"Let's settle down, class," she said.

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Rachel reached over and tapped my shoulder. Then she mouthed, "Call me."

I nodded, too surprised to mention I didn't have her number.

I may have become royalty at school, but my elevated status didn't have any effect on my home

life, where I remained invisible as ever. At dinner Mara and her daughters talked exclusively

about the shopping spree they'd gone on after school (without me, naturally). Princess One

couldn't decide if she should have gotten a sweater in green, like Princess Two had, or if she was

right to have gotten it in blue, like Mara had. Mara promised they could go back to the mall on

Friday and Princess One could get the green sweater, too.

While Princess Two complained about how unfair that was, Mara listened intently, taking tiny

bites of her food and following each with a sip of water.

"Oh, girls, I almost forgot," she said after assuring Princess Two she could get another sweater also. "Your father called and said you need to bring something nice to wear this weekend

because they're having people for dinner on Saturday night."

"I hate when they have company," whined Princess One, clacking her fork against her plate for emphasis.

"It's so unfair," said Princess Two. "We have to sit there and not say anything and everyone ignores us."

"I'm going to speak to Diana about that," said

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Mara. "The two of you are a lovely addition to any dinner party. She should be more gracious."

The Princesses hate their stepmother Diana with a passion, and I got the sense the feeling was

mutual. I'd met Diana a couple of times when she and the Princesses' dad dropped them off or

picked them up, and I always tried to use ESP to let her know I shared her feelings and supported

her one hundred percent.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," said Mara. I swear, she was practically tearing up. It was all I could do not to puke up my risotto.

"You don't understand," said Princess Two. Then she slumped down in her seat like going to her

father's was the equivalent of going to the electric chair. "You don't know what it's like to live

with Diana."

I wanted to point out that actually she doesn't know what it's like to live with Diana considering she "lives" with her about four days out of every thirty. Then I wanted to point out that I'm the one who lives with her horrible stepmother three hundred and sixty-five days a year, and that if I

only had to do it two weekends a month, I'd consider myself lucky.

I finished my risotto and spooned some more onto my plate. Mara watched what I was doing

with her eyebrows raised. "Lucy, you don't need to gobble your food. It's not going anywhere."

"Sorry."

"If you eat too fast, your brain can't register that

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your stomach is full. That's why you should take tiny bites and wash each one down with a sip of

water."

Just as I was about to tell Mara what she could do with her water, the phone rang. I looked at my

watch. Eight o'clock. The only hope I had of getting even a second alone on the phone with my

dad was if I moved faster than Mara. "I'll get it," I said. I raced into the kitchen with my plate and grabbed the phone.

"Hey, Dad," I said, still holding my plate.

"Hey, Goose," he said. "How's it going?"

"Okay," I said. I wanted to tell him just how okay things really were, since usually my okay was a total lie, but there was no time for that. Through the open door, I saw Mara stand and make her

way toward the phone in the den.

"Are you going to watch any of the Knicks game?" he asked. The other line rang, and I heard

Mara pick up. I hoped it was one of her friends calling about a new home-decorating scheme,

something guaranteed to keep my stepmother occupied for hours.

"Maybe," I said. "Probably just the fourth quarter, though." I rinsed my plate off and slipped it into the dishwasher. The thing about a Knicks game is you know how it's going to end--defeat.

Still, every once in a while they can surprise you.

There was a click. "Lucy?" God, couldn't she leave us alone for two minutes?

"Yeah?"

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"Phone's for you."

"For me?" I couldn't imagine who it would be. Neither Jessica nor Madison had said anything

about calling me later.

"Bye," said my dad.

"Bye, Dad," I said. I heard him say "Hello, darling," before I had a chance to hang up.

I pushed the button for our second line. "Hello?"

"Hey, Red."

My heart started pounding. I squeezed my hand into a fist and pressed it against my scalp,

hoping the pressure would somehow keep me from floating into outer space. "Hey," I said.

"How's it going?"

"Okay," I said. "How's it going with you?"

"Not too bad," he said. There was a pause. This was definitely not good. It's one thing to have a long silence when you're walking next to someone and he's massaging your neck. It's another to

be on the phone with that someone and have nothing to say.

I wracked my brain for a conversation starter. "You watching the game?" I asked finally.

"You know it. In fact, you hear that?" I could hear something in the background, but I couldn't

tell what it was. Luckily, Connor answered his own question. "That's Madison Square Garden in

surround sound."

"Not too shabby," I said. "But won't those great acoustics make it all the more depressing when they lose?"

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"Ouch, woman. You're harsh." I could tell from his voice that he was smiling, and I smiled, too. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor.

"Well, if the shoe fits," I said.

"Listen, you," he said. "Just because you're cute, don't think you can get away with dissing the home team."

Connor Pearson had just told me I was cute. I bit down on the telephone cord to keep from

screaming.

In the background, I heard the announcer say something.

"All right, I'm gonna go watch, Red. I'll call you at half time, okay?"

"Okay," I said. Connor hung up, but I waited a minute before standing and putting the receiver

back in the cradle. I could see from the light that Mara and my dad were still talking on line one.

Normally I might have gotten annoyed, but tonight I didn't care. Let them talk until dawn if they

wanted.

I had a game to watch.

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Chapter Ten

I would have said that nothing could make me not like Ms. Daniels, but after she told us we'd be

spending the next two months working on self-portraits, I wasn't so sure. As far as I'm

concerned, the whole point of making a painting is you can stop thinking about yourself for as

long as you're working. What's the fun of an art class spent looking in the mirror?

At lunch, just as I was explaining to Madison and Jessica the difference between a still life and a

portrait, Kathryn Ford came over to the table where we were sitting. She was with a girl so

beautiful she actually gave Kathryn a run for her money. With her thick, curly brown hair and

enormous blue eyes, she looked like a Victoria's Secret model in the flesh. This was one woman

who definitely did not need a padded bra.