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“He’s really good at it,” I assure her, then glance at San.“You should bring your book next time.He creates comics—they’re so cool.Better than the ones they sell at the bookstore.”
San rubs the back of his head.“He’s exaggerating.But I can always draw a ballerina.Maybe you play, she dances, and I capture her essence on paper.”
“Thank you for being so nice to me,” she mumbles.“Most kids avoid me.”
“Why?”
She shrugs.“I don’t know.”
“Do you have a phone?”San asks.
She shakes her head.“Mom doesn’t think I need it.”
“Well, if you ever need us, look for us or ask Mrs.Bradley.”
Her eyes open wide.I pat her hand.“It’s okay.You should trust Aunt Ainsley.She’ll never say anything to your mom.I promise.”
“Okay,” she says, a little unsure.
I don’t know what’s the deal with her mother, but as soon as I get home, I plan to tell my parents so my aunt can keep an eye on her.
ChapterEighteen
Sanford
A soft knocksounds on my bedroom door.“Rise and shine,” Mom calls out, her voice threaded with habitual cheeriness.
“Take a shower.You have five minutes before Beacon’s grandfather picks you up,” she continues.
I know from experience it’s closer to twenty, but she’s obsessed with punctuality.She has this unhealthy competition with the clock.Mom is the type who lives ten minutes fast, so she can always arrive on time.I call it a useless way to stress us—her children—but never dare to tell her that.I wouldn’t want to be on her bad side.
Before I can even open my eyes, there’s a second round of knocks against my door.This one is more urgent.Mom’s losing her cool.“Sanford Orion Bancroft, are you up?”
“Yes, Mom,” I groan, stretching my stiff muscles.I reach for my phone on the nightstand, the grogginess of sleep still clinging to me.My fingers dance as I send a text to Greyson.
San:Should we bring food for the little ballerina?
Greyson:I think so.Mom is giving me extra fruit today and some of those mini pretzels she seemed to like.
San:You should tell her they’re gluten-free.
Greyson:Stop complaining about the food I bring from home.
San:It lacks everything: sugar, gluten, salt ...Blah.I’ll see what I can gather here.
After I shower and dress, I wander into the kitchen, where the air smells of vanilla, chocolate, and sweetness.Mom is already there, humming some cheerful tune I can’t recognize.
“You were done early,” she says with a surprised look.
I shrug.“Beacon’s grandfather should be here soon.Do you think you can make a few extra sandwiches today?”
Her brows draw together as she turns to look at me.“Extra sandwiches?For who?”
“Grey and this new girl we met yesterday in the music room,” I respond.“Yesterday, I had to ask Ainsley Bradley if she could give us some extra food.I don’t want to bother her again.”
Her brows furrow further.Yet she nods, her voice enveloped in the comforting softness that only motherhood can afford.“Of course, sweetie.Let’s make sure there’s enough food for all of you.”
The next few minutes pass in a flurry of buttered bread, slices of turkey and cheese, and the comforting sound of Mom’s quiet humming.She packs them into sandwich bags, handing them to me.
