“She’s not in the house,” I pointed out. “We’re on the back deck.”
Peyton stared malevolently at me for a long moment, before turning on one four-inch stiletto heel and marching back into the house.
“Richard!” I heard her screech. “Where are you? Please come here right this instant, and do something about that animal.”
I sighed and rubbed Willow’s head. Every moment spent in Peyton’s presence made the prospect of moving to London even more attractive.
Chapter Three
Until I passed my driving test, my ten-speed was the only form of independent transportation I had, so the next morning I biked over to the Fishers’ house. They lived about two miles away, in a quiet neighborhood full of modest-sized homes set back from the road with well-tended lawns and flower beds. The Fishers’ house, the third on the right, was yellow with white shutters and a glossy black door. Someone inside was playing the piano, a methodical recitation of scales. I rang the doorbell, feeling a flutter of nerves. This was it—my first day of work at my first real job.
The door opened almost immediately, and a woman smiled down at me. She was thin with dark curly hair cut in an angled bob. Black-framed glasses were perched on her nose, and she wore a long orange silk tunic with a mandarin collar over matching wide-legged pants.
“Hi, Miranda?”
I smiled back at her and nodded, feeling suddenly shy.
“I’m Elise Fisher. Please come in.”
I stepped into the front foyer of the Fishers’ house, and as I did, the sound of the piano scales grew louder. Through a pair of closed French doors just to the left of the hallway, I could see a girl with long dark hair seated at a black grand piano, her back to me. She sat erect on the bench, her posture perfect, and her hands traveled gracefully up and down the ivory keyboard. I could tell from the set of her shoulders that she was concentrating deeply.
“Why don’t we go sit down and talk, and then I’ll introduce you to Amelia?” Mrs. Fisher suggested.
I followed Mrs. Fisher back to the kitchen, which had gray walls and a slate gray countertop. It felt like I’d stepped into a rain cloud. Only the light blond wood of the cupboards and kitchen table broke up the gloomy darkness of the room.
“Go ahead and sit down,” Mrs. Fisher said, gesturing toward the rectangular table. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” I said, sitting in one of the high-backed chairs. The sound of the scales continued to drone on in the background.
Mrs. Fisher poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the countertop, and then sat across the table from me. She smiled warmly.
“You came highly recommended. Headmaster Hughes said that you are an excellent student and a valued member of the Notting Hill Independent School community.”
I managed to suppress a snort of indignation. The previous school year, Headmaster Hughes had basically blackmailed me into organizing the annual Snowflake Gala. Then he coerced me into staying on the Mu Alpha Theta math competition team.
Mrs. Fisher continued. “I think this will be an excellent opportunity for Amelia. She’s very gifted—not only does she have a genius-level IQ, but she’s well on her way to becoming one of the top pianists of her generation. Spending time with you—someone who’s grown up gifted and knows what it’s like, what challenges gifted children face—will be enormously helpful for Amelia.”
“You know I don’t play the piano, right?” I said worriedly. “I’m not at all musical.”
Mrs. Fisher smiled. “That’s fine. Amelia already has a music teacher. She just needs to be exposed to what it’s like to be a normal kid. Well. A normal gifted kid. You don’t have to do anything special. Just spend some time with Amelia. Talk to her. Tell her about your experiences.”
My experiences? I felt a twinge of apprehension. I wasn’t sure what Mrs. Fisher wanted me to talk to Amelia about. Being gifted had caused me some problems, especially while I was still enrolled in a normal school. I learned the hard way that most teachers don’t appreciate being corrected in front of the class, even when they’re dead wrong. In fact, they tend to put you in detention for it.
But since Amelia was already attending Geek Middle, she would never have to face that particular problem. All of the faculty at Notting Hill was specially trained in how to teach high-IQ kids.
The same thing went for making friends. Genius kids tend to stand out at normal schools. And usually not in a good way. But when all of your classmates are just as geeky as you are, it’s a lot easier to fit in.
The scales suddenly stopped.