Under Their Skin (2 page)

THREE

Ava and Jackson,
Eryn thought.
Jackson and Ava.

It had been thirty-six hours since Mom had sprung the news on her and Nick about the marriage, the move, and the mystery stepsiblings. And in those thirty-six hours, that was all Eryn had been able to find out about the mysterious kids: their names.

No matter how much she and Nick asked, Mom wouldn't tell them anything else.

They'd even Googled the two kids' names and found nothing.

Now it was Sunday night, and Dad had just arrived to pick them up for the next week at his house. Eryn met him at the front door.

“Did you know?” she demanded.

Dad looked baffled. He hit the palm of his hand against the side of his head, which was his jokey way of acting like he was trying to jar something loose in his
brain. This left his wild, curly, dark hair slightly mashed on one side.

“Um . . . know what, Sunshine?” he asked.

Mom slid up behind Eryn and held the door open for Dad.

“Hi, Donald,” she said, giving him a single kiss on the right cheek. He responded by giving her a single kiss on the left cheek.

This was their Sunday night routine. Once, years ago, Eryn had talked herself into thinking Mom and Dad might get back together. She only had the nerve to tell this theory to Nick. But somehow, even as a six- or seven-year-old, Nick had been cued in enough to adult behavior to tell her, “They kiss on the
cheek.
People who want to get married kiss on the
mouth
.”

Now Eryn could see that her parents' Sunday night kiss routine was about as romantic as oatmeal. It was like flossing their teeth or vacuuming the carpet: a duty.

But when Mom and Michael are married, are Nick
and I going to have to see those two kissing all the time?
Eryn wondered.
Constantly being romantic and lovey- dovey? Ugh!

She distracted herself from this new, distressing image in her head by listening to Mom and Dad.

Mom was telling Dad, “I assume Eryn is referring to my getting married.”

Mom turned to face Eryn directly.

“Yes, honey, of course I already told your father,” she said. “It would be highly inconsiderate of me not to keep him informed of any upcoming change that would affect you and Nick so dramatically.”

While Mom wasn't looking, Dad rolled his eyes at Eryn. But it was in a jokey, good-natured way, so even if Mom saw him, her feelings wouldn't be hurt.

“Abso-dutely-lutely, Eryn,” Dad said. “She told me. And I have already wished her and Michael many, many years of happiness together.”

If Dad had ever had any hopes of getting back together with Mom, he was good at hiding it. He really did sound happy for Mom and Michael.

Mom and Dad went into Mom's office. This was also part of their Sunday night routine. The parent who'd had Nick and Eryn the previous week always told the parent who would have them the following week what tests they had coming up, what school projects were due when, and what extracurricular activities were on the schedule. At least, that was what Mom and Dad claimed happened in their weekly meetings. Eryn guessed that
Mom usually did most of the talking no matter who'd had the kids last.

Nick flopped down on the couch and picked up a video controller. This was
his
Sunday night routine: He was allowed to play video games for as long as Mom and Dad were in Mom's office.

Eryn inched closer to Mom's office door.

“Give it up,” Nick said, his eyes glued to the TV screen. “They have to know you might eavesdrop. They're not going to say anything about those kids. Or anything else important.”

“Then why don't they just talk in front of us?” Eryn asked.

“Divorced parents need to meet regularly in an environment where they can express their thoughts and emotions freely, with no fear of those thoughts and emotions damaging their children's psyches,” Nick said in an airy,
how could you not know this?
tone. Eryn couldn't tell if he was quoting Mom exactly or just pretending to.

“At least I'm trying
something
,” Eryn retorted.

“Hey, I'm saving a frog from death-by-delivery-truck,” Nick said, as the familiar
ga-lumph, ga-lumph
of his favorite video game started up.

Eryn put her ear against the office door. Nothing.

“I read somewhere that it helps to put a glass up against a wall,” Nick said. “Something about concentrating the sound waves.”

“Why don't we both try?” Eryn suggested.

Nick didn't move anything except a finger on the video game controller.

“They would know something was up if they came out of the office and I
wasn't
sitting in front of the TV,” he said.

He had a point. Eryn went into the kitchen and pulled a glass from the cupboard. She came back into the living room and put the open end of the glass against the wall, then her ear against the base of the glass.

“. . . so then Nick has lacrosse practice after school on Tuesday while Eryn has art club,” Mom was saying on the other side of the wall. It sounded a little bit like she was talking underwater, but Eryn could still make out the words.

“It works!” Eryn mostly mouthed/sort of whispered to Nick.

She didn't tell him that it seemed like he was right, and Mom and Dad weren't saying anything interesting. Nick always had lacrosse practice the same time as her art club. And she always had tennis practice on Thurs
days while he had trumpet lessons. And on Fridays she had piano lessons while he worked on stage crew for the school play.

Wonder what activities Ava and Jackson are in?
she thought.

Did it matter? Would that explain who they really were? Were they even old enough to be involved in school activities? Were they even old enough to be in school?

Mom's voice was droning on in the office.

“Wednesday is the field trip to the science museum for both kids, and . . .”

Eryn was just about ready to slide the glass away from the wall so she didn't get caught. Then she heard Dad say, “Don't you think we've been boring long enough, and anyone who might be listening has given up?”

They
expected
me to listen?
Eryn wondered.

Then she heard Dad's next words: “Is the plan working so far?”

“As far as we can tell,” Mom said.

Plan?
Eryn thought.
What plan?

Maybe Mom was just talking about the wedding plans—or the elopement plans—but Dad made it sound like a plan he was involved with too.

“Don't take too many risks,” Dad said.

Mom gave a shaky laugh.

“Isn't everything about this risky?” she said. “But—worth the risks?”

Would Mom talk that way about getting remarried? Would she talk that way to
Dad
about her marriage to Michael
?

“Just . . . don't do anything to endanger Eryn and Nick,” Dad said in a grim voice that was nothing like his usual light, joking tone.

“You know I never would,” Mom said. She paused. “But don't you know we have to factor Ava and Jackson into the equation now too? Don't they matter just as much?”

There was a creaking sound that Eryn recognized—Mom must be rolling her chair back from her desk. Quickly Eryn pulled her glass back from the wall and began carrying it toward the kitchen.

The door to Mom's office swung open before Eryn had a chance to take three steps.

Eryn thought fast. She held the glass up so Mom and Dad were sure to see it.

“Look at what a slob Nick was,” she said. “Leaving dirty glasses all over the house. . . . Are Michael's kids this messy?”

“That's not really any of your concern,” Mom said, with a shrug that seemed almost rehearsed. “But I appreciate you cleaning up after Nick.”

They don't even suspect,
Eryn thought.
I got away with eavesdropping!

But the eavesdropping meant she had questions she couldn't ask now.

Were
she and Nick in danger? From what?

Would it be dangerous for them even to
meet
Ava and Jackson?

How could that be?

FOUR

Nick's theory was, if you wanted to trick one of your parents into telling you a secret, you should try the parent who
didn't
have a PhD in psychology.

Now he and Eryn were in the car with Dad, headed to Dad's house. Nick had made sure that Eryn was in the backseat and he was in the front with Dad. Ever since she'd eavesdropped on Mom and Dad, every time the grown-ups weren't looking, Eryn kept peering at Nick and wiggling her eyebrows up and down and mouthing words like
I found something out! Just wait until I tell you!

Dad could be kind of clueless sometimes, but even he would be able to tell Eryn was up to something if she was sitting right beside him.

“So—good week at Mom's?” Dad asked, pulling to a stop at a red light and glancing over at Nick. It was kind of a silly question, because Dad always called on Mon
days, Wednesdays, and Fridays when Eryn and Nick were staying at Mom's. (Mom always called on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays when the kids were at Dad's.) So Dad already knew pretty much everything that had happened to Eryn and Nick last week.

This didn't stop Eryn from leaning forward from the backseat and blurting out, “We're kind of weirded out about Mom getting married again, and us moving and getting a new brother and sister. . . .”

Nick shot his sister a look that said,
Ever heard of subtlety? Let me handle this one!

Eryn frowned, but eased back into her seat.

“You like Michael okay, right?” Nick asked Dad.

“Oh yeah,” Dad said, and it sounded like he was being totally honest. “He's a great guy. And I think he and your mom are much more compatible than the two of us ever were.”

“Because of that whole head-hand thing?” Nick asked.

This was the excuse Mom and Dad gave for why their marriage hadn't worked out: Mom liked thinking; Dad liked doing. Mom could sit around all day talking about things that, as far as Nick was concerned, really didn't make any sense. Dad hated
sitting around. His job
was building houses, and even when he wasn't at work he was always making something: a garden or a pot of stew or a bookshelf for Eryn's room or . . . something.

Nick didn't think it was that weird that Mom and Dad hadn't stayed together. What he didn't understand was why they'd ever gotten married in the first place.

Dad's explanation was, “Love makes you do strange things, kids.”

Mom's explanation was . . . Well, actually, Nick had never listened all the way through Mom's explanation. It was something about biology and psychology and lots of other things Nick mostly didn't care about.

But Michael was a professor of computer science. He thought about things all the time too—just more interesting things than Mom thought about.

“I guess Mom must think Eryn and I are more like you than like her and Michael,” Nick said, trying to sound casual and offhanded and
not
like freaked-out Eryn. “Mom said we didn't have anything in common with Michael's kids. They must be too smart for us.”

Will this work?
Nick wondered.

Dad had started driving again when the light turned green, but now he hit the brake so hard that Nick's head jerked forward, and a car behind them honked its horn.
Dad yanked the steering wheel to the right, pulling over to the side of the road. The car shuddered to a stop.

Dad spun in his seat so he was facing Nick directly.

“Too smart for you?
Too smart for you
?” Dad repeated, his face turning redder and redder and his hair puffing out more than ever. “Don't you ever let me hear either one of you say
anybody
is too smart for the Stone twins. You hear me? You two are plenty smart. You're the perfect mix of your mother
and
me, so you're good with both your heads and your hands.”

It's working,
Nick thought.

“Yeah, but you have to say you think we're smart and talented and all, because you're our dad,” Nick said with a shrug. “Those other kids must be geniuses or prodigies or something.”

Dad's face was so red he looked like a tomato. But—this was weird—rather than going on shouting at Nick, Dad glanced cautiously out the window. They had pulled over right beside the park with the giant playground where Nick and Eryn had played when they were younger. Even though it was starting to get dark, there were still some moms and dads pushing little kids on swings or waiting at the bottom of the big curvy slides for their toddlers to come down.

The next time Dad spoke, it was in a much softer voice. Could he possibly be afraid someone would overhear him? Why?

It's not a crime to tell your kids they're smart,
Nick thought.

“Michael's kids . . . they're just different,” Dad said. “That's all. It doesn't mean anything bad about them or bad about you.”

“Wow, that really clears things up,” Eryn said sarcastically from the backseat. “So are you saying it's being different that's bad?”

Dad shook his head like Eryn had confused him.

“No, no, differences are
fine
,” he said. “Differences aren't a problem at all. We need all sorts of different kinds of people in the world to make things work right. Like your mom and me. If there weren't people like me, nobody would have a house. And if there weren't people like your mom, kids wouldn't understand their feelings. So—”

“So it's just kids who are different who shouldn't have anything to do with each other?” Eryn asked. “Kids like Ava and Jackson and Nick and me?”

Dad ran his hand through his hair. Now it wasn't just curly and wild; it also stuck up in odd places.

“This is really more your mom's department than
mine,” he muttered. “Look, your mom and Michael are just trying to make the transition easier for everyone.
You're
smart, good kids, and Ava and Jackson are smart, good kids, but you just can't meet. Not until . . .”

“Until what?” Eryn asked, springing forward like a cat pouncing. “You're saying the plan is for all of us to meet someday? When? Mom said we'd
never
have to meet those kids.”

Nick turned around and glared at Eryn. Was she
trying
to get Dad to stop talking?

Dad looked lost.

“Um . . . maybe you should save your questions for your next phone call with Mom,” he said. He winced. “Or really, until you see her next Sunday night. Because it's better to talk about difficult topics in person.”

“Right, and you're the person we're with this week,” Eryn argued. “That's why we're talking about it with you.”

“I said, wait until Sunday!” Dad thundered.

Nick and Eryn sat in stunned silence. Dad
never
yelled at them like that. Dad never yelled at them; Mom never yelled at them; their teachers never yelled at them. . . .

Is this what it feels like?
Nick wondered.
To be yelled at for something that isn't even your fault?

Maybe he was like Mom: He could examine a feeling and label it and think that could make it easier to deal with.

Beside Nick, Dad clapped his hand over his mouth. Color drained from his face—in an instant it went from tomato red to ghostly pale. Dad put his other hand on the steering wheel, then down on the gearshift, then back on the steering wheel.

He dropped his hand from his mouth.

“I'm sorry, kids,” he said, as meek as a mouse. “I guess I'm a little weirded out by all the changes too.”

He put the car back in gear, and they drove the rest of the way home in silence.

“Want help carrying your things in?” Dad said as he pulled into the garage. His voice sounded like he was trying way too hard to make it come out normal.

“No thanks,” Nick mumbled.

“We're fine,” Eryn echoed.

It was strange that Dad was even asking. The only things they ever carried back and forth between their parents' houses were their backpacks for school. They didn't bother with suitcases. They just wore one set of clothes when they were at Dad's, and a different set of clothes when they were at Mom's. Nick's T-shirts and
sweatshirts and jeans were all pretty interchangeable anyway, so it wasn't like he cared.

“We'll be upstairs in our rooms doing homework,” Eryn said.

“Okay,” Dad said, and this was weird too. Normally he would have asked what the homework was.

They went into the house, and Dad began dusting bookshelves that already looked completely dust-free. Nick followed Eryn upstairs. As soon as they got to the landing, Eryn grabbed Nick's arm and tugged him into her room with her.

She shoved the door shut behind them and whirled around to face Nick directly.

“Want to know what I heard Mom and Dad say?” she asked. “They were talking about risks! They said we're in danger, and so are those mystery kids of Michael's!”

Nick's heart pounded, and for a moment he wondered what it would feel like to faint, right there on Eryn's fluffy purple rug.

Then maybe the extra blood to his brain helped a little, and his mind cleared.

He sank down to sit on the edge of Eryn's bed.

“You know how Mom talks,” he said. “I bet she meant
emotional
danger and
emotional
risks. That's all.
Remember when she had you thinking fourth grade was going to be a war zone, because she kept talking about landmines and ‘battles unique to the female young of the human species'?” When really, all she meant was that some girls might make fun of other girls' clothes and hair?”

“This is different,” Eryn said stubbornly. “Dad
yelled
at us.”

Nick couldn't argue with that.

A knock sounded at Eryn's door.

“Can I come in?”

It was Dad. Eryn went over and yanked the door open.

Dad stood there panting a little, as if he'd raced up the stairs.

“I just wanted to tell you,” he said. “At times like this, when there are a lot of changes going on, weird is normal. It's to be expected. So . . . don't think it's weird that we all feel weird. Everything that's going on right now is totally normal.”

Eryn put her hands on her hips.

“Mom told you to say that,” she accused.

Dad looked back and forth between Eryn and Nick.

“That doesn't mean it isn't true,” he said.

But even he didn't sound like he believed it.