The Rebel Code

Chapter Six

Malina gives me a surprise invitation to her house on Friday afternoon. It's not the fact that she's invited me that's a surprise—we've known each other long enough that I basically drop by whenever I like—it's just unusual, since she takes me aside in school and specifically designates a time. Malina isn't a planner. She's more of the "show up whenever, ice cream is in the fridge" kind. But the puppy her family bought for her and her siblings is finally here, so I don't think much of it. Maybe the puppy has planned nap times. That would be just like Susan Anderson.

The Andersons' house has the same outside as ours, and the same basic structure on the inside, but the interior design always stuns me. It's like being on another planet, going from my house to Malina's. Our furniture is mostly accumulated, none of it purchased at the same time, and it's a mess of clashing colors and fabrics. John likes tropical prints, but tropical stuff never seems to match, so our couch has banana leaves and the throw pillows have sea turtles. Our fridge is a slightly greener teal than the kitchen tile, but the oven is a golden color. The living room walls are covered in traditional masks, metal suns with faces, and block prints of cities in the Ten Provinces.

Then, on the other hand, there's the Anderson household. According to Malina's account, Susan bought most of their furniture in one trip to Cape Town, at this huge warehouse that organizes stuff by style and color. Their walls are perfect white, and they brought someone in years ago to scrape the floors until they looked "lightly distressed." All the furniture is the same gray, with gray stripes on the pillows and gray tables and chairs. Susan buys special things for her shelves, things that match and look neat and tidy. Whenever I walk in, it looks like someone has spent hours cleaning, which probably isn't far from the truth. The Andersons have a maid, and I've never seen her anywhere except there.

"He's only a few weeks old," explains Malina, rolling the little golden ball of fluff in her arms. "He was one of nine puppies. I know I complain about having too many siblings, but this poor little guy had it worse."

We laugh, and she gives me a turn holding the puppy. His name is Chase, and it doesn't take me long to figure out why. Chase is all energy.

"Keep that thing out of the kitchen," shouts Susan, squeaking as Chase darts between her legs. "I don't want to lose any of the good china."

So we take Chase into the backyard and play with a rubber ball for a while, watching him run back and forth, distracted by every little thing he sees. Then we hand Chase over to Malina's little brother and bounce on the trampoline. Before long, I'm laughing and exhausted.

"Let's go get some lemonade," says Malina. "I think mom made sweet rolls."

As we have our rolls and lemonade at the bar top counter, I notice something odd. It's the first time I've seen both Mr. and Mrs. Anderson at home at the same time, probably since Malina's last birthday. Normally, one or both of them is at a school meeting, or a party, or work. Now, they're both sitting calmly in the living room, drinking coffee.

"Let's take this to the basement," I say. Malina's brother has a virtual reality game setup, and I love testing my skills on the digital cooking challenge. John doesn't approve of most video games, since they're designed to subtly teach us protocol-following skills, but once in a while it can't hurt.

But to my surprise, Malina declines. "No, let's eat in the living room."

Susan is always so particular about us not eating in the living room—apparently the Cape Town custom couches don't wash very well—but Susan is here, so it must be okay. I follow Malina and we sit across from her parents, who pause their conversation to glance over at me.

"Jennifer," says Susan, pressing her thin, lipstick smile even thinner. "I feel like we haven't seen you in ages. How's school?"

"School's fine." I shove another sweet roll into my mouth.