Page 72 of With a Little Luck

“There you are,” says Dad as I make my way to the kitchen, already dressed. “I was about to send search and rescue out for you.”

I smile faintly and dig around in the cupboards, before pulling out a box of cereal. Mom is reading a book at the table, a half-eaten bagel beside her. The TV is on in the living room, playing one of Ellie’s favorite cartoons.

“Isn’t Ari supposed to be here soon?” Dad asks, pouring himself a cup of coffee from a nearly empty pot.

“Ten,” I say through a yawn. Bowl. Spoon. Milk. My cereal routine is pretty automated at this point.

“Ten o’clock,” says Dad, tsking to himself. “Your sister was out of here before six.”186

I frown. “Six? That’s early even for—” I pause, remembering. “Right. Luna and Lennon are going to the zoo today.”

“You’re going to have so much fun at the festival,” says Mom, bookmarking her pages with an old tattered drawing that Ellie made of a unicorn. “You know, your dad and I went on a date to Condor once, years ago. How are things going with Maya?”

“Good,” I say quickly. “Really good.”

Which is true. I no longer feel that panicky, nauseous feeling every time I see her, which definitely seems like a step in the right direction.

On the other hand, over the last week it’s sort of felt like we’ve hit some sort of stagnation in our … whatever we are. Maya and I don’t hold hands, or even really talk to each other much at school. I still sit at her table during lunch, but I don’t say a whole lot, just let the conversation carry on around me, feeling as much like an outsider as ever.

There have been times when I’ve looked over at Matt and César and Russell and wondered what they were laughing about, feeling a sharp pang of envy.

All that aside, though, Maya was thrilled when I invited her to the music festival. And yeah, maybe that was more because she wanted to get out of helping her parents with a garage sale they were planning, and also because she likes music festivals and is excited to see Ari perform, and maybe it had virtually nothing to do with … you know. Going withme.

But still. She wasthrilled.

Mom smiles. “Maybe one of these days you can invite her over for a family dinner, rather than just squirreling her away in the basement and keeping her all to yourself.”

“You make me sound like a serial killer.”

Dad barks a laugh. “I had that same thought!”

Mom sighs. “I didn’t mean it that way. But we would like to get to know her.”

“Sure,” I say. I’m debating whether or not I should tell them that Maya and I aren’t reallyseriousyet, when Mom glances out the window. “Ari’s here.”187

I follow her gaze out the kitchen window as Ari’s turquoise Ford Falcon pulls up to the curb, Ezra already in the passenger seat.

I finish my cereal and put the bowl in the dishwasher just as Ari is coming into the house, not bothering to knock. Ezra is right behind her, his grin like a ray of freaking sunshine.

“Morning, Barnett family!” he bellows.

“Are you ready?” says Ari, sounding a little breathless. “Are we still picking up Maya?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Let me grab my stuff.”

“You’re not planning on doing homework, are you?” says Ezra, eyeing my backpack. “This is a road trip, dude. There is no homework on road trips.”

“Just bringing my sketchbook in case we have time to kill.”

“You overachievers are so cute.” Ezra shakes his head. “When you get bored, you want to, like, create something. Do something productive. Work on your art.” He clicks his tongue. “The only adequate response to boredom is well-intentioned, poorly executed mischief that may or may not land you in jail.”

I’ve been around Ezra enough to know that this isprobablyjust a joke, but I still ask, “Have you ever been in jail?”

“Not yet,” he preens. “But I’m young and ambitious.”

“Well, that’s promising,” says Mom, giving Ari a hug. “Good luck at the festival, sweetheart. We’re rooting for you.”

“Thanks,” says Ari with an anxious smile. “I’m trying not to think too much about it.”

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