Mr Vega looked utterly mortified, his face pale . . . r than usual. He gripped the counter as though to stop himself from fleeing the scene. Ivy would have been right behind him.
I will never set foot in here again, Ivy vowed as everyone danced around her.
The serving girl even grabbed her dad’s hands to get him to dance, so he bobbed his knees a couple of times and tried to smile. Ivy had seen more convincing smiles on corpses.
My worst nightmare just got worse, Ivy thought. Now Dad’s dancing.
After an eternity, the Midi-Dum-Di-Dum Twist and Shout was plonked down on the counter.
‘Is there anything else?’ the serving girl asked, slightly breathless.
‘Um,’ Mr Vega clutched the crumpled menu. ‘If I say “Pinkaholic” will there be any more . . . er . . . performances?’
‘No, sir,’ the girl said, ‘the Pinkaholic has nothing special except the taste. Should I go ahead and get you that?’
‘Yes, please,’ Mr Vega said, sighing with relief.
The girl leaned forward and whispered to him, ‘You see the little musical notes on the menu? You might want to sidestep those smoothies when you come back next time.’
‘Next time?’ asked Ivy’s dad with alarm. ‘Yes . . . next time.’
When the smoothie arrived, her dad paid, picked up the bright pink and yellow cups and stepped tight-lipped over to the table where Olivia was waiting. Ivy could see his hands shaking.
‘I should have warned you,’ Olivia said, trying to keep the smile off her face as her dad placed her drink down on the bright orange table. ‘There are a few smoothies to avoid if you aren’t into spontaneous group singing.’
‘Hmm,’ Mr Vega replied, sliding into the booth across from the twins. ‘I’m all for trying new things, but spontaneous group singing isn’t one of them.’
‘Thank the darkness,’ Ivy breathed.
Olivia was really happy her biological dad was going out of his way to get to know her. He already knew a lot about Ivy – she lived with him, after all. It was only a couple of weeks ago, just before Christmas, when Olivia found out he was her and Ivy’s real dad.
She took a big slurp of her smoothie and then started coughing and spluttering. She tried to compose herself but Mr Vega had already noticed.
His face fell. ‘Is that not . . . did I get it wrong?’
Should I tell him? Olivia wondered. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but at the same time, she didn’t want to have to force down the whole mushy, sticky drink. ‘I’m not a big fan of bananas,’ Olivia confessed.
Mr Vega groaned. ‘I apologise, Olivia. How about we switch?’
Olivia nodded, gratefully. The Twist and Shout was one of her favourites – especially because of the dancing.
‘This simply demonstrates my point,’ Mr Vega went on, ‘that I must spend more time getting to know you. Which I intend to do as soon as I get back.’
Ivy looked up from her drink. ‘Get back from where?’
‘Another reason I wanted to see you both together is to say that, since we are no longer moving to Europe –’
‘Woohoo!’ Ivy and Olivia said in unison. Just last week, the twins had been forced to try every trick in the book to avert disaster and convince Mr Vega not to leave Franklin Grove.
‘There are some urgent things I must take care of,’ he continued. ‘I have already spoken with your mother, Olivia.’ He was talking about Mrs Abbott, her adopted mom. Neither of the girls could remember their biological mother. ‘She has agreed to let Ivy stay with you for the next few nights.’
Olivia looked at her twin. ‘Sleepover!’ she squealed, causing the couple in the next booth to stare at them.
Ivy grinned. The smoothie had turned her teeth red. ‘I’ve been wanting to repaint my nails.’ Ivy held up her hand to reveal chipped silver nail polish. ‘But what’s the trip, Dad?’
Mr Vega waved a hand dismissively, revealing his cuff link shaped like a miniature coffin. ‘It is just some business I must attend to without delay.’
‘Where are you going?’ Olivia persisted. We’ve barely had one smoothie together and already he’s leaving! she thought.