What Happens to Goodbye(21)

“I’ll do that,” my dad said. “Although this one’s already gotten herself settled in pretty well, from what I can tell.”
“You’re at Jackson?” Mrs. Dobson-Wade asked me. I nodded. “It’s a fine public school. But there are other options if you wanted to explore them, in the private sector. Exemplary ones, actually.”
“You don’t say,” my dad replied.
“Our son was at one of them, Kiffney-Brown, until last year. He decided to transfer, not that we were very happy about it.” She sighed, shaking her head. “You know teenagers. So difficult when they decide they have a mind of their own.”
I felt my dad look at me, but this time I kept my gaze straight ahead. I wasn’t about to field this one. “Well,” he said finally. “I suppose . . . that is true, sometimes.”
Mrs. Dobson-Wade smiled, as if he’d offered more agreement than he had. “Did I hear you say you’re the new chef at Luna Blu?”
“More like the interim,” my dad said.
“Oh, we love Luna Blu,” she told him. “The rolls are amazing !”
My dad smiled. “Well,” he said, “next time you come in, ask for me. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. I’m Gus.”
“Anne,” she said. She glanced behind her, seeing Dave, who was just standing there still looking at me, having not come any closer. “My husband, Brian, will be along in a moment, and that’s my son, David. David, this is Gus and—”
Everyone looked at me. “Mclean,” I said.
Dave raised a hand in a wave, friendly, but still kept his distance. I thought of what Heather and Riley had told me: boy genius, smoothie maker, cellar dweller. Right now, I thought, he didn’t look like any of the people they’d described, which was unsettling in a way that was entirely too familiar.
The side door banged again, and Mr. Wade finally came out. He was tall and reedy, with a beard, and carried a messenger bag, which he strapped across himself as he came down the stairs. In his other hand was a bike helmet covered in reflector stickers.
“Brian!” Mrs. Wade called out. “Say hello to our new neighbors.”

Mr. Wade came over cheerfully, a smile on his face, and joined our little confab on the deck. Standing together, he and Anne looked like a matched set of rumpled academics in their thick glasses, he with his helmet, she with her NPR tote bag over one shoulder. “Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking my hand and then my dad’s. “Welcome to the burg.”
“Thanks,” my dad said.
“Gus is the interim chef at Luna Blu,” Anne informed him.
“Oh, we love Luna Blu!” Brian said. “Those rolls! They’re the perfect dinner on a cold night.”
I bit my lip, making a point of not looking at my dad as we all just stood there, smiling at each other. Meanwhile, behind them, Dave gave me a look that was hard to read—almost apologetic—and walked back to the house, going inside. The sound of the door swinging shut behind him was like a whistle being blown to end a huddle. With it, we all broke.
“I’ve got to run to the lab,” Dave’s mom said, stepping back from the door. Brian smiled, following her as he put on his helmet. “Please let us know if we can be of any help as you get settled.”
“We’ll do that,” my dad said. “Thanks again for the brownies.”
They waved, we waved. Then we stood there, silent, watching them as they went down the deck stairs, back to their driveway. Under the basketball goal, they stopped, and Brian leaned down so Anne could give him a peck on the cheek. Then she went to her car, and he to his bike, which was chained to their front deck. He wheeled it down the driveway, she backed out, and at the road, he went left, she right.
“Well,” my dad said after a moment. “They sure do like those rolls, huh?”
“No kidding.” I lifted up the pan she’d given me, taking a hesitant whiff. “Can brownies actually be sugar-, gluten-, and nut-free and still be good?”
“Let’s find out,” he said, lifting the Saran Wrap covering it. He reached in, took one, and stuck the entire thing in his mouth, devouring it. After chewing for what seemed like a long time, he finally swallowed. “Nope.”
Point taken. I put the pan down. “Everything okay on the produce front? It sounded kind of intense.”
“That guy is an idiot,” my dad grumbled, getting up to slide his breakfast plate into the sink. “Not to mention a thief. Maybe now I’ll get some decent vegetables. Shoot, that reminds me, I set up a meeting at the farmers’ market in ten minutes. You going to be okay here?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Absolutely.”
As he picked up his phone and left the room, I looked back at Dave’s house. His parents seemed nice enough, hardly the strict Gulag types Heather had described. But then again, as Riley ha said, no one was really normal, and you couldn’t tell a thing from the outside anyway. One thing, however, was clear: there was no escaping Mclean now. I was her, I was here, and it looked like we’d be sticking around. Nothing left to do but bail, and rise.
Four
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” my mother said. “Don’t hang up.”
I knew it had been a bad idea to answer without looking at the caller ID. Normally, I was vigilant about such things, but in the crush of the pre-homeroom main hallway, I’d let down my guard.
“Mom, I can’t talk right now,” I said, as someone with a huge backpack bumped me sideways from behind.