“Uh-huh,” she says. I can’t tell if she’s skeptical or if I’m just paranoid.
I perch awkwardly on the edge of a cardboard box, keeping one eye on the door. “So, what’s up?”
“I just thought I’d ask if you could pick up a gallon of milk before you drive home tomorrow morning.” She pauses. “How is the babysitting going?”
“Fine,” I say, though of course as soon as the word leaves my mouth, something crashes in the hallway. I cringe and press a hand to my forehead. This is just perfect.
“What was that?”
I recover without missing a beat. “Oh, just one of the kids causing trouble,” I say. “Probably should’ve skipped the candy after dinner—sugar overload.” I let out a laugh and hope it doesn’t come out too forced. “Actually I should probably go help Kristen wrangle them before they destroy the house.”
“All right,” Mom says, so oblivious I feel kind of bad. But only for a second. Then I’m just relieved that she actually buys my story. “Just make sure to pick up the milk tomorrow.”
“Right. The milk. Got it.” I need to wrap up this call ASAP before someone gives me away. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Mom says, “Have a good night, sweetie,” before hanging up. And I’m in the clear.
Or, almost. I wriggle out of the closet and shut the door behind me, yanking my skirt down and raking my hands through my hair. I spent two hours wrestling with a flat iron to make it straight, and it’s already getting all poofy and gross. Great. I try to smooth it down as best I can, cursing genetics for the millionth time in my life for not gifting me with thin, silky hair like Kristen’s.
“Chelsea?”
I whip around to see Tessa Schauer standing there, peering at me with raised, overly plucked eyebrows. Usually when Tessa looks at me it’s for approval, or else a little fearful, but right now there’s just mild curiosity written across her face.