,’ she says. ‘He has a certain charm.’ Morrissey rubs his head against Nina’s arm, snuggling in.
‘Do you like that?’ Spencer asks the cat. ‘Morrissey?’
‘I like it!’ yells Joseph from the front.
After the vet’s they take the bus back to Spencer’s house. Nina is impressed with how spacious it is—compared to an apartment like hers, most normal-size houses seem huge. The dog is almost tripping them over as soon as they’re inside the door. They walk past the living room.
‘This would be the famous Chance,’ says Spencer. Nina kneels down to scratch the dog behind the ear. ‘And here’s my sister. Say hello to Nina, Monica.’
Monica’s on the couch, watching a DVD. Her hair is chin-length, black and straight, with a blunt fringe that looks as if she’s trimmed it herself. ‘Hi, Nina.’ She responds in monotone.
‘Her brother’s in your year, he’s new. His name’s Tom.’
She looks over at them. ‘I know him. His last name’s Pretty, hard to forget. I mean, how ridiculous. No offence.’
‘It is a ridiculous surname,’ concedes Nina.
‘Ms Stanthorpe hates him. He never shuts up. It’s entertaining. And Spencer, I am so amazed that you have brought someone over other than Bridie. You’re such a social butterfly now.’
‘Just ignore her,’ Spencer says to Nina. ‘She only says stuff to get a reaction. I remain stoic.’ Monica pulls a face. Nina smiles.
They look alike, Monica and Spencer, like siblings should. They have the same features—small nose and mouth, large eyes, pale skin.
‘My brother and I look nothing like each other,’ says Nina, when they’re in the hall. ‘You two look so similar.’
‘Everyone always says that,’ he says.
‘Nice to meet you, Nina!’ Monica shouts from the living room.
Nina laughs. ‘Are you similar in personality, too?’
‘I don’t really know,’ he says. ‘We don’t spend a lot of time together. I hope I’m not quite as insufferable as she is.’
His parents are both at their laptops in the study. Spencer’s mother is dark-haired and pale-skinned. His father is freckled and has receding red hair. They seem distracted. Maybe the spaciousness of the house isn’t a benefit. Maybe it makes them all more distant from one another?
‘Mum, Dad, this is Nina,’ says Spencer. ‘Nina, this is Mum and Dad. If we were a hip, informal family, I’d refer to them as Kelly and John. Because that’s what their names are.’
‘Lovely to meet you, Nina,’ says his mother, peering over her laptop. His father looks up and smiles.
Upstairs, Spencer’s room is a mess, clothes and books strewn everywhere. Nina steps around his bag. There is a single bed with navy-blue bed linen, a desk piled with school books, a laptop, a cluttered side table, and an overstuffed wardrobe. It’s the opposite of her Spartan room. The ceiling is covered with glow-in-the-dark stars.
‘I promise it’s usually tidier than this,’ he says, picking up clothes from the floor and throwing them in a pile on the desk chair. ‘Don’t judge me.’
‘I’m not. You don’t have any posters,’ she observes, sitting on the edge of his bed and looking up at the blank wall.
‘I find posters with people
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