She can't sleep. Jane is snoring quietly on her side of the room, just like normal, but she still can't sleep. Her stomach is churning and there's a fierce pounding in her head.
Nothing is ever going to be normal again.
That one fateful line announced between "Pass the mashed potatoes" and "Elbow off the table, Batty," had changed everything: "I'm pregnant."
Two simple words that had somehow morphed their perfectly wonderful stepmother into a nauseating symbol of something far worse: replacement.
The clock on the nightstand blinks out a horrible neon 4:30, reminding her that she's been laying there stewing for five hours, and isn't likely to get any sleep at all before school in the morning.
She pushes her self out of bed, needing to get out of this house, to go anywhere beyond the realm of pregnancies and babies and mothers long deceased. She needs to feel the pounding of something besides her head, kick things and make her muscles scream so that she doesn't have to.
She's proud of herself for not slamming the front door on her way out. No use in waking the entire neighborhood, even if this pre-dawn morning is surprisingly beautiful. Her mother always used to love the early morning, but Skye has never felt the drive to be up before the sun.
She's about to take off down the street, when she notices that the Geiger's side door to their garage is cracked open, and a single bulb is illuminating what has turned into the Geiger Boys' training studio over the years.
And suddenly only one thing sounds better than running away from this recent development: She needs to hit something. Hard.
There are gloves hanging on the wall, but she ignores them, enough adrenaline and anger pumping through her veins that she can ignore the pain that runs through her hands when her fists connect with the rough, rigid surface of the nearest hanging bag.
Her breath is coming fast before she can finally whisper what has been bothering her for the last several hours: "Oh, Mommy, how could he?"
And then the dam breaks, and her tears are coming faster than her punches, fury and grief running together in an endless stream of hurt.
She's lost track of time when suddenly the door opens, and oldest Geiger boy walks in, looking surprised and a bit wary. She hurries the tears off her cheeks—the salt water stinging her skinned knuckles—but she's knows its useless. He's seen, and now he'll want an explanation.
"Did you hear?"
He nods slowly, watching her from a distance as if she is a wounded wild beast. Of course, he's heard; news travels faster than the speed of light on Gardam Street. Especially a hot topic like the soon-to-be newest Penderwick.
"It's not fair," she starts, attempting to cover the depth of her hurt with a lighter explanation. "This baby is going to change all our lives. They should have asked us how we felt about it."
He nods again, obviously not buying her story. She tries again.
"It's embarrassing. They're parents! They shouldn't be having kids!"
Grabbing a pair of gloves off the wall, he straps them onto his own hands and lands a few hits on the bag next to hers before speaking.
"I'm sure it is. But everyone knows Skye Penderwick doesn't give a damn about what other people think."
She hits the bag a few more times, trying to figure out a way to avoid telling him the truth, before finally giving up, and leaning her forehead against the her swinging target in defeat.
"How could he do that to her? How could he betray my mom like that?" She barely whispered it, but it's obvious that he heard her, because his bag takes a beating before he finally responds.
"Ah, that's a tricky one, isn't it . . ."
"I just," there's a sob in her throat, but she swallows it down. "I just don't understand how he can still claim to love my mother and yet—" it takes her a while to come up with the right phrase, "make a baby with another woman."
"Well, surely you knew it was going to happen when they got married, right?"
He's purposefully not looking at her, and she thinks she sees a slight tint of red on his cheeks. She's sure her own are colored to match.
"Well, yeah, but I could ignore it before. Now we're going to be faced with proof 24/7."
He laughs, this time, shaking his head in amusement. "Okay, good point." He sighs, leaning against the bag and smiling slightly, though his eyes are serious again. "Honestly, Skye, I know what you're saying. I would totally freak out if my parents suddenly up and announced that they were having a new baby, and I don't even have the whole "betrayal" thing to consider. But here's the thing: like it or not this baby is coming, and I think it'll be easier if you can embrace it. If it helps, maybe try to think of it as an adoption . . ."
Still smiling softly, he lifts her hand from where it rests on the bag and blows cool air across her throbbing knuckles. "Come on, let's get you fixed up."
Two days later, she finds a small box waiting on the roof for her. Inside is a key, and a brief note in Nick's handwriting.
It's all about learning to roll with the punches, Penderwick.
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