Shelley giggled. "Mrs.Dempsey. She quit. Just packed up her stuff and stormed out, shouting about how she'd heard Dead End is a dangerous place, which isn't really fair, since she was the one who brought the gargoyle, right?"
"Absolutely," Lorraine said staunchly. "Now. The special is roast turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and your choice of pumpkin or apple pie. How many do you want?"
I sighed. We'd eaten so much turkey lately I might start gobbling at any minute. "Just a salad for me, please."
"Please," I repeated, when she gave me a disapproving look. "I can't look at another slice of turkey for months. Maybe not even untilnextThanksgiving."
Understanding dawned on her face. "Oh. I heard about the Thanksgiving disaster."
Of course she had.
"Let's never speak of it," I mumbled.
"Okay. One salad. Shelley?"
"The special! Can I have both pumpkin AND apple?"
"Yes, you can. Jack?"
He snatched his sugar packet back and grinned at Shelley's outraged expression. "Four specials for me, please. Two pumpkins, two apples."
"And ice cream?"
"Is there any other way to eat apple pie?" Jack and Shelley chimed in together.
"JINX!" Shelley shouted. "Now you owe me a favor, Jack."
Lorraine patted Shelley's head and headed off to put in our order.
Jack leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. "Is that how that works?"
"Definitely," she said.
He looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded. "Yep. You said the same thing at the same time, and she clearly called jinx first. You owe the favor."
Shelley opened her mouth, and I pointed at her. "Nothing that involves skipping school."
She gave me an injured look. "I wouldn't. Iloveschool."
Actually, she did. Weird kid.
"So, what's the favor, princess?" Jack nudged her arm with his. "Help with homework? A trip to Atlantis? Puppy sitting the new pug?"
She bit her lip, looked down at the table, and mumbled something too softly for me to hear. I glanced at Jack, who clearlyhadheard her—his eyes were wide with shock.
I reached over and touched her arm. "What did you say, honey?"
She took a deep breath and looked me in the eye. "I want Jack to go to the Father-Daughter dance with me."
8
Jack
I'd taken knife wounds that stunned me less than that single question from the mouth of a nine-year-old girl.
I turned in my seat to face her. "The Father-Daughter dance? I—wouldn't you rather ask Mike?"
She shook her head, hair flying with the vehemence of the motion. "Nope. Uncle Mike and Aunt Ruby went to Grandparents' Day at my school. I … if you don't want to go …" Her face, already pink, turned a fiery red, and she bowed her head, her voice trailing off. "It's just, I've never been to this dance. I never had a dad."
