Free Girls Who Travel by Nicole Trilivas

been pressed into submission by a flatiron. I’d actually never seen her hair curly, but allegedly she had corkscrew ringlets. When I last babysat for the Darlings, Elsbeth would have a girl come once a day to straighten her hair and do her makeup—an indulgence she still appeared to partake in.
    â€œStraighter,” she’d command. “Make me look
Asian
,” she’dinsist to the girl, who actually was Asian, but hearing it still made me cringe.
    When we reached the back of the house, I saw the girls before they saw me. They sat at a breakfast table in a sunny glass room filled with palms and tropical greenery. The table was laid with ballerina-pink rosebuds in stout vases; orange juice in beading carafes; and well-steamed and creamed coffee in cups with matching saucers—this was how the Darlings rolled.
    â€œHoly shit. Look at my little hobgoblins,” I squealed, unable to hold it in a moment longer. My silly nickname for the Darling girls had stuck a long time ago, and using it again was my way of hoping that Elsbeth would keep making concessions for my big mouth.
    â€œKika!” they chimed in unison. The girls were outfitted in prissy school uniforms with blazers, ties, and kneesocks.
    Gwendy, now seven, leapt up first. “Kika Shores!” she shrieked. “Kika! Kika! It’s me: Gwendolyn Prudence Darling III.”
    I seized Gwen under her armpits and whirled her in the air, completely confident that I would have no problem keeping her talking.
    â€œGwendy,” I exclaimed, “I know it’s you. How could I possibly forget anyone so freakin’ adorable?” I gave her a suffocating hug and set her back down. “You are the prettiest hobgoblin ever.”
    â€œActually, Kika”—Elsbeth tapped me on the shoulder and motioned for me to lean in as she whispered—“we’re trying this new thing where we don’t compliment the girls on their looks. We’re attempting to instill the notion that one gets praised for merit, for things like academics, over superficialthings like appearances. You understand, don’t you?” she murmured apologetically.
    I nodded my head, impressed. “Nice. I can still call them hobgoblins, right?”
    Elsbeth smiled. “Oh, Kika. You always make such a lively splash.”
    I went over to Mina, now thirteen. She had matured since I last saw her. “Mina, how absolutely
intelligent
you look.”
    Mina stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth. Elsbeth tried to butt in, but Mina snapped, “She’s kidding, Mother.”
    I stroked her dark curls, which mercifully hadn’t been flat-ironed. “What’s up with these getups?” I motioned at their uniforms. “You guys didn’t tell me you were going to Hogwarts.”
    â€œI know, right? I just want to die,” moaned Mina.
    â€œI want to die, too!” mimicked Gwen excitedly, bouncing up and down in her storybook pinafore. She still obviously hadn’t grown out of the older-sister-worship phase.
    â€œI missed you guys so much. How is everything?”
    But Elsbeth cut me off. “Later. You will be able to catch up later. You girls have to get to school. And I need to get to the gym. Go on now, Clive is waiting out front with the car.” The girls protested but still filed out with military-perfect posture.
    Gwen waved good-bye energetically. “Bye, Kika, bye!”
    â€œSee you later, alligator.” I winked.
    â€œBye, Mom, bye!” Gwen called next, just as enthusiastically. “Have fun at your twirling class.”
    â€œ
Spinning
class, lamb. Yes, thank you, I will,” said Elsbeth Darling as she shooed the girls out.

15
    â€œW ELL , I W AS going to paint it—cream colored, perhaps, or eggshell—” Elsbeth signaled to the soaring walls of my room. “But then I said to myself, ‘This color
is
Kika. I should keep it.’”
    The rest of the