“Stop,” I choked out. “Pull over.”
Penny turned back to me. “Are you okay? Are you going to be sick?”
“No,” I said. “I just need to get out. Please.”
Agatha yanked the car over to the side of the road, kicking up a cloud of dust and gravel, then turned in her seat to look at me. “What’s wrong, Simon?”
“I need to go back.”
“Why?”
I put my hand on the door handle. “I… forgot something.”
“Surely it can wait,” she said.
“It can’t.”
“Then I’ll drive you back.”
“No.”
“Simon,” Penny said seriously, “what’s this about?”
I opened the door. “I need to go back and make sure that Baz is okay.”
“Baz is fine,” Agatha insisted as I climbed out.
“He’s not fine! We just found out that he was in a coffin for six weeks.”
They were leaning into each other between the front seats, turned completely around to shout at me.
Penny: “He’s finenow!”
Agatha: “Get back in the car!”
I put my hand on the door and bent over so I could see them. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“He isn’t!” they both said.
“I should keep an eye on him.” I stood up again.
“We’ll drive you back,” Agatha said.
“No. No. You’ll be late for Christmas Eve. Go.” I shut the door, turned around, and immediately started to run.
***
I didn’t think rich people actually ate this way. At a long table covered with red and gold cloth. Thick napkins tied with poisonsettias. Platters with heavy silver lids.
It wouldn’t surprise me if rich people reallydon’tlive like this—but that the Pitches do it, just to make a scene. If this is Christmas Eve, what do they have planned for tomorrow?
“Sorry we’re late, Mother,” Baz says, pulling out a chair.
“What a nice surprise, Mr. Snow,” his dad says. He’s smiling, but in a way that makes me regret my decision to come back.
“Thank you, sir. I hope I’m not intruding.”
Baz’s stepmum smiles, too. “Of course not.” I can’t tell if she means it or is just being polite.
