You know when you go up a long flight of stairs and you look up and you get that sense that you’re going to go on walking, forever without end? I glanced down into the dim steps below me and had the same feeling, like I could keep walking down forever. We reached the last step and, still daydreaming about an endless stair, I tripped down the last step and stumbled away from the stairs.

  “Careful.” Mr. Left reached out to catch me, searching my face.

  “I’m sorry. I can be clumsy. I promise not to break any dishes tomorrow night. Well, maybe only one. Or two. Not many.”

  He chuckled. “You’re a breath of fresh air, Miss Kelly.”

  After thanking me a few more times, we found Ms. Higley in the hall, where she spent the next twenty minutes giving me instructions for the dinner party: what time to arrive, what to wear, what “manner to adopt,” and what my basic duties would be. I was glad to escape outside, where I could think. Thankfully the rain had stopped, so I could take my time with the walking and thinking.

  First of all, I could have sworn that the floor beneath the staircase wasn’t real. Oh, it was real enough to support my weight, but as I’d tripped away from the staircase, it had felt… thin? Maybe empty is a better word.

  Have you ever been on the second floor of some building and just felt in your feet that it wasn’t solid ground? There’s a difference. I felt it in my room a lot, especially when someone came up the stairs. Then there was that eerie feeling of the endless staircase. Maybe it was just that idea that was telling me I wasn’t on the ground floor.

  I tried to get that idea out of my head. Unfortunately what replaced it was Stenway. So he was acting odd. Serves him right for yelling at a girl, even if I had deserved it. Allegedly. Odd that Mr. Left thought I had something to do with it. He’d been strange today, too. Always so in control of a situation, seeing him nervously ask for a favor was strange. Then again, adults got weird ideas into their heads sometimes.

  Those problems out of the way, I started to think out the architecture of the house. I needed to explain it on a half sheet of paper to Peach tomorrow, along with about a thousand other things, so I was extremely anxious to get it right. So many things to tell the fellows. My one-night job, short tour of the building, Stenway’s odd behavior… This was so difficult to do all by myself. I knew it was my fault, but I wished, for the thousandth time, that even just one of them could be around. They were right to put me on probation. But it made things harder when I had thoughts.

  That night, after my homework was done, I sat in the kitchen, staring at the phonebook. I’d found Donny’s phone number, with every intention of phoning him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I stared at that phonebook so long that I saw his phone number in my head as I drifted off to sleep.

  The next day at school, I reached underneath my desk to see if there was a note. I almost missed the miniature slip of paper that was taped on there, but I pulled it out. It was green, like one of those little scraps of paper that they use at the library for when you need to write down a catalog number. I unfolded it. “Reckoning Blue.” It sounded like one of those books that Sydney and her friends would read before bed, so they could hide it under the mattress if an adult entered the room. I jotted a quick note at the bottom of my sheet of paper, asking what it was all about.

  After lunch, every time that I ran into Donny, he made concerned eye contact. Coming from someone who was supposed to be ignoring me, this was a huge deal. On my way out of school, I rushed out the door and slammed into Peach. I almost fell over the top of him, losing my hat and dropping my bag. “Oh, sorry.” I bent over to help him pick up his things.

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  “Go, before they see you.” Peach muttered, standing up and handing me my hat. I crammed it on my head and hopped on the bus, towards the Left mansion.

  Ms. Higley was all in a tizzy when I arrived; one part actual anxiety, two parts excitement. I was responsible for setting the table, as usual, although it was a little trickier this time. Ms. Higley gave me a little hand drawn sketch of where all the pieces were supposed to go at each place, then left me to it. The house seemed to be buzzing with excitement, although I knew for a fact that only two guests were there at the time; out of town friends of the Left family who were lucky enough to spend the previous night in the fancy mansion.

  I centered the last plates on the pale green placemat, then gently set the namecard down in the middle. Next the forks, then the emerald ringed napkin, then the knife, and spoons. Glasses and bowls up top, and all finished. I backed away from the table to get a good look. Stenway marched into the room and unlocked a door at the far end. I took a few laps around the table to double check myself, and soon Stenway returned with a few wine bottles under his arm. He looked over the table.

  “It looks good.”

  “Thanks.” I picked up Ms. Higley’s sketch and walked towards the door.

  “How’s your sister?” He wasn't moving, just staring at me.

  A cold shiver shook my shoulders. “She’s okay. She’s… waiting for you to call her.”

  “I called her a few days after our date.” Stenway kept looking at me. I felt like I was being prompted, but I didn’t know what answer I was supposed to give.

  “Yeah but apparently,” I tried to drip as much sarcasm off of my voice as possible, “You said that you’d call again to set up the next date and you haven’t. And she keeps talking about it. She just hangs out by the phone. Last night she burned the pork roast. It’s getting really annoying. And sad.” I raised my eyebrows as I realized what he was waiting for. “Just call her so she stops moping around.”

  Stenway nodded and breezed out of the room. I went back to the kitchen, where Ms. Higley gave me a bucket of bouquets and a list of locations to distribute them to. I started on the second floor, for the overnight guests, and then worked my way around the first floor, finishing with an enormous arrangement just inside the front door- I had to run back to the kitchen for another bucket of flowers. As I tucked the last little bit of greenery in and turned to go, the doorbell rang.

  I looked around. No Stenway. I looked at the door. Heavy knocks fell into the entryway. I pulled open the door, silently thanking Ms. Higley for making me change into my serving uniform as soon as I got to the mansion. Her instructions rang through my head as I faced the man on the steps. “Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to the Left mansion. We are delighted that you are here.” I held out my hand. “May I see your invitation, please?”

  The old man held out the thick piece of paper with the monogrammed initials. I held it up in my line of sight so that I could observe the guest while pretending to check the invitation. He looked rather like a professor, graying hair reaching to his shoulders, a plain black suit. I handed the envelope and invitation back to him. “Your name, sir?”

  “Dr. Tellivar, please.” He smiled faintly. “I see that I am early.”

  “Don’t bother about that, sir. Please, step in.” Shutting the door behind him, I frantically racked my brains for what came next. I almost sighed audibly when Stenway appeared around the corner.

  “Ah, Dr. Tellivar. Glad that you could make it after all. Please, come with me.” Stenway took the man’s hat and coat, hanging it on the coat rack, then ushered the man along the hallway, down towards the lounge.

  I stared at the coat rack. I must have left my jacket here yesterday, when I came in soaked. Wandering back into the kitchen, I wondered how it got onto the coat rack. I shook my head. We were an hour away from the cocktail hour. I needed to focus.

  I don’t remember much about helping serve the dinner. Ms. Higley and I carried out plate after plate, murmured polite phrases, and helped keep glasses full. As the meal was winding down, Ms. Higley shooed me back to the kitchen to get a bite to eat, saying that she would take care of dessert, and I needn’t worry until it was time to bus the dishes. If I would, though, put on the kettle and arrange a tea tray at half past. “Most of them, dearie, will take a demitasse or a bit of a drink, but there are some ladies who prefer the tea. Mr. Left, too.”