“Is this weird or what?” I say when we’re in the little red-and-white kitchen.

“Do you want zucchini bread?” Mattie asks.

“What is it? It sounds gross.” She’s still so weird.

“It’s good.” Mattie shrugs. “It’s a Minnesota thing, I guess.” She slices two thick pieces of bread and we sit at the small kitchen table that overlooks the backyard. A soccer ball and a green bike are on the grass. Not much different from the things Tristan leaves in our backyard. Brothers, stepbrothers. Maybe not that different from sisters or half sisters.

“Now what? Are you going to be grounded?” I take a bite of zucchini bread and realize I’m starving. The waffles we ate at Northern Madrone’s cafeteria seem like ages ago.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been grounded.”

This doesn’t surprise me.

She chews. “Of course, I’ve never run away before, either.”

We look at each. We can’t help bursting into giggles.

We’re still laughing when a whirlwind swirls into the kitchen: a blond boy about Tristan’s age and a taller, skinnier boy are arguing over something having to do with balls or goals. They don’t seem to notice Mattie at first. But when they do, they get quiet.

“Hi,” the older one says. He’s shy, like he’s scared of her. I can’t imagine anyone being scared of Mattie.

“This is Mercedes,” Mattie says, “She’s my half sister.”

For a moment the words “half sister” hang in the kitchen.

“This is Kenny. The chess master.” The older boy turns red. “And this is Lucas.”

“Cool!” Lucas shouts.

“My brother, Tristan, is about your age,” I tell him.

“Cool!” he says again.

I can tell they like her; they’re just shy. Then Lucas and Kenny grab slices of zucchini bread with dirty hands. Gross.

“Your stepbrothers adore you,” I say after the two boys take off into the backyard.

She looks at me like I’m crazy. “They act like I don’t exist.”

“I know little boys,” I assure her. “They like you. Just give them time.”

When Mattie’s mom calls to us a few minutes later, we return to the living room, where she tells us, “First, we need to contact your mom. She must be terribly worried, Mercedes.”

Right. Mom doesn’t even know where I am. “She’s out of town for work,” I say. “I have a nanny. If someone can give me a ride home, I’ll be fine.”

But this doesn’t work with the grown-ups.

“Well, then, your nanny will be worried about you,” Mattie’s mom says.

I roll my eyes. Cristina thinks I’m at Mattie’s house. Which is true. I’m here now, aren’t I? “My nanny won’t even realize.”