Part 8 (2/2)

”She's really not. I'm sorry she's being so miserable.” Both Rosie and I glance back toward Rhiannon, and right away I wish we hadn't. When Rhiannon is wearing her resting b.i.t.c.h face, she looks just like me. Everyone's going to see her acting this way and think that I'm the same. Why does she have to ruin this for me? ”She's been miserable ever since she moved here. I'm trying to make it better for her, but she just wants to be awful.”

Rosie frowns, but looked sympathetic. ”Well, your other sister seemed nice. Reilly and I take art together. There hasn't really been any chances for me to talk to her yet, but she seems super friendly.”

Well, at least half of the Donovan sisters can be trusted to make a good first impression.

Thanks to her eagerness to get away from anything that might be considered fun, Rhiannon and I are the first to arrive back in the parking lot where my mom's car sits beside Dad's new van-not his first choice in vehicle, by the way. I can spot both of my parents nearby, still huddled in a group of adults talking excitedly and pointing out people in the crowd.

By the time Reece joins us, she's ditched her costume entirely. Someone will probably find her wings and crown piled on a bench somewhere tomorrow and have no idea that they belonged to a fifteen-year-old girl instead of a ten-year-old one.

”Did anyone see Reilly tonight?” I ask. ”Did she even come?”

My sister picks that same moment to show up from behind the van, toward us from the other direction. ”I was there,” Reilly says with a smile. ”You just didn't spot me.”

She's not wearing any kind of costume at this point either. ”What were you wearing?”

”I don't know,” she says. ”You tell me. Because I saw you hanging out with Kent, the reporters son, by the haunted house. You found Rhiannon for me, but unless either of you or our fairy princess over here can tell me what my costume was, I think I win.”

No one has any answer for her, so I stick out my tongue. ”I didn't even think you'd be playing.” Reilly rarely has an ounce of compet.i.tive spirit, preferring to leave everyone happy rather than someone victorious over the others, but that doesn't always apply to her sisters. And if there's one thing she takes pride in, it's knowing us better than we know ourselves.

For me, I feel like I'm usually wrong when I make guesses about my sisters, especially if I'm trying to base anything on what I would do. They always turn around and do something different, probably because they know it drives me crazy.

”Wow,” Mom says, turning to Dad as the two of them approach us, ”we didn't need to round them up tonight. I'm impressed, and a little shocked.”

I half expect Mom to follow that up with something about Fairview bringing out the best in us, but instead she opens the car door and throws her purse inside, ”Everyone have fun?”

We all mumble vague answers before climbing into various cars. I end up sprawled over the back bench in the van, twisted around my seatbelt so that if my dad yells back here to ask if I'm buckled in, I don't have to lie to him.

I grab my phone out of my bag for the first time in hours to find eight texts and two missed calls from Nadine.

Nadine: Hey, what are you up to tonight?

MISSED CALL FROM NADINE.

Nadine: Big news! Call me right when you get this.

Nadine: Or wait, are you at that town thing?

Nadine: Dying to talk to you!

It goes on like that a bit longer before culminating in another phone call twenty minutes ago.

The drive back home seems to move perilously slow as everyone tries to leave the center of town at the same time, and I hate talking on the phone while other people are in the room. For basically anyone other than Nadine and my family I hate talking on the phone at all.

Reagan: On my way home now. I'll call you in ten.

Nadine: Finally!

A minute later...

Nadine: Nope. Can't wait. Telling you now.

I have all of a few seconds to brace myself, not sure if I should prepare for good or bad news before she spills it.

Nadine: I'm coming to visit! My mom talked to your mom yesterday and I'm going to spend Thanksgiving with you guys.

I scramble upright, trying to untangle myself before the next text comes in.

Nadine: You can't tell though. It's a surprise.

Reagan: What, you were going to last all the way until Thanksgiving without telling me this? Yeah right. My mom knows that would never happen.

Nadine: Just for a few days until they told all of you. Your parents have invited people for your sisters too. One big reunion.

A little of my excitement fades at the idea of having a bunch of my sister's friends around at the same time as Nadine, taking away from the first time we've had to hang out in forever. But to be fair, they won't want anything to do with us either.

Reagan: I'm surprised your mom agreed.

Nadine: Right?! But your mom must have convinced her somehow. She'd already sorted out the details before she'd even told me. This is happening!

I head straight for my room as soon as we're home, hoping for a little time to ease my excitement before I have to talk to any of my family. If they see me right now they would definitely know something is up. And since Nadine has a bit of a reputation for not being able to keep a secret to save her life-she once told my sisters and I about our surprise party literally the day after she'd been invited-my mom would immediately know what was up. I have to guess that Mrs. Nng wasn't supposed to even tell Nadine yet. And now that I know it's going to be hard to pretend I don't.

There's still a month to go before Thanksgiving, which is going to be slow and torturous to get through. But maybe by the time Nadine gets here, I'll have some actual friends I can introduce her to. People who hopefully help prove that not everyone who lives in a small town is as boring as we thought they'd be. I don't want her to think I've made some new life without her, but it would be nice to be able to show her that I've managed to make a few friends all on my own.

Chapter 13.

When we get home from school the next day, Dad is already in the kitchen working on dinner. A thick gravy sits in a pan on the stove, and it smells like there might be roast chicken in our future. Thank G.o.d someone in this house knows how to cook.

My sisters and I will end up with high expectations for any men we end up with, because in our house Mom is well known as a terrible cook, while Dad has been preparing lunches and dinners for us for as long as I can remember. And so far, not one of us has taken any time to learn how to cook for ourselves, something he is always threatening to get us involved in.

The four of us all collapse around the kitchen table, each taking our usual seats. ”How was school?” Dad asks right on cue. We all say something along the lines of fine, but for once he doesn't pick a target to hone in on and ask for specifics. Even as he stirs something on the stove, he is using his other hand to type on his phone.

The front door slams shut and we all jump at once, Dad almost dropping his phone. ”Sorry!” Mom calls. ”Hit the door too hard.”

Everyone settles back down and a moment later Mom has joined us in the kitchen, one big happy and hungry family.

”I'm starving,” Mom says before leaning over to give our dad a quick kiss. ”When's dinner?”

”Not for a while. Anyone who's hungry, can grab an apple or a granola bar but we are not eating until about six.”

<script>