When Bob pulls up at the address Mercedes gave me, Lucas shouts from the back seat, “Wow, it’s a mansion!” He’s right. Mercedes’s house definitely looks like a mansion. It’s tall and square like a Lego building. Huge windows face the ocean. Round shrubs dot the walkway to a tiled front step. After I ring the doorbell, I wave to my mom, who’s in the passenger seat. They’re taking Lucas and Kenny to a movie while I’m here.

“Come on,” Mercedes says, opening the front door.

I enter and my eyes bulge as I take in the two-story entryway. It’s all white marble, and the railing at the top of the stairs is like a balcony for Romeo and Juliet. Mercedes’s life must be so perfect. I pull off my dirty sneakers but don’t let go of my backpack—or its precious cargo. Mercedes leads me into the all-white living room. The walls, carpet, and furniture are white. The orange light from the sunset over the ocean is the only color. At the other end of the expanse of white carpeting, I catch a glimpse of a gigantic, gleaming white kitchen. Everything matches, just like Mercedes’s clothes match her nails and the way her shoes are coordinated with her friends’ shoes.

“Wow.” I don’t know what else to say.

“It’s my mom’s stuff,” she says, and shrugs. “My mom’s idea to live here.”

“Where’s your mom?”

“Tokyo.”

“The one in Japan?”

Mercedes just shrugs. On a table beside the sofa is an ornate black enamel clock with gold dragons. It goes tick, tick. The sun dips below the water, and the big windows turn into mirrors. I watch myself fidget. Mercedes’s reflection smooths her hair. From the kitchen, I hear a small voice that reminds me of Lucas. A refrigerator door opens and closes; a microwave roars to life. I hear the snapping of popcorn popping. The voice shifts from mumbled words to giggling shrieks.

Mercedes rolls her eyes. “What’s going on in there?” she yells.

A pretty young woman in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings comes out of the kitchen. “Oh, Mercedes,” she says, “I didn’t realize you had a friend here.”

Mercedes shrugs at the word “friend” and says, “This is Mattie.”

“I’m the nanny,” the woman says. “Cristina.”

Mercedes rolls her eyes again. It must give her a headache—all the eye rolling. “Cristina is my brother’s nanny,” she clarifies.

“Their mom travels a lot,” Cristina says. “She’s been gone since…” She looks at Mercedes, who does not look back. “She’s been gone since July, but she’s coming home in time for Thanksgiving.” She smiles. Mercedes does not.