Mattie tells me how anxious the adults are, that they called Mom again. Great, I think, I’ll get Mom’s attention but in the wrong way. Again. Mattie says we have to let them know where we are. “We could call them, but your phone is at the bottom of the pool at Northern Madrone and mine is still in my locker at school.” She holds out her pink-fingernailed hand and pulls me up.

I think about how mean I was to her that first time we came here. How mean I was to her at school. She acted different, talked different. She has odd Minnesota habits and a funny way of talking. Her clothes and her hair. They make her easy to make fun of. Now we’re both still wearing the same clothes we wore yesterday. She has a spot of whipped cream on her T-shirt. My own shirt has a splotch of ketchup. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail, but little wisps of frizz escape around her face. Mine is in a similar style, held back with one of her hair ties. Without my daily flat iron, I must look as wild as she does. Maybe we’re not that different.

“How did you know I would be here?”

We both watch a little boy on a red tricycle lead his father along the sidewalk toward the slide.

“I just knew.” Mattie takes a few steps closer to me. “Probably because we’re related.”

I look at her. And then I do this thing that even I can’t believe I’m doing. I relax my fists, take a step, and hug Matilde.

CHAPTER 45 Mattie

I can’t believe Mercedes is letting me hug her—in public. “Now what?” she asks, pulling away. I pretend I don’t notice her wiping tears from her cheeks. “You’re the one with the plans.”

“We should go back to my house.”

“Am I in trouble?”

I shake my head. “I’m not sure that a side trip to the park is going to make much of a difference after we ran away and stayed at the college overnight.”

And then we laugh. Because what else can we do?

“Come on,” I say. “And no running this time.”

She smirks. “You really need to get some exercise, Mattie.”

The two of us walk toward my house. Down the hill, across the street, around the corner. I can smell the ocean in the breeze that pulls at my ponytail. Even though it’s different from the scent of Minnesota leaves crunching under my feet or wet pavement in September rain, it’s not terrible.

“I still can’t believe that we did it.” I stop and pick up a yellow flower that’s fallen on the sidewalk from a blooming tree.

“We got away with it too—almost.” Mercedes winks, and I stick the flower behind her ear.