The Bargaining by Carly Anne West

Author:Carly Anne West
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon Pulse

15

* * *

APRIL IS WEARING HER GLASSES, so I know she means ­business.

“We’re just going to go in, get what we need, and get out. I will not get swept up in the history. I will not get swept up in the history. Say it with me.”

“History. No sweeping. Got it,” I say, my head to the jeep’s window.

I don’t think April went back to sleep last night. I think she stayed up all night, pacing the uneven floorboards of the Carver House, evaluating all that is wrong with it. I think for the first time, I’m seeing a different April. One who finally feels the immense weight of a broken-down house resting squarely on top of her. And it’s heavier than she thought it would be.

When she practically tackled me this morning with the plan to visit the Point Finney Hall of Records for details on the house’s history, I sensed a shift in direction. Her new strategy is evidently to play up the house’s historical “charm” to distract from its decrepit plumbing and fire damage that she still hasn’t had any luck finding contractors to fix. This is obviously the part of this whole summer project that April’s been the most excited about anyway.

I only agreed to go along on the chance there’s a public computer with a fully functioning connection to the Internet. I found a missed call from my mom this morning from who knows how long ago. My phone never rang, not that that’s a shock given our nonexistent cell service. I should at least drop her an e-mail to avoid the inevitable guilt trip I’ll be subjected to if I don’t respond at all.

And if I’m being truly honest, after last night, I have no desire to be in that house by myself. April could have declared that she was going on a cockroach hunt this morning, and I would have grabbed my boots and told her to lead the way.

The Hall of Records is actually the Registrar’s Office, which sounds way less dramatic and historical than April made it out to be. Not that it makes much of a difference to me either way, so long as they have a computer I can use. But April seems disappointed, and her disappointment deepens as we walk through the doors of a bland, one-story office building that smells vaguely of those pinecone car deodorizers. The Registrar’s Office shares space with the Department of Education’s local branch, a chapter of the Elks Club, and Pierce County Vehicle Licensing Services.

April turns to me, her brow pinched.

“You know, as long as they have the information you’re looking for, it really doesn’t matter if it isn’t pretty.”

It’s clear that absolutely nothing but the oven in the kitchen is shaping up to be the treasure hunt of historical significance that April thought it would be.

We follow the marquee pointing us to the Registrar’s Office and stand in the Real Estate Inquiries line. According to the nameplate on the desk of

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