The Perfect Escape (The Perfect Escape #1) - Suzanne Park Page 0,18

Annie, Jaxon, and Zach last year, the least embarrassing background in the entire house.

BZZZZ.

BZZZZZZ.

BZZZZZZZZ.

I answered on the fourth ring, to make it look like I wasn’t just desperately sitting around waiting for her call.

“Hey,” I said, my stomach somersaulting.

Kate leaned in and tossed her long, brown hair locks behind her shoulders. “Hey!”

I’d gotten so used to zombified Kate, it took me a second to register this was the girl beneath all the makeup.

Behind her was a super-sophisticated, fancy white backdrop with wall moldings, like something you’d see in one of those house renovation shows that my mom loved binge-watching on HGTV. Waaaa, so fancy! She’d point at the screen, mouth gaping. Jae-Woo, my dream house!

“Hey,” I said. Again.

Oh God. Nate, you suck.

A second or two passed, and my mind went blank. There was only one thing running through my head: KATE Kate KATE Kate KATE Kate KATE Kate KATE Kate KATE Kate KATE Kate KATE Kate KATE Kate KATE Kate KATE Kate.

She finally spoke, cutting through my inner Kate KATE Kate KATE commentary. “What are you up to?”

Say something normal. “Me? Ah, not much. I just finished up a game with some buddies.”

Wow, if I had to rate this conversation, it would get an F minus. Zero stars. The absolute worst. We had no problem chatting in person. What the hell was happening here?

She nodded and pursed her lips. “I like your poster.”

Kate KATE Kate KATE Kate KATE Kate KATE.

I turned around, looking at the words Rebel Scum! plastered on top of an image of a dramatically exploding Death Star. “Oh yeah? Me too. I was big into Star Wars for a while, like, I dunno, sixt—um, seventeen years?” I didn’t want her to know I was younger than her.

Her eyes crinkled as she laughed. “Well, I like it a lot.”

My speech sped up like a self-conscious auctioneer. “So last year, for my birthday, a-bunch-of-my-friends-got-me-Star-Wars-stuff-like-collectible-figurines-and-Star-Wars-tickets-and-popcorn”—breath—“Annie-picked-out-that-poster-because-she-used-to-say-I-walked-as-slow-and-stiff-like-an-Imperial-Walker-heh-but-she’s-just-a-friend.”

Annie and I were barely still friends. Why did I mention her? Beads of sweat spawned across on my forehead. I didn’t want Kate to see me wipe them off because then she’d know I was a nervous mess. “Naaaate! I need help!” my little sister cried out from the bottom of the stairs.

Kate’s eyes got all puppy-dog-like. “Awww, someone needs you. Her voice is so cute!”

“Yeah, hold on for a sec.” I put my laptop down on the bed. Out of the camera’s view, I swiped my forehead in a semicircle with my shirtsleeve, like I was on a one-time windshield wiper setting.

I shouted, “Lucy? What happened?” as I barreled down the stairs.

Pointing at the screen, she shrieked, “There’s a ghost in the TV!” The DVR recording was choppy and poorly digitized. The characters’ askew faces and bodies, formed from blocks of misaligned squares, resembled a Picasso cubist painting.

“Sorry, Luce, it looks like the channel we recorded from didn’t air correctly. Maybe something’s wrong with the cable connection. Can you watch something else?”

“No, no, no! I want PAW Patrol!” By her quick escalation to hysterics, you’d think I’d asked, “You want me to fart on your head instead? Because that’s what you’re getting. Lots and lots of farts!”

Lucy threw herself onto the couch and buried her face in a throw pillow. She screech-gasped with shuddering shoulders for nearly twenty seconds, to the point of oxygen deprivation. She looked up from her cry-muffling cushion with red, swollen eyes and asked in a clear, high-pitched voice, “Can I have ice cream?”

“No, you can’t have ice cream,” I said. “That’s a special treat for when you try your best or accomplish something. You need to toughen up, Lucy Goosey.”

Probably not the best pep talk for a kindergartner, in retrospect. She went back into pterodactyl mode, screeching and sobbing, while I just stood with my arms crossed. Being the youngest, she got away with a lot. Lucy needed to learn about having thick skin, not taking things personally. She was five and always throwing tantrums. She wasn’t going to get anywhere in