The Last House on Sycamore Street by Paige Roberts

Author:Paige Roberts
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-07-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

The rest of the summer flew by, and before Amy knew it, she was packing Noah’s lunch for his first day at Beth Israel. He started the day after Labor Day, and for the first time, the two of them were equally excited for the school year to begin.

In past years, the start of school ushered in a wave of anxiety on everyone’s part. Noah would start complaining about tummy aches, and Amy would fret about him fitting in, and for a good month or so, getting to Bright Futures Academy on time was a painful struggle. The angst didn’t only happen at the beginning of the school year either. Anytime there was an extended vacation—winter break, spring break, a week of illness—the process started all over again. Amy was never sure who hated it more: her or Noah.

But this year was completely different. Noah already had two close friends in his class, and he probably knew more, since there was apparently a big overlap between Beth Israel and Green Hills Day Camp. And more than that, Noah was happy. He’d bounded into the meet-and-greet the week before and introduced himself to his teacher, Miss Karen, with a smile that took up his entire face.

“Ethan and Jake are coming, too!” he’d informed her, so giddy he nearly knocked over the can of paintbrushes.

Ever since, he had been talking about his new school to anyone who would listen: her, Rob, random people at the grocery store. Amy adored his enthusiasm and only hoped the preschool could live up to his expectations. She’d only signed him up for three days a week, with the understanding that she could always bump him up to four or five days later, if the budget allowed for it.

“Noah!” Amy called up the stairs. “You ready?”

She had lain out his clothes the night before, and he had insisted that he wanted to get dressed and brush his teeth without assistance. As excited as he was, she knew he was also a little nervous, and the ritual of getting dressed probably calmed him down.

He appeared at the top of the stairs, his arms lifted to the sky. “Ready,” he said.

She knew she was heavily biased, but she thought he was the cutest four-year-old she’d ever seen. He was wearing the green plaid shorts and gray polo shirt they’d picked out together, and his strawberry-blond tresses were combed neatly to the side. He’d obviously wet and brushed them and seemed pretty pleased with himself.

“You are the handsomest boy I’ve ever seen,” she said as he marched down the stairs.

“Handsomer than Daddy?”

“Hmm, I’d say you’re tied. Frankly, with your hair like that, you look an awful lot like Daddy. Only about thirty years younger.”

“Thirty-two,” Noah corrected her.

“Right. Thirty-two.” Sometimes she forgot what a stickler her son was when it came to numbers.

Amy ushered Noah into the kitchen, where a piece of buttered toast and a glass of milk were waiting for him. He scarfed down the toast before Amy

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