Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Mrs. Fox looks annoyed at first, but when she meets Dad’s eyes, she exhales and shakes her head. She takes that moment to rearrange her face into a smile and if I thought Mr. Fox’s was blinding, I almost need sunglasses with hers.
“Horatio, is that you?” she asks, her voice clear and pretty.
“Mira,” Dad says, taking her hands and leaning in to kiss her cheeks.
It’s weird, like we’re European or something. We’re not. We’re just from New England, born and bred, as Dad says. We don’t put on airs. It’s one of the reasons why, when all the other girls get dropped off at school in limousines by chauffeurs, Dad insists on bringing me in our Range Rover that he’s had for seven years.
I like that about us and don’t really care if the others talk about me behind my back. I guess it’s why this kissing her cheeks thing is so weird to me. It’s not like Dad.
“And who is this darling thing?” she asks, crouching down to get a look at me, her gaze moving over my poofy hair, confirming it did not stay where I put it. Close up, I see how when she smiles, nothing else on her face changes. Her eyes stay exactly the same, and where Tonia’s eyes crinkle around the edges when we laugh, Mrs. Fox’s don’t do anything at all.
“I’m Phee, Ma’am. Nice to meet you.”
“How old are you, Phee?” she asks, and I get the feeling she’s expecting me to hold up my fingers to show her like I’m a small child.
“I’m twelve. How about you?”
“Phee!” Dad snaps.
“What?” I ask, even though I know it’s rude.
Mrs. Fox laughs what doesn’t quite sound like a real laugh, but Dad tugs me into himself with a warning squeeze of my shoulders as she straightens once again. She doesn’t answer the question, and when Ethan comes around the corner looking irritated too, I wonder what’s got them all annoyed.
“Ethan, come here and meet Phee, darling.”
Ethan looks up at his mom, then at me and he smiles, but there’s something about him that makes me feel weird.
“Hey, Phee. Nice glasses,” he says.
I’m pretty sure he doesn’t think they’re at all nice.
I adjust them, pushing them farther up my nose as my cheeks burn. “Thanks,” I say, although I’m not thankful. I’m embarrassed. I should have put on my new glasses. They make me look a little less nerdy.
Ethan’s dad clears his throat. Ethan rolls his eyes but holds out his hand for me to shake. I take it and do the shaking because he just lets his hang there, limp.
“What’s in there?” Ethan asks.
I look down at what he’s pointing to and remember the cookies. It feels stupid to have them now. I feel like a little kid.
“Phee baked some cookies to welcome you all. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Dad says. He squeezes my shoulder encouragingly. I’m sure he knows I feel embarrassed. We’re close, my dad and me. I guess that’s normal when you don’t have a mom or siblings.
“Yes. Here you go.” I hold the tin out and Ethan takes it, pops the lid off, and helps himself to one without offering any to anyone else. He shoves the whole thing right into his mouth.
“Ethan!” Mrs. Fox chastises.
“What? We missed lunch,” he says, reaching for another one. “They’re good. Thanks,” he tells me. “Want to see the pool?”
“Sure,” I say, relieved to just go outside. I look up at Dad for permission, especially since he said I shouldn’t expect to be invited to swim, but it’s Mr. Fox who answers.
“You two go on. Horatio, you have a few minutes?”
“Sure,” Dad says after a moment. “We don’t want to be in the way, though. Business can wait.”
“It’s why we pay the movers,” Mr. Fox says. “Let’s go to my study.”
Dad and Mr. Fox disappear, and Mrs. Fox turns to Ethan. “No swimming until after you’ve unpacked your room, young man.”
“It’s why we pay the movers,” Ethan says, mimicking his dad and taking another cookie before finally offering me one.
I take one. “Thanks,” I say, even though it’s weird to thank him for giving me one of my own cookies.
We walk out to the pool, and around the corner, I see the little house from earlier and the woman with the long dark hair setting a plant by the front door. When she sees us, she bites her lip. She’s pretty, and close up, I see she has a very thin braid with a feather in it tucked behind her ear. I smile and wave. She looks surprised, but then smiles and waves back.
“Dad says you moved from New York City,” I say, feeling awkward trailing behind Ethan.
“Yeah.” He stands at the edge of the pool.
“You miss it?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Only just got here.” He hands me the tin of cookies and strips off his shirt.