Page 101 of The Treasure House

“Watch out for black ice on the paths,” he called after me as I closed the door.

I did watch out, having learned my lesson the hard way a week ago. I still had the bruise on my ass from that one. I picked my way carefully to the theater, fishing my little paper ticket out of my pocket. The place seemed packed to the rafters. An instrumental version of “Tomorrow” was looping on repeat over the PA as I navigated the crowd to my seat, which was smack bang in the middle of the front row. I guess Flo really didn’t want me to miss her performance.

I couldn’t help but turn in my seat and scan the crowd, looking for Jake so I could get a glimpse of his family. And Marly. But I couldn’t see him. And then the school principal was on stage, doing a housekeeping speech, and I had to keep my eyes front.

The overture started. There was no school orchestra; the music was provided by a young teacher on an upright piano. He played with enormous energy but not much finesse.

My phone buzzed. It was Suni. Don’t forget to take photos! They hadn’t been able to drive up for the play because Alison’s ex had reared his head again and they were busy keeping her calm and safe.

I won’t, I promised.

My phone buzzed again. It was a photo of the back of my head. Surreptitiously I turned to find Jake two rows behind me. He winked at me. I tried to steal a look at who he was with, but it was dark and there were people in front of them. Jake pointed at the stage, and I whipped back around just in time for the curtain to rise.

And, oh my God, was I glad I was in the front row. Mostly so Jake and his family couldn’t see my face. Because Lainey Mullins couldn’t sing. And I don’t mean she dropped a note or was pitchy. She really couldn’t sing. She came out in her Ronald McDonald wig, full of confidence like one of those train wrecks in the America’s Got Talent auditions, and belted her little lungs out, only rarely hitting the right note.

Who on earth had cast her? And who had let her continue after rehearsals? It was mortifying to watch. The whole auditorium braced every time she opened her mouth. You could feel the tension in the room. There were a few nervous titters and some kids whispering and giggling, but you had to give it to Lainey, she was all in up there.

Flo was in a big shaggy brown dog suit with a giant headpiece. You couldn’t even tell it was her as she mugged about. I snapped some photos for Suni, catching Flo in some adorable gamboling… If it was Flo. How would I even know?

The performance was painfully long. By the time they got to the final medley I was grinding my teeth. As Lainey and the tall boy playing Daddy Warbucks threw their hands out to receive applause there was a long moment of silence. Then Flo started pounding her fluffy paws together. I heard a muffled “Bravo!” come from under her dog head. Taking the hint, a smattering of applause rose from the audience and then people got into the spirit of supporting their children and there were cheers and an attempt at a standing ovation.

Lainey Mullins was beaming from ear to ear. And so was Flo when she pulled off her dog’s head and her braids came tumbling down. She was flushed and sweaty, and very, very happy.

“I told you I was playing the long game,” she whispered when she skipped out from backstage and I swept her off her feet into a hug.

I laughed. “Oh Flo, you’re evil.”

“No, I just figured I’d let her do my work for me.” She grabbed my cheeks with both hands. “Wasn’t she awful?” she whispered.

“Well, you were a great dog. I got some photos to send to your dad and Suni and Wayne.”

“They’re serving refreshments in the cafeteria now,” Flo said. “Let’s go. I want to watch Lainey meeting her public.” She dragged me along after her.

“Don’t forget she’s Jake’s niece,” I warned her. “Don’t go relishing this too much.”

“It’s our secret,” she promised. “But seriously, this is the greatest night of my life.”

But she came up short when we got to the cafeteria and found Lainey surrounded by a whole army of admirers. She was holding an enormous bunch of lilies—which must have cost a fortune since they were out of season—and chattering animatedly to a collection of family and friends. Everyone was beaming at her.

Flo frowned. She was about to get a lesson in how life wasn’t fair, I thought, with a feeling of dread in my belly, as I saw the principal going to congratulate Lainey roundly.

“I don’t understand.” Flo looked up at me. “How come they’re all acting like she was good?”

“I guess because she’s a kid,” I said, putting my arm around her and giving her a squeeze. “And she’s their kid.”

“She’s not Mrs. Viney’s kid! And look at those girls from my class. They all laughed when she called me Fido, and now they’re fawning on her after that?” Flo looked ready to pull her hair out. “She was terrible.”

“Yes, she was,” I said fervently.

“Oh, this sucks. Let’s get out of here.”

I bit my lip. “Um, we can’t.”

She glared at me. “This isn’t the time to tell me to be a good sport. I was the first one to clap.”

“No, I mean we can’t because I got a ride with Jake. He’s going to drop us home after.”

Flo groaned. “Oh God. That means we’ll have to talk to her.”