Read an Excerpt
Everything I Know About You
WE GOT TO SCHOOL IN the dark that morning, already fifteen minutes late.
By then, cars were headed in the opposite direction, doggy heads hanging out the passenger windows, horns honking good-bye. Ms. Jordan was standing by the fancy bus, wearing jeans (she owned jeans?), checking her clipboard. She looked up; now I could see she was talking to Ava Seeley and her mom, a blond woman dressed head to toe in beige, like she was about to go on a safari.
Suddenly I had the feeling Ava was glaring at me. I mean, my brain told me she wasn’t; we were maybe thirty feet away from her, in a car, and probably she couldn’t even see me through the windshield. But she was the head clonegirl of our grade, basically my enemy, so I was always on the lookout for her nasty expressions.
“Gug,” I said, my stomach knotting.
“Tally, don’t decide this will be bad before anything happens,” Mom said.
“Yeah, well. Too late.”
“Come on, honey, you got this.” Mom gave me a pep smile, which usually worked. Although not this time. “Just share the goodies Dad baked you; that’ll help with the bus trip. Oh, and here’s a present from me.”
She handed me a small sandwich bag. Inside were two red things that looked like cap erasers.
“Earplugs,” Mom explained. “For the bus. And the room, if Ava’s a snorer.”
“If she is, she couldn’t be louder than Spike.” My dog was a champion loud breather, so I was an expert at ignoring snores. Obviously, Mom meant the earplugs for more than snoring.
I stuck the bag in my pants pocket and threw my arms around her. “Thanks, Mom.”
She smooched my cheek. “You’re welcome, Daughter. Text me when you get there, okay? Tell Spider to text his mom too. And let me help with the bakery boxes.”
We stepped out of the car into the sharp, chilly air. It didn’t even feel like September, really—although maybe that was because it still seemed liked night. Maybe once we were on the road, and the sun was up, it would feel like a normal fall morning in Eastview.
But not yet. I shivered.
Mom carried two of the boxes, and I carried one, plus my duffel bag. The bus had this huge underneath storage compartment, but by now it was completely crammed with everyone’s stuff for the next four days. So we had to wedge my duffel in sideways, probably squishing all the extra cookies Dad had packed.
Then we walked over to Ms. Jordan.
“Good morning, Tally!” Ms. Jordan greeted me too energetically, as if she’d had an extra cup of coffee for breakfast. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t make it. You’re Mrs. Martin?” she asked Mom.
Mom caught my eye. Because I’m so much bigger and taller than the rest of my family, people say stuff like this sometimes. Maybe Ms. Jordan didn’t mean it as an actual question—Are you really Tally’s mom?—but it was hard to tell.
“Yes, I am,” Mom said, smiling at everyone. Even at Ava, who didn’t bother to smile back.
But Ms. Jordan did. “Quite a daughter you have there. Full of character.”
Mom nodded. You could tell she was trying to figure out whether that was a compliment.
Meanwhile, Ava’s mom was reaching out her hand to shake Mom’s, completely ignoring the fact that Mom was holding two bulging bakery boxes. “Good morning. I’m Ellen Seeley,” she announced. “I’m the parent chaperone for this trip.”
The parent chaperone? But there were three other parents going, I was sure of it.
“Oh yes,” Mom said pleasantly. “We’ve already met, Ellen. How nice of you to volunteer! Tally, could I please give you these boxes? The car is in a no-parking zone, so I really can’t stay.” Her eyes were begging; she obviously wanted to escape Ellen Seeley.
“Sure,” I said, stacking Mom’s boxes on top of mine. “You’d better hurry, so you don’t get a ticket.”
Mom tiptoed to kiss my cheek. “Have fun, sweetheart, and remember those earplugs,” she murmured. “Tune out whatever you need to, okay? And don’t forget to text.” Then she raced off.
Mrs. Seeley turned to talk to Ms. Jordan, as Ava narrowed her eyes at me. “So what’s in the boxes?” Ava asked.
“Oh, these?” I said. “Binoculars. Pickaxes. Flashlights. You know, assorted extremely high-tech devices for exploring our nation’s capital.”
“Huh,” Ava said. She never appreciated my sense of humor. “It looks like bakery stuff.”
“We’re allowed to bring snacks,” I informed her. “Not that I am.”
“Whatever.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means bring whatever you want, Tally. However much you want. I really don’t care what you do, all right?”
“That’s so funny, Ava,” I replied. “Because you always act like exactly the opposite.”
Now Ava definitely was glaring, and I glared right back at her. She was teeny, maybe ten inches shorter than me, so I had to stoop a bit to make eye contact. But it’s hard to stoop while balancing three bakery boxes, so I sort of teetered in her direction.
Finally she said, “Well, you’d better get a seat. You’re late, and we’re about to leave.”
And we know you’d hate to leave me behind, wouldn’t you, Ava?
I climbed on board, my heart banging so loudly I was sure you could hear it over the bus engine.
Because here it was. We’d now arrived at the moment I’d been dreading for the past two weeks.
The moment I’d find out if my friends had shown up.
Or if I’d have to do this thing—all three days and four nights—stuck in a room alone with Ava Seeley.
