He shrugs uncomfortably. “Did you talk with her? Before you left?”
“Yeah.”The cat jumps onto our recycling bin. It looks up, and its haunted eyes flash at me through the darkness. I shiver.
“You’re cold,” Cricket says. “You should go to bed.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Do you feel better?” he blurts. “Did Max help?”
I’m filled with shame. “I don’t know,” I whisper.
We’re silent for several minutes. I turn my head and watch the street, the moon, the street. I feel him watch me, the stars, me. The wind is biting. I want to go inside, but I’m afraid to lose his company. Our friendship is teetering on the verge of extinction again. I don’t know what I want, but I do know that I don’t want to lose him.
“Cricket?”
“Yeah?”
I peel my gaze from the sky to meet his eyes. “Will you come home next weekend?”
He closes them. I get the strangest sense he’s thanking someone.
“Yes,” he says. “Of course.”
Chapter sixteen
Nathan wakes me up early so we can talk before school. Also as punishment, I assume. I’ve only had three hours of sleep. As I’m getting dressed, I peek through my curtains and discover that Cricket has left his open. His usual leather satchel and laundry bag are gone.
There’s a pang in the hollow of my chest.
I drag myself downstairs. Andy is awake—he’s never awake this early—and he’s making scrambled eggs. Nathan is checking his email at the table in one of his nicest suits. There’s no sign of Norah. She’s probably on the foldout couch in Nathan’s office.
“Here.” Andy slides a mug of coffee toward me. He doesn’t approve of me drinking coffee, so this is serious. We take seats beside Nathan, and he sets aside his phone.
“Lola, we understand why you left last night,” he says.
I’m shocked. I’m also relieved that I’m Lola, not Dolores.
Nathan continues, “But it doesn’t excuse your behavior. You scared us to death.”
Now that sounds about right.
The lecture I’d expected follows. It’s painful, it’s extensive, and it ends with me receiving a month of grounding. They don’t believe me when I tell them I didn’t smoke the pot, which they know was Max’s, and I can’t convince them otherwise on either point. I get a lengthy side lecture about the hazards of drug use, to which I could just as easily point to the closed office door and say, “Duh.”
But I don’t.
My walk to school is long, my day at school even longer. Lindsey tries to entertain me with stories about the twitchy man her parents hired to help in the restaurant. She’s convinced he has a dark secret like a hidden identity or the knowledge of a government cover-up. But all I can think about is tonight. I don’t have work. I don’t have a date with Max, and I won’t have one apart from Sunday brunch—if he’ll even show up anymore—for another month. And . . . no Cricket.
At least the next month will give me plenty of time to work on my dress.
The thought doesn’t cheer me.The stays are progressing faster than expected, and I’ve even started the wig, but the panniers are frustrating. I still can’t find any satisfying instructions. I spend my afternoon doing homework, chatting online with Lindsey, and adding chicken wire to the top of my white base wig. Marie Antoinette wore ENORMOUS wigs. The wire will give it the necessary height without drastically increasing the weight. I’ll cover it later with matching fake hair.
Norah is talking with Andy in the kitchen. They picked up her things today, and the boxes have covered Nathan’s antiques and taken over our entire living room. The cardboard smells like incense and grime. Norah’s voice is weary, and I wince and turn up my music. I still haven’t seen her. I’ll have to soon, but I’m putting it off as long as possible. Until dinner, I guess.
The doorbell rings at six-thirty.
I pause—my pliers on the wire, my ears perked. Cricket?
But then I hear Max’s deep and gravelly voice. My pliers drop, and I’m skidding downstairs. There’s no way, there’s no way, there’s no way. Except . . . there he is. He’s even abandoned his usual black T-shirt for a striped button-up. His tattoos poke out of the bottom of his sleeves. And he’s wearing his glasses, of course.