Brandy begins to answer, but Tressa cuts in. Like my question is inconvenient. “Big. It’s an old movie about a kid that wishes to be grown-up and gets his wish from some fortune-teller machine. It was pretty good.”

“I saw a good movie on TV. It was about this girl who—”

Tressa interrupts, holding up her hand like she is stopping traffic. “Could you go get more napkins? Inside. Pleeease . . . ?”

I catch Brandy stifling a laugh.

I don’t get the napkins as I’m ordered to do because it would be humiliating. Then again, staying is humiliating, too. They talk about other things they’ve been doing. Things without me. I try to join in one more time, but Tressa talks over me until I give up.

When I stand and say I have to go, they finally get quiet.

As I walk away, my stomach feels awful, which is weird because I didn’t even eat anything.

The bubble of happiness I had for this lunch pops like bubbles do. Instantly and completely.

Chapter 19

IS THAT YOU?

“Let’s play tourist today,” I say to Ronan. “Have you been to Holiday Hill yet?”

“That place with the golf and stuff?” Ronan asks.

I nod.

“I wanted to go, but my dad says he’s tired at night. Why? Do you have money?”

“Yeah, I do. When I help Grammy clean rooms, she splits the tip with me. And I also have a bunch of free game coupons that we found in a room after the people left. So between the two, we should be good.”

“I don’t have any money, though.”

“That’s okay. It will be worth it to kick your butt at golf.”

“You think so, huh? You’re a dreamer, Delsie. A dreamer.”

• • •

We run across Route 28 and straight into the arcade to pay for mini golf. I choose the blue golf ball, and Ronan chooses the green.

On the third hole, I make a hole in one and brag more than I should. I’m happy that I’m doing well at golf, but I’m mostly happy that I don’t feel nervous to be around Ronan. I don’t have to think about everything I say and do and then worry he won’t like it. I don’t have to lie about who I am.

On the fifth hole, Ronan is leaping around singing some song about being the champion. He must have made it up, because it’s terrible.

“It’s only the fifth hole. You haven’t won yet. And I’m actually ahead of you!”

“I envision myself accepting the trophy. I will be . . .”

And he goes on, but I don’t hear a thing. All I can see is a woman with two kids who are much younger than me. Her hair is frizzy and looks like the kind of hair that gets reddish in the summer—just like mine. And she has a cleft chin and blue eyes, just like me.