“Ivy,” Brendan assured her, “I would never tell anyone your secrets. Especially my parents.”
Smiling, Ivy picked up the ball and aimed for the bull’s-eye. She’d invite Olivia to lunch with Brendan’s family when she went to Olivia’s house for lunch tomorrow. Ivy bowled the ball up the ramp, and it sailed into the five-hundred-point hole in the center. “Yes!” she cried.
Brendan sighed. “At least when you go,” he said, “I can have the high-score record for North America back.”
Chapter 6
Olivia skulked to answer the door on Saturday afternoon. Since finding out that Ivy was moving, her mom’s Ivy-related plans had become way too intense. Olivia glared at her own makeup whitened face in the foyer mirror before opening the door.
Ivy looked her up and down. “Don’t you think it’s a little risky to try and switch for lunch with your parents?” she whispered. “Besides, I would never wear black pants and black flats like that— it looks far too businesslike.”
“I’m not trying to be you,” Olivia seethed through clenched teeth. “My mom’s making us all go Goth in your honor!”
Ivy started laughing. “If you think I look funny,” Olivia huffed, “wait till you see my parents!”
She led Ivy to the dining room, where her mom had set the table. “Despite it being weeks ago, we’re pretending it’s Halloween,” said Olivia glumly. Her mom had draped the table with a black tablecloth on which she’d ironed white appliqué skulls. In the center of the table was a candle, and there were cheesy napkins with jacko’-lanterns on them from a costume party they’d had when Olivia was like six.
“Ivy’s here,” Olivia called in a loud voice.
Ivy looked around, clearly confused that Olivia’s parents were nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly there was a creaking noise, and just outside the French doors that opened onto the patio, the basement cellar door was flung open. Out climbed Olivia’s dad dressed in black leather pants, a dark purple button-down shirt, and a black tie with glow-in-the-dark eyeballs on it. His breath looked like clouds of smoke in the cold December air.
“Is your father wearing eyeliner?” Ivy whispered.
Olivia nodded, speechless with horror.
“Deadly to see you, Ivy,” her father said haltingly as he opened the French doors and came in.
“Hi, Mr. Abbott.” Ivy smiled. “Nice pants.”
Suddenly a few notes of eerie classical music boomed through the house, so loud that Olivia and Ivy both put their hands to their ears. Somebody turned down the volume abruptly, and then smoke started pouring out of the cellar.
“Dry ice,” Olivia’s father said proudly.
A pale hand emerged, quivering, from the cellar. Then Olivia’s mom floated up the steps in a shredded black dress and bunny ears that she’d spray-painted black. She was wearing heavy black makeup: eyeliner, mascara, lipstick—the works. She was even wearing gray blush, which made her look sort of dead.
“Welcome to the Abbott haunted house,” Olivia said under her breath.
Her mom entered the dining room. “Greetings, Ivy!” she said dramatically—in a British accent for no apparent reason.
Ivy giggled and curtsied, which only made things worse.
They all sat down to lunch, and Olivia’s mom proudly served up the Beef Ghoulash she’d made. It smelled really gross, so Olivia tried not to breathe through her nose at all. Her mom had made “blood” (tomato) soup specially for her, so she stuck to that and helped herself to the blackened blue potato salad.
“So, Ivy, Olivia tells us you live in quite a . . . pad?” Olivia’s dad attempted. Olivia’s mom shook her head disapprovingly at him.
“Quite a house?” he tried.
“One as nightmarish as you can do better than that, Steve,” Olivia’s mom challenged.
“Quite a ...crypt?”he said tentatively.
Her mom nodded approvingly, and Olivia put her head in her hands.
Ivy grinned. “Our house is one of the oldest in Franklin Grove,” she answered.
Olivia couldn’t believe that her sister actually seemed to be enjoying herself. She decided to try and steer the conversation away from Gothrelated topics, so that, just maybe, her parents would stop embarrassing her.
“You know, Ivy was once a cheerleader,” Olivia said brightly.
“Really?” Olivia’s mom asked eagerly, her regular perky self showing through for a moment.
Ivy nodded. “It’s true,” she confirmed. And as she told Mr. and Mrs. Abbott all about it, Olivia hoped she’d hit on the one subject her parents couldn’t possibly turn Goth.
Olivia’s dad cleared his throat. “Go on, Audrey,” he said encouragingly. “Let your darkness shine!”
“Well, actually,” Olivia’s mom began, “when we were decorating today, a little Goth cheer happened to come into my head.”
Olivia groaned. “Please, no!”
Ivy elbowed her sister and said, “I’d love to hear it.”
Olivia shot her a death squint as her parents stood up and moved to the side of the table. Her mom struck some sort of zombie pose, her dad did the same, and Olivia wished the floor would open up and swallow her.
“We are Gothic. We are dark!” Olivia’s mom moved jerkily as she chanted and struck a new zombie pose when she stopped.
“We are Gothic in the park!” Mr. Abbott chimed in.
Olivia rolled her eyes. Then her parents started chanting together.
“See us brood and see us prowl. We will scare you with our growl! Grrr, grr, grr!”