“I think it’s wonderful that you came in time for the spring talent show,” my father said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “Did Olivia tell you she’s going to do a tap dance routine this year?”
“No,” I replied, turning to my stepsister and crossing my eyes at her. Olivia glared and looked away. She knows what I think of tap dancing.
“She’s now officially a Hawk Creek Tapper!” Iz said proudly.
“Great,” I murmured, trying to sound sincere.
After we finished our meal, I started to clear my plate.
“Hold on, honey,” Iz told me, jumping up and heading for the kitchen. A moment later she poked her head around the door and grinned. “One, two, three!” she called, then sailed back in carrying a cake platter. She and my father burst into a chorus of “Happy Birthday.” Olivia mumbled along halfheartedly until Geoffrey banged his spoon against his booster seat and hollered, “Cat! Cat! Cat!” Then she stopped singing and glared at me again.
My little brother doesn’t say much. In fact, he only says three things: “Are we there yet?” “With a G!” (whenever anyone says his name), and “Cat.” This last one makes Olivia furious, especially since he doesn’t say her name yet.
I can tell that Dad and Iz are worried about Geoffrey, but my mother says they shouldn’t be. “Einstein barely said a word until he was four,” she assured me. “And he turned out okay.”
Iz set the cake down on the table in front of me. Twelve candles blazed brightly atop the chocolate frosting.
“Thanks,” I said, truly surprised. I hadn’t been expecting anything—my birthday was last weekend, the day after Mom flew to Kazakhstan to catch a ride aboard a Soyuz rocket to the International Space Station. I was staying with the D’Angelos, finishing my last week of school before our spring break. A.J.’s family had a little party for me, and Dad and Iz had called, and sent a present and everything—the new iPod I’d been listening to up in Olivia’s room.
My dad reached over and squeezed my hand again. “I know how disappointed you were about postponing the trip with your mother, Kit-Cat,” he said. “She says you’ve been a really good sport about it.”
I lifted a shoulder, not sure if the mini-tantrum and weeklong sulk really qualified me as a “good sport.”
Iz opened a drawer in the sideboard behind her and took out two small, brightly wrapped boxes. “We have another present for you,” she said, handing one of them to me. “There’s one for you, too, Olivia.”
Uh-oh, I thought, glancing at my stepsister. I could tell by the expression on her face that she had a bad feeling about this too.
I pulled the paper off slowly, then opened the box. Inside was a silver ring. There was some engraving on it: SISTERS ARE FOREVER FRIENDS. Between each of the words was a tiny aquamarine, the birthstone I shared with Olivia. Looking across the table, I could see that her ring was identical.
“I saw them in the gift shop up at Timberline this morning and instantly thought of you two,” my stepmother said happily. “Aren’t they adorable?”
I didn’t want to burst Iz’s bubble, but for one thing Olivia wasn’t my sister, she was my stepsister—big difference—and for another, forever friends? Was Iz completely clueless? Maybe this was an April Fools’ Day joke too.
But it wasn’t, of course.
“How do they fit?” she asked, and Olivia and I reluctantly slipped them on. “Oh good, they’re just the right size.”
Iz looked so sincerely delighted that I knew there was no way I’d be able to take my ring off. Not as long as I was here in Oregon. It would hurt her feelings, and I loved Iz too much to do that. Unfortunately, that meant I was stuck wearing the thing for the next three months.
“Two beautiful rings for our two beautiful girls,” my father said, smiling at us. Olivia kicked me sharply under the table as he added, “Aren’t you going to blow out your candles and make a wish, Kit-Cat?”
I closed my eyes. Please let me open them and be back in Houston! No such luck, of course. I blew for all I was worth, but I was still at the dining-room table across from Olivia, who stared sourly first at me and then at her new ring.
“What did your mother give you for your birthday, Cat?” asked my father. “Last time I talked to her, she said she had something special for you.”
I reached into the collar of my T-shirt and fished around for the charm on the thin gold chain of the necklace I was wearing. “This,” I told him, pulling it out.
“Nice,” he said, peering at it over his glasses.
“Nice?” said Iz, leaning in for a closer look. “It’s gorgeous! Look at the detail.” She reached out and traced the design on the flat gold disk. “That’s meant to be a sprig of juniper, isn’t it, Tim?”
My dad inspected it. “Indeed it is, berries and all.”
“The ancient symbol of protection,” Iz mused. “The necklace looks really old, Cat—is it a family heirloom?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. It was under my pillow when I woke up on my birthday.” I didn’t tell her about the note I’d found in the box, which was weirdly formal for my laid-back mother: “For Catriona Skye Starr on the occasion of her 12th birthday.”
“There’s something written on the other side,” said Iz, flipping the charm over. I didn’t have to look to see the two words she was talking about: HOLD FAST. “Do you know what it means?”
I shook my head. There’d been no explanation with the note.
“Well, you’ll have to find out more when your mother returns from her mission.”
I grunted, slipping the necklace back under my T-shirt.
Iz gave me a sympathetic look. “Too bad she couldn’t be there to celebrate with you. But I’m sure she’ll do something special to make up for it when she gets back home.”
I shrugged again, wishing she’d change the subject. My birthday was still a bit of a sore spot.
“I called the school the other day and spoke with Mr. Randolph, the principal,” she continued briskly, cutting the cake and passing out slices. “He said he didn’t see any reason why you two girls couldn’t be in the same homeroom. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Olivia shot me a look. One that said, It’s not wonderful at all, and if you weren’t here, it wouldn’t be happening.
I knew exactly how she felt, because that was exactly what I was thinking too. Stuck in the same room at home and school with Miss Prissy Pants for the next three months?
Life couldn’t possibly get any worse.
CHAPTER 3
Yes it could, as it turned out.
“Mrs. Bonneville doesn’t take any guff,” my new homeroom teacher announced, right after she called out “Catriona Starr” and I said “Present.”
I had absolutely no clue what guff was, but I dutifully replied “Yes, ma’am” anyway. In Texas everybody says “ma’am” and “sir,” but I guess they don’t all that much here in Oregon, because every head in the classroom swiveled around to take a look at the weird new kid.
“And, um, it’s pronounced ‘Katrina,’” I added. Mrs. Bonneville had called me “Ca-tree-oh-na,” the way it’s spelled. “But I just go by Cat.” I didn’t bother trying to explain that the odd spelling was Scottish, or that I’d been named for my great-great-grandmother. Well, for her and for an asteroid, too. Can you believe there’s an asteroid named Catriona? My mother said she couldn’t resist, what with her being an astronaut and all.
But the asteroid wasn’t something I wanted to bring up on the first day at a new school. Not unless I wanted to assure myself a spot on the bottom rung of the popularity ladder.
Mrs. Bonneville frowned. “Mrs. Bonneville doesn’t like to be interrupted, Cat,” she continued, and proceeded to enlighten me on the rest of her list of rules. “Mrs. Bonneville doesn’t like chewing gum, or tardiness, or cell phones in class, and most of all Mrs. Bonneville doesn’t like sass.”
Great. My new teacher was the kind of person who referred to herself in the third person. Hawk Creek Middle Sch
ool was not off to a very good start.
“Mrs. Bonneville doesn’t think you should sit here,” said Olivia a few hours later in the cafeteria.
Piper Philbin burst out laughing. So did all the rest of Olivia’s friends. I just stood there by the lunch table feeling stupid. Even the knowledge that my lunch bag held an Iz special—peanut butter and honey sandwich, carrot sticks, an apple, and a homemade chocolate chip cookie—didn’t help. Not that I should have expected anything else from my stepsister, but still, it was my very first day at this school, and you’d think she’d make at least a tiny effort to make me feel welcome, like any other normal person on the planet.
But noooo, not Olivia.
I turned away quickly so that she wouldn’t catch me blinking back tears. As I moved through the cafeteria, it struck me that it wasn’t all that different from the one back home in Texas. It’s strange how once you get to middle school, everybody splits up into different groups. In elementary school nobody cares whose table you sit at, but the minute you hit sixth grade—wham! I spotted the table with all the jocks right away because they were the loudest, and I already knew where the popular kids sat—with my stepsister, naturally. Drama kids (green fingernail polish, weird hair), check. Nerds (busy trading Elfwood cards), check. Skateboarders (baggy shorts and hoodies), check. Finally I spotted my people: the band kids.
The only bright spot in my morning so far had been band. When I’d walked into the music room, I’d instantly felt at home.
Mr. Morgan, the band director, practically swooned when I played my bassoon for him.
“Now, that,” he exclaimed when I finished, clasping his hands to his chest dramatically, “is music!”
I could tell right away I was going to like Mr. Morgan. He was young and energetic and funny. Whenever anyone hit a sour note, which was pretty often—this was middle school band, after all—he’d cry, “Oh, my delicate, shell-like ears!” and clap his hands over them protectively. Then he’d smile right away, to show us he wasn’t really mad.
After band practice Mr. Morgan took me aside and asked what kind of musical experience I’d had back in Texas. His eyebrows shot up when I told him I played with the Houston Youth Symphony.
“Too bad you got here so late in the year,” he said. “The Portland Youth Philharmonic is just finishing up their season. We sure could use you in Hawkwinds, though.”
“What’s Hawkwinds?”
“A wind ensemble I started last year for some of the more advanced musicians,” he explained. “They’re playing in the talent show next week. The trio could happily become a quartet, if you’d like to join. We could use a talented bassoonist.”
I signed up right then and there.
“You’ll like the other kids in the group,” Mr. Morgan told me. “Rani Kumar plays the flute, and her brother, Rajit, is our oboist. They just moved here last summer, so they’re still pretty new to the school too. And Juliet Rodriguez is our clarinetist. You should get to know them.”
I spotted the three of them at the band table and crossed the cafeteria to where they were sitting.
“You’re Cat, right?” said a pretty, dark-haired girl, smiling up at me.
I smiled back. The little knot in my stomach that Olivia and Piper Fleabrain had put there started to untie itself, and I took a seat. “And you’re Rani and you play the flute, right?”
“Uh-huh.” She pointed across the table at a boy who could almost have been her twin. “This is my brother, Rajit. He’s in eighth grade, so he thinks he’s better than the rest of us.”
A glint of mischief danced in Rajit’s eyes. “That’s because I am.”
The girl sitting on the other side of Rani started to laugh. Leaning forward, she waved and said, “Hi! I’m Juliet Rodriguez.” Her shiny hair was dark like Rani’s, but she wore it really long instead of to her shoulders. My hair was somewhere in between theirs in length, and plain old boring brown by comparison.
“Are you going to join Hawkwinds?” Juliet continued. “I saw Mr. Morgan in the hall a few minutes ago, and he said you played with the Houston Youth Symphony.”
I nodded shyly, taking my sandwich out of my bag.
“Cool.”
“So you’re from Texas?” said Rajit.
I nodded again. “I came to live with my dad. I’m Olivia Haggerty’s stepsister.”
The table fell silent. Rani’s smile vanished. “Oh,” she said cautiously, exchanging a glance with Juliet. “That’s nice.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. I knew exactly what they were thinking. “Don’t worry,” I told them. “We’re nothing at all alike.”
Rani flashed me a grin. “That’s a relief,” she said. “Olivia is, well—”
“Annoying?” I suggested helpfully.
“Big-time,” she agreed.
Now that the ice was broken, the four of us started to chatter away.
“Mr. Morgan said you guys are pretty new to Portland too?” I said to Rani and her brother.
“Yep,” said Rajit. “We moved here from L.A. at the end of last summer.”
“Our parents are originally from Mumbai, though,” added Rani, answering my unspoken question.
“India! Wow. Have you ever visited?”
They both nodded. “Our grandparents still live there, and a bunch of our aunts and uncles and cousins,” said Rani. “We’re going back again this summer.”
“How about you, Juliet?”
“Native Oregonian,” she mumbled through a bite of tuna fish sandwich. “They call us Webfeet. Because of the rain, get it?” She pointed to the cafeteria window, which was streaked with droplets.
They asked about my family, and I told them about my dad and Iz. Their eyes widened when I explained that my mother was an astronaut.
“Really? No kidding?” said Rani.
“She’s on the International Space Station right now. That’s how come I’m here in Portland.”
“Wow,” said Rajit. “That is totally awesome.” He flashed me another smile, and I smiled back. “How long will you be here?”
“Through the end of the school year.”
“That’s a long time to be away from home,” said Rani.
I glanced across the cafeteria at Olivia. “Tell me about it.”
Rani and Rajit and Juliet wanted to know all about NASA, and how I liked living in a high-rise building. I took my cell phone out of my backpack and showed them some pictures of our condo, and of my mother in her astronaut suit, and of my friends.
“Who’s that?” asked Rani, pointing to a boy with reddish hair and a gap-toothed grin.
“A.J. D’Angelo,” I told her. “He’s my best friend. He lives two floors down from us back in Houston.”
“Does he play in the youth symphony, too?”
I laughed. “Nope.” A.J. might be a computer genius, but he couldn’t carry a tune in a paper bag. Not that he didn’t try—he played trombone in our middle school band.
By the time the bell rang a few minutes later, I was on my way to having three new friends.
“What classes do you have this afternoon?” asked Rani as we cleared away our lunches.
I pulled my schedule from the pocket of my jeans and consulted it. “Uh, PE and then science.”
Her face lit up. “Me too! Come on, I’ll show you where the lockers are.”
I followed her out of the cafeteria feeling a lot more cheerful. It didn’t even bother me when we passed Olivia and Piper in the hall and I noticed them whispering. Who cared what they thought?
The cheerful feeling lasted right up until the moment when Ms. Suarez, our PE teacher, blew her whistle.
“Okay, girls!” she hollered. “Let’s beat those rainy Monday blues with a little hoops fun. Team captains—Olivia Haggerty and Taylor Brown.”
My heart sank. Basketball? How about a slam-dunk game of humiliation instead? When you’re barely five feet tall, basketball rarely qualifies as fun. I was about to go down in flames.
And my stepsister
was happy to shove me into the fire.
Olivia and Taylor flipped a coin for first pick, and Olivia won. She looked straight at me and smiled. It was not a nice smile.
“Rani Kumar,” she said.
Rani gave me a regretful look and crossed the gym to stand beside my stepsister. I steeled myself for torture, Olivia-style. It was uncanny the way she knew exactly how to bug me the most in any given situation. By picking the first friend I’d made at school all day, she was hanging me out to dry. There was no way Olivia was going to pick me for her team, and the other girl, Taylor, didn’t know me from a hole in the ground, so no way would she pick me either until she was forced to. And since she was picking second and there were an even number of girls, that meant not only would I not be on the same team as Rani, but I would also be the absolute last person picked.
Which I was.
“You should go home to Texas,” Olivia whispered to me in the locker room afterward.
Can I please go home to Texas? I wrote that night in my daily e-mail to my mother. The D’Angelos said I could stay with them.
The answer was no, of course.
Pull up your socks, she replied. You’re a star—and a Starr! Things with you and Olivia are bound to get better, once you settle in.
But they didn’t, and the rest of the week pretty much went downhill from there. Tuesday and Wednesday were no different. Olivia kept up her campaign to send me packing, and the only bright spots at school were band and Hawkwinds practice. Especially Hawkwinds practice. I slipped into the trio-turned-quartet effortlessly, and Mr. Morgan found us a new piece to play for the talent show, a Bach fugue that was one of my favorites.
But even that couldn’t make up for Olivia’s Reign of Terror, as A.J. had dubbed it. My stepsister talked about me constantly to her friends behind my back and made a big show of giving me the cold shoulder whenever she could, which was often, since we were in the same homeroom and most of the same classes.
Life at home wasn’t any better. Because it had been raining nonstop since my arrival, I couldn’t even escape outside for a walk. In order to avoid Olivia, I was forced to spend most of my time in either the kitchen or the living room, where Geoffrey would pounce on me to play LEGOs with him. He’d been following me around like a puppy ever since I arrived, which was cute and everything, but sometimes a person just wants to be alone, you know?