I shrugged. “I work on the school paper—it means you get really used to remembering details.”

“Journalism? Is that your major?”

“Well, I’m just finishing up my senior year now,” I said, angling the koala once again. “But next year . . .” Unbidden, an image of the state-of-the-art newsroom at Northwestern flashed into my mind, but I pushed it away. “I’m going to Stanwich.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows flew up. A second later, though, he smiled at me and went back to twisting the streamers with the Australian flag on them, but it was like he’d been about to say something, then stopped himself. It was amazing how quickly you could learn these kinds of things about another person when you’re trapped together in a small room filled with Australian paraphernalia.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, climbing down from the ladder and moving it forward a few feet. “Just—J.J. told me you were going to Northwestern.”

I rolled my eyes, wishing J.J. would stay out of my business. “Well, I’m not. I got accepted there, but I’m going here.”

“Got it.” Bill nodded, then reached up and gave the streamers another twist. “Well, it’s too bad. If you were in Chicago too, we could hang out and you could lecture me some more about koalas.” I smiled at that as Bill descended the ladder. “Think we’re good?”

I looked around the room. Basically, it looked like Australia had thrown up on it. There were animal pictures and photos of Australian landmarks everywhere you looked. Who knew why this Clay kid loved Australia so much, but clearly he did, and would not be disappointed when he saw his birthday decorations. “I think we’re good.”

Bill folded up his ladder and we started gathering Linnie and Rodney’s decorations, carefully loading them into a giant Where There’s A Will canvas bag—it seemed like Bill’s uncle sure was into his monogramming. “Thanks so much for helping out, Charlie,” Bill said as he slung the bag over his shoulder. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“And if you had,” I said, picking up the two largest blown-up pictures, the ones that hadn’t fit in the bag, “you would have put all the marsupials in the wrong place.”

I heard Bill laugh as he followed me out the door. As we crossed the main Indoor Xtreme floor, I saw how much things had changed since we’d gotten there. It was practically deserted when I arrived, but now the techno music was thumping, there were kids on the skate ramp and bike jumps, and there was a long line for the paintball course. My hands were full and I couldn’t reach into my pocket to check my phone, but I realized school must have let out for the day—which meant I needed to hurry if I was going to make it home and get ready for the Pearce in time.

“I’m going to have to get home before going to the museum—will you be able to get these set up at the Inn?”

Bill nodded. “Not a problem.” And even though he was carrying much more than I was, he somehow managed to pull the door open for me. I’d just stepped outside when my phone rang. I suddenly remembered I hadn’t gotten back to Siobhan when she said she needed to talk to me, and felt a wave of guilt hit me. But it wasn’t Siobhan—my sister’s contact picture was flashing across the screen as I answered the call.

“Hey, Lin.”

“Where are you?” she asked, her voice high-pitched and stressed out.

“Um, I’m heading back now,” I said, exchanging a glance with Bill, hoping something else hadn’t gone wrong with the seating arrangements. “Everything’s fine with the rehearsal dinner decorations!”

“Forget the decorations,” Linnie snapped, and I didn’t respond, even though I had a feeling she would not have been happy if her rehearsal dinner had been Australia-themed. “Did you know about this?”

“About what?”

Through the phone, I could hear Linnie take a breath, like she was trying to calm herself down. “About the dog.”

CHAPTER 11

Or, Bankruptcy

* * *

I STARED AT THE BEAGLE, who was sitting in the center of the front hall, staring steadily back at me. Then I looked from Danny, who was next to me, to my sister, who was pacing in front of the door, her arms folded across her chest. “This isn’t good.”

The dog looked like he was just a little older than a puppy—his face still had that soft roundness to it, and his paws seemed a little oversize. He was brown, with black and white spots and long, swinging ears that seemed too big for his head. He had a wet, black nose that was twitching as he looked around, like he was trying to figure out where, exactly, he had landed.

“You think?” Linnie asked, then sneezed. She’d gotten me up to speed on the dog situation while I drove home. He’d been dropped off by a volunteer from a shelter two towns over. Apparently, it was GMA’s idea to have a beagle standing in for Waffles during our interview. He was a rescue, and up for adoption—there would be information on the GMA website and across the bottom of the screen about how he could be adopted. They’d even named him Waffles to appeal to die-hard GCS fans. Jill had apparently cleared this with my mother months ago, who had forgotten to mention any of it to us. I was fine with a beagle at the interview, and happy that it might help a dog find a home. What I didn’t understand was why he was here on Friday when the interview wasn’t until Sunday.

“But why is he here now?”

“That’s what I asked,” Linnie said. “But the shelter’s not open on Sundays, and Saturdays are their busiest days, so they decided to drop him off early.”

“But . . .” I looked at the dog—Waffles, apparently. He didn’t seem to be acting like a typical dog. He wasn’t running around, or wagging his tail, or begging for treats. He was just sitting there, staring at me. This wasn’t normal dog behavior, was it? “We have a dog now?”

“It seems that we do.”

“Maybe he can count as your something borrowed,” I said, and I saw my brother start to smile before he cleared his throat and put on a more serious expression.

“At least it seems like he’s housebroken,” Danny said, bending down to ruffle the top of Waffles’s head. The dog just stared at Danny, looking a little affronted, like his personal space had just been invaded.

“I didn’t need this on top of the tent thing.” Linnie ran her hands through her hair.

“What tent thing?”

“Apparently Clementine ordered the wrong kind,” Danny said, shooting me a look. “But Will’s taking care of it, and there’s a new one coming tomorrow.”

“So that sounds good,” I said, trying to put a good spin on this for my sister as I silently cursed Clementine. “Will can handle everything tomorrow. And this way, there’s less of an opportunity for dad to sabotage it.”

Linnie gave me a tiny smile just as the alarm let out a single, long beeeeeeeep. It wasn’t as loud as it had been this morning, but it was still loud enough to make me cover my ears instinctively. The dog leaped to his feet and ran in the direction of the kitchen, squeezing in through the gap in the swinging door.

“Oh god, the stupid alarm,” Linnie said, stalking toward the kitchen.

“How’s everything else going?” I asked, turning to my brother.

“Except for the dog and the tent?” Danny asked with a laugh. “It’s good.”

My phone started to buzz in my back pocket, and I pulled it out—and saw that it was the paper’s news editor. “Hey, Ali.”

“Where are you?” she hissed, keeping her voice low.

“I told you I couldn’t make the editorial meeting,” I said, but a second later I felt my stomach drop. I had texted Ali to tell her that. Hadn’t I?

“No, you didn’t,” she said, her voice getting a little louder. “We’ve been waiting for you for half an hour!”

“Look, I’m sorry,” I said, very aware that Danny was standing a few feet away from me and could hear every word of this conversation. “But you can run the meeting, can’t you? I mean, if you’re going to be editor in chief next year . . .”