Roof Over Our Heads , livre ebook

PUBLISHER S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained from the Library of Congress.
ISBN 978-1-4197-5456-8 eISBN 9781647002855
Text 2023 Nicole Kronzer
Book design by Deena Fleming
Published in 2023 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialsales@abramsbooks.com or the address below.
Amulet Books is a registered trademark of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
ABRAMS The Art of Books 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007 abramsbooks.com
For Bethany and Kristyn, my sisters and permanent friends
CHAPTER ONE
Three items remained on my to-do list: check in costumes, finish prepping dinner, and empty buckets in the attic.
Jade arriving four hours early was not on my list. It was not on anyone s list. Yet here she was.
Why? I asked when I pulled open the front doors and found Jade standing on the carriage step in jeans and a white tank top, a small suitcase at her feet.
That s no way to greet someone donating two weeks of her life to help out your family, asshat, she said. She looked good in that tank top. Her dark skin- bronze was the word she always used to describe it-all glowy now that it was June. Her curly hair pulled back from her face. The other parts of her body doing their other parts things-not that I noticed. Or cared.
Five years ago in sixth grade, when Jade learned that I, a white guy, had one white mom, one Black mom, and two biracial brothers, she double high-fived me. Right in the middle of math class. Instead of dividing fractions that day, she told me about her white parents, and we exchanged stories the whole hour and became friends.
But a lot had changed since then.
I forced my eyes to stay trained on hers. My family does not need you here until five.
She raised an eyebrow. I thought you might want help setting up.
No, thank you.
But-
Our argument paused as a blue Honda Civic pulled into the circular drive. Whoever it was hadn t been here before-I could tell because of how slowly they were approaching the house. Gaping, probably, unsure if number four Summit Avenue really meant this five-story, red sandstone mansion.
It did.
Smiling, I sidestepped Jade and jogged down the steps. Unless someone had ordered food, this person was here to deliver costumes. Including mine.
A bewildered-looking woman in her forties stepped out of the car. Is this-
Probably?
She laughed a little. I m supposed to be delivering costumes from Beauregard Costume Rental?
Nice! Kathy and Mandi send you?
Yes! I m-
New, I finished.
Oh, god. That obvious?
I laughed. No worries. You ve come to the right place.
I m Jade, Jade inserted herself. And this is Finn.
I rolled my eyes at Jade as the woman keyed open her trunk, revealing a mountain of long dresses and suits on hangers enclosed in plastic dry-cleaning bags.
Finn, Jade warned me as I piled the bags high over my arm. Victorian costumes are really heavy.
I added three more to my stack. Good thing I m really strong. In her defense, I didn t used to be. But like I said-a lot had changed.
What is this place? the costume deliverer asked, following us under the carriage porch and up the steps.
I glanced at Jade and adjusted the costumes I was holding so I could open one of the front doors but didn t respond right away. There was the easy answer: the Jorgensen House. Originally built by Swedish lumber and railroad baron Karl Jorgensen in 1891 for his family, consisting of his wife, Anna, and their eight daughters.
But even the easy answer led to more questions. Who owned it now? Who was I? And the one this person was sure to add: Why did we need all these costumes?
It was a long story. And a complicated one. And I didn t feel like going into it with a stranger.
Jade piped up. Let s just hang the costumes on that Z-rack.
Back in sixth grade, when we were best friends, I would have flashed Jade a grateful smile. But we weren t in sixth grade anymore.
Kathy and Mandi s new hire shrugged and looped the hangers over the rolling rack I d set up in the reception room.
Whoops-be careful of the plaster, Jade said. I glanced up in time to see the costume rental lady remove her hand from the burgundy wall. It s over a hundred years old-super delicate.
Dammit. Another reason to thank Jade.
After our third round trip, the woman waved at us, climbed into her car, and drove away.
So. How are your lines? Jade asked as we stood side by side on the carriage step. I stretched my spine. Jade was three and a half inches taller than me. These days, basically everyone was taller than me, but Jade s extra inches somehow irritated me the most.
My lines are fine.
She gave me side-eye.
They re fine , I repeated. Sir, you re needed. Cook has been murdered. See? Twenty-five more like that. In here. I tapped my skull. And you?
Lockbox.
Then the show s going to be fine.
A squirrel chased after another squirrel and they skittered up a tree, chattering at each other. The leaves shook.
So you re really not going to let me inside? she asked.
You ve been inside. I knew I was being childish, but I didn t care.
I m going to go in there, she said. And I m going to find your moms, and I m going to offer to help.
Do what you want. I ve got dinner to prep. And the buckets to empty. But for some reason, I didn t want to tell her that part.
I will. See you later.
Then the warmth of her body beside me was gone. And even though it was seventy-five degrees out, I rubbed my arms.
If only Alexa would show up early, too. I d be happy to let her help me. But no. Of course it was Jade . . .
I was still standing there, staring at the tree the squirrels had darted up, when one of the front doors swung open.
Dude, get inside, my older brother Andre said. There s, like, a million things left to do.
Right. Sorry. I elbowed through the door and followed him across the entryway s looping mosaic tiles.
Guess who told me you were outside? Andre asked, playfully slapping my cheek with one hand as he opened the interior door with the other.
I batted his hand away. Why? Was she trying to get me in trouble?
Two correct guesses, he smirked. It s like you share a brain.
Ignoring him, I pulled out my to-do list, flattened it on the L-shaped desk underneath the portraits of stern Karl and proper Anna Jorgensen, and crossed off check in costumes. Okay. What do you have left? And is Kendrick moping or is he actually doing things?
Our other brother, Andre s identical twin, was in the throes of missing his latest boyfriend. Kendrick claimed to have found the one three to five times a year, but none of them ever lasted more than a few months.
He s mostly moping, Andre reported, retrieving his own battered list, but I got him to promise to put on a brave face in public and in front of Lula and Nomi. Our moms are actually Laura and Naomi, but Andre and Kendrick named them Lula and Nomi when they were learning to talk. This thing has too many moving parts for them to worry about how Kendrick is feeling about it.
Good, I said.
Yeah. But best-case scenario would have been sending Kendrick off to lover boy s hometown to get him out of his system before the show, Andre joked.
No kidding, I agreed. Two weeks of doing this play and living like it s 1891 is going to be tough enough. But with Kendrick in love and not allowed to use his cell phone-
It s going to be hell on wheels.
Worse-hell in a horse-drawn carriage.
Andre laughed. Yeah, well-we ve got each other.
Always, I said. I tugged him into a quick hug. I m really glad you re home.
Me too, kid. Andre thumped my back. You feeling ready? Lines good?
I bristled but nodded.
Then I need your help with one thing. Lula s got me making all the beds with hospital corners, which I can only do at the rate of, like, one every fifteen minutes. I tried to argue they probably weren t invented yet, but-
They totally were?
Damn Victorians, Andre said. Making my life all hard.
Living like Victorians one hundred and thirty-some years later was going to be hard for all of us. But fun, too. And we were doing it for a good cause-to pay to fix the leaking roof. And a bunch of terrific people were helping out, and Nomi had written the play- A Midsummer Night s Art Heist Garden Party Escape Room Murder -and it was ridiculous and wonderful and-
I laughed. This is going to be great, I told Andre.
He folded up his to-do list and tucked it back into his pocket. Totally great. Ready?
Ready.
CHAPTER TWO
Four hours later, I clutched the back of one of the heavy dining room chairs and searched the crowd for my parents.
The cast had arrived-Mr. Hoyt, our school drama director, was chatting with Andre and Kendrick by the secret entrance to the silver safe while wearing his trademark bow tie. Birdlike Joan Dooley, a local historian, and Martin Lord, who was playing the butler, were peering up inside the fireplace. Maddie McGlynn, Lula s ginger-haired college-aged assistant, was smacking the hand of her friend who played the organ to keep him from messing with the pocket door into the art gallery. My friend Noah, his younger sister, and-my mouth went dry-Alexa Murphy, with her peaches-and-cream complexion and light brown hair woven into a braided crown, were hovering over the b