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I look at Ella; she notices it, too. I see a flash of panic in her eyes before she blinks it away. Slowly, she stands with her still half-full plate and walks through the kitchen, still talking. Mom interrupts.
“Ella, you need to finish your eggs, at least,” she says, eyes following her. Then, “I think your phone’s ringing.” Just when Mom starts to look at the spot where we usually plug in our cell—where it is, in fact, plugged in right now—Betsey squeals.
“Oh my god!” she says. Mom jumps and looks at Betsey, surprised.
“What?” Mom asks.
“There’s a mouse!” Betsey shouts, pointing in the direction of the living room, away from the phone. While Mom looks for the rodent Ella takes the opportunity to grab the phone and shove it in her pants pocket. I sigh quietly, relieved.
“Where?” Mom says, staring wide-eyed in the direction Bet pointed.
“It was right over… oh.” Betsey fakes embarrassment. “Whoops.”
“What?” Mom says. “What now?”
“I think it was just Lizzie’s fuzzy slipper.”
“For goodness’ sake, Betsey, you scared me!” Mom says.
“I really thought it was a mouse,” Bet says, shrugging.
Mom joins Ella at the sink. “Now that that’s settled, I’m going out to get groceries before work. Anyone want to come?” She looks at us individually, expectantly. I feel guilty for not wanting to go, and impatient for her to leave. Ella agrees to ride along; Betsey tells Ella to bring her back a latte; and I manage to stay downstairs until the door shuts behind Mom. Then I race up to my bedroom.
“My mom almost found out about the spy phone!” I say the second Sean answers. I’m a ball of nervous energy.
“No way,” Sean says. “Sorry about that.”
“It rang up here when our real phone was plugged in downstairs,” I say. “Close one. We have to be careful.”
“Totally. Sorry.”
“No worries,” I say. “So, what’re you doing today?”
“That’s actually why I was calling,” he says. “I was wondering if you wanted to come over and hang out this afternoon. You know, after your mom leaves for work.” He pauses a second. “I’m sure my mom would love to meet you.”
“You told your mom about me?”
“Of course,” Sean says easily. Sometimes it shocks me how grown-up he seems: He’s not intimidated by or embarrassed about anything like a lot of the other guys at school. Compared to David, Sean’s a man.
“That’s really sweet,” I say softly.
“Thanks,” he says, and we both get quiet. Then: “I mean, I didn’t tell her everything. I didn’t tell her about Ella and Betsey, even though I really still think that we should do some—”
“Sean?” I interrupt.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll come over if you promise not to bring that up again,” I say, flirty with seriousness mixed in.
“Okay,” he says. “I promise I won’t mention your mom or your living arrangements… today.”
“Okay,” I say. “See you in a few hours.”
As I breeze through a yellow light, I rethink the long-sleeved tunic, skinny jeans, and flats that I’m wearing. Ella said it worked, but now I wonder if Sean’s mom will think I’m trying too hard. I mean, I look like I’m in a catalog. And not only that, but I straightened my hair and added a single braid across the top and down the right side. I grab the tiny rubber band at the end of the braid and start to tug until I realize that taking it out now will leave me with a weird crimpy section of hair. I can’t meet Sean’s mom as a one-sided frizz-head, so I leave it in.
The sedan’s GPS directs me to Sean’s neighborhood and his house. I hold my breath as I park in front of an older home with a pitched roof and massive, funky numbers over the front door. It’s muted green with white trim and has a small, manicured front lawn.
