Mickey gave me a map. I had to walk down the road where all the shops were, up a big hill and down the street with the big homes. The thing is the houses look way different. I think this is mine—it says 401—but my initial isn’t on the rock path anymore. The door is painted pale pink instead of lime green. The flowers in the yard are these big white flowers. Mine were small and purple. I totally loved the smell of them too.
Wait, though, I see my cool mom in the window. She looks different. Her hair is up in a French twist. I wonder if she has a new stylist. I wave to her, but she doesn’t see me.
The door has no knob, no knocker, and no bell, as if everybody who is supposed to be inside is already. Maybe that part isn’t different. The door was open when I came in before, so I didn’t notice.
I knock. No one answers.
Finn’s and Mouse’s places are different too. At home it takes a year to remodel, but here it takes what . . . an hour? I bang on the window, my bracelet clinking against the glass.
Still nothing.
Then I hear a motor hum behind me. When I turn, an electric cart with sky blue upholstery is gunning toward me. The driver steers the cart up on the lawn and squeaks to a halt. He is wearing a midnight blue uniform with a patch of sky blue and a puffy white cloud with his name, Dean, embroidered on it. He has bright, almost neon, blue plastic gloves and an officer’s cap. He’s big and burly like he spends a lot of time with barbells, but his skin is smooth and young and he has kind eyes—two slivers of green in his square face.
“What are you doing, miss?” he asks.
I tell him about the earthquake and how I fell out of my house. I dig out my ticket and hand it to him. I am totally in the right here.
He sighs. “I’m sorry, young lady,” he says, taking my ticket and tearing it in two. “It’s worthless. Soon as we crack down on them, they find a new loophole. You wouldn’t think they’d have much motivation to steal here.” He shakes his head. “No matter where you are, there are crooks, I guess. One or two at every level.
“You know what they use the extra bucks for? Birds. Why they want more birds, I don’t know. Cats I could understand. Birds, I’m at a loss. Bird strikes is my best guess. Just jealousy. That’s what that’s all about.”
“Jealousy?”
“People want what they can’t have. They make decisions they can’t live with. I’ve been sending in Form fifteen-thirty about them all year, but nobody’s done anything about it yet.”
“Um, excuse me.” I pick up the ticket pieces. “This isn’t stolen. I paid for this. See what it says here. Will admit one to your dream home.”
“Yeah, I see.” He nods, flipping the ticket piece over. “And look here, did you read the fine print? Void where prohibited.”
“So?” I shrug. “It always says that.” But wait . . . fine print. I don’t like the sound of this phrase. Isn’t that what Mom said got her in trouble with our house?
He crosses his muscular arms. “And where do you think it’s prohibited, miss? Take a wild guess.”
“I dunno,” I mutter, though my stomach doesn’t feel so great.
“Here.” He taps his metal-toed boot on the grass and shakes his head sympathetically. “Sleazebags.”
Wait. This can’t be true. I couldn’t have wasted our last fifty dollars. What will I tell Finn and Mouse?
“I can get my money back, though, right?” I croak.
“Don’t bother,” he advises. “Isn’t worth messing with scum.”
“Oh yes it is!” I shake my finger at him. “I’m getting every dime back. You watch.”
“Nobody messes with India Tompkins.” He winks at me. “All right then. Hop in and I’ll take you where you want to go, Miss India.”
I angle my head toward the house. “Can’t I go inside first?”
He sucks air into his mouth, seals his lips, and shakes his head. “I’m afraid not.”
I give him a flirty smile. “You sure?”
He cocks his head and smiles back. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am.”
Dean is nice. If I didn’t need to get my money back, I’d totally keep talking to him, maybe ask him more about this place, but I have to get down to business here. “We should go then.”
He smiles warmly, as if I’ve completely won him over. “You’re a feisty one, missy.”
I follow him to his golf cart and climb in on the passenger side. He puts the cart in gear and maneuvers it skillfully down the wide street. It feels good to sit down. I lean back on the cushion and enjoy being driven. I didn’t realize how tired I was.