How are you?…Kayf halik?

“Hold on a sec.” Dad turned off the stereo.

I shot him a look.

“What? You just didn’t want to listen to it. She’s actually going to talk to me.”

“I’m applying for the Young Leaders of America Scholarship!” Jeanine announced like this was exciting news for the entire universe.

“That’s great!” Dad said. “What is it?”

“One week in D.C. to see how government really works. And you get to go to the White House and meet with different members of Congress.” Jeanine’s head bounced up and down in the rearview mirror. “Isn’t that amazing?”

“Amazing.” Dad nodded. Both my parents do a lot of nodding when Jeanine is talking.

“I know, and we get a special tour of the White House. Not the one just everybody can get. We get to go into the Oval Office.”

“What do you have to do to win?” I asked.

“Just write a really good essay about how I’m a leader in the community. You’re supposed to explain how you’re making a difference. I can do that. No problem. I’m a killer essay writer.”

“Isn’t what they really care about what you’re doing, not how good a writer you are?” I said.

“The application says the people with the best essays will be selected, which means they want the best writers.”

“I’m not sure that’s entirely right, Jeannie,” Dad said in the same careful way he tells Zoe that Henry, her rabbit, probably won’t learn to say, “Henry wants a carrot,” no matter how many times he hears her say it.

I turned around to face Jeanine. “Yeah, I mean, if they want to know how you’re making a difference, don’t you think they’re judging people on that?”

“How would you know? How many scholarships have you won?”

“Jeanine,” Dad warned.

Just so you know, it doesn’t bother me that I could never win those Solve-a-Thons or Geography Bees like Jeanine does. What bothers me is that my parents think they need to protect me from hearing Jeanine say that I couldn’t like it’s some big secret.

Chapter 4

Jim’s truck was there when we pulled up in front of the house. In addition to being the mayor, Jim’s the fix-it guy, and since our house is always in need of fixing, he’s over a lot—sometimes to fix the thing he just fixed. This isn’t because he can’t do it right the first time, but because what we really need is an exorcist. That’s the person you call when something is controlled by an evil spirit—I googled it.

Just so you know, I don’t believe in witches or ghosts or monsters under my bed, but I’d swear on my KitchenAid mixer that our house has a mind of its own and likes to mess with us. It’s also the color of grape juice and looks like was built by a fifth-grade shop class.

I call it the Purple Demon.

My parents do not believe in the Purple Demon, even though no electrician, plumber, or fix-it person can tell them why all the lights go out several times a month or why the downstairs toilet always does a triple flush, flooding the bathroom.