“The first priority to the ninja is to win without fighting!”
I quickly peeled Julius off Dax. Today he’d gone all out in the costume department: a mask, two plastic katanas, and our mom’s black bathrobe. “Is Mom okay?”
“She’s okay,” he said, looking at me blankly. “Why?”
My body relaxed slightly, and I put my hands on his shoulders. “Remember what Mom and James said? You aren’t supposed to ambush from trees anymore.”
“Or maybe not from anywhere?” Dax added hopefully, and Julius smiled indulgently at him. Dax had always been one of Julius’s main targets, and so far all attempts at a cease-fire had been met with resistance.
“Oh no.” I pushed Julius’s mask off his face. “Is that my new eyeliner?” His eyes were ringed with a gold shimmer that I’d recognize anywhere. Urban Decay Goldmine. I’d bought it for Dax’s graduation dinner. “Julius! That was thirty dollars at Sephora!”
“The ninja must be cloaked in secrecy!” He pointed a katana at me. “Liv, I was in the tree because Mom told me to come looking for you. You got a postcard in the mail. It’s really dirty and the writing was weird. Mom’s face got scrunched up when she saw it.”
No.
“A postcard?” Dax whirled on me excitedly. “That must be the invitation.”
The dread hit me in an icy wave. My entire body went numb. You see! my mind shrieked triumphantly. Something is wrong!
“Let’s go look!” Dax said, grabbing my hand and lacing his fingers through mine. “Come on.”
My mom’s text scrolled across my brain. I need to talk to you.
“Let me go.… Wait here, okay? Stay with Julius?” I untangled my fingers from Dax’s and headed for the front door. I was going for brisk power walk—think mall walker on a mission—but it turned into a sprint about six steps in. I had too much adrenaline not to.
“Now you run,” Dax called from behind me.
I didn’t even try to respond. There was only one person who sent me old postcards with weird writing. Only one. And it definitely wasn’t Stanford Admissions.
I had to get that postcard and hide it before Dax or anyone else saw it.
Chapter Two
#2. FADED T-SHIRT THAT READS HERMES GREEK DELIVERY, YOU ORDER, WE FLY
During his first few months in the US, my dad worked as a deliveryman. That wasn’t by default; it was by design. He said New York City is a wild beast, and, like all wild beasts, the only way to truly tame it is to look it in the eye and then ride your bicycle all over it. (Don’t overthink it; it doesn’t make any sense.) The day he arrived in NYC, he knocked on the door of every Greek restaurant he could find and within three hours managed to find both a job working as a deliveryman for a deli on 56th Street and a room to rent in the deli owner’s aunt’s cousin’s house. He’s always been good at making himself at home.
MY MOM MUST HAVE HEARD me coming, because we nearly collided in the entryway. Luckily, I was able to reroute in the nick of time, performing an involuntary triple axel in order to circumvent her belly. She was officially in the stage of pregnancy where her bump entered the room first, and no one was ever prepared for that.
“Liv!” She grabbed my shoulders, steadying both of us. “Slow down.”
Her feet were bare, but she was dressed to go into the office, in the maternity version of a power suit. My mom is a corporate attorney, which is a lot less Law & Order and a lot more staying late way too many nights in a row trying to meet deadlines and coming home smelling like stale coffee. But still, it’s pretty impressive. Especially when you consider the fact that she attended law school and passed the bar exam as a single parent.
I wanted to take a moment to catch my breath, but there was no time. “Julius told me I got a postcard. I need to hide it from—”
“Hi, Mrs. Williams!” Dax’s voice rang out into the entryway. He wore a katana-wielding Julius on his back and a winning smile. Too bad it wasn’t actually going to win my mom over.
“The enemy of my enemy… ,” Julius prompted, widening his eyes at us.
“Is my friend,” she said automatically. “Hello, Dax.”
He pushed straight through her lackluster tone. “How are you feeling today?”
“Oh… you know,” she said, gesturing vaguely to her stomach. “Very with child.”
Julius jumped down, then poked his katana directly into my left rib cage. “Did Mom show you the postcard yet? The writing on the front wasn’t even like the alphabet. It was like all those squiggly things.”
“Squiggly things?” Dax gave me a confused look.
I shrugged. Who knows?
“Liv, it’s like different writing. Like a secret code—” Julius insisted.
“Why don’t you two go have some cinnamon rolls?” my mom interrupted, deftly deflecting Julius. She was great at that. “Dax, would you like one?”
Whenever she says his name, my mom’s face goes the tiniest bit rigid. She will never ever admit it, but she doesn’t like Dax. I’ve tried to get her to say it before, but the most she’ll say is cryptic things such as “Life is long and first loves are short” or “It can be easy to lose yourself in your first relationship.” Which is ridiculous, coming from someone who met, married, and got pregnant from her first relationship by twenty-two. It was similar with James. They met, and she was pregnant and engaged within six months. My mom is the falling-in-love type, and you’d think that would make her more sympathetic to my case, which, admittedly, is less falling and more diving. But still.
“Love one. Thank you, ma’am,” Dax said.
She smiled at him, but a tiny crease appeared on her forehead, the one I officially coined the Dax crease.
“Dax!”
All three of us jumped. My stepdad is less of a speaker and more of a boomer. He’s so tall that he makes my mom look short, with big hands, a friendly face, and a loud voice that gets louder whenever he’s around people he likes, and he definitely, unequivocally likes Dax.
He’s a lawyer like my mom is, and the only time I’ve ever seen him in a bad mood was after he lost a case that he’d spent more than a year on. But instead of yelling and stomping around like my mom and I would have, he channeled his energy into doing the kinds of healthy things that magazine articles always tell you to do. First he replaced all the light fixtures in the dining room, and then he went for a thirty-mile bike ride. His level of healthiness is a bit frightening.
James clapped his massive hand on Dax’s back and nearly sent him sprawling.
“Hi, Mr. Harrison,” Dax said dutifully, recovering his footing. He shot me a help me look, but I pretended not to notice. Dax had no idea how much he needed James as an ally in this household.
“How’s the water polo season? Your father?” James boomed. “And I heard about Stanford. Your dad is pleased as punch.”
“Thrilled,” Dax said, sending me a meaningful stare.
James leaned against the wall, folding his massive arms over his chest. Today he wore a white golf shirt and a pair of slacks. “Think you’ll play goalkeeper at Stanford? That is one tough-looking position.”