We Run the Tides(51)

“We need someone whose exact whereabouts are not known on a day-to-day basis,” I say.

“They never found the Zodiac Killer,” she says. “Maybe he kidnapped us and made us research astrological signs.”

Suddenly I feel overwhelmed by everything ahead of me. I slip myself off the couch and onto the rug again.

“Don’t worry,” she says, and lowers herself off the couch so she’s seated next to me. “I’ve got this figured out. You come back. We present our stories so they’re parallel. They add up, and we have a big name for the kidnapper. Then we both go on ABC. You’ll have to do B-roll, too, since I already did mine. B-roll is really fun. You walk up and down the sidewalk, open doors, pretend to do your homework. You can wear that pretty polka-dot dress.”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“You’re tired,” she says like she’s my babysitter. “Let me take you back to your parents and make sure you’re okay. We’ll figure out everything there.” She stands and offers me her hand to help me up. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I won’t let you out of my sight.”

She and I leave the shed and start making our way back to Sea Cliff together. As we pass the park, I spot Keith from half a block away. He has a new skateboard. When he sees me, he looks down.

“He’s ignoring me,” I say.

“No, he’s not,” Maria Fabiola says. “That’s the look of someone who’s deeply ashamed.”

I watch him and think Maria Fabiola might be right.

When we approach my house we’re careful to go in through the alleyway to avoid the news vans. The back door is locked even though my parents are home, so I get the spare key from the hiding place.

“Wait,” Maria Fabiola says as we step into the kitchen. “We should do a big reveal.”

“Who’s there?” Svea calls out from another room.

“It’s just Maria Fabiola,” she says. “Go get your parents.”

A minute later, the door to the kitchen swings open and my mom and dad enter the room.

“Surprise!” Maria Fabiola yells.

There are hugs and sobs—Maria Fabiola does most of the dramatic sobbing. I hug Svea extra-tight. My parents want to know where I’ve been and I tell them the short version, that I hurt my head, that I was at Grandma’s house.

“Yes, we know that part,” my dad says. “Lazlo called us a few hours ago and said you were on your way home.”

I’m surprised and touched that Lazlo called them. I’m also grateful because it clearly saved my parents worry. They don’t seem as upset with me as I feared. Or more likely, I realize, they’re being kind now because they’re relieved I’m safe. But within twenty-four hours I’ll be grounded till college.

My mother checks my head. “It’s a surface wound,” she proudly pronounces.

Svea serves us tea. She places doilies under our cups.

My father asks me if anything strange happened. “No,” I tell him. My mother asks how my relatives are. “The same,” I tell her.

“What can we do for you?” my father asks. “What do you need?”

“I really want everything to go back to normal as quickly as possible,” I say. “I want normal again.”

“Of course you do. I totally understand,” Maria Fabiola says performatively and leans over to give me an awkward hug. In my ear she whispers, “Good job.”

The three of them stare at me and Maria Fabiola, like they can’t really believe we’re there.

“Are you hungry?” my dad says and gets up.

“We’re famished!” Maria Fabiola says. I’ve never heard her say this word before, and I’m not at all hungry, but decide that anything that restores routine is good, so I say I’m hungry, too. Maria Fabiola calls her mom and asks if she can stay with me tonight. “To help Eulabee reacclimate,” she says to her mother.

I look around the study. I’ve only been gone a day but everything looks new to me. I examine the dolls from around the world that I collected when I was younger. A doll in a red flamenco dress. A doll wearing a kimono. I used to think they were collector’s items but now they look tacky. Their dresses are made of poor material, their facial expressions a bizarre mixture of boredom and astonishment.

“I’m assuming you’re going to school tomorrow, Maria Fabiola?” my mom says. “Do you want me to wash your uniform tonight?”

“Absolutely I’m going,” Maria Fabiola says. “I think we should both go. I mean, Eulabee was saying she wanted everything to go back to normal quickly. And we should probably let everyone at school know she’s okay so they stop worrying. I heard rumors of a vigil being planned.”

My mother looks at me. “I want to go,” I say.

“Well, your father already called the detectives,” my mom says. “But I’ll call Mr. Makepeace tomorrow morning.”

Dinner is quiet but for Maria Fabiola’s frequent yawns, which are all demonstrably fake. She’s setting us up for a quick after-dinner departure.

“Well, we’re exhausted!” she says, and squeezes my knee under the table. “Do you mind if we don’t help clean up?”

“You don’t have to,” my mother says. I realize that Maria Fabiola holds a spell over my family just as she does over her friends. I suspect I’m not getting in as much trouble as I deserve because she’s here.