“I was beginning to wonder if you two were coming.” She pulled at a tuft of fur clinging to the drooping sleeve of her enormous knit cardigan. “I’ve got funeral pies ready to go into the oven. My pâte brisée has probably turned soggy sitting out so long.”
“Sorry, Miss Kitty. We got delayed.” Sylvie’s mom gave the woman a hug. “CCS agents were searching the diner.”
Miss Kitty shook her head. “Evening raids. Divisive new policies.” She took a step back and examined Sylvie’s mom’s shirt. “Speaking of which, you can take off that ridiculous pin … at least while you’re here.”
Sylvie’s mom unclasped the bronze dot and smiled. “I take it that means Godard hasn’t given in to Bass’s ranking protocols.”
Miss Kitty clutched the book in her hands tightly. “Given in? She’s the thorn in Bass’s backside!”
Sylvie couldn’t help but notice the title of the book clutched tightly in Miss Kitty’s hand:Your Cat Reincarnated.
“And this must be Sylvie.” Miss Kitty turned toward Sylvie, still goggle-eyed.
Sylvie quickly pulled her gaze from the book.
“You know your mother was one of my best students.”
“Kitty teaches pies, tarts, and prophecy,” said Sylvie’s mom. She paused. “Did you say you’re baking … funeral pies?”
“Yes. I’m afraid I’ve lost m-my”—Kitty pulled out a tissue—“my Jingles.”
“Oh, Kitty.” Sylvie’s mom squeezed the sniffling woman in another embrace.
“I hope cats really do have nine lives. Fifteen years wasn’t enough.” Kitty slipped the book into the large pocket of her cardigan and waved a hand. “But enough about my troubles. You have a competition to get to.”
Sylvie’s mom took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I do.”
Kitty blew into the soggy tissue. “Godard has everything ready for your trip to Paris. I’ll take Sylvie to the dorm and get her settled in with the other Pips.”
Her mom turned toward her. “I guess this is it… . Did you pack the snickerdoodles I baked?”
Sylvie patted her bag. “Got ’em here.”
“Remember what I told you about the garden?”
“Every word.”
“And don’t forget to eat breakfast. You know how you get when your blood sugar is low.”
Sylvie rolled her eyes. “Mom. Iknow.I made it through summer camp last year on my own. Remember? I’ll be fine.”
“Right… . Oh! Your phone.”
Sylvie stuffed her hands into her pockets, pretending to search. “I must’ve set it down when we were inside the fridge.”
Her mom shook her head. “Sylvie. It’s a new phone.”
“Sorry… . But I’m sure someone will find it.”
Maybe Sylvie should’ve felt guilty. After all, it wasn’t nice to lie. But these were special circumstances.
Her mom forced a smile. “I’ll send Jean a message, tell her to have a look.”
“Great idea.” Sylvie adjusted her backpack and caught a whiff of the snickerdoodles.Cinnamon. Nutmeg.She closed the last inch of the zipper, holding in the aromas, just as she was holding in her secrets.
Sylvie’s mom scooped her into a hug. “I love you, Sylviekins.”
Sylvie hated it when her mom called herSylviekins. So embarrassing.But this time, she let it slide.
