Pinch of Love (9781101558638) by Alicia Bessette Page A

to.
    Balls.
    I’ve never had a nine-year-old well up on my couch. I feel inadequate; I feel like crying myself. Nick would know what to say. Nick would know exactly what to say.
    Polly dabs the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin. “Mmmm.”
    I grab the remote and click off the television; Polly disappears in a silver blip.
    â€œIngrid?” I say.
    She doesn’t answer.
    This is not good. The last thing I want is for my new neighbor to spend a teary night here because I thought her a liar. I have no idea what to do. I need to distract her.
    â€œWant to play a game?” I ask.
    She shakes her head. Her auburn braids swing alongside her face, and the beads click together.
    I can’t think of anything else to suggest. A bribe seems like a powerful option, maybe my only option.
    â€œWhat would make you stop crying?” I ask. “What could I do right now to make you stop crying?”
    Ingrid’s shoulders slacken. She mutters something into her hands that sounds like “A blee bab run mass feelah.”
    â€œWhat? I can’t understand you. Look at me.”
    Her hands slide from her face. Her cheeks are moist. She takes a deep breath. “To see Ahab run almost as fast as a cheetah.”
    â€œYou want to take Ahab running? Like, now?”
    She nods and backhands some snot off her chin. “Can he run really, really fast?”
    â€œYour dad will be home soon.”
    â€œNo, he won’t. He doesn’t come home until wicked late.”
    I glance at Ahab dozing with his head on Ingrid’s lap. His whiskers twitch in his sleep. Is this how little girls are, I wonder, or is Ingrid a special case? A drama queen? Was I like this?
    â€œMaybe some other time we can watch him run,” I say. “When you don’t have to go to school the next day.”
    Her eyes seem greener now. A single tear spills over and streams down her cheek.
    â€œOkay?” I punch her shoulder the way Russ punches mine.
    â€œNo-kay. No-kay. You asked me what I wanted. And I told you.” She coughs and snuffles.
    She’s right, of course. And for some reason I think of Nick’s present. Nick’s g.d. present. The human-head-size cube. It’s sitting upstairs in my hallway, in front of my g.d. attic door.
    â€œI’ll make a deal with you.” I slap my thighs. “You do something for me, and I’ll take you to see Ahab run almost as fast as a cheetah.”
    Ahab lifts his head as Ingrid slides toward the edge of the couch. “What do you mean?” Her lips and nose are swollen from crying.
    â€œWell, you know how you’re allergic to peanuts?”
    She nods.
    â€œI’m allergic to my attic.”
    â€œFor real?”
    â€œFor real. I have an attic allergy. It’s severe.”
    She pats my arm. “I love attics. They’re full of secrets and history, and sometimes even hidden treasure.”
    â€œThey certainly are. You’re a hundred percent right about that.”
    â€œWoman, I’m a zillion percent right about that. ” 55
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    â€œTHAT THING?” SAYS INGRID, pointing to Nick’s present.
    I lean against my bedroom door.
    â€œLast time I touched that thing, you sort of flipped on me,” she says. “Remember?”
    â€œI know. But I’m over it. Now I want you to pick it up. Don’t shake it, though. Just carry it up to the top of the steps and set it down.”
    She notices the Magic Marker stains on her hands, licks a thumb, and rubs at them. “That’s it?”
    â€œThat’s it.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause that’s where it belongs,” I say.
    â€œEverything has a place.” She nods. “That’s what my dad always says when he wants me to clean up my messes. He’s a neat freak.”
    â€œThat’s right: Everything has a place. And that thing”—I point to the cube—“belongs in the attic. Which I’m severely