Made You Up(26)

Miles frowned. “Mayan?”

“No.”

“Incan.”

“No.”

“Aztec.”

“Yes.”

The corners of his lips twisted up, but he said, “Shouldn’t have taken so many guesses for that one.” Then he said, “Did you found the Tlatocan?”

“No.”

“Did you reign after 1500?”

“No.”

Theo watched the conversation like a tennis match.

“Are you Ahuitzotl?”

“No.” I smiled. This kid knew his history.

“Tizoc?”

“No.”

“Axayacatl?”

“No.”

“Moctezuma I?”

“Nope.”

“Itzcoatl?”

“No.”

“Chimalpopoca?”

“No.”

“Huitzilihuitl?”

“What the hell are you saying?” Theo cried.

He’d cut off a chunk of the Aztec emperors and whittled them down until there was only one remaining. But now he had three questions left—two he didn’t need.

Why hadn’t he cut it down again? Surely he could have shortened his options and not guessed his way through all the emperors. Was this some kind of test? Or was . . . was he showing off?

“You’re Acamapichtli.”

There was a fanatical gleam in his eye, another smile playing on his lips. Both were gone as soon as I said, “Almost twenty. Not quite, but I almost had you.”

“I’m never playing this game again,” said Theo, sighing and returning to her homework.

The little boy from the lobster tank disappeared from Miles’s face.





Why did he invite me?

Most likely

I wish you could say more than yes or no.





Chapter Fourteen




Charlie planted herself in my bedroom doorway with her hands on her hips, the head of a black bishop clenched between her teeth. “Can I come with you?”

“This isn’t an eight-year-old sort of party.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means no.” I ducked back into my shallow closet in search of something different to wear. Old jeans littered the floor and shirts hung lopsided from hangers. A ratty pair of ginger cat-shaped house slippers curled up underneath a fraying sweatshirt. The slippers purred when my foot brushed against them.

“Why not?” Charlie stamped her foot. Her cheeks were round and red. With her expression and her tiny frame, she looked closer to four than eight.

“Why are you being so whiny tonight? Usually you give up after a while.”

She wouldn’t look at me.

“Are you crying?”

“No!” She sucked in snot.

“It’s not like I’m leaving permanently. I’ll be back later.” I finally decided it would be easier not to change at all and yanked the Lacedaemon Spartans XXL sweatshirt away from the (hissing) cat slippers to pull it on.

My mother called from the living room. “Alex! Your friends are here!”

It might have been the first time she ever said those words in that order in her life. I picked Charlie up under her armpits and carried her down the hallway, setting her on the carpet in the living room. The triplets waited at the end of the driveway in Theo’s Camry.

“Are you sure you don’t have to take anything?” asked my mother.

“I’ll be fine, Mom,” I said. “But I’ve been dying for some Yoo-hoos lately.” Had to get the requests in while she was still on this normality high. “See you later. If Dad calls, tell him he’s got horrible timing.”

“I wanna go!” Charlie tugged on my pant leg.

“You can’t—it’s a big-girl party,” I said.

“I’m not four!” Charlie screeched, the black bishop dancing on her lip.

“No,” I said, “you’re eight. And you need to stop chewing on those things—you’re going to choke.”

My mother’s eyebrows creased in worry right before I ducked out the door. Maybe she cared more about what happened at this party than she let on.

Being in a car with Theo and her brothers was like shutting myself in a bank vault with eighty pounds of TNT and a lit fuse. Theo let me sit in the front seat, but even then it felt like Evan and Ian were too close. The three of them sang earsplitting drinking songs the whole way and only stopped when Theo turned into Downing Heights.