Sicilee’s mind echoes with the bratty voices of her friends as she marches down the leafy, pleasant streets of Clifton Springs. Go home by yourself … you’re the big walker … take the bus. Go home by yourself … you’re the big walker … take the bus. Sicilee isn’t sure whether she’s more hurt than angry, or more angry than hurt. She refuses to cry. She’s not going to give them the satisfaction. So involved is Sicilee in reliving the scene in the cosmetics department and in not crying that she doesn’t realize that she isn’t alone until something cold and wet suddenly touches her hand.

Sicilee jumps and screams. Behind her – though not far enough behind her – is a very large dog, drool dripping from his half-open mouth, looking at her as if he’s deciding which part of her he wants to bite first. How long has he been walking with her? Since she left the village? Was there something beside her while she waited at that last set of traffic lights on Boyer? Something big enough to be ridden by a small child?

“Nice doggy.” Sicilee smiles. “Good boy.”

The dog’s bark is like a small explosion.

“Stay!” Sicilee doesn’t point – she doesn’t want to give him an easy target like a finger – but her voice is the stern one she uses when her cat Lucy does something she shouldn’t, like climb into the washing machine. “Stay!” She turns and starts walking again. The stern voice doesn’t work on Lucy, either. The dog follows, his nose nudging towards her, his head so close she can feel his breath – warm, moist and surrounded by teeth. Sicilee’s heart beats faster. Oh great, she thinks. The perfect end to a really lousy day.

“Go home,” she orders. “Shoo.”

She walks a little faster. The dog lopes behind her.

They turn a corner and the Kewes’ house is now in sight. The only time anyone has ever seen Sicilee run since she was ten is in gym class, where she is given no choice, but Sicilee starts to run now. The dog starts to run, too. Past Mr Kreple in his driveway vacuuming his car. Past the Larkins’ little girl blowing bubbles in their front yard. Past Mrs Novatny reading on her porch. Sicilee runs faster and the dog bounds after her, barking excitedly, now in full pursuit. Does he think it’s a game, or is he coming in for the kill?

Their next-door neighbour stops on her stoop when she sees Sicilee galloping towards her. “Hi there, Sicilee!” she calls. “Tell your mother—”

If Sicilee were capable of thinking, her thought would be Tell her yourself! but both thought and speech are beyond her at the moment. She speeds by without a glance and races up the path, wedging herself between the storm door and the front door for protection while she desperately rings the bell. The dog jumps up and down beside her as if he’s confused himself with a performing dolphin. Her mother’s not home! Sicilee digs into her pocket for her keys and pulls out the soggy napkin wrapped around her Hamburger of the Day from her soggy pocket. Sweet Mary! The dog didn’t want to eat her; he wanted to eat her lunch! Someday, this story will make even Sicilee laugh, but right now all she feels is weak with relief. She hurls the hamburger onto the grass and the dog joyously follows.

Thankful now that her mother isn’t home to want to know what happened and make her talk about it, Sicilee goes to her room and throws herself onto her bed. Lucy immediately leaves her seat by the window and jumps up beside her, purring warmly, sprawling across her lap as if she has no bones. Sicilee rubs Lucy under her chin and behind her ears the way she likes best. Lucy closes her eyes and smiles, and Sicilee’s pulse rate starts to return to normal; her fear and anger begin to fade.

It is Lucy who has loved Sicilee unconditionally since the day they brought her home from the animal shelter when Sicilee was six, Lucy who can make Sicilee smile no matter how blue she’s feeling, Lucy who always comforts Sicilee when she’s low, Lucy who trusts Sicilee without question, Lucy who would never hurt her. She’s not just a cat. She’s not even just a pet. She is Lucy Kewe, who loves to play with Sicilee’s shoelace and eat corn on the cob. It is Lucy, Sicilee realizes – and not Kristin, Loretta or Ash – who is her best friend. And in that moment of realization, Sicilee suddenly understands what Clemens has been trying to tell them all along. Not everything that’s important is human. Not everything that’s valuable can be bought.

It is now that Sicilee finally starts to cry.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The last person to leave doesn’t have to turn out the lights

Maya slides a tray of soy nuggets into the oven and shuts the door. “OK,” she mumbles to herself, “they’ll be done in ten minutes… I already put out the chips and pretzels… I’ll stick the nachos in the oven when everybody gets here…”

She straightens up and looks around the kitchen with a satisfied smile. Normally, the Baraberras’ kitchen looks pretty much like the kitchen of everyone else Maya knows – pleasant in a functional, here’s-where-you-peel-the-potatoes kind of way. But right now it looks more like a wizard’s den. Maya gives herself an excited hug. This has got to be one of the best ideas she’s ever had.

On Saturday nights the crowd always gets together, and tonight, because Mr and Mrs Baraberra and Molly have gone out, they are coming here. But Maya has planned something different to usual. Instead of watching movies and putting on some music, tonight they will play board games and talk. Maya has decided that tonight is Be Kind to Our Planet Night, when the use of electricity is more or less restricted to the fridge-freezer. Instead of having virtually every light in the house on, Maya has put dozens of candles all over the living room and kitchen – tea lights in glass holders at the windows, botánicas in jars decorated with pictures of saints and candles stuck in candlesticks and bottles over the counters, shelves and tables. Which is why she’s smiling like a girl who’s reinvented cool. Maya thinks the candlelight is beyond beautiful – romantic, mystical and mysterious, transforming the boring old kitchen and the boring old living room into places of timeless magic. But then her eyes fall on Alice and she stops smiling. “Alice! Alice, what are you doing?”

What Alice is doing is kneeling on the floor by the fridge, stirring salad dressing mix into a bowl of tofu sour cream.

“I’m making the dip like you told me to. What do you think I’m doing?” Alice’s patience is as exhausted as she is. If proof was necessary (which, to be honest, Alice never thought it was), she now knows for sure that it’s a lot easier to flip a switch than it is to light thirty-nine-and-a-half candles.

“But you can’t leave the door open like that,” argues Maya. “You’re wasting electricity.” Gott im Himmel, the whole point of this evening is to save it. “Go back to the counter.”

Alice, however, is obviously not as enthusiastic about tonight as Maya. Alice likes watching movies and being able to walk around without bumping into things. And she certainly doesn’t think that she’s in a place of romance, mystery or magic. Alice thinks she’s in a dim, gloomy room filled with shadows and threatening shapes where making a simple dip is a major challenge.

“But I can’t see at the counter,” she grumbles. “I wouldn’t even recognize my own hand if it wasn’t attached to my arm.”

“Of course you ca—” Maya breaks off as someone, finally realizing that the doorbell isn’t working, starts banging forcefully on the front door. “They’re here!” She picks up the Santa candle left over from Christmas. “Get off the floor,” she orders. “You put the nachos in the oven. I’ll let everybody in.”

Shelby, Mallory and Finn start talking loudly to Maya as soon as they hear her knock into the hall table.

“Why don’t you turn on the porch light?” grumbles Mallory. “I nearly broke my neck on the steps.”

“You know your bell’s not working?” asks Finn. “I’ve been ringing it for ages.”

“Oh, my dears, please step in…” Shelby intones as the door opens to reveal that there is little more light inside than outside. “Welcome to the House of Baraberra… You may enter, but of course you may never leave… Hahahahahaha…”

“What’s with the candle?” Finn squints into the darkness of the hallway. “You practising witchcraft again?”

“They must’ve blown a fuse,” says Mallory. “How many appliances are you running? Are you using the microwave? My mom always blows a fuse if she has, like, the dishwasher and the washing machine going and she uses the microwave.”

“It’s not a fuse,” says Maya. Behind them, she can just make out Jason, Brion and Shayla getting out of Mr Tovar’s car at the kerb.

“Well, it’s not a power cut,” says Shelby, craning his head backwards. “It’s only your house. The rest of the street’s OK.”

“Could we just go in?” Mallory gives him a shove. “It’s freezing out here.” She looks at Maya. “You do have heat, right?”

“Sure we have heat.” Maya gestures them inside with Santa, spilling wax onto the carpet (though it is too dark for her to notice that, of course). “Come on in.”

It takes them a few seconds to find the coat hooks, bumping into each other and treading on each other’s toes.

“Darn!” Mallory stumbles on the step down into the living room. “I’m going to be lucky to get out of here alive. Why the hell don’t you turn the lights on, Maya? Are you sure it’s not a fuse?”

“Wow. A major fire hazard,” says Shelby as he steps into the romantic, mysterious and magical flickering glow of the living room. “Your folks aren’t going to be thrilled if you burn the house down while they’re out.”

“We should’ve brought some marshmallows,” jokes Jason as he, Brion and Shayla grope their way past Maya.

“Actually, I think it looks pretty cool,” says Shayla. “Very beat, you know? Like, way out, man.”

“You want me to change the fuse?” asks Mallory.

“There’s nothing wrong with the fu—”

“Maya!” Alice shouts from the kitchen. “Maya! The timer! I can’t find the potholders!”

“I’ll be right back.” Maya trips over one of her sister’s abandoned shoes as she hurries down the hall.

Brion is standing near the TV, holding a handful of DVDs in the air, when Maya returns carrying the drinks, a plate of nuggets and the bowl of dip.

“Which should we start with?” he’s asking.

“How would I know? I can’t see what they are,” complains Mallory. “Why can’t we turn on a light?”

“You didn’t bring Poltergeist, did you?” Finn laughs. “Or that one about the guy who tries to burn down the whole town?”

Maya sets the tray on the coffee table so carefully that she only knocks over one candle, which Shelby, who has very quick reflexes, manages to catch before it hits the rug.

“You know, I was only kidding about the fire hazard.” Shelby peels wax from his hand. “But maybe we should put on the lights just in case.”

“No.” Maya sits down on the floor, shaking her head. “I thought it’d be fun if tonight we did without any extra electricity. You know, no lights, no TV, no stereo…” She can only hope that they can all see her warm, encouraging smile. “And no movies.”

“You thought it’d be fun?” Shayla’s frown defies the flickering shadows. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I want us to really consider the planet – just for one night. Earth Day’s coming and—”

“For Pete’s sake,” groans Brion. “What is this, Revenge of the Geeks? Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

“I thought it’d be a nice surprise.”

“Maya,” says Shayla, “a nice surprise is when someone buys you a present, not when someone invites you over to sit in a dark room doing nothing all night.”

Brion wants to know where the napkins are. “You can’t really eat chicken nuggets without napkins, you know.”

Maya – who, of course, also isn’t using single-use paper products tonight – tosses him the dishtowel she’s decided to use instead.

“Are you saying we’re not watching movies?” Shelby picks up a “chicken” nugget. “I mean, no napkins is one thing, but no movies? We always watch movies. What are we supposed to do if we don’t watch movies?”

Slowly and unsurely, Alice comes in with the rest of the snacks. “We’re going to play games,” she says with all the enthusiasm of someone announcing that it’s time to count the paperclips in that five-gallon jar. Realizing that her tone doesn’t sound quite as supportive or enthusiastic as she intended, she adds, “Or just talk.”