So I might look just the same, only I’d be rich and living in Miami Beach.” I look up at the typically gray Pittsburgh skies. “That’d be nice.”
She flips a plastic bag into the back. “You are who you are because of Daddy and me. Get in, and I’ll put the cart away.”
I do, watching her walk to the cart return, the frown deepening that line between her eyebrows that she’s always trying to hide with her bangs.
When she climbs into the driver’s seat, she lets out a little sigh. “I’m not hungry. Let’s just skip Eat’n Park and go home.”
“ ’Kay.” I wasn’t in a Superburger mood anymore, anyway.
As she sticks the key into the ignition, she makes a little grunt. “Oh, sh—sugar. I forgot Dad’s duct tape.”
“He has enough at home,” I say. “It’s just … under something else.”
Her eyes shutter closed for a second. “Don’t I know it.”
“You can show him that magazine and tell him you got distracted.”
Looking over her shoulder, she backs out of the spot. “He doesn’t need to see that. It would just make him feel inadequate.”
“Or give him an idea for a new invention. The infinity bathtub.” I laugh, but Mom doesn’t. And she would totally have laughed at that, like, half an hour ago.
I lean my head against the window, still sick from the bus incident and a little sad about the rich doctor who might have been my father.
Courtney wouldn’t laugh at me if I had a house so big it was in a magazine. Not when I got a Z or a Beemer for my birthday, and had … a date to homecoming. I sure wouldn’t be wearing crappy clothes and—
Mom’s hand lands on my arm, yanking me out of my thoughts. “I love who you are, honey,” she says. “I wouldn’t give you up for all the money in the world. It would just be nice not to have to worry about money constantly.”
“Nice” is an understatement. With that much money, I wouldn’t be a nobody. My “dad” could give me a boob job, better cheekbones, and a smaller nose. I’d be at the top of the A-list, not target practice for backpacks.
“So don’t even think about it again,” she says. “Because you are who you are meant to be. Annie Nutter, daughter of Mel and Emily Nutter.”
“But you don’t know, Mom. What if I were the daughter of Jim and Emily Monroe? What if you’d had a daughter with a different husband? Who knows if I would still be me?”
“That’s a silly question.”
Is it? Would I play the violin? Would I have my same lousy hair but pretty blue eyes? Would I still love Jolly Ranchers and SpongeBob, or would I be too rich and cool for candy and old-school cartoons? Would Lizzie be my BFF? Would Theo still gross me out? Would I still be the poster child for the website My Life Is Average? Or worse?
I think not.
“If you even existed,” Mom says. “You’d be somebody else entirely if you had different parents.”
“But wouldn’t I have the same soul?”
Mom looks at me, her eyes clear now, but still mascara-smudged. “I have no idea. Nobody can answer that question.”
But I think about it all the way home.
CHAPTER THREE
If Architectural Digest did a pictorial on our home, it wouldn’t be called “Living a Flawless Life.” More like “Navigating the Nutter Clutter.” The minute I make my way through the maze of discarded printers, car parts, and rusted tools in the garage and manage to get into the kitchen, Theo comes bounding up from the basement, hollering for our attention, with Watson the Howling Basset on backup.
“This is it!” Theo announces, drama-king style. “Dad has done it this time!” He opens his mouth and burps. Every word my ten-year-old moron brother speaks is punctuated with an exclamation point and a belch.
“What are you doing home so early?” I ask, dumping Walmart bags onto the counter.
“Dad picked me up from school to help him. Wait till you see this!” He grabs my arm. “Where’s Mom?”
“Getting the rest of the stuff.”
“You gotta come downstairs!” he insists, pulling at my arm.
“Okay, okay.” I slip out of his slimy touch just as Mom comes in.
“Mom! Dad’s got the best idea ever! This one is killer! We’re gonna be rich!” Theo shouts.
Mom and I share a quick look, but Theo misses it, of course, as he digs through the Walmart bags and yanks out the electrical cable. “Did you get the duct tape?