“Dad got Isobel and him plane tickets to go see that stupid school in Maryland,” Danny blurted.
Their dad shot him a glare, but Danny only spread his arms. “What?” he snapped. “She shouldn’t have messed with my game.” With that, he gathered his DS and headphones, trudged through the living room archway, and pounded up the stairs.
Her mother’s gaze settled on her father. The livid, half-freaked look in her eye caused Isobel’s momentary elation to deflate.
“Mom,” she said, standing, serious again. “Don’t be mad.”
Ignoring Isobel, her mother walked to where the green folder lay and plucked it from the floor. She dropped the bag of marshmallows onto the couch, flipped the folder open, and scowled down at the itinerary, her expression growing harder with each passing second.
“It’s not like I wasn’t going to tell you,” Isobel’s dad said.
Her mom closed the folder, her chin lifting in that way that said no excuses permitted beyond this point. “I thought you and I talked about this just last night.”
“Please don’t fight,” Isobel said. She stepped between them, taking on the full heat of her mother’s glare. “Not because of me. Not today.”
“We’re not fighting,” her mom said. “We’re talking. Right now, in fact. Sam, can I see you in the kitchen?” She didn’t wait for an answer but turned and strode back through the dining room. Isobel watched her slip into the kitchen and stop next to the counter, where she slammed the folder down. She didn’t look back at either of them. Instead she glowered at the cabinets, hands on her hips, her jaw set.
Isobel’s dad sighed. He rubbed a hand down his face, scratching at the stubble on his chin. Then he stuffed his fists into the pockets of his robe. Giving Isobel a weak smile, he said, “Go on upstairs for a while. Let me see if I can work it out, okay?”
What if she says no? Isobel mouthed the words, too afraid her mom would hear otherwise.
“Why do you think I went ahead and ordered the tickets this morning?” he whispered, giving her a wink. “Better to beg forgiveness, right?”
He edged toward the dining room but didn’t go in yet. He turned toward Isobel halfway, waiting for her to move. She took her cue and pivoted.
She made her way toward the stairs and started up them but stopped midway. Glancing back, she watched her father disappear through the archway.
Wasting no time, Isobel hurried down from the stairs and slipped into the living room once more, doing her best to stay out of sight as she crept up to stand just outside the doorway. Pressing her back to the wall, she turned her head to listen.
“—not comfortable with her leaving home. Not with the way she’s been acting,” she heard her mom say. “I thought you and I agreed on that.”
“We do. I mean, we did. But Jeannine, you saw her this morning. Whatever this is, it’s getting worse. Maybe she needs this. Maybe she needs to get away for a day or two. Maybe that’s all she’s been asking for.”
“How can that be it when she just came back from Nationals?”
“That wasn’t getting away,” he said. “That was competing. And I’m starting to think that that was exactly what she didn’t need.”
“Are you saying you don’t think she wants to cheer anymore?” her mom asked.
“What I’m saying is that I think she needs a break. A real break.”
“I don’t like it, Sam,” she said. “What if this isn’t about looking at a school or a squad like she says it is?”
“So what if it’s not?”
Isobel’s eyes widened with shock. Was this her father speaking? Her father the sports guru and drill sergeant? Her father the warden?
“So what?” her mom hissed. “Sam, what if this has something to do with that boy? Did you stop to think about that? You saw her wearing his jacket this morning. I didn’t even know she had that thing.”
At these words, Isobel paled. Her thoughts freewheeled back to the night before, to the sight of the jacket hanging on her closet door.
If her mother hadn’t known it was there, then how had it found its way out of hiding?
The shadow, Isobel thought, her memory latching onto that puddle of darkness that had appeared on the floor outside the bathroom door.
Pinfeathers. The nightmare . . . it had been real. She’d been awake.
It was the only explanation.
A numbing dread prickled in her gut.
If that were true, then that meant Pinfeathers could be somewhere nearby. He might even be watching her right now.
Their dad shot him a glare, but Danny only spread his arms. “What?” he snapped. “She shouldn’t have messed with my game.” With that, he gathered his DS and headphones, trudged through the living room archway, and pounded up the stairs.
Her mother’s gaze settled on her father. The livid, half-freaked look in her eye caused Isobel’s momentary elation to deflate.
“Mom,” she said, standing, serious again. “Don’t be mad.”
Ignoring Isobel, her mother walked to where the green folder lay and plucked it from the floor. She dropped the bag of marshmallows onto the couch, flipped the folder open, and scowled down at the itinerary, her expression growing harder with each passing second.
“It’s not like I wasn’t going to tell you,” Isobel’s dad said.
Her mom closed the folder, her chin lifting in that way that said no excuses permitted beyond this point. “I thought you and I talked about this just last night.”
“Please don’t fight,” Isobel said. She stepped between them, taking on the full heat of her mother’s glare. “Not because of me. Not today.”
“We’re not fighting,” her mom said. “We’re talking. Right now, in fact. Sam, can I see you in the kitchen?” She didn’t wait for an answer but turned and strode back through the dining room. Isobel watched her slip into the kitchen and stop next to the counter, where she slammed the folder down. She didn’t look back at either of them. Instead she glowered at the cabinets, hands on her hips, her jaw set.
Isobel’s dad sighed. He rubbed a hand down his face, scratching at the stubble on his chin. Then he stuffed his fists into the pockets of his robe. Giving Isobel a weak smile, he said, “Go on upstairs for a while. Let me see if I can work it out, okay?”
What if she says no? Isobel mouthed the words, too afraid her mom would hear otherwise.
“Why do you think I went ahead and ordered the tickets this morning?” he whispered, giving her a wink. “Better to beg forgiveness, right?”
He edged toward the dining room but didn’t go in yet. He turned toward Isobel halfway, waiting for her to move. She took her cue and pivoted.
She made her way toward the stairs and started up them but stopped midway. Glancing back, she watched her father disappear through the archway.
Wasting no time, Isobel hurried down from the stairs and slipped into the living room once more, doing her best to stay out of sight as she crept up to stand just outside the doorway. Pressing her back to the wall, she turned her head to listen.
“—not comfortable with her leaving home. Not with the way she’s been acting,” she heard her mom say. “I thought you and I agreed on that.”
“We do. I mean, we did. But Jeannine, you saw her this morning. Whatever this is, it’s getting worse. Maybe she needs this. Maybe she needs to get away for a day or two. Maybe that’s all she’s been asking for.”
“How can that be it when she just came back from Nationals?”
“That wasn’t getting away,” he said. “That was competing. And I’m starting to think that that was exactly what she didn’t need.”
“Are you saying you don’t think she wants to cheer anymore?” her mom asked.
“What I’m saying is that I think she needs a break. A real break.”
“I don’t like it, Sam,” she said. “What if this isn’t about looking at a school or a squad like she says it is?”
“So what if it’s not?”
Isobel’s eyes widened with shock. Was this her father speaking? Her father the sports guru and drill sergeant? Her father the warden?
“So what?” her mom hissed. “Sam, what if this has something to do with that boy? Did you stop to think about that? You saw her wearing his jacket this morning. I didn’t even know she had that thing.”
At these words, Isobel paled. Her thoughts freewheeled back to the night before, to the sight of the jacket hanging on her closet door.
If her mother hadn’t known it was there, then how had it found its way out of hiding?
The shadow, Isobel thought, her memory latching onto that puddle of darkness that had appeared on the floor outside the bathroom door.
Pinfeathers. The nightmare . . . it had been real. She’d been awake.
It was the only explanation.
A numbing dread prickled in her gut.
If that were true, then that meant Pinfeathers could be somewhere nearby. He might even be watching her right now.
