But I’m looking at Charlie, who has stopped listening and ispointing to a newspaper on the table next to ours. She makes a move to get up.
“Watch it,” Olivia says. “These are new.Hello.” She points to her shoes. Burberry flats with the print on the underside. Charlie ignores her and grabs the newspaper. She sets it down on our table, knocking over Olivia’s neatly stacked chips.
It’s the local paper, and Charlie flicks her pointer finger over the words.SENATOR CAPLET RETURNS. And there, right below the headline, is a picture of my uncle, his wife, and a girl I haven’t seen in ten years.
“Is that your family?” Charlie asks.
“Yes,” I say, peering closer.
“?‘The senator and family return to San Bellaro after almost a decade away,’?” Charlie reads. She has her elbows on the table and she’s leaning over the paper, like a little kid at the library. “?‘The Caplets’ move to Beverly Hills nine years ago caused much rumor and speculation. This will mark their first return to our town since their departure.’?”
Charlie looks up. Olivia is looking at me too.
“Strange,” I say, because I’m not sure what to say. Does my dad know? Is he upset about it? And where will she be going to school? With me?
“?‘The senator’s only daughter,’?” Charlie continues, “?‘is delighted about the move. “I can’t wait to spend my senior yearin a new place,” she says. “I’m truly looking forward to making San Bellaro my home.”?’?”
“What’s her name?” Olivia asks.
“Juliet,” I answer. Charlie squints at the paper and then back up at me. “Her name is Juliet.”
What’s in a name, Shakespeare? I’ll tell you: everything.
Act Two
Scene One
“You can just show yourcousin your sweater,” my mother says. “You don’t have to wear it now.”
It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m sitting in the back seat of our station wagon with my arms crossed, beads of sweat rolling down my seven-year-old forehead. I have on my new reindeer sweater, the one I insisted on purchasing for our trip down to Los Angeles. It’s wool and itchy, but it has antlers and bells on it. Real bells. And because of this, I think it’s spectacular.
“She has to see iton,” I say for what’s probably the tenth time.
My mom nods and turns back around in the front seat, glancing at my dad. He’s gripping the wheel tightly, his jaw set. We’ve been in the car for a while, and tensions are running high.
I gaze out the window and watch the passing coast. It’s a record ninety-five degrees today, the hottest ever in over a decade of Decembers. It doesn’t bother me, though. I’ve only ridden to Los Angeles a few times in my short life, and I’m excited. Especially because we are going to spend Christmas Eve with my cousin, Juliet. She left our town about two months ago, and I can’t wait to see her. We are best friends. Juliet, Rob, and I have played together in our backyards practically since we were born, and even though I like Rob, and I’m getting used to things, I really miss Juliet.
We pull up to Juliet’s house, and my mom takes out a piece of paper with some numbers on it and hands it to my dad. He punches them into a keypad. Huge gates swing open, and we drive all the way up and around a road lined with rosebushes.
Their house is gigantic. Not at all like Juliet’s house back at home. It looks more like the library my mom and I go to on Saturdays. The one with the big white columns and so many rooms that it’s impossible not to get lost inside. The gardens all around are filled with roses, and there are cherry trees hanging over either side of the driveway. It’s like stepping into a fairy tale, and I think how lucky I am that my cousin lives here. That because we’re family, it’s almost like it’s my house too.
My mom makes a fuss of straightening out my clothes, which she usually never does. She asks me one more time ifI’ll take off the sweater, but I just shake my head. I’ve made it to Juliet’s front door. I’m keeping it on. I know Juliet will love it.
We ring the doorbell, and Lucinda answers. They call her a housekeeper, but she’s really like a great big grandma. I throw my arms around her, and she hugs me around my middle. We call her Lucy, but not around Juliet’s mom. My aunt doesn’t like it.
Lucy leads us through what feels like an enormous maze of marble and glass until we get to a big living room. There are huge floor-to-sky windows on three walls of the room and a television that looks like a movie screen. Then I spot her. Juliet is sitting on the floor, playing with a gigantic collection of stuffed animals. They must be new. I’m never seen them before.
I run and throw my arms around her. I start babbling about the drive and our tree house and how much I’ve missed her. I pull back just long enough to shove my reindeer sweater under her nose.
“Look!” I declare loudly.
Juliet sweeps her short brown hair out of her face. She was always a little bit shorter than me, and now her hair is shorter than mine too. It doesn’t matter, though. I bet we could still wear our matching dresses and look like twins.
Lucy leaves, and Juliet’s mother stands up from the sofa. I didn’t even see her there. Her dress looks like the same print as the couch. “I’m so glad you made it,” she says.
Juliet’s mom calls her over, but she doesn’t go right away. She is looking me over, her eyes on the bells on my sweater. She doesn’t seem impressed, though, and suddenly I wish I wasn’t wearing it. Or that it was gigantic, so I could crawl inside and disappear.
Something is wrong.
