“Don’t mind Edie,” I say. “Having a famous dad has given her a big head.”

Ruby’s eyebrows shoot up. “Her dad is famous?”

“Famous-ish,” Fina corrects.

“Point of order,” I say. “I would like to vote for a change in discussion topic.”

“I second that motion,” Fina says, grinning. “Ruby, where’d you move here from?”

Ruby hesitates, like she actually wasn’t done talking about Edie yet, then says she moved from Virginia. By the time she’s done telling us about all the pets she brought with her—three dogs, five cats, two chickens, and a hamster—lunch is over.

“Wait, wait!” Fina says as we start to get up. “I now officially declare this meeting adjourned!”

She bangs her fist against the table again. “Our next meeting shall commence tomorrow, lunchtime. The topic: Mr. Owens giving detention out just for talking in math class. It’s a total infringement on our First Amendment rights!”

“You guys will have to tackle that on your own,” I say, thinking about my doctor’s appointment tomorrow afternoon. “I have to leave school early. . . . I have a thing.”

Fina shoots me a quizzical look, but I don’t really want to tell anyone about the appointment. Or my spots, either. At least not until I know what the doctor is going to say. My stomach turns a somersault.

Friday can’t come soon enough.

13

Dad picks me up on Friday afternoon to take me to my appointment. Mom had an important client call, so she’s meeting us there.

On the way, we listen to the radio for a few minutes before Dad punches it off.

Then, “Your spots could be lots of things, you know,” he says. “A fungus or something.”

“Ew, Dad.”

“It’s not a big deal. People get them all the time. When I met your mom, she had this terrible fungus on her toenails. Didn’t let me see her feet for months until it was all cleared up.”

A nervous giggle escapes my lips as I imagine Mom’s face when the doctor told her she had a fungus. She probably went berserk. In case you haven’t noticed, Mom is not really the fungus type. “She’s never told me that.”

“She’s never told anyone that,” Dad says. “So you can’t either.”

As we pull into the parking lot of the doctor’s office, my heart jumps into my throat. Dad turns off the engine but doesn’t move from his seat.

“Whatever happens, Butterfly,” he says, “you know we love you, right?”

“Right,” I say.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Mom is already in the waiting room when we walk in. She gives me a hug and kisses my head and tells us she’s already checked me in. Then she crosses one leg over the other and swings her ankle back and forth, back and forth, which makes me feel even more nervous than I already was.