Free Encore Edie by Annabel Lyon

Robert says. “Diet tiger-tiger.” He used to have a weight problem.
    “Kulfi,” Merry says. We all look at her. “From my restaurant,” she says.
    “Which restaurant, sweetie?” Robert’s mom says.
    “In Montreal,” Merry says. “In our old house.”
    “Kulfi is Indian ice milk,” Robert’s mom says. “With almonds and pistachios. It’s the perfect thing after curry. Do you like curry too, Merry?”
    Merry claps her hands. “Palak paneer!”
    “All right.” Robert’s mom slaps her hand on the table.“It’s official! I am going on Merry’s spaceship so we can have freeze-dried palak paneer and kulfi.”
    “And tandoori chicken,” I say. “And mango lassi.” I love Indian food.
    “Pappadum,” Merry says.
    “Pappadum.” Impulsively, I pick up my mug and hold it out to clink against hers. “Cheers. Indian food.”
    “I cheers you ,” she says, and bangs her mug so hard against mine she spills my cocoa. Robert’s mom gets a cloth and then we all start to tidy up and get ready to go.
    “Shotgun,” Dex says.
    “What are you, six years old?” I say, so Robert will hear. Dexter blushes.
    In the car, Merry falls asleep almost right away.
    “Are you intimidated to cook for a real chef?” Dex asks Mom from the front seat.
    “I’m a little nervous,” Mom says. “But it’s hard to ruin roast chicken if you remember to use a meat thermometer.”
    I find this hilarious and laugh for the next ten minutes. I see Mom put her hand on Dex’s knee to say, Yes, she is acting weird. Let it go. In fact I’m relieved: relieved the day hasn’t been so bad so far, relieved Robert didn’t ask me out again, relieved that even though I have to share the back seat with Merry, I won’t have to talk to her all the way home. All that relief is going to my head like soda bubbles.
    We’re almost home when Dex turns around and says quietly, “Meat thermometer.”

    “What’s so funny?” Robert says, an hour later. Our fingernails are still tacky with rainbow colours and we’re laughing as we all barrel down the hall to let him and his mom in.
    “Meat thermometer,” Merry says, and we all start again.
    “Meat thermometer?” Robert says, bugging his eyes out, and then he’s laughing too. That’s what I like about Robert: you don’t have to explain things to him. We point his mom toward the kitchen, where Mom and Aunt Ellie are worrying over supper, and push Robert into the den, where we’ve been painting our nails.
    “Oh no,” Robert says.
    “Oh yes,” Dad says. He’s sitting in his recliner, reading the newspaper, holding up one finger-waggling hand so Robert can see the fingernails we painted pink, purple, blue, green, and orange.
    “Oh yes,” Daniel says. He’s sitting at the computer doing something on the internet, holding up his hand the same way.
    “It comes off, right?” Robert says.
    Dad shakes his head sadly. “They wouldn’t tell us, son.”
    We take turns. Robert reluctantly agrees to alternating orange and brown, like tiger-tiger ice cream. Merry does the orange. For all her clumsiness, she’s really careful and does a pretty good job. I start the brown. It’s strange to paint someone else’s nails. I put my hand on Robert’s to hold him still, and that’s even stranger. His hand is too warm or something. I let go again, hesitating.
    “Oh, let me do it,” Dex says impatiently. She’s been leaning over my shoulder, blocking the light.
    “Fine,” I say, shoving the bottle at her.
    She holds his hand to steady it too, and holds it after she’s done so he won’t fidget and smudge it before it’s dry. So that’s why she’s been acting odd all day; I’m finally figuring it out. Poor Robert. He’s putting up with it pretty well, though, all things considered. And poor Dexter too, really, when she realizes he’s just not interested.
    Supper is roast chicken and gravy and mashed potatoes and something Mom calls Hunter Carrots, which she has never made before and