When Nate could tell Junie was in bed—Herman’s Hermits playing, as usual—he stepped into her room. He lay down on top of her rodeo bedspread for a long time, stretched out next to his little sister, listening to her breathing become steadier as she finally drifted into sleep.

Eleven

“I GAVE OUT EVERY SINGLE ONE OF MY INVITATIONS,” Junie told Nate on their way downstairs the next morning. Their mother was at the stove making pancakes with bananas, Nate’s favorite. She was still in her bathrobe. Seeing that, anyone who knew her would understand she wasn’t her normal self. One thing they could always count on was her being dressed and pretty, her pearl necklace on and her hair curled, by the time they came downstairs a little before seven.

“Are you sick, Mom?” Junie asked. “Because if you are, you better get well by my party.”

“I’m fine, honey,” she said, placing a stack of pancakes on Junie’s plate. “And anyway, your party’s practically a month away. We’ve got loads of time to prepare.”

“I didn’t leave a single person out. Even Lynnette.” Lynnette Overbeck was the girl with cerebral palsy who came to their school, even though she couldn’t really do the work. She was several years older than Junie—tall as Nate, practically. She chewed the collar of her dress so much, there was always a big wet circle around her neck, and sometimes she didn’t remember to go to the bathroom. But Junie was always nice to her.

“I bet the kids were excited, huh?” said their mother. Nate studied her with a hard, cold eye, like how he’d look at someone he’d just met. He could see her trying hard to act normal.

“Uh-huh,” said Junie. “I told them what I want for my present. Model horses for my collection or a miniature stable or sparkly jewelry or a Barbie convertible.”

“That’s good, honey.”

All of a sudden, every single thing his mother was doing got on Nate’s nerves, like how she kept stacking pancakes on his plate, even though he still had plenty.

“I told them we were making a really special cake,” Junie said. “But I didn’t give away the surprise of it being in the shape of a circus tent. I don’t want anyone to find out till they get here.”

“Listen, J,” Nate said, putting his fork down. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this party of yours. It could turn out that not so many people show up.”

“What are you talking about, silly? I invited my whole class. And a bunch of others besides.”

“It’s just that sometimes people can act weird. Some people might have dumb ideas about our family and tell their kids they can’t come to your party or something.”

His mother looked up from the stove. “What are you talking about, Nate?”