“I… have… not!”
“—with her friends, so he’s taken away her Uber privileges.”
Hailey is furious. She’s going to be late for school. Can’t Amber ever doanythingright? Shehatesher. She hateslivinghere. To her credit, Hailey doesn’t mention hating her half-sister, Lily. Though I assume that’s a given.
Hailey runs out of the room. Amber turns to me.
“Could you maybe drive her to school?” she asks quietly. It’s like a prayer.
“Of course,” I say.
“Carol will take you,” she calls to Hailey. We wait. Hailey returns, backpack on her shoulders. She refuses to look at either of us. The only thing she says is “Let’s go.”
I leave my suitcase in the front hall and head back outside. Hailey follows me.
“Crappy car,” she says as we approach it.
She’s right. When the FBI said they were giving me a car, I expected something new and classy. Or new and sporty. Or, at the very least, new. Wrong on all counts. I’ve been given an old Honda. Not quite banged up but clearly used, yet still roadworthy. Much like myself.
“Wait’ll you see the inside,” I tell her. “It’s even worse.”
I get in first so I can sweep away all the junk I’ve amassed on the passenger seat in just a couple of days: a Trader Joe’s receipt, an umbrella, a scarf, a leftover breakfast burrito, a cluster of used tissues. Hailey gets in and slams the door.
“My father won’t like this,” she says, looking around. “He’s a neat freak. Better keep your bedroom door closed.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. Where’s your school?”
I didn’t think that would be a tough question to answer. I was wrong. For spite, Hailey isn’t telling me. We sit in silence for a few minutes.
“Back out and take a left. It’s Chadwick Middle School,” she says at last. “And don’t bother asking if I like it.”
“I won’t,” I say. “I’m sure it sucks.”
I sneak a peek at her face. She looks surprised. Now the ball’s in my court, so I decide to run with it. “And when they tell you it gets better in high school? Don’t believe them,” I continue. “High school sucks too. But at least by then you’ll be old enough to drive.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I saw a tiny smile appear on her face. Then it’s gone.
“Oh, and by the way, my name is Caroline.”
“Amber calls you Carol.”
“Right. Well, Amber, uh, has a lot on her mind.”
Hailey begins rifling through her backpack, trying to ignore me. “Not just Lily,” I say. “I mean, all the stuff that comes with being a new mom. It’s rough. Hormones out of whack. Anxiety. Trying to do everything you think you should be doing but worrying you’re doing it all wrong and everybody will notice.” I get a sudden burst of inspiration. “Sort of like middle school,” I add.
Now I think I see a real smile. But it’s like those disclaimers that pop up at the bottom of every pharmaceutical commercial warning you about possible side effects like death and projectile vomiting: It’s there for a second, then quickly disappears.
We pass block after block of luxurious homes, velvety lawns, streets with names like Upper Saffron Lane and Vermilion Crescent. Nothing that remotely resembles a school. The autumn foliage is beautiful. But beauty seems to be lost on Hailey, who wears baggy cargo pants with about ten unnecessary pockets, a worn-out T-shirt, and chukka boots with purple-and-orange-striped socks. She looks like she’s on her way to a construction site.
“So are you going to give me some directions?” I ask.
“Use your GPS.”
“Don’t know how,” I say. Hailey looks shocked, like I just told her I didn’t know how to work a toaster.
“No rush,” she says, looking at her own phone. “I already missed the tardy chime.”
Tardy chime? Is that what her fancy private school calls the late bell? “Seriously, you have to tell me how to get there.”
