By the time I reached Eliot’s big, gloomy old house, I couldn’t feel my ears or my fingers or my toes anymore. Bouncing on the soles of my feet, I rapped on his door until he swung it open.

  “Oh, hey, Pippa,” he said. “You were knocking so hard, I thought someone was having an emergency.”

  “No fatal accidents. I’m just freezing. And happy to be here!” I added quickly.

  Eliot gave me one of his rare grins. “I knew you’d eventually warm up to irrational numbers.”

  A joke! He made a joke! My insides melted a little.

  He held the door open for me, and the two of us walked into the entry hall and through his ornate living room.

  Although Eliot’s house was richly decorated, with paintings in gilded frames; massive, carved dark wood furniture; and velvet drapes, I had to admit—the place could use some festive cheer. And a good dusting—the headmaster evidently wasn’t much for housekeeping. Cobwebs drooped from the crystal chandelier in the dining room. More than that, though, there was a feeling that time had stopped ages ago. My little apartment might be shabby, but it didn’t feel gloomy like this place.

  “So when is your test again?” Eliot asked as we sat down at the long dining table.

  I winced. “Um… tomorrow.”

  Eliot shot me a look of disbelief. “Then we should probably do a review of the main concepts. Let’s start on page forty-one…”

  Eliot began summarizing the most important points from each chapter, and I scribbled down notes and tried hard to pay attention. But focus seemed impossibly out of reach. Not only was there the usual distraction of Eliot—he had clearly come from his own basketball practice, and his cheeks were still faintly flushed from all the running around, plus his hair was damp and his shampoo had a piney scent, which was mildly hypnotizing—but I also couldn’t stop stressing about the party, and holding it in took all my limited control.

  Focus, Pippa. And stop sniffing him. He’ll notice.

  “Why don’t you try problem number three?” Eliot asked, handing me a piece of notebook paper. “That’s the one we were practicing last time.”

  I looked down at the string of unrelated numbers and letters and resisted the urge to snap my pencil in half. Why was math so hard? Every time Eliot explained a problem, it seemed so simple. But as soon as I tried it myself, the numbers morphed and squiggled around the page until I was looking at nonsense.

  I tapped my pencil against my thigh, trying to get started with step number one. But now that I was taking so long, I could feel Eliot watching me, and that just made my thoughts more jumbled. I didn’t want him to think I couldn’t do it.

  “Do you need help?” Eliot asked after a long minute had passed.

  “No” I said automatically. And then, because it was obvious that I did, I caved. “Actually, yes. I thought I understood, but I don’t. I’m sorry.” I sighed. “I feel so dumb.”

  Eliot was quiet for a moment. “Just because math doesn’t come naturally to you doesn’t mean you’re dumb,” he said at last.

  I peeked up at him. “It doesn’t?”

  “No. Besides, I don’t know why everyone puts such an emphasis on being a genius over everything else. Especially when there are so many other excellent traits and skills to have. Like being kind. Or being brave. Or missing only one free throw this entire season.”

  My eyebrows shot up so high they nearly touched my hairline, and I stared at Eliot. This was by far the nicest thing he’d ever said to me.

  My body tingled as I realized something else: He apparently paid enough attention to me to know I had missed only one free throw.

  Was it possible that Eliot actually, truly liked me?

  “Eliot!” The imperious voice made me jump. I twisted around to see that Eliot’s great-aunt, Miss Haverford, had entered the room. As usual, she wore an outfit that had no doubt been extremely fashionable fifty years earlier—a skirt suit made out of some heavy, dark fabric that looked as if it had been clawed by a gang of cats. Her hair perched on top of her head in a white, wispy poof.

  She glared at me down her long nose. “What is… she doing here?” she demanded of Eliot.

  I gulped. I hadn’t been in the Haverford house since before Thanksgiving—and the last time I was here I’d done something a little wild, trying to help Eliot’s brother, Matthew. It had all worked out okay in the end, but apparently Miss Haverford had not forgiven me.

  Eliot’s voice was wooden as he said, “You remember Pippa, Aunt Evelyn. I’m tutoring her in math.”

  Miss Haverford sniffed. “Oh, yes. Well, service to the community is a Haverford value,” she intoned.

  Service to the community? Was that why Eliot tutored me? Was I “the community”?

  “Tell me, what subject are you focusing on?” Miss Haverford asked me.

  I cleared my throat. “Uh—we’re working on slopes right now,” I said cautiously.

  “I see,” Miss Haverford said as if she didn’t believe me. She turned her gaze back to Eliot and tapped a long, yellowed fingernail on a heavy brooch pinned to her jacket. Click, click.

  She stood a moment longer, then swept past us and down the hall. Her heels tap-tapped away into the distance.

  When I looked back at Eliot, he was staring down at my textbook. “Okay, let’s try this again,” he said. “If you want to find the slope of a line that passes through these points—” he pointed to a spot on a graph in the book—“and these points”—he pointed to another spot—“what would you do?”

  “Ummm…” I squinted at the page. “Climb it and see how out of breath I get?”

  It was a bad joke, but even so, I thought I might get a smile. But Eliot’s blank look reminded me of how he used to be back when he first started tutoring me. Completely stony. My heart sank, and the light, airy feeling I’d had moments ago evaporated completely.

  I wasn’t sure if it was Miss Haverford who had changed the vibe, or if I’d just been imagining it before. But suddenly I felt as empty and cold as if I were still outside Eliot’s front door.

  * * *

  Outcast. THUD. Reject. THUD.

  Each time I dribbled the basketball, another description popped into my mind.

  Inept. THUD. Incompetent. THUD. Useless.

  It was three days later, and I had made zero progress on my party plans.

  I took another shot. DOINK! The ball hit the rim of the hoop and plunked down onto the cold asphalt of the basketball court. It bounced limply before rolling to a sad stop.

  “Ugh.” As I jogged over to retrieve the ball, a shiver shook my body, and I zipped my jacket all the way up to my chin. December in New England was bitter.

  Rubbing my throbbing red hands together for warmth, I centered myself back on the free-throw line. My breath came out in ghostly white wisps as I stared up at the hoop, but although part of me wanted to be home drinking spiced tea with Jung-Hwa, the rest of me wanted—no, needed—to be here. On the basketball court, shooting hoops the way Buddy and I used to.

  Of course, Buddy hadn’t responded to my text telling him I was coming here. So here I was, by myself, hoping the court would work its magic. Usually, I found complete peace when I was on the basketball court. My breathing became deep and even, my muscles relaxed, and each shot felt natural—like I was home. Today, though, that harmony seemed out of reach.

  I’d tried everything I could think of to make this party happen. I’d even called around to a few party-rental spaces, but they were all booked for the afternoon of Christmas Eve. Not that I had the money for a party space, but I was desperate.

  On top of that, I was starting to get kind of freaked out by my sister. Mina seemed so tense these days. Could business at the Lucky Laundromat really be that bad?

  Maybe I should just give up the party planning now, throw myself on the Royals’ mercy, and offer all my babysitting money to Mina. Yes, it would destroy my social life at least until high school, but it hurt my heart to watch Mina sitting with her calculator night after night.

  Even if I did that, though, how much could I really help? I had only seventy dollars to my name (or negative twenty-nine, if you counted the money I owed Helen). I had a feeling babysitting cash wasn’t going to be enough to save us.

  There was one bright spot. Today Mrs. Rogers gave back our algebra tests and, believe it or not, I had gotten a decent grade. Actually, the B- might count as a Christmas miracle. But thinking about that reminded me of how Eliot had turned chilly toward me again. I sighed. My spirit felt as gray as the leaden winter sky.

  I shook my head, straightened my spine, and took another shot. The ball curved around the hoop before unenthusiastically plopping inside. I frowned. Technically, it counted, but I wasn’t satisfied.

  I headed over to the benches and slumped down onto the freezing wood. I took out my phone and brought up Helen’s number. I didn’t want her to know what a failure I was, but I needed to tell someone that the party was in jeopardy. The longer I waited, the worse it would be. I had no choice.

  You free? I texted. Need some advice.

  I waited for a minute, but there was no response.

  I looked up at the darkening sky. Soon it would be even colder than it was already. Since being on the court wasn’t exactly doing me any favors, I started dribbling my basketball toward home. As I passed through the downtown area, I peered into Duo’s Diner. It looked warm and cozy inside and was packed with smiling people.

  I slowed down, remembering the first time Buddy had met the Royals—it had been here, at Duo’s, and I had been so obsessed with impressing the Royals that I had pretended I barely knew him. I was so focused on becoming one of them, I pretty much stopped hanging out with him. I still felt a heated flash of shame when I thought about how I’d treated my oldest friend. How could I resent Buddy for ignoring me now, when I had done the exact same thing to him?

  But that’s why Buddy should know better, a bitter voice in my head insisted. He knows exactly how it feels to be abandoned.

  I needed to go home and drown my sorrows in hot cocoa. As I jogged up the front steps to my apartment building, my phone buzzed. I saw Helen’s number—finally!—and my resentment started to thaw.

  See? Helen and Buddy are your best friends. Of course they still care about you. They’ll always be there for you.

  My whole body suddenly felt warmer. I could feel the muscles in my face soften and my lips turned up in a smile—until I read her message.

  Sorry, Pips. Just saw your text. Hanging out with Buddy right now. I can try to call you later if he doesn’t stay too late.

  Don’t worry about it, I wrote back glumly.

  A second later my phone buzzed again.

  I’ll tell him you said hi. By the way, I need to give my parents $$$ for my credit card bill. Can you bring the money for your dress to school tomorrow? It was $106 with tax.

  I groaned out loud. Wonderful. I was down to negative thirty-six dollars, with no party place, no money for food, and no money for decorations. And my sister’s business was about to go under. Plus, I was going to be shunned by the Royals and probably the whole school once Caroline got through with me.

  And I had no one to help me figure any of this out.

  Mrs. Lee’s tarot cards had predicted this whole disaster. If I had taken them seriously, would I have volunteered to host the party?

  It’s too late to wonder about that now. I let out a long sigh. Then I entered the apartment.

  Neither Mina nor Jung-Hwa was home—Thursday was a late night at the laundromat, and I knew Jung-Hwa had gone to the urgent-care dentist for a broken tooth. The only person in our apartment was Mrs. Lee. She was propped up in her usual position in her hospital bed, reading a paperback book with a very buff man with long, flowing brown hair on the cover.

  Mrs. Lee. Could I talk to her about my problems? After all, they were kind of—in fact, mostly—her fault. If she hadn’t moved into our living room, I’d have a space for our party. And if she hadn’t needed all her prescriptions, I’d still have the one hundred dollars Mina had borrowed from me.

  But although that was technically true, I still felt horribly guilty as I crossed into the living room. I knew Mina would think it was beyond rude to ask Mrs. Lee for the money while she was still recovering. And honestly, I agreed with Mina. But I couldn’t see any other way. So I forced myself to stop thinking about what Mina would say if she knew what I was about to do…

  14 UNRAVELING

  That Night and Still 14 Days Until Christmas Eve

  “Oh! Back so soon, dearie?” Mrs. Lee blinked up at me from behind her huge tortoiseshell-frame glasses. “I thought you were meeting a friend.”

  I shook my head. “I was playing a little basketball by myself.”

  Mrs. Lee set down the book and clapped her hands together. “Well, I’m glad you’re here with me. Since Mina and Jung-Hwa are both out of the house, why don’t you make a bowl of buttered popcorn, and we can watch that marvelous K-drama together. What’s it called? The one with that pretty little thing—Park So-dam!”

  “Record of Youth?”

  “That’s the one,” Mrs. Lee said triumphantly. “I’ve only watched the first episode, but I’m loving it.”

  “I like it, too,” I said. For a minute, I was tempted. There was something so comforting about watching Mrs. Lee’s shows with her…

  But then I shook my head. Eyes on the prize, Park. “Maybe later. There’s, uh, actually something I kind of wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Oh, girl talk!” Mrs. Lee clapped so enthusiastically that I took a step back. She leaned forward. “I love girl talk.”

  “Well, it’s not exactly girl talk…”

  Mrs. Lee waved a hand. “Girl talk, boy talk, it’s all about connecting. I give excellent advice,” she told me. “In another life, I would have been one of those advice columnists you see in the newspaper. Ask Min-seo—kind of has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

  “Mmm.” I nodded politely. “But I actually wanted to—”

  “Here, sit,” Mrs. Lee demanded, patting the empty space on her mattress. “Tell me everything. Is it about your grades? Do you want me to forge a signature for your report card?”

  “What? No.” I shook my head.

  “Have you started your period? You need me to teach you how to use a tampon?”

  I shook my head even harder, feeling my ears turn red.

  “Boy trouble, then?”

  I hesitated for a moment, and that was all Mrs. Lee needed to swoop in.

  “I knew it!” she said. “Trust me—there are many things that will put you through the wringer in life, but not many of them are more painful than men. In fact, that’s how I ended up here.”

  “In our living room?” I blurted.

  Mrs. Lee shook her head with a chuckle, and I realized that was obviously not what she was talking about.

  “Oh… you mean America,” I realized.

  Mrs. Lee nodded. “I still remember the exact date I met Roger. My husband. March 17, 1971. I was twenty-three years old and working part-time at a restaurant near an American military base on the south coast. Of Korea, that is. He came in, ordered the jjajangmyeon, and told me I had the prettiest smile he had ever seen. I told him that I was just about to say the same thing about him.” Mrs. Lee grinned. “From there, it felt like I was living in a romance book. Every weekend, we would explore a different coffee shop together, and during his time off, we even traveled to Jeju Island for a week. Of course, my parents were a little wary of a military man… but they liked that he was Korean American, and my siblings liked that he brought them gifts whenever he visited. It was a happy time.”

  Mrs. Lee sighed wistfully, fogging up her glasses. “But then his deployment ended….”

  “Oh,” I said. “And that’s when you moved here?”

  Mrs. Lee nodded. “It wasn’t an easy decision to make. I knew he was the one for me, but at the same time, I didn’t want to leave my family behind. Or my home. I loved both of them so much.”

  Mrs. Lee looked down to hide the pain in her face, and my stomach shifted with guilt. I hadn’t ever thought about her family before. I mean, I knew she must have had one—everyone did—but I hadn’t wondered where they lived or what had happened to them. In fact, I had never really thought about Mrs. Lee’s life at all.

  I leaned back to examine her face—her wrinkled cheeks, her painted-on eyebrows, the white roots in her dyed black hair—trying to picture what she might have looked like when she was twenty-three. A carefree waitress with a mischievous glint in her eyes and a pretty smile.

  “Do you ever regret the choice you made?” I asked after a long moment.

  Mrs. Lee cocked her head to the side, deliberating my question.

  “There have been points in my life, yes,” she finally said. “Times when I felt isolated and alone, or when people treated me like I didn’t belong. And sometimes just because. The first Christmas I spent here, I remember sobbing. It wasn’t that I was unhappy—it was just that I missed my family so much.”

  “Did you ever go back to visit?”

  “In the beginning we couldn’t afford it, and by the time we did have the money for the trip, my parents had died. And then Roger got sick and died, too.”

  “That’s really sad,” I said. Without thinking, I reached out to take Mrs. Lee’s hand.

  She squeezed mine gently. “That’s why I feel so blessed to have you three,” she told me.

  For a moment, we stared at each other in silence—Mrs. Lee lost in her memories, and me thinking hard about everything she had just told me… and the truly horrible thought that I had wanted to banish her upstairs for our party.

  Then Mrs. Lee snorted. “Oh, look at me! Blabbering your ear off, and you were the one who came to me for advice. Now, what were you going to ask me, dear?”

  “Oh!” I exclaimed, startled. For a moment, I had completely forgotten why I came to Mrs. Lee in the first place. Now it all rushed back to me. Helen. The dress. The enormous amount of money I owed her. The party. “That! I was going to ask you about…” But then I trailed off.

 

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