Free Nancy and Nick by Caroline B. Cooney Page B

appreciation. Nick said, “Is it like this all the time around here?”
    “Antiques, you mean? Yes. Wall to wall.”
    “When I have an apartment of my own, it’s going to be streamlined. No nothing in there but me and my clothes and maybe a chair and a television.”
    “Sounds like the one I’m going to have. Although I’ll add a chair for guests and a bookcase.”
    “Nope, you don’t want shelves.” Nick shook his head vigorously and his ponytail bounced. “You get shelves, next thing you know you’ll be wanting things to put on them. Before long you’ll need more shelves, and maybe even a drawer or two. Next thing you know, you’ll have to move to a bigger place to hold all your junk. No, Nancy, you do not want shelves.”
    “I need a place for books.”
    “Use the library.”
    “You’re even worse than I am,” I said. “How can you possibly convince any of your father’s customers to buy anything when you hate everything he’s selling?”
    “Are you kidding? I love selling the stuff. Then there’s less of it.”
    We burst out laughing. Nick ate another fried pie. “Have one,” he said, “they’re good.” So I had one.
    His father took out a stenography notebook and busily wrote down descriptions while he and Mother haggled about prices as if one of them actually intended to buy. “All right, all right,” he said, “if you really think so. I still believe you could get eighty for that. Now this one over here is in mint condition.”
    I heated up the dinner and served it. Conversation was erratic, to say the least.
    “Did you ever locate my father in your genealogy tables?” I asked Mr. Nearing.
    “No, Nancy, I never did. Now, Eleanor,” he said to my mother, “I think we’ve got to decide if you’d do better selling the butter molds as a group or singly.”
    “Have another corn gem,” said Nick to me, as if he had made them.
    “Frankly, this is such a good collection I think we should call up one of these high-powered New York dealers and see if somebody would like to buy the whole thing. In case we get some interest from that angle, we need to have a complete price in mind,” said Nick’s father.
    “I think these have too much molasses,” said my mother.
    “What molasses?” said Mr. Nearing, looking around—for antique molasses, I suppose.
    “The corn gems,” said my mother. “Now, David, I have to keep some things. I’ll be desolate if we clear it out completely.”
    “Well, stack the things you’ll be keeping in Nancy’s room.”
    “My room!” I yelped.
    “It’s the only one without antiques. That way we won’t get mixed up.” He buttered another corn gem. Nick ate the last fried pie.
    “Except I don’t know what to keep,” she said. “I love everything.”
    “So much for streamlined, shelfless privacy,” said Nick, grinning.
    “It’s a common problem for antique dealers,” said his father to my mother. “Logically you should sell what’s worth the most and keep the junk, but of course what you want to keep are the real goodies.”
    “I bought them for a rainy day,” said my mother, “and it’s definitely raining.” She didn’t sound glum, though, but as if she were having fun. Making a party out of selling her treasures had definitely been the right idea for her.
    “Nancy?” said Nick. “Since I have to live and breathe antiques at the Richmond show for two solid days, I’d love to escape them tonight.”
    “Sounds good to me. What would you like to do?”
    Nick looked suddenly awkward and uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to make of it—unless he felt like escaping from me, too, and I had misinterpreted his remark. He said, “Well, I’m kind of broke, actually. So something like a movie would be, well—”
    “You can’t be as broke as I am,” I said. “I can’t even get an ice cream cup at school anymore. Otherwise I’d treat you.”
    “What kind of neighborhood is this? Walking type? After dark?”
    It was definitely a