into a factory farm, something about inhumane treatment of the animals. But that can’t have anything to do with Blue’s Burgers. Their cattle come from organic, grass-fed … something-something … I don’t know, whatever their ads say.
Don’t they?
And even if they don’t, does it really matter to me? I’m not vegetarian. It’s never even crossed my mind to be anything other than a content omnivore. I figure, humans are at the top of the food chain for a reason. And it isn’t like my parents can afford the expensive meat out of the butcher case, so probably lots of the meat I’ve consumed over the years has come from those farms that feed them slop or what have you, as Dad so succinctly suggested.
This isn’t a cause that means anything to me. They’re just cows.
They’re just food.
But Morgan. Regardless of how I feel, this cause clearly means something to her. So much that she was willing to climb to the top of a rickety ladder to tell people about it.
A choice she’s paid the price for.
“Everything okay, Pru?” asks Mom.
I blink up at her. Smile. “Yeah, yeah.” I try to shake the thoughts from my head. My family is staring at me. I clear my throat. “I was just thinking about … um … this project I’ve been working on. Did you know that sea otters play a vital role in balancing the health of kelp forests?”
“What’s a kelp forest?” asks Penny.
I sigh. “It’s a forest. Of kelp. Underwater.”
Ellie’s eyes go wide. “There are forests underwater?”
“Yeah, sort of,” I say.
Mom dips a fry into her ketchup. “Did you learn that at your new volunteer job?”
“Um. Yeah,” I say, because I’m not about to bring up how I spent the afternoon snorkeling with Quint Erickson. Jude is already giving me a suspicious look.
“I must say, I was pretty bummed when you decided not to come work at the record store,” says Dad. “But it sounds like things at this rescue center are going well so far?”
I shrug. “It hasn’t been so bad.”
“And Ari has been great, hasn’t she?” says Mom. “I’ve heard nothing but good things.”
“Oh yeah. That girl!” says Dad, picking up a pickle that’s fallen out of his burger. “I think she might know more about music than I do! And, of course, I’m happy to have Jude there.”
Jude smiles, but his mouth is full, so he doesn’t say anything.
“That reminds me,” I say, setting down the burger, unbitten, and wiping my hands on a paper towel. “I told Ari I’d give her my old keyboard. You don’t mind, do you?”
Mom and Dad both stop chewing and exchange looks.
“What?” I ask. “We’re not using it. No one here even knows how to play.”
“Maybe Ellie would want to learn to play,” suggests Lucy, which feels like a suggestion made just to thwart me. I frown at her, then glance at Ellie.
“Ellie, do you want to learn to play the piano?”
Eleanor twists up her mouth in deep, thoughtful concentration. She takes a sip of her milk, still thinking. When she sets the cup down, she finally answers, “I want to play the drums.”
“Good choice!” says Dad ecstatically, while the rest of us grimace. That’s all we need to go along with Penny’s violin lessons.
“Either way,” I continue, “if Ellie or anyone did decide they wanted it, I’m sure Ari would give it back. But for now, I guarantee she’d get more use out of it than we are.”
“Here’s the thing,” says Mom, dabbing her own paper towel around her mouth. “We would have loved for Ari to have it, if we knew, but … well. We don’t have the keyboard anymore.”
I blink at her. “What?”
Then I shove my seat back from the table.
Ellie, who we are constantly having to scold into staying at the table during dinnertime, immediately points at me and shouts, “No leaving the table!”
I ignore her and cross the floor to peek into the living room.
Sure enough, the keyboard is gone, leaving a gaping hole amid the clutter where it used to sit.
I spin back. “Where did it go?”
“We sold it,” says Mom, lifting her hands in something almost like an apology, though not a very convincing one. “You weren’t using it. I didn’t think you’d even notice.”
And she’s right. I never would have noticed, if I hadn’t wanted to give it to Ari.
I slump back into my seat. “You could have asked.”
“And you could have practiced more when you were taking lessons,” says Dad, even though I’m