We Are All Made of Molecules Read Free

bright blue. I let Schrödinger out of his carry cage and put him into the en suite bathroom so he wouldn’t escape while we carried everything in, or pee on the carpet.
    I confess it gave me quite a thrill to realize I would have my own bathroom. At home—I mean, the place where I used to live until today—we only had one bathroom. This house has
five
! One for Caroline and Dad, one for Ashley, one for me, one on the main floor that’s just a toilet and a sink, and another full one in the basement! Every single human member of this household could go at the same time and there would still be a bathroom left over.
    When I closed the door behind Schrödinger, I spotted an enormous box of Purdy’s Chocolates perched on the window ledge. Purdy’s are the best. There was a note attached that said,
We are so happy that you are joining our family. Love, Caroline and Ashley
. I got a little choked up.
    I ate six chocolates before leaving my new room. On the way to the stairs, I passed Ashley’s room, which is at the other end of the hall. Her door was closed. I thought about knocking to thank her for the chocolates, and maybe even offer her one, but I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt her studying. So I didn’t.
    —
    THE ANDERSON HOUSE IS very different from the Inkster house, and not just because it has so many toilets. First of all, it is much more modern. Our house—I mean, thehouse where I lived until today—was old. It was built in the 1940s, and it was a bungalow, and the rooms were small and the floors creaked. This house is very big and very clean and very clutter-free. I would call their style
minimalist
, whereas our house was
maximalist
. We had stuff everywhere! There were books stacked on tables and on the floor, and at least one of my school projects was always spread out on the dining room table. We must have had about twenty houseplants. Paintings and family photos covered the walls. Mom’s ceramic figurines lined the mantel over the fireplace and every windowsill on the main floor. Plus there was her knitting, her drawing pencils, her notepads, her long-forgotten half-full mugs of tea, her magazines, Dad’s newspapers and reading glasses, his dirty socks and mine, plus my chemistry set and comics.
    So I figure we’re doing them a favor, adding some of our stuff to the mix; it will help make their house look more lived-in. For example, we placed the big green-and-purple armchair between their slender brown leather couch and two matching brown leather club chairs in the family room. It was a tight squeeze, but it livened up the space immediately, if I do say so myself. I threw one of my mom’s afghans on the back of their couch, which added a much-needed splash of color. And I see at least five good spots to hang Mom’s painting, and plenty of places to display her ceramic figurines.
    Once, when I was out by the van, I caught a glimpse of Ashley. She was standing at her bedroom window, gazing down at us. I waved. She didn’t wave back.
    Maybe she isn’t just hard of hearing. Maybe she’s hard of seeing, too.

MOM FORCED ME TO come downstairs for supper. I was in my bedroom, sketching an idea for a new outfit instead of doing math, when she knocked. I didn’t answer, so she spoke through the door. “Ashley, I want you to join us at the table.”
    “I’m busy.”
    I could hear her sigh. “I expect you to eat with us. And I expect you to be pleasant.”
    “No on both counts.”
    “Ashley, you’re pushing your luck.”
    “I never wanted them to move here in the first place. I’m a part of this family, too, and my vote didn’t even count.”
    Then Mom opened my door because there is no lock on it even though I have asked for one. I have
no privacywhatsoever
. “When you buy your own house and start paying the mortgage on that house, you will have a vote,” she said. “Until then, you will stop whining and do as you’re told.”
    Sometimes my mother is like the queen in
Snow