“Gail and I had a drink after work,” Mama says, her hand fluttering to her forehead. The confusion is gone, and defensiveness is starting to creep into her voice. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing. Annemarie, I told you I’d be home late tonight. Why did you go calling your daddy?” She looks at me like I’ve betrayed her, like I’m not her daughter anymore.

My mouth is dry. Licking my lips, I say, “I-I guess I forgot.”

Daddy stands up and strides over to Mama in two big steps. He looks like he wants to shake her, like he’s going to shake her. “She walked home from school in the dark! You were supposed to pick her up from school! Do you know what can happen to a child in the dark, Grace? Do you? Do you even care?”

Mama looks at Daddy like he’s slapped her. “Of course I care!” She looks at me then, eyes pleading. “Shug, babydoll, I’m sorry. I just forgot.”

Before I can speak, Daddy says harshly, “You’re pathetic.”

Jumping up from the couch, I shout, “Don’t say that to her! Don’t you say that to her!”

“Annemarie, go to your room,” Daddy says, in a low voice. It is an order.

“No,” I say. My fists are clenched at my sides. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I told you to go to your room,” he says. Every word is clipped, precise. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

He’s so angry, I’m scared. Scared of my own daddy. But I don’t move. “Why should I? I can hear you two up there, too, you know.”

“Annemarie,” he warns. The muscle in his jaw is twitching.

“Go on, Shug,” Mama says. “I mean it; go upstairs. This is between me and your daddy.”

I look at her then, really look at her. To her I say, “You know what? You’re both pathetic.”

Then I run upstairs and slam my door. As soon as the door closes, I start to cry. I went and told on Mama. Now everything’s wrong.

They fight for a long time. I lay there in the dark, listening for as long as I can. I hear Mama say, “If you hate your life here so much, you should just stay gone.”

I don’t move. I wait to hear what he’ll say next.

(Don’t go, don’t go.)

Daddy says, “Darlin’, I’m not the one who hates her life. That’s you. You’re the one who can’t stand to be here.”

That’s about all I can take. I reach for the headphones on my nightstand and turn my music up loud. I fall asleep and dream and dream.

Daddy’s gone when I wake up. It’s like he was never here at all.

Chapter 31

After school Elaine and I are in my bedroom doing homework, and she says, “So Mairi invited us to sleep over on Friday. Do you want to go?” She fingers the lace edge on the quilt Grandma Shirley made me when I was born.

I look up from my math worksheet. “She invited us or you?”

“She invited both of us.”

“Who else did she invite?”

Elaine ticks the names off her fingers. “It’s gonna be me, you, Jo Jo Washington, and Hadley.” Jo Jo Washington was the queen bee at Lincoln Elementary, and Mairi has deemed her cool enough to hang with us. I think Jo Jo is a dumb name, almost as dumb as Jo Jo herself.

“Have fun,” I say.

“Come on, Annemarie. Do you want to go or not?”

“Not.”

Elaine sighs. “Mairi’s really not so bad when you get to know her.”

“How would you know? You’re the one who doesn’t know her. I’ve known her my whole life, Elaine. Don’t tell me I don’t know Mairi Stevenson.”

“Fine. Forget it.”

“You go. I’ll be busy anyway.”

“Busy doing what?”

Busy picking hair up off the carpet. Busy de-ticking Meeks. Busy counting my freckles. Busy feeling sorry for myself.

“Celia and me are doing something.”

“Annemarie, you’re a lousy liar. Come on. Let’s just go. Please? I don’t want to go without you.”

I don’t want her to go without me either. But.

Being the girl at the slumber party no one wants around is a terrible thing. She’s the one the mom has to befriend. She’s the one no one wants to sit with at dinner, or split the last piece of pizza with. She’s the one the other girls whisper about when she goes to brush her teeth. (“She’s so annoying … No offense, Annemarie.”) She used to be Sherilyn, and I can’t let her be me.

If I go to Mairi’s sleepover, I know that I’ll be the one shunted off to Siberia, sleeping on the cot while everyone else doubles up on Mairi’s twin beds. I know because once upon a time, Sherilyn slept on the cot while I got to sleep under Mairi’s patchwork quilt. And the worst part is that I didn’t even care that Sherilyn was all alone. You can’t afford to care; you’ve just got to enjoy your time at the fair and be glad. I was glad I wasn’t the one on the cot; I was glad I wasn’t the one who didn’t have someone to whisper with as we fell asleep.

But what will happen if Elaine goes to the sleepover without me? What if they seduce her with their sparkly nail polish and their Truth or Dare? Then I’ll be the one left behind. I’ll be Sherilyn.

“Fine. I’ll go. But I’m telling you, it won’t be fun.”

Chapter 32

Mairi Stevenson is adopted. Not a lot of people know this. I only know because Mama told me. Mairi sure lucked out when she got Cal and Lindy Stevenson for parents—the Stevensons are rich folk. They’re richer than anybody I know. Ever since we were little, Mairi talked about her debutante party, and how she was going to have her gown flown in from Paris. How there would be a band, how she would wear silk stockings, how everyone would be jealous because her debutante party would be the grandest party Clementon ever saw. How only the prettiest and most popular girls would be invited. She said that if I promised to buy a nice dress and curl my hair, I could come too. I promised. We were seven then.

The Stevensons live in the nice part of our neighborhood, just the three of them in a five-bedroom house. Their brick house is on a hill, and their paved driveway looks about a mile long. They have an outdoor hot tub and a workout room for Mrs. Stevenson.

Mairi has two rooms: one bedroom and one “office” for her books and her computer. It used to be her playroom. That’s where she kept her dollhouse. She had a gigantic dollhouse that used to be her grandmother’s. It had real wallpaper and fancy brocade furniture and even miniature Monet paintings on the walls. I used to love to play with that dollhouse. I’d pretend that I lived in the house with my pretend family. My mother, Beth, my father, John, and my brother, John Junior. It just about broke my heart when Mairi decided she was too old for a dollhouse and Mr. Stevenson had to put it away in the attic. I wanted to ask her if I could have it. I’d have traded Meeks for that dollhouse. But Mrs. Stevenson’s allergic to dogs. And anyway, you don’t go around asking people for a family heirloom, no matter how badly you want it.

Chapter 33

Mrs. Stevenson is a good cook. She makes special sleepover food for Mairi’s parties—caramel popcorn, mini gourmet pizzas, macadamia double-fudge brownies. Even though I didn’t want to go to Mairi’s sleepover, I was still looking forward to the snacks. I should have known Mairi is now too grown up for junk food. On the marble-topped kitchen counter, Mrs. Stevenson has set out a platter of raw vegetables, bags of rice cakes, and fancy bottled water.

There’s a great big Christmas tree in the living room. It’s so tall it touches the ceiling, and the ornaments are navy and silver. No homemade Popsicle-stick ornaments for this tree. Not like the Findleys, with their cinnamon and applesauce cookie-cutter ornaments and their popcorn on a string, and their rag-doll angel that sits on top. But at least the Stevensons have a tree. We don’t. Mama thinks it’s silly, commercial.

Mrs. Stevenson’s on the phone when I get to Mairi’s house, and she’s all dressed up. Her hair is curled in an updo, and she’s wearing a silky black tank top and white pants. She waves at me to sit down as she makes a face into the phone. “Suzy sweetie, I’ve got to run. There’s a thing at the club tonight, and of course Cal and I have to make a little appearance. … I’ll call you later, hon.”

Hanging up, she says to me, “Miss Annemarie, it has been far too long, darlin’. How have you been? How’s your mama? Is she doin’ all right?”

Mrs. Stevenson makes me nervous, always has. My palms are sweating as I say, “I’m fine, Mrs. Stevenson, just fine. Mama’s fine too.”

“And that handsome daddy of yours?” She winks, resting her elbows on the kitchen counter.

“He’s good too.”

“Well, you tell them both that Lindy and Cal say hello.”

The doorbell rings then, and Mrs. Stevenson rushes off to get the door. She returns with Elaine, who sits in the chair next to me. Elaine and I sit at the kitchen table like two inmates waiting to be released for good behavior. My hands are in my lap, and I’m sitting straight as an arrow.

Mrs. Stevenson says, “The other girls have gone with Mr. Stevenson to rent some movies. They’ll be back any minute now.” She beams at Elaine. “Elaine, I’m so thrilled you and Mairi have gotten to be friends. She’s told me all about you. It was so sweet of you to have her over for dinner at your house.”

I look at Elaine in surprise. When had Mairi gone to Elaine’s house for dinner? And why hadn’t she invited me?

“I told Mairi that she’s so lucky to have a friend from a different culture,” Mrs. Stevenson continues. “I want you to teach her all about where you come from. Maybe she could even learn some Chinese! Imagine that, my baby girl speakin’ Chinese.”

“Oh, I’m not Chinese, Mrs. Stevenson. I’m Korean, Korean American,” Elaine says. “And I’m actually from New York.”

Mrs. Stevenson’s smile doesn’t waver. “Well, Korean, then. You could teach her Korean.”

Elaine smiles back. “Well, I’m not that great myself, but I could try.”

Mairi and everyone come home then, and we all go upstairs. After we drop off our overnight bags in Mairi’s room, she tells us that her mom and dad are going to a country club party and won’t be back till late. She and Hadley exchange grins. Suddenly the air feels charged, and I have no idea what’s coming.

We change into our pajamas—Mairi in a hot pink camisole set, Hadley in a crop top and boxer shorts, Jo Jo in a striped tank top with matching shorts, and Elaine in an oversized T-shirt with a ripped shoulder. Me, I’m wearing a white tank top I borrowed from Elaine and a pair of Celia’s terry cloth shorts.

I haven’t been in Mairi’s bedroom in a long time, and there are little differences now. Your feet still sink into the marshmallowy pink carpet, she still has twin beds, but she has new sheets. There’s a framed Degas print where her Beauty and the Beast poster used to be, and her collection of glass ballerina figurines is gone. Whenever I came to her house, I would count the ballerinas and name them—Suzette, Violetta, Antoinette, Bridgette, all fancy double-t names. I wonder where they went, if they’re with that dollhouse in the attic.

We’re sprawled out on Mairi’s twin beds doing our nails when Mairi jumps up suddenly. “Be right back, girls.” She disappears.

“What do you think?” I ask, holding out my hands for Elaine’s inspection. The color is called Arabian Nights, and my nails sparkle like rubies. I hardly ever wear nail polish, and I can’t stop looking at my nails.

“Hot,” she says. Then she lifts up her hand—her nails are glittery pink.

“White hot,” I say. “What’s it called?” I like to know the names of things.

Elaine inspects the bottom of the nail polish bottle. “Disco Bubblegum.”

“So, Annemarie, who do you like?” Hadley says suddenly. She and Jo Jo are sitting in the bed across from Elaine and me.

I swallow. “No one.”

“That’s not what I heard,” she says, blowing on her nails.

I look at Elaine, who shrugs helplessly. “What did you hear?” I say. My heart is thudding loud as can be, and all I can think is, don’t say Mark. Don’t say Mark.

Hadley smiles. She is enjoying this moment, wielding this power over me. “I heard you like Jack Connelly. Is it true?”

Relief washes over me like a warm wave. “Ew. No way. I just tutor him in English.”

“I think he’s kind of cute,” Jo Jo says. Then she sees the look on Hadley’s face. “What? What’s wrong with him?”

“Are you kidding me?” Hadley shrieks. “He’s so immature. He’s like, total redneck trash. His dad’s a drunk, you know. And his mother works at a diner. … No offense, Annemarie.”

More than anything, I would like to throttle Hadley Smith. I would kick her butt clear across Clementon. I hate that girl something fierce.

The room has gone quiet, and everyone’s waiting for me to say something. I say, “I already told you I don’t like him.”

Hadley squints her eyes at me. “Well then, who do you like?”

Then the door flings open, and it’s Mairi with five cans of Budweiser. She sashays around the room, grinning widely and clutching the cans to her chest. Hadley squeals and claps her hands. “You’re so bad, Mair!”

Mairi does a little dance and puts the beers on the floor. She pops off the tab and says, “Cheers, y’all.”