The Sister Solution (14 page)

It was a big risk, stealing my picture, but knowing Patrice, she probably didn't lose much sleep over it. She figured even if I found out what she'd done I probably wouldn't make a fuss, because she was so popular and I was so . . . not. Imagine if my photo won Best in Show
in the district art competition. Patrice would have ridden the glory all the way to the state level, maybe even to the nationals. But she hadn't won. She'd lost. Hooray for my little sister who never comes in second to anybody, not even the famous Saturn. “. . . gliding?”

I am jolted back to reality. “I'm sorry, what Banana?”

She sips her lemon verbena tea. “I was wondering, would you send me a couple of the photos you took of me hang gliding?”

“Okay. I've got a couple on my phone.”

“You're still thinking about Jorgianna, aren't you?”

“Uh-huh.” I tear a corner off the little triangular cucumber sandwich. “It isn't the fight or her purple hair. There's a lot more to it than that.”

“I'm all ears.”

“See, we—okay, I—I made up a contract.”

She frowns. “What kind of a contract?”

“A contract that said Jorgianna and I wouldn't communicate with each other while we were both at school. It seemed like the perfect solution when my sister was skipping grades. It was supposed to be so we'd have our own lives and we wouldn't get in each other's way at school.” What am I doing? I can't lie to Banana. “Okay, it was so
she
wouldn't bug
me
at school,” I say. “Except the
whole thing backfired. I never should have done it.”

“You can fix it. Contracts are made to be broken.”

“Even among sisters?”

“Especially among sisters.”

“I think it might be too late. She got in with the wrong group of friends, and now she won't listen to me. The more I try to warn her about them, the more she defends them.”

Banana nods. “That's how it usually works.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“Wait.”

“Wait?”

“Wait and trust. Eventually, these
friends
of hers will reveal their true colors, and Jorgianna will break away from them on her own.”

“How long will that take?”

“Hard to say.”

That was not the answer I was hoping for. “So until she figures all of this stuff out for herself—”

“You wait.”

I let out a long breath. “I wait.”

I hate the idea of sitting around and doing nothing while Patrice digs her hooks deeper into Jorgianna, but I suppose my grandmother is right. What other choice do I have?

The waitress comes over. “Can I get you any dessert?”

“Chocolate molten cake!” Banana and I say at the same time.

When I slide my fork through the small mound of spongy, dark cake, a river of warm chocolate syrup flows onto the plate. Banana and I savor each luscious bite. We close our eyes. We make yummy noises. It is bliss.

Banana drops me off at home a little after three o'clock. Before heading upstairs, I check in with my parents, who are moving a rhododendron bush from one side of the yard to the other. I have no idea why. I stroll down the second-floor hallway with my head high. Jorgianna's bedroom door is open. I let only my eyes swing to the right as I slowly pass her room. I don't see anything. I take a step back. I don't hear anything. I lean over. Stick my head into her room. She's not here. Jorgianna couldn't still be at the movies, could she? It's been five hours since she left!

I go to my own room and collapse onto my bed.

Right now she's probably having the time of her life with her new besties. Who am I kidding? She's never going to give them up. How are you supposed to rescue someone who doesn't even realize she is drowning?

I bolt upright.

I'm sorry Banana, I can't do it.

I can't wait and trust. Each minute that ticks by my sister is getting closer and closer to Saturn. I can't wait for something that might never happen. I grab my phone and let my fingers fly. I tap Jorgianna's name in my contact list, and before I can come up with a million reasons why I shouldn't do it, I hit send.

Saw your art at the WAG today. Loved it. Good job! Saw Patrice's photo, too. You were right. Amazeballs. Be sure to tell her I thought it told a great story.

Love, Sammi

A smirk curling my lips, I gently set my phone on my nightstand.

Now things ought to get interesting.

TWELVE

EVERY FIVE SECONDS THERE IS
a throbbing pain behind my left eyeball, my stomach is boiling up some kind of witch's brew, and if I have to pretend one more time it's the funniest thing in the world when Tanith says “Forgive
meee
!” I am going to throw up this mushroom pizza with waaaay too much garlic. You'd think a place named Pizza, Pizza, Pizza would know how to make one.

At least the movie was good. Sort of. Patrice, Tanith, and India saw some boys they knew from school sitting a few rows behind us (not Noah, thank goodness). During the previews, the boys threw popcorn at us.
We, of course, had to retaliate. It was fun at first, but got annoying, especially when they hurled other stuff, like peanuts and Milk Duds. Those Duds hurt. I was secretly glad when the usher told the boys to stop or they'd have to leave. After the movie India's nanny, Vaida, offered to take us for pizza. It was nice, except for the pizza. And Tanith. That girl can talk for three and a half minutes without coming up for air.

“Who wants another slice?” asks Vaida in her Lithuanian accent. The first time Tanith and Patrice ditched us, I'd gotten to talk with her and discovered she is a college exchange student from Vilnius. “Jorgi? More pizza?”

“No, thanks. I couldn't eat another bite.” My stomach is still churning. It didn't help that Patrice made us order mushrooms on the pizza, even though I said I didn't like them.

“India?” asks Vaida.

“Me too. Packed.”

“Where did Patrice and Tanith go?”

“To the bathroom,” says India.

Vaida puckers her lips but doesn't say the one word we are all thinking: again? “I'm going to go check on
your brothers,” she says to India. “When the girls get back, tell them we need to go no later than three thirty, okay?”

“Okay.”

We watch Vaida head toward the play area.

“I don't think I could be an exchange student,” I say. “I'd miss my family too much.”

“Vaida calls and Skypes her family, but it's hard because they are, like, ten hours ahead of us in Russia.”

“Actually, she's—” I stop myself.

“What?”

“She's uh . . . she's not from Russia.”

“She isn't?”

“She's from Lithuania.”

India twists her lips.

“It used to be part of Russia, so I could see where you might get confused,” I hurry to say. “The U.S.S.R. annexed Lithuania in World War II, but when the Soviet Union fell apart in 1990, the country declared its independence. Now it's part of the European Union—sorry, I'm babbling, aren't I?”

“No, not at all.”

“Has Vaida taught you anything in Lithuanian?”

“AčiÅ«.”

“Bless you,” I say.

India laughs. “I didn't sneeze. I said ‘Ah-chu.' It means ‘thank you' in Lithuanian.”

“Oh!”

“Want to hear another one?”

“Sure.”

“
Viso gero.
That's good-bye.”

“Vissa—?

“Gehr-oh. Vaida has this way of rolling her
R
s at the back of her throat. I'm still working on it.”

“You sound good to me.”

“AčiÅ«,”
she says shyly. “I've been meaning to tell you how much I like your new hair color. It reminds me of pansies. You know, the dark purple ones with the bright white faces.”

“
Ačiū
. I could do your hair too, if you want.”

“Thanks, but if I dyed my hair my mother would kill me.”

“Mine is fine with it, as long as I check with her first and use temporary dye. I got in a little bit of trouble for this. The purple came out darker than either of us expected.”

“Ombré toes are
about as brave as I get,” India lifts her mocha-brown T-strap sandals with the turquoise beads. She wiggles a foot. Each toe is painted a different shade of pink, starting with a bright fuchsia big toe and getting lighter with each nail down the row to end at a light-pink pinkie. “I'd never have the guts to color my hair or wear some of the cool clothes you do. You're so much braver than I am. I'd die for sure if I had to move up a couple of grades and leave all my friends. That must be why Patrice likes you so much. You're fearless.”

“But I'm not,” I say. “Not really. I put up a good front, that's all. Tons of things scare me.”

“They do? Like what?”

“You want a list?”

She leans forward, puts her elbows on the table, and rests her chin in her hands. “Uh-huh.”

“Okay. Uh . . . stuff I'm scared of. Here goes. Um . . . I'm scared of choking on something in a nice restaurant and having my sister have to do the Heimlich on me in front of everybody. . . . I'm scared of big dogs that bark a lot. Same for little dogs that bark a lot. . . . Let's see, I hate those machines in the grocery store that count
coins. I keep thinking they are going to start firing coins at me when I go by.”

She laughs.

“Oh, and escalators,” I say. “I'm always afraid I am going to get my sleeve caught in the handrail or my shoe stuck at the top and get sucked in.”

India slaps the table. “Me too!”

“I won't even get on one of those things unless my sister is with me,” I say.

“I wish I had a sister,” she says. “I don't know Sammi that well, but she's always been nice to me. She's helped me with my homework in math. She's eaten lunch with us a few times, you know. Before, I mean . . .”

“Before everything happened with Noah.”

“Yeah.”

“Honestly? I don't know why Patrice got so upset over that,” I say. “You guys said Noah and she were always fighting anyway. Why would you want to hang out with someone you don't even get along with?”

India hooks a lock from her brown bob behind one ear. “Patrice has her reasons. Patrice
always
has her reasons.
The only reason she likes me is because I'm rich.”

I stare at her in shock. “India!”

“It's true. Haven't you noticed? The only time Patrice ever talks to me is when she needs money or wants my nanny to drive us somewhere.”

There is an awkward silence. I don't know what to say. I'm sure India is wrong. Patrice isn't that shallow. Is she? Suddenly, I feel prickly in my daisy shirt and plaid skirt. Our conversation was going so well and then this . . .

India cranes her neck. “Where are Tanith and Patrice, anyway? I'm giving them five more minutes, and then we're going in.” She takes out her phone to check her messages. I do the same.