The Truth About Twinkie Pie Part 16

thirty-two.

When I came out, I told Haven and Allie I didn't feel well and asked if someone could drive me home. Haven's dad brought me back into town. It was late afternoon and I knew that the salon closed early on Sundays, and I needed to ask DiDi about 39 Red Cedar Road.

I needed her to explain the mistake.

I needed her to have an answer.

I needed her to tell me one of her long-winded yakkity stories, and this one time, I'd be glad to hear it and then annoyed that she was talking so much and then everything would be back to normal.

At the salon, I could see through the gla.s.s doors that Clarisse had gone home. DiDi usually stayed in the back, cleaning up and talking with the other stylists before leaving. As I walked in, I could hear soft voices.

"I know it's hard, sweetheart, but being yourself-all it means is letting everyone out there see what's true in here."

I peeked around the corner and saw DiDi gently touching the top of Mace's head. The floor creaked and DiDi saw me.

"Well, hey there, Double-I mean Leia. I didn't expect you back yet from Haven's house."

I turned around and walked out.

I went straight up the stairs to our apartment. As I shoved the key into the lock, I could hear Kenneth's door open. Without turning around, I slammed our door shut. Why was it my job to be nice to him? He was the one mooning after DiDi even though she didn't give him a speck of time. How long would it take him to get it through his dumb old ponytailed head that DiDi didn't care about him? At all.

I washed my face and brushed my teeth and put on an old prescription pain relief T-s.h.i.+rt that Lori had given me from when she was dating this pharmaceutical salesman. Boy, we thought she'd hit the jackpot then. She kept saying, "See you later, ladies. I'm probably off to Vegas for a bunch of fancy conventions and buffet dinners."

But it didn't work out. He left town just as quickly as he'd come, and whenever anyone asked about him, Lori would say, "Nothing but a pipe dream, girls. Some things are just too good to be true. You try to grab hold and they slip away."

DiDi came in.

"GiGi! What happened? Mace and I were really worried about you."

I'll bet.

I climbed into bed. If she wanted to spend her time with Mace, let her.

"Isn't it kind of early for bed? Did you even have dinner?"

I didn't answer.

"Okay... Well, I have to drive Macy home. It's been a little rough with her mom-"

I pulled the covers over my head.

"Anyway, I'll be back later if you want to talk."

Talk? When did we ever talk? When did we ever talk about anything except for how to turn the recipe of my life into a triple-layer Success Cake?

I heard her back out of the room. "So... just leave your light on if you want me to come in later. I'll be back in-"

I jumped up and had the light off before she could finish her sentence.

They used to tell this story about Dead Drunk Donna. That when she was upset, she would leave the lights in her trailer on all night and howl at the moon. Singing and howling and clutching that shotgun full of golden bullets. With no one to listen to her except maybe that dead bear tied to a tree.

Monday morning in English cla.s.s, I walked straight to Trip and said in a low voice, "Can you meet me in the library after my volunteer job?"

He looked at me, all serious. Studying me in that way he had. I guess something in my face let him know that this wasn't going to be about homework.

"Are you-"

I shook my head. I didn't want to say anything else. The idea of Mama and the lipstick and everything was tied up so tight in my brain, I was afraid that one pull would bring the whole thing down into a tangled mess, right in the middle of cla.s.s.

"Okay," he said.

I wanted to thank him, but I just nodded and took my seat.

Not only did Trip meet me at the library, he came early and helped me read to the kids and keep them all happy. I guess he could tell that I just wasn't myself. He put all the books back on the cart, and he spoke politely to Miss Homer while she turned the pages of a new book with a new long-haired man, hugging a new fainting lady, on the cover.

When we were done, I led Trip to these rooms in the back where people go for tutoring. It was always really quiet and private there.

I shut the door.

Looked at him.

I didn't know how to begin.

"Did you... did you ever think that something-that everything-was different than what you thought and that... someone you trust... is not telling you... something?" I knew I was babbling.

Trip twisted the key that hung around his neck. "What do you-what do you mean? Did you-what do you mean?" He looked scared. I'd probably look scared, too, if someone I thought was a normal human seventh grader suddenly started talking like a crazy person.

I took a breath.

And I said it fast.

"What if my mama isn't dead?"

Trip shook his head. "Wait, what?"

The tears I'd been holding back started falling and falling and falling as that giant tangled knot in my head started to come loose. Trip looked like he didn't know what to do. He began to reach out to me and then stopped.

"I found out something," I said between these big gulpy breaths.

"What do you-G, what did you find?"

"I found..." I looked up at his face. "I found Cherries in the Snow...." And then the whole story came tumbling out. I told him about the lipstick, about Ida, about the list and the phone calls. I told him about Cla.s.sic Cosmetics, the clickety keys, and 39 Red Cedar Road. I told him everything that had happened at Haven's house, and I talked and talked until the tangled-up knots in my head were all unraveled and lying there in a big messy heap.

"What are the chances that someone else in the whole wide world has Mama's and DiDi's exact name and wears Mama's lipstick and lives in our old town? What are the chances there's someone else in Verity-in the universe!-named Delta Dawn Barnes?"

"Did you talk to Haven and Allie about it?"

"No."

"Did you ask DiDi?"

My heart twisted. "No. You're the only person I've told. Trip... you're the only person I can tell."

Trip was quiet for a moment. Then nodded. Like he understood how there are some things you can only tell one person. He took my hand in his. It was the first time he had ever done that. "What are you going to do?"

I had been thinking about it every second of every moment since I'd heard Sales a.s.sociate Jamie say "39 Red Cedar Road." There was only one answer.

"I'm going to go."

Trip squeezed my hand. Hard. "What do you mean? Go where? To that Cedar place? Like a million miles away? G, you don't even know if it's safe! You can't just go there all by yourself!"

"You're right," I said. "I can't."

And even though I knew it could make everything all tied up and tangled again, I pulled one last string.

"Trip, I need you to run away with me to South Carolina."

Tangled-Up Pie

* 1 tablespoon b.u.t.ter * 1 tablespoon vegetable oil * Leftover cold spaghetti with tomato sauce (about 4 cups) * 2 beaten eggs * 2 cups pizza cheese * Crushed red pepper flakes and grated Parmesan cheese for serving Now, I'll say right away that this works best with leftover spaghetti. I don't know why, but I'm guessing things are just better when they've had a chance to sit awhile and figure out what they want to be.

Heat up your best skillet and melt the b.u.t.ter with the oil in it. I like to get it up to medium-high heat, because then you get a nice crisp crust and the oil keeps the b.u.t.ter from burning right away.

Mix the cold spaghetti and eggs and cheese in a big bowl and then dump it into your hot pan. It'll sizzle right away and make the nice crust.

Lower the heat to medium and cover the skillet. After about 15 minutes or so, check it, and if it looks pretty good, slip a spatula in there and flip the whole thing over. Sometimes I slide the whole thing off onto a plate and then flip it over in the pan. Mary Elizabeth claims that if you practice a whole lot, you can flip it in the air, like those chefs in fancy restaurants. But I'll believe that when I see it. Let the other side cook and crisp up for maybe another 15 minutes, then when it's done, slide it onto a big plate and cut it into wedges. Pa.s.s the grated cheese and red pepper flakes.

Serves 4.

thirty-three.

I had never run away before, but I knew that all I needed was a good plan.

Since I was little, DiDi has been telling me that a good plan is just like a good recipe. You find out what you need. You find out what to do. Then you follow the directions. I've been watching DiDi follow recipes since the day I was born, and you can bet I knew a good recipe when I saw one.

This was not a good recipe.

RECIPE FOR RUNNING AWAY TO FIND YOUR MAYBE NO LONGER DEAD MAMA.

Friday night

* 1 Fake Sleepover with Haven and Allie (for me) * 1 Fake Sleepover with Billy (for Trip) * 1 "borrowed" credit card (Trip's dad's) * "Borrowed" cash from the cookie jar where Trip's mom keeps grocery $ for the housekeeper * My little stash of babysitting money * Two tickets on the local Long Island train into New York City * Then two tickets on the Overnight Express train from New York to South Carolina First of all, give friends no information other than This Is Life or Death, Can I Fake Sleep Over at Your House?

Trip and I sneak out. (Haven and Allie and Billy turn all lights out early and stuff sleeping bags with pillows in case parents peek in on them.) Next morning, they tell their parents we got sick and quietly went home, but DON'T CALL to check up on us, because we are probably sleeping and it would be rude to wake us up.

If possible, mention a High-Grade Fever. That's a fever of, like, 104 degrees or more. Parents lose their minds over a High-Grade Fever. DiDi will make me crawl to school with a sore throat and buckets of green stuff coming out of my nose, but if I have a High-Grade Fever, she'll let me sleep a week. Even my darn fever has to sound like it's on honor roll for DiDi to pay attention.

Keep all grown-ups from talking to each other till we get back.

Mix it all together.

Cross fingers. And just see what happens.

Like I said: Not a good recipe.

But we only had that week to plan it, and it was the best we could do. We would sneak out of the house, and Trip would pay for a cab to get us to the local train that would take us to the big train station in the city-which for some reason was called Pennsylvania Station even though it was in New York. From there, we would have to transfer to another train and ride all night till we got to South Carolina. It was going to be expensive, but I had enough money saved for some of my ticket, and I promised Trip I would pay him back for the rest when I could.

The night of the Fake Sleepover at Haven's house, I peeked out the window about three hundred times. We were having the pretend sleepover downstairs in the TV room, so I'd be able to climb out a window close to the ground. Her parents had two other couples over, and they were laughing and talking in the dining room. Haven said it was called the Supper Club and they took turns having dinner at each other's houses. At first, I thought it'd be a bad idea to try the Fake Sleepover on Supper Club Night, but Haven said it was probably a good thing.

"Believe me, if they didn't have company over, my parents would try and hang out with us and make us do karaoke with them or something. But when their friends are over, they don't even peek in on me. It takes them like five hours to eat. They don't even have dessert till eleven. Plus, they put the Beast to bed early. Trust me, it's better this way."

I still didn't know the Beast's real name, since that's what Haven always called him. She had warned him to stay in his room and not bother us. Allie told him she would tell all the kids in kindergarten that he still wet his pants. Haven kidnapped his favorite army men and threatened to torture them. DiDi always says it's easier to make a friend than fight an enemy, so I snuck three forbidden slices of pizza to him after his lights were out. And so far, we hadn't seen him or Haven's parents since they dropped off the pizza cartons and plates in the TV room before their guests arrived. I hadn't eaten a bite.