Every time she heard one of the members of the Delos family mentioned by name, it drew her attention as if it had been shouted, irritating her. She left the register and went over to the magazine rack, straightening the shelves just to give her hands something to do.
As she wiped down the shelves and stocked the candy jars, she mentally ticked the kids off in her head. Hector is a year older than Jason and Ariadne, who are twins. Lucas and Cassandra are brother and sister, cousins to the other three.
She changed the water for the flowers and rang up a few customers. Hector won’t be there the first day of school because he's still in Spain with his aunt Pandora, though no one in town knows why.
Helen pulled on a pair of shoulder-length rubber gloves and a long apron, and dug through the garbage for stray recycling items. Lucas, Jason, and Ariadne are all going to be in my grade. So I’m surrounded. Cassandra is the youngest. She's a freshman, and only fourteen.
She went to the kitchen and put a load in the industrial dishwasher. She mopped the floors and started counting the money. Lucas is such a stupid name. It’s all wrong. It sticks out like a sore thumb.
“Lennie?”
“What! Dad! Can’t you see I’m counting?” Helen said, slamming her hands down on the counter so hard she made a stack of quarters jump. Jerry held up his hands in a placating gesture.
“It’s the first day of school tomorrow,” he reminded her in his most reasonable voice.
“I know,” she responded blankly, still unaccountably irritable but trying not to take it out on her father.
“It’s almost eleven, honey,” he said. Kate came out from the back to check on the noise.
“You’re still here? I’m really sorry, Jerry,” she said, looking perplexed. “Helen, I told you to lock the front and go home at nine.”
They both stared at Helen, who had arranged every bill and every coin in neat stacks.
“I got sidetracked,” Helen said lamely.
After sharing a worried glance with Jerry, Kate took over counting the change and sent them home. Still in a daze, Helen gave Kate a kiss good-bye and tried to figure out how she had missed out on the last three hours of her life.
Jerry put Helen’s bike on the back of the Pig and started the engine without a word. He glanced over at her a few times as they drove home, but he didn’t say anything until they parked in the driveway.
“Did you eat?” he asked softly, raising his eyebrows.
“I don’t . . . yes?” Helen had no idea what or when she’d last eaten. She vaguely remembered Kate cutting her some cherries.
“Are you nervous about the first day of school? Junior year’s a big one.”
“I guess I must be,” she said absentmindedly. Jerry glanced over at her and bit his lower lip. He exhaled before speaking.
“I’ve been thinking maybe you should talk to Dr. Cunningham about those phobia pills. You know, the kind for people who have a hard time in crowds? Agoraphobia! That’s what it’s called,” he burst out, remembering. “Do you think that could help you?”
Helen smiled and ran the charm of her necklace along its chain. “I don’t think so, Dad. I’m not afraid of strangers, I’m just shy.”
She knew she was lying. It wasn’t just that she was shy. Any time she extended herself and attracted attention, even accidentally, her stomach hurt so badly it felt almost like the stomach flu or menstrual cramps—really bad menstrual cramps—but she’d sooner light her hair on fire than tell her father that.
“And you’re okay with that? I know you’d never ask, but do you want help? Because I think this is holding you back. . . .” Jerry said, starting in on one of their oldest fights.
Helen cut him off at the pass. “I’m fine! Really. I don’t want to talk to Dr. Cunningham, I don’t want drugs. I just want to go inside and eat,” she said in a rush. She got out of the Jeep.
Her father watched her with a small smile as she plucked her heavy, old-fashioned bike off the rack on the back of the Jeep and placed it on the ground. She rang the bell on her handlebar jauntily and gave her dad a grin.
“See, I’m just peachy,” she said.
“If you knew how hard what you just did would be for an average girl your age, you’d get what I’m saying. You aren’t average, Helen. You try