“That’s a great idea!” Eleanor said.
When they went inside, they found Owen’s mom in her medic pants and shirt, hugging Owen’s dad. They were laughing and dancing slowly in a circle, and the radio was playing dance music—the kind that parents and other old people like.
Owen’s dad said, “I got royalties today!”
And Owen’s mom said, “We’ll celebrate on Saturday! I’m off to work now.” She kissed Owen’s dad and left.
Eleanor said, “You’re royalty?”
Owen’s dad grinned. “It means I got paid for my writing.”
Owen added, “He only gets royalties about once in a zillion years, so we always celebrate. Are we going to go to Pizza King? Can Eleanor come?”
Eleanor bounced, eyes bright.
“Sure, maybe this weekend. But I need to ask her parents first. And,” he said to Eleanor, “your family is invited here for supper tonight. Pasta. Lots to go around.”
“My dad would love that,” said Eleanor. “He’s supposed to make dinner, and we can’t even find the toilet paper.”
Owen told his dad why they were practicing fencing, and Dad said he wanted to go to the funeral too. “I’ve never been to a funeral with fencing.”
“My dad’s going to play guitar and sing,” said Eleanor. “And I’m going to preach. Maybe you can read some of your writing? Do you have a poem about a dead fish?”
“He only writes books,” said Owen.
“I’ll write a poem this afternoon,” said Owen’s dad. “A haiku.”
“Make sure it says that Scrumpy is in fish heaven. With his family.”
“I’ll do my best.”
The kids went into the closet to find the pool noodle, and as they dug around, Eleanor said, “Oh, I get it!”
“What?”
“Pizza King! It’s for royalty!” said Eleanor.
Owen found the pool noodle. It was blue.
“Pizza King for royalty!” said Eleanor again. “Get it?”
“That’s good,” said Owen.
She knelt. “Make me royalty too.”
Owen knew exactly what to do. He tapped her with the noodle, once on each shoulder. “I dub you . . . Queen Good Vader.”
Eleanor said, “We fought with swords, and we’re going to do a funeral together, and”—she lowered her voice to a loud whisper—“we have a secret plan together to help me get home. Because we are friends.”
“Sure,” said Owen. “Friends.” But suddenly the closet felt too small, and his stomach hurt.
Chapter 5 Eleanor
Alicia had unpacked her room—which was also Eleanor’s room. Eleanor got the closet, and the bed next to the big window. Alicia got the bed away from the window, but she also got the nook that stuck out of the room like a thumb and had its own window. Not fair. A closet was okay—because of Narnia—but a nook with its own window was way better. Alicia had put her desk and chair in the nook and had tacked posters on her wall.
Eleanor looked at her side of the room. Yuck. Her boxes were piled at the foot of the bed. She didn’t even know where her sheets were.
Alicia said, “You should do your walls. But don’t steal my tacks.”
Eleanor glared and walked out. She wasn’t going to live here anyway.
But what about Owen? said a little voice in her head. Don’t you want to live near him? She tried not to listen to that little voice.
Aaron was unpacking too. He danced around with earbuds in his ears as he tossed clothes toward his dresser. It seemed like he didn’t mind moving either. Suddenly Eleanor’s stomach hurt.
Eleanor went to the kitchen. “I’m starving,” she told her dad.
“When Mom’s home, we’ll eat. If I can find the pots . . . and the pasta . . . and the forks.” He grinned at her expression. “I found the sauce!”
“Owen’s dad said to come over for dinner. He’s making pasta too. I guess he cooks like you.” Eleanor’s dad made pasta a lot. The pasta was always spaghetti with tomato sauce. His other meals were black beans and rice, and pancakes. His other meals after that were takeout.
“How fantastic,” said Dad. “And that would definitely solve my current kitchen problems.” He opened and peered into a box. “Oh! Here’s the toilet paper!”
Eleanor took the toilet paper to the bathroom. When she returned, her dad said, “Now, Cosita, we need to decide about Scrumpy.”
Poor Scrumpy still floated in his bowl on the counter, belly up. He was still dead. He did not smell great.
Dad said, “We could bury him. There’s a spot in this backyard that would work nicely.”
Eleanor shook her head. She wasn’t going to bury Scrumpy away from the other Scrumpies.
Eleanor’s dad opened a box and found spoons, forks, and knives. “We could flush him—”
“Uh-uh,” said Eleanor. “No way.”
Dad put the silverware away in a small drawer. He said, “You can have a day to decide. We can . . . keep him in the freezer until then.” He didn’t sound very excited. “But only a day or two. Your mom won’t like this.”
“Okay,” Eleanor said. Mom could adjust. Scrumpy would only be in the freezer overnight. Tomorrow Eleanor would bring him home for the burial. And she’d move into her tree house.
Suddenly she thought of Owen again. It was like the little voice in her head was yelling at her: If she moved into the tree house, she and Owen couldn’t play anymore. He couldn’t teach her fencing. She couldn’t teach him—well, all the things she knew. Like how to build things and how to raise goldfish. She’d miss Owen. He had made her a queen Jedi knight.
No. It didn’t matter. She was leaving—for her real home. She frowned at her dad’s unpacking. “The old silverware drawer had dividers.”
Dad sighed. He did that a lot lately. “Maybe you should put your toys away.”
Eleanor went back to her room. She didn’t feel like unpacking. Her box of toys sat in the closet. Alicia said, “I moved it there. It was on my floor.”
Eleanor sat in the closet and opened the box of toys. She didn’t have dolls. She had building sets: Legos and blocks and Erector sets and even a
