particularly bad this year because of high winds. I was adding allergy meds to my mental shopping list when I turned back to the door and paused. Just outside my front-porch window, there were two shoe prints outlined in yellow dust. I turned to look at the window opposite the door, and there were two more prints under it.
Had Joe tried to peek in through the windows to see if we were home for the delivery? That wasn’t like him. He generally just tossed packages against our door and ran.
I shook off the sense of foreboding that rippled up my spine. I was being silly. I had my phone back; almost 75 percent of the things in my world were right again. Shaking my head, I plugged the new phone into my bedroom charger and dialed the activation code. It rang almost immediately, a dull, robotic buzzer noise, rather than my personal ringtone, “Flight of the Bumblebee.” I was going to have to reprogram it. Frowning,I hit the call button. Before I could get the receiver to my ear, I heard, “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”
“Gigi?” Before-school volleyball practices had created an obnoxiously alert early bird in my sister. How she was able to function, much less perform coordinated acts of athleticism, at this hour had always been a mystery to me.
“You were supposed to call me!” she cried. “Days ago! Your cell’s been useless. And every time I call the house, I get the machine. Are you OK? Did he hurt you? Did he bite you?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m sorry. My schedule has been so screwed up.”
“Not good enough. Remember that time in St. Louis you caught me sneaking back into the apartment after Shelley Pearson’s party and you yelled so loud that Mr. Baker came running over because he thought you were being murdered? It’s time for payback.”
“I’m sorry, Gigi.”
“Well, why don’t you address that to 123 Suck It Lane, in care of Mr. Shushy McShoveit,” she retorted.
“Remind me why I didn’t send you to boarding school. One of the scary ones with knee socks and hazing.”
“I worry about you, too, you know,” she grumbled. “It’s not a one-way street.”
“I know.”
“When can I come home? Sammi Jo’s mom is understanding, but she’s making comments about starting a tab for me. That can’t be a good sign.”
I mulled that over. If Gigi continued to stay with Sammi Jo’s family, people would start to talk. Besides that, if the Council members returned and found that Gigi had essentially moved out, Ophelia would know that something was wrong. Better that Gigi return home and continue her schedule as normal. Besides, it didn’t seem as if Cal was going to be a threat to her safety. He’d had plenty of time to attack and drain me, and so far, his advances were of a more “naked” nature. He seemed to view Gigi as some sort of annoying accessory.
“I think Thursday should be OK. How’s school? Did you get your AP history test back yet?”
She huffed. “Don’t think you’re going to act like everything’s all normal and use my AP history test—which I aced, by the way—to distract me from the wounded hunk of hotness you’re ‘nursing back to health.’ How’s it going? Are the howler monkeys howling? I could put off coming home for a day or so if you make it worth my while … say, two weeks without dishwasher duty?”
“Gigi.”
“Hey, I just want to make it clear. I’m happy for you and all, but I do not want to hear any UNFs coming from your room. I’m a young, impressionable girl.”
“UNFs?”
She snickered. “Yeah, universal noises of fu—”
“How do you even know words like that?” I yelped.
Gigi cackled like a madwoman on the other end of the line. “I know what your substitute curse words really mean. I know what you’re capable of.”
“In other words?”
“I learned it by watching you!” she cried, in a bad imitation of a drug-awareness campaign that was popular when I was a kid.
“I’ll see you on
Had Joe tried to peek in through the windows to see if we were home for the delivery? That wasn’t like him. He generally just tossed packages against our door and ran.
I shook off the sense of foreboding that rippled up my spine. I was being silly. I had my phone back; almost 75 percent of the things in my world were right again. Shaking my head, I plugged the new phone into my bedroom charger and dialed the activation code. It rang almost immediately, a dull, robotic buzzer noise, rather than my personal ringtone, “Flight of the Bumblebee.” I was going to have to reprogram it. Frowning,I hit the call button. Before I could get the receiver to my ear, I heard, “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”
“Gigi?” Before-school volleyball practices had created an obnoxiously alert early bird in my sister. How she was able to function, much less perform coordinated acts of athleticism, at this hour had always been a mystery to me.
“You were supposed to call me!” she cried. “Days ago! Your cell’s been useless. And every time I call the house, I get the machine. Are you OK? Did he hurt you? Did he bite you?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m sorry. My schedule has been so screwed up.”
“Not good enough. Remember that time in St. Louis you caught me sneaking back into the apartment after Shelley Pearson’s party and you yelled so loud that Mr. Baker came running over because he thought you were being murdered? It’s time for payback.”
“I’m sorry, Gigi.”
“Well, why don’t you address that to 123 Suck It Lane, in care of Mr. Shushy McShoveit,” she retorted.
“Remind me why I didn’t send you to boarding school. One of the scary ones with knee socks and hazing.”
“I worry about you, too, you know,” she grumbled. “It’s not a one-way street.”
“I know.”
“When can I come home? Sammi Jo’s mom is understanding, but she’s making comments about starting a tab for me. That can’t be a good sign.”
I mulled that over. If Gigi continued to stay with Sammi Jo’s family, people would start to talk. Besides that, if the Council members returned and found that Gigi had essentially moved out, Ophelia would know that something was wrong. Better that Gigi return home and continue her schedule as normal. Besides, it didn’t seem as if Cal was going to be a threat to her safety. He’d had plenty of time to attack and drain me, and so far, his advances were of a more “naked” nature. He seemed to view Gigi as some sort of annoying accessory.
“I think Thursday should be OK. How’s school? Did you get your AP history test back yet?”
She huffed. “Don’t think you’re going to act like everything’s all normal and use my AP history test—which I aced, by the way—to distract me from the wounded hunk of hotness you’re ‘nursing back to health.’ How’s it going? Are the howler monkeys howling? I could put off coming home for a day or so if you make it worth my while … say, two weeks without dishwasher duty?”
“Gigi.”
“Hey, I just want to make it clear. I’m happy for you and all, but I do not want to hear any UNFs coming from your room. I’m a young, impressionable girl.”
“UNFs?”
She snickered. “Yeah, universal noises of fu—”
“How do you even know words like that?” I yelped.
Gigi cackled like a madwoman on the other end of the line. “I know what your substitute curse words really mean. I know what you’re capable of.”
“In other words?”
“I learned it by watching you!” she cried, in a bad imitation of a drug-awareness campaign that was popular when I was a kid.
“I’ll see you on
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