The Book of One Hundred Truths by Julie Schumacher Page B

don’t want us hanging around the hotel anymore,” I said. “But the whole thing was weird.”
    “What was weird?”
    “The whole conversation. They don’t want us being curious about anything. We’re supposed to stay here during the day.”
    Jocelyn picked up another pebble. “We don’t have to listen to them,” she said. “They aren’t our parents.”
    I remembered Ellen saying that they were looking out for Jocelyn’s welfare.
    “We’ll just be more careful,” Jocelyn said.
    Wasn’t that what Celia had told me, out on the beach? “Careful of what?” I asked.
    “That they don’t see us.”
    I leaned forward in my chair. “Jocelyn, we’re riding around town on a giant tricycle. It’s hard
not
to see us.”
    Jocelyn suggested that we could park the trike and walk.
    I told her she was being ridiculous.
    “No, I’m not.”
    “Yes, you are. They’ll see us. They could probably spot you a mile away because of your hair.”
    “My hair?” Jocelyn’s shadow, on the ground beside me, touched its frizzy head. “I could tie it back. Or you could braid it for me.”
    Two boys with a kite shaped like a dragon walked past us, arguing on their way to the beach.
    “Your hair’s too hard to braid,” I said. That wasn’t a lie. “We’re staying here.”

    I couldn’t believe how slow the day was. Jocelyn and I colored in coloring books and made primitive animals out of pipe cleaners and played about a hundred games of solitaire. We ate lunch with Nenna and Granda and froze orange juice in ice cube trays and read Edmund some books. We baked cookies, and almost all of them burned. They looked like flat little pieces of charcoal. (“Did you mean to use the broiler for these, Thea?” Nenna asked.) Not even Liam and Austin would go near them when they were done.
    By six o’clock, I was half-asleep on the couch. Celia was setting the table for dinner. “It’s time to eat,” she said. “Thea? Dad?”
    I rubbed my eyes and watched my Granda shuffle inch by inch across the floor, his dark, hard hands lightly knocking against the furniture. It was like he was frozen in there, I thought. Underneath, he was still the same person, but on the surface he was slowly turning into wood.
    We found our places.
    Phoebe picked up her slip of paper, pulled out her chair, and glanced around the table. “Okay, let’s see. Is it degree of tan?” She pointed at Austin and Liam sitting together, a possible end to a spectrum.
    “Nope.” Celia grinned.
    “Jocelyn isn’t here yet,” Edmund said.
    “Shoe size?” Austin reached for a baked potato. He took two, split both of them quickly down the middle, and added butter, salt and pepper, and sour cream. As usual, seeing Liam and Austin eat was like watching a pair of vacuum cleaners suck up a pile of food.
    “Annual income?” Uncle Corey asked. He was rocking Ralph’s little plastic chair with his foot.
    “I’ll go get Jocelyn,” I said. I went to the bottom of the stairs and shouted, “Jocelyn, are you coming?” No answer. I could see that the bathroom door was closed. I went up and knocked on it. “Jocelyn?”
    “Don’t come in,” a voice said. “I’m not ready.”
    “Ready for what? We aren’t having a beauty pageant down here; we’re eating dinner.” I rattled the knob, but the door was locked.
    “I’m almost done,” she said. “Go away.”
    “Well, whatever you’re doing in there, hurry up. Your food’s getting cold.” I went back to the table.
    “Talkativeness?” Ellen guessed when I sat back down. Obviously Granda and Ralph would have been last in that category.
    “There were no good waves today,” Liam grumbled. “The water’s too calm.” He reached for the platter of tomatoes and slid almost all of them onto his plate. “Is there any dessert after this?”
    “There are two kinds of pie,” Nenna told him.
    “Eye color?” Phoebe asked. Everyone stopped eating long enough to glance around the table at each other’s