I huff a contentious chuckle, letting that be my argument. She says nothing.
"Travis," Henri calls. He's probably had enough of our bickering.
"Coming," Travis calls back. In the silence that follows I hear the thump of shoes hitting the ground, the sliding of zippers and shuffling of fabric.
We all look when Travis steps from his room. He's taller than the last time I saw him. His legs look too long for his body, his arms more like sticks protruding from his black T-shirt. He wears a blank stare. God forbid he show an ounce of emotion right now. A flash of fear streaks through me. My mom knows I'm not ready for this. I know I'm not ready for this. It doesn't mean I won't do it though.
Travis stops at the end of the hallway. Henri clears his throat. My mom breaks into action, stepping through the little circle we've formed and walking past me to the front door. She opens it and smiles. It's a fake smile, but she's trying.
"Have fun with your sister, Travis. Call me if you need anything, okay?"
I take one of his bags. "Come on," I urge, nodding outside.
He walks ahead of me, stopping to hug my mom. She pats his shoulder, and in a high-pitched voice says, "I'll see you soon, Travis." She's acting like it's a visit. Like he's going to summer camp and she'll send him a care package so his name will get called when they hand out mail.
"Bye, Mom."
She pulls me in for a hug too, and I'm not expecting it. My chin hits her shoulder, and she pats my back the same way. "Good luck," she whispers.
I try to smile at her when I pull away, but even I can feel how wrong it looks on my face.
Travis and I wave at Henri, and he returns the gesture. I think he feels bad. It's hard to tell though.
We deposit a suitcase and two duffel bags in the trunk. Travis climbs in, and with a small wave toward the house, we're off.
"Why didyou order so much pie?" Travis sticks a fork in the first slice the waitress sets down in front of us. Seven more slices follow, each one sliding across the old, chipped tabletop. I smile my thanks at the woman, and she winks and disappears.
"Well," I say, choosing a slice at random and sinking my fork into it. "Why not?"
"It's weird." Travis looks around. Every seat in this place is occupied, mostly by families who are probably traveling to or from Phoenix and stopped off the interstate for a bite and a clean restroom.
"Nobody cares that we ordered eight slices of pie, Travis." As I say it, I realize what he's thinking. I remember it vividly, how doing something 'weird' or 'different' was the kiss of death to any and every teenager.
"I promise not to bring eight slices of pie to school when you go back in the fall."
Travis gives me a small smile and tries a different slice.
"See?" I tap his fork with mine. "You can have a single bite of each slice and it adds up to having one, but you get something new each time."
"Maybe it's not so weird," he offers.
I drink from my water. "So, you threw a party? It had to have been pretty major, because"—I look around the room and then pointedly back at him—"we're here. And we're about to be in Sierra Grande."
As if he's a balloon and my question is a pin, he deflates. His shoulders slump and he leans back in his seat.
"I didn't mean to," he starts, shaking his head. "I didn't mean for it to get so out of hand. It was just supposed to be a few people. But they called people. And thentheycalled people. It was like… like…"
"Compound interest?"
"I'm not sure what that is, but it sounds right."
"Basically, it means something grows and grows, like it feeds on itself."
He nods.
"Were you drunk?" I ask. I have no idea if Travis drinks, and fifteen seems young, but what the hell do I know anymore?
"No," he answers, but there's guilt in his eyes. It's fleeting, but it's there.
