Emmy & Oliver - Robin Benway Page 0,15
tell the twins apart.)
I heard the footsteps before I saw Oliver’s feet on the stairs. He had on white athletic socks, gray sweatpants, and a white T-shirt, his hair rumpled like he had been sleeping. “Um, hey,” he said, waving a little. “Is there pizza still?”
The movie was immediately abandoned just as my heart started to pick up speed.
“Yes!” Molly said. “We have three kinds!” She held up three fingers as she leaned across my legs. “’Cause there’s three of us.”
“Why do you guys—”
“I’m a girl, not a guy!”
“Oh. Sorry. Why do you girls need three kinds?”
I pointed at Nora. “Hit it, Nora.”
“I can’t eat gluten,” Nora announced, beaming at her older brother. “It makes me barf.”
Oliver winced. “Good to know.”
Molly shoved her way in front of her sister before I could even point at her. They adored Oliver, it was obvious. I felt like I was watching a bunch of peasant girls compete for the prince’s affections. “Let me guess,” Oliver said. “You . . . can’t eat tomatoes.”
“No!” she giggled. “I’m a veggietarian!”
Oliver started making his way to the kitchen, both girls trailing along behind him. I was just the boring next-door neighbor/babysitter, so of course I was abandoned. “Do you eat pizza?” Nora asked Oliver. “Do you like pizza? Or do you like sushi? I like sushi, too.”
“I thought you were a vegetarian.”
“That’s me!” Molly said.
“Well, I like pizza and sushi,” Oliver said, picking up a slice and folding an end expertly in half and biting off the pointed part. “This must be the gluten-free pizza,” he said after a few chews. “Who knew gluten was so important?”
Nora just smiled at him.
“Why do you eat it like that?” Molly asked. “It’s all folded up.”
“That’s how you eat it in New York,” Oliver told her. He was already halfway through his slice, talking with his mouth full. I tried not to be grossed out.
“Really?” Nora said.
“Yep. There, you can go into stores and just buy a slice of pizza and then you eat it standing up, like this.”
The twins immediately dove for the pizza boxes again. That was my cue.
“Hey, hey, we’ll try it some other time,” I said, reaching them before they ate more pizza and caused an unpleasant end to the evening. “You both had enough tonight.”
“You’re no fun.” Nora pouted.
“I think I can live with that,” I told her, then shut the boxes just as Oliver was going for another slice. “Oh! Oh, sorry, I mean . . . you can have more. Sure.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “You sure, babysitter?”
It took a few seconds to find my voice again. “Um, yeah. The rules only apply to anyone under four feet tall.”
“I’m taller than Molly,” Nora immediately told Oliver.
“I’m older!”
“I can count to three hundred!”
“I can count to a bazillion!”
“A bazillion plus one!”
“Got it,” Oliver said, then smiled at them before taking his slice and heading back upstairs. “Enjoy your movie!” he called behind him, and I realized that the girls and I were watching the stairs even after he disappeared.
Nora turned to look at me. “Mommy says he spends too much time in his room.”
“Oh yeah?” I said. “What do you think?”
“I think that he has the biggest room so he should spend the most time there.”
“That’s very sound logic.” I smiled down at her, then used the back of my hand to wipe some stray sauce off her cheek. “C’mon, let’s do what Oliver said and enjoy the movie.”
The kids enjoyed the rest of the movie.
I don’t remember anything that happened in it, though. I was too busy thinking about what Oliver was doing upstairs. Homework? Watching his own movies, ones that didn’t involve zany music and bright color explosions? I should have invited him to watch with us, I thought, then wondered what I would’ve done if he said yes.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Drew and I stayed on campus the next day at lunch while Caro disappeared to Del Taco with three senior girls from the cheer squad. “Bring me a bean burrito!” Drew called after her as she ran down the hill toward the parking lot. “With red sauce!”
“Okay!” Caro yelled back, her voice disappearing into the breeze.
“She’s not going to remember,” I said to Drew as she disappeared. “She never remembers.”
“I’m forever hopeful,” he said. “That’s what friends do. They hope. They have faith in each other.”
“Well, I have faith that she’ll forget,” I said, hiking my backpack up onto my shoulders. “You have to be a realist with Caro.”
“I’m a hopeful