The Dollhouse Romance Read online

  Poof – I’m standing big beside the dollhouse perimeter. I don’t even have to use the front door for a mental cue now.

  After getting ready for bed, I set my alarm for midnight. I can’t sleep – all I can do is think about David. Funny thing, whenever I picture him in my mind, his scars aren’t anywhere in my memory. All I see are his hazel eyes and his crooked smile. That powerful chest of his. The way his voice rumbles like a bass guitar reverberating in my stomach.

  Go to sleep, I tell myself over and over. But I can’t.

  How much pain did it cost him to get down not just one, but two staircases so he could deliver my sketchbook to his father? Does he think I’m worth the price? Does he like me, and if so, does he like me as a friend or would he ever consider me as more?

  Nathaniel’s the one hitting on me. Why can’t I return his affections?

  Go to sleep, for crying out loud!

  11:59. No point in waiting for the alarm to go off. I creep near the dollhouse to check if everyone’s asleep, but a silhouette flashes back and forth on the parlor curtain. George and Eleanor are still dancing.

  Back to bed. I set my alarm for three o’clock, enough to finish another sleep cycle. By then, the dollhouse has gone dark and silent. Only the floorboards of the study creak as I make my way back to the dollhouse porch, where David sits on a bench, whittling. He waves when I approach the green perimeter. “Hello,” he whispers when I shrink down small and join him on the porch. “You ready?”

  “It won’t work.” I tell him what happened to Mouser.

  His brow furrows in worry. “Maybe it’s because she’s an animal. No imagination. Alexis always said you have to imagine yourself the proper size…” His gaze holds my ring, hungry and desperate. “It’s still worth a try.”

  “But…”

  “Someone’s trying to help us or they wouldn’t have sent your riddle, right? Maybe they’ll help now.”

  We walk toward the green perimeter, which emits an eerie glow like a thousand stars in the sky. To me, it’s beautiful. David slows down with each step, though, fear in his eyes. To distract him, I ask about his parents. “They’re so cute together. You don’t see many happy married couples nowadays.”

  “I know.”

  “You do? How?”

  “TV, of course. It sounds like nobody’s happy out there anymore.”

  I snicker. “TV’s just for storytelling. You can’t believe everything you hear.” Still, I squirm at the thought. My own life seems like a nice, juicy episode – and the people of Otter Paw are already eager viewers. I change the subject. “How did your folks meet?”

  “Military ball after the Civil War. How did yours meet?”

  “Oh, boy.” Shame rises to my cheeks. “It’s a long story.”

  “That’s the best kind.” He stops walking and waits. And waits. “Well?”

  I shrug.

  He waits some more.

  This is getting awkward. I sigh. “Where to start? Grandpa’s a chemical engineer and he got assigned to Paraguay to help open some factories there. So my dad was born and raised in Asuncion, even though he’s American. He met my mom when they were my age – juniors in high school. I was… born a year later. For a wedding present, Grandpa sent them here, to this country. Dad was supposed to work for one of Grandpa’s friends as an intern and go to college. But he didn’t. He hated the snow and the cold. And my mother. They both tried to stay together, for me, but they were miserable. So he left when I was ten.” I paste on a bright smile. “It’s been just Mamá and me ever since. It’s better this way.”

  He raises his eyebrow like he sees right behind my fake smile. “He wasn’t good enough for you.”

  I shrug. “It’s better this way.”

  “You said that already. But it sounds like you’re miserable.”

  “Only because he left so much debt – in my mother’s name. She’s spent years trying climb out.”

  “She’ll be home before you know it.”

  He means well, but it’s hollow comfort. I want to snap, “Do you know for sure?” but his encouragement is such a welcome change from the lonely life I’ve had so far. As much as the other kids at school irked me by sending me balloons and cards, I’m starting to realize they were sincere in their good wishes. Sometimes I’m too cynical to allow people to care – I really need to work on taking people at face value. So, instead, I just say, “Thanks.”

  “So you’re Paraguayan?”

  “Yes and no. The US doesn’t recognize dual citizenship, so I’ll have to pick my passport country when I turn eighteen next year.”

  He stares at me like I’m the most fascinating thing in the world. “Which do you think you’ll choose?”

  “No idea. I don’t belong anywhere, really. We stopped visiting Asuncion a few years ago when my grandparents died, not that we could afford the airfare to visit often. I never belonged there anyway. Sure, Mamá cooks Paraguayan food at home, and we speak in Spanish to each other now that Dad’s gone, but she never lets me watch novellas or go to the Mariscal Lopez parade. About the only Paraguayan tradition she lets us participate in is Nochebuena – Christmas Eve. We don’t even celebrate Three Kings’ Day, because it’s not a thing here in this country. I think my dad must have been embarrassed by her culture. She always did her best to talk in English around him. So I’m not Latina enough to live in Paraguay, and not American to fit in with the kids at school here.”

  I can’t believe how much I’m sharing. I clamp my mouth shut. But he continues to wait.

  “And?” he prompts.

  “And I think we’re here.” I gesture to the sparkling perimeter.

  He kicks the floor planks, drawing my attention to a chalk line at the perimeter’s base. “Yes, we are. How did you know that?”

  “I can see it. Saw the sphere around your father’s model village, too.” My fingers caress the sparkling green border, causing flares and ripples in the fabric like disrupted water.

  He considers that. “None of us can. Maybe you’ll get us out of here, after all. Any guesses about how to do that?”

  “Contact, maybe? Anything I bring in, I can take out, so long as I’m touching it.”

  “Let’s start with that, then.”

  I close my hand around his. “Ready? One, two-”

  He’s squishing my hand. “Wait.” He draws a deep breath and relaxes his grip. “Sorry. Try again.”

  “One, two, three.”

  We step forward at the same time. But the moment we’re on the other side, I’m holding the hand of a wooden statue. His foot is raised mid-step. He loses his balance and plunges face-down. My hand is still stuck in his wooden one, so I tumble with him. A hollow thunk echoes in my ears as he hits the floor.

  My pajama pants rip at the knee. I’m bleeding, but it’s David I’m worried about. Have I killed him? I wrench my hand free and then roll him over so his lifeless eyes peer upward at the ceiling. His scars seem deeper and more menacing in this new form. “David? David, can you hear me? God, I’m sorry! So sorry!”

  I start to blubber but keep my voice low, afraid to wake anyone else up. Didn’t Henry once say the boys used to play this game when they first got stuck here? They’d take turns hauling each other inside. Maybe that’ll work now. “Hold on, okay?”

  I grab his feet – he’s barefoot – and tug with all my might. Heavy. Dense, like solid oak. Inch by inch, I pull him through the green barrier until only his head remains outside. He’s still wooden.

  One final heave. He sits up, flesh and bone at last.

  With a muffled cry, I kneel beside him and fling my arms around his broad shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”

  For a moment, his warm hand pats the middle of my back, but then he pushes me away and stands up. Angry again. Because I failed?

  “David?”

  I stand up and walk over to him. He’s muttering under his breath, glaring down at the chalk line.

  “David.”

  His jaw works up and down. �
��Just don’t.” His voice comes out harsh and intense. “Father was right. You never should have come.”

  “Hey! This isn’t my fault.”

  “That’s not what I mean. You don’t understand. I’m dangerous. All of us are. The longer you stay, the higher the risk you won’t be able to leave.”

  “This was your idea.”

  “I know.” He won’t look at me. “Listen, I’ve seen the way you look at my brother. You need to understand that we – that he – should never love you. Not even as a friend.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you could still get stuck here, even though you’re wearing that ring. We don’t understand the curse. Nobody does, not even the brat who cast it.”

  “But you have some theories.”

  His fists clench. “Of course.”

  “Which are…?”

  “First guess – time. The more time you spend here, the more likely you’ll absorb whatever keeps us here. An indirect curse. Even Phoebe never let her little friends come inside the dollhouse – she wasn’t sure she could get them out again.”

  “So I limit my visits. No problem.”

  “No problem? Mother says you’re going to start coming for sewing lessons. You can’t stay. Just deliver the food and go away. For your own safety.”

  It makes sense, but I don’t want it to. For the first time in my entire life, I’ve finally found a family, a real family, to be with. I like them. All of them. I don’t make friends easily, and he’s telling me to go away? “Unacceptable. Next theory.”

  “All right. Artemics bond with each other for life. It’s possible that Alexis took on Henry’s fate as a doll when they fell in love, which would explain why she couldn’t escape when she left her ring behind.”

  “Faulty logic,” I point out. “Didn’t you say they were engaged? Surely they fell in love long before that.”

  “Unless she spent so much time here that the curse claimed her, too.”

  I fall silent.

  He finally looks at me. “Just in case time is a factor and you’re absorbing the curse right now… would you mind standing over there while I talk to you?” He points at the barrier.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Humor me.”

  I step outside the perimeter. To my surprise, I stay the small. No matter how hard I think myself big out here, I can’t do it. “This is too weird. Just a second.” I step back under the dome and think myself big. Poof. Now I can exit.

  David’s still tiny, so I lay down on the floor and prop my chin in my hand. “Better?”

  “Don’t shout.”

  I drop my voice to a whisper. “That was shouting?”

  “You’re still shouting.”

  Beyond him, moonlight illuminates the dollhouse. It’s hard to believe something so beautiful can be so deadly. “I don’t accept either of your theories,” I whisper. “When did Henry and Alexis get engaged?”

  “1920’s or so. Her father was furious.”

  I mumble my thoughts out loud. “Phoebe killed her mother in 1899, forcing Alexis to supervise her daily playtime with you. Yet it wasn’t until 1945 that she got stuck. She was fine until then. Something changed.” I glower at my ring. Its blood-red petals flutter peacefully. “Why would she take this off?”

  “I’ve asked myself that question for decades.”

  It’s uncomfortable laying flat on the floor, so I step back inside the dome and think myself small again.

  “What are you doing?” David shouts.

  “The way I figure, I have forty-five years before I absorb enough curse to keep me here.”

  “Unless Artemics are more immune than humans. Out.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  He bends toward me, his hazel eyes pleading underneath his scar. “Please, Miss Zenia. You mustn’t get bonded here.”

  “Then don’t look at me like that,” I growl. “You… you…” I can’t finish my thought. It’s unclear inside my own head, anyway. All I know is that we have a connection. Beyond the tune he sends me. Beyond mutual admiration for our riddle-solving abilities.

  “So stay. But I won’t be part of it.” He stalks back to the porch without another word.

  I wish I had a clever retort to throw at him. But I don’t. All I have is the nagging suspicion that he’s right: the dollhouse is more dangerous than it appears.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:

  FINANCES

  Labor Day Weekend ends and I have to face school again on Tuesday. Halverson takes points off my essay for who knows what reason, but at least I have a friend in Diana. I don’t know why she hangs out with me. She’s been invited to join every clique in school, but she sticks with me. Maybe it’s just a case of two new kids finding each other and she’ll dump me as soon as she gets to know the school better. I sure hope it lasts, though. Still, I’m bracing myself just in case.

  I’m also getting more worried about money. Mamá’s supposed to get paid on the first and fifteenth of every month. It’s already September 8th. Gary’s supposed to deliver the paycheck while she’s gone but he hasn’t done it yet. I’ve already reminded him. Twice. He says he’ll take care of it. Nothing has happened yet.

  I can’t find the courage to ask the Ambassador about money. It’s such an awkward subject. Instead, I chicken out and ask Gary to take me to my apartment Wednesday morning so I can water my window plants.

  The scent of basil and rosemary leaks into the hallway as I open my apartment door. The oregano is a little brown, but no biggie. Water will fix it right up. The bills piling on the floor in front of the mail slot, however, will require more attention. I don’t want to be tardy for Mrs. Halverson’s class, so I shove them into my backpack along with Mamá’s checkbook. On my way out, Mr. Larson, the landlord, blocks the hall with his broom.

  “I heard about your mother,” he says. “She’s still responsible for rent whether she’s here or somewhere else.”

  “She’ll be back on Friday,” I say, trying to be confident.

  “Pirates keep schedules, do they? Your mom signed a contract for a full year, and she’s legally bound to it. I know all about your type, so don’t try anything.”

  “My type? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He raises the broom, allowing me to pass. “Rent’s due at the end of the month and every month after that. No excuses, you hear me?”

  I’m trembling in fury by the time I crawl back into the limo.

  “Get everything you need?” Gary asks as he opens my door.

  “Yep.”

  “You sure? Everything okay?”

  “Yep.”

  I slide into the seat, but he doesn’t close my door. Instead, he pokes his head inside. “You don’t strike me as the kind of person who asks for help,” he says in a gentle voice. “Not that you’d ever need help. I’m sure you have everything under control. But… if you did need something, you should ask.”

  “Thanks. Everything’s under control.”

  “Thought so. Just wondered.”

  To my relief, he closes the door and drives me to school without another word.

  As soon as Mrs. Halverson ends her lecture and gives us in-class writing time, I start calculating an emergency budget. My main concerns are rent at $500 a month and our car payment at $156. Mamá’s always worried about letting the car insurance lapse, so I put that on the budget, too. I won’t need to pay for electricity or water if I don’t use them, and I’m getting free food at the mansion so there’s no grocery bill. The only person who has my cell phone number is Mamá, but that’s another $30 a month I don’t have. Don’t forget the new bill for car parts, which isn’t a monthly thing but it’s still due before I can get my car back.

  Decision time. Gary doesn’t seem to mind driving me to town every day, so our car can wait a little while longer. Give up my cell phone? I wince. Nobody calls me anyway, and Diana’s only texted twice. What ever she wants to say can wait for school. Plus, Mamá knows the number to the mans
ion. Fine, then – I’ll stop paying the phone bill.

  All in all, I need to make about nine hundred dollars to keep from losing the car and apartment, and to keep the credit cards out of collection. Mamá makes fifteen dollars an hour at the mansion, but she only works ten hours a week. That’s nowhere near enough to stay afloat.

  What can I do? What can I do?

  Mrs. Nelson wasn’t happy Mamá left for her tour. In the three months we’ve been here, Mamá’s nearly doubled the bakery’s profit. Her international flavors are a huge hit – but she never gave Mrs. Nelson the recipes.

  Maybe Michael will let me use the kitchen, and I can bake Mamá’s desserts there, and then take them into town to sell at the bakery. But how would I carry so many pies and cakes? Busses don’t go out to the mansion. There’s no public transportation in Otter Paw at all, actually, so I’d have to ask Gary. But that would be too embarrassing. Nobody can know how broke we are. Mamá never asked for help from anybody, and I’m sure she wouldn’t want me starting now.

  Maybe I could… work at the bakery?

  It’s only a few blocks away. My pulse begins to pound. I’ve never skipped school before. I don’t know the first thing about playing hooky.

  It’s easy, I tell myself. You just hide in the bathroom and then walk off campus.

  Without warning, Mrs. Halverson’s scrawny arm descends and lifts my essay, which I’m using to cover my budget. “Is this math? In my English class?”

  My response leaps out before I can hold it back: “What do you do, take ninja classes?”

  The class erupts in laughter. I flush.

  “Young lady, you are this close to a referral. One more, just once, and you’ll be serving detention all day.” She crumples my budget sheet and tosses it in the garbage.

  I hide my face in my hands. Mrs. Halverson would be the first to notice if I skip school, and there’s no doubt she’d write such a powerful referral I might get suspended. But… that could be a good thing, right? To have time out of school to go to work? As long as Mr. Akakios or Amelia never find out…