I find another screen and check to see if Mouse is driving her mom person nuts yet. She’s just built a gigantic volcano with a remote control device that sends hot lava spewing out a hole in the roof. Now she’s walking to her bedroom, which is a room-size climbing structure next to a condo for mice. I mean check this out: fifteen tiny bedrooms with tiny mice asleep in tiny beds, their tiny bedside lamps turned off. Mouse climbs up to her bed high in the tree house.
“The higher you go, the safer you’ll be. Remember that . . . it’s important,” her mom person tells her.
That makes no sense. The higher up you go, the farther you’ll fall down. I guess her mom person is a little off, just like Mouse. Whatever.
Not to worry. It looks safe up there—the bed has tall slat sides, so she won’t fall out. My real mom would kill me if Mouse got hurt.
Mouse curls up under the branches, then her mom person strokes her cheek and sings softly, “B-I-N-G, B-I-N-G, B-I-N-G, and Bingo was his name-o.”
At night when she’s asleep, Mouse is kind of sweet. Then in the morning she’s like a pop-up you can’t get rid of.
Finn’s room has a big tent, with a little tent inside it. His name is on everything. The sheets, the pillows, the bookshelf, the tent, the canvas walls. Even the dog collars say: Property of Finn Tompkins. I don’t see him, though. He’s probably already inside the tent sound asleep.
I’m beat too, so I head for my bed that has a million pillows with polka dots and zigzags and checkerboard squares in all shapes and sizes.
I sink into my comforter with my new cool clothes on. There are a bazillion pairs of pajamas, but I’m too tired to decide which to wear. The bed is so soft it’s like diving into a down feather swimming pool. I don’t worry that I’m going to bed at three a.m. I can sleep late in the morning. My cool mom will know that about me.
As I’m falling asleep, I think about what I will wear tomorrow. The gray pants with the purple and pink shirt that makes my stomach look so flat. Or that like short, flouncy skirt with the brown sweater that’s so soft it feels like lamb’s ears. And what will I eat for breakfast? I know . . . Belgian waffles with whipped cream, fresh blueberries, and hot chocolate. Everything about this place is incredible!
CHAPTER 10
COURTESY PHONE
Who wouldn’t love this house? It’s like a cabin in the woods—with chairs made of branches, thick rugs, high ceilings, and a big old-fashioned stone fireplace. There are also these buttons with symbols on the wall. I touch one and a different room appears. When I push the basketball button, the indoor court comes to me. The fireplace room is in the center of the house and it stays still while the other rooms revolve on tracks around it.
I push the kitchen button because I’m starving. When the kitchen arrives, this guy appears. He looks like my dad, with freckles, curly red hair, and bushy red eyebrows. His voice is different, his face is rounder, and he’s taller, but there’s clearly a resemblance. It’s as if someone studied a photo of my dad and then found a look-alike.
This dad look-alike guy brings me a Philly cheese steak sandwich, onion rings, and soda. I dig in.
“How’d you know I like Philly cheese steak?” I ask between bites.
“This is your dream house. Of course we’ll stock it with your favorite foods.”
“But how did you know what they are?”
“Sparky told me.”
“Sparky again.”
He nods. “Look Finn, just take it on face value. If you think too much, worry about every little thing, you’ll get in your own way.”
“How will I get in my own way?”
“You’ll lose time.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Sure it does. If you spend all your time worrying about the future, you can’t enjoy the present.” He takes a deep breath and starts again. “This time in your house is for you to enjoy. You need it to prepare you for your journey.”
“To Uncle Red’s?”
“If that’s where you want to go.”
“What if it isn’t?”
He shrugs. “You’ll have to consider other options.”
What are my other options? I wonder. Going to live with Aunt Sammy and Uncle Tito? Mom said that wasn’t possible. Apparently I don’t have any other options. I’m not going to say that. I don’t want this guy to think I’m a loser with no place to go.
“Ready for pie?” he asks. He seems to understand I want to drop the subject.
“Yes,” I say as a screen in the back of the kitchen goes live with a movie clip of a basketball game I played in. Coach P. is giving me instructions from the sidelines like I’m one of his starting guys. That only happened once, but it was the best game of my life!