The tent was gone.
The cat sat on the spot where the tent had been, watching us. I blinked a few times. Still no tent past the booths. Where did it go?
Mallory and I exchanged a confused look.
Her eyebrows rose. “How ...?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You two want to move on or move over? You’re blocking traffic.”
Startled, I whipped my head around. “Sorry.” The word was out before I realized we’d been told off by a clown.
The clown leaned down to a little girl and asked if she wanted a giraffe. Then he pulled balloons out of his pocket and started blowing.
How rude. I get that we were blocking the aisle, but then he did the same thing. Just like an adult ... all do what I say and not what I do. Ugh.
I grabbed Mallory’s arm and pulled her along. We moved between a couple booths because not as many people tried walking between them.
“What the heck?” I stared at Mallory. Her face was pale and eyes were wide. She looked as shocked as I felt. “Where did the tent go?”
She pushed her glasses firmly in place. “I don’t know. Angela, there’s no way the tent could have been taken down that fast. We would have seen something, but there was nothing.”
“I know.” Freaky. “I didn’t imagine it.” Who was I trying to convince?
Mallory nodded. “Me either. We even have proof.” She held up her pouch.
That’s right. If the tent didn’t exist, I wouldn’t be clutching this journal. The journal with a spell put on it by a fortune-teller. Or maybe a curse. My stomach twisted. Curses weren’t real ... were they?
“We should find the information booth so we can ask them how to pay Madame Vadoma and maybe learn something more about her.”
We made our way through the crowd, then stood in line and waited our turn.
Mrs. Halverson, the school secretary, ran the information booth. “Yes, girls?”
Now that we were here, I didn’t know how to start. I felt stupid saying I couldn’t find a tent we left moments earlier. Saying it disappeared would be even worse. “Uh, Mrs. Halverson, we forgot to pay Madame Vadoma and don’t know where she is now.”
“Madame Vadoma? Who is Madame Vadoma?” Mrs. Halverson took her glasses off and let them hang from the chain around her neck.
Mallory piped up. “The fortune-teller. She told our fortunes, but we forgot to pay her.”
Mrs. Halverson frowned. “I don’t know what you girls are talking about. We didn’t hire a fortune-teller this year. Some parents objected and we wanted to avoid any controversy.”
“But we saw her and ...”
I stepped on Mallory’s foot. “Thanks Mrs. Halverson. Someone must have played a joke on us. Uh, thanks, again.” I pulled Mallory away from the table.
She elbowed me. “Did you have to step on my foot so hard?”
I grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t want her to ask us any questions. Mrs. Halverson should know who she booked for the carnival.” I looked around us. “I feel like we entered bizarro world.”
The corners of Mallory’s mouth turned down. “Well, I know I wasn’t dreaming. We went into a tent and we both had readings with Madame Vadoma. We even have stuff from her to prove it.”
Uh oh. When she made up her mind and decided to be stubborn about it, it was like wrangling with a pit bull over a piece of meat. She never let go. “Mal, don’t make a big stink about this. Do you know how strange it’s going to sound to someone else?” I rubbed my hand across my eyes. “We’re going to sound like a couple crazy kids making up stories.”
“But what do you think happened?”
Thank goodness. For once she was going to stand down. I shrugged. “I wish I knew. Kinda spooky, don’t you think?”
Mallory nodded.
“But we have to find your mom before she freaks because we’re late.”
When we reached Mrs. Chan by the dunk tank, her clothes were wilted from the heat. Kirky had fallen asleep in the stroller.
The faculty took turns in the dunk tank, and Vice Principal Lassiter climbed to the platform. He ran his hand over the mat of hair covering his concave chest as he got ready for the first contestant. There were things in life no student should ever see, and the Vice Principal’s naked, hairy chest was one of them.
Billy Shipman, a big bruiser, took the ball, spun it in his hand then wiped the sweat from his forehead. He inhaled through his nose with a gargling sound and spit snot on the grass.
Gross.
Mr. Lassiter catcalled from inside the tank. “No arm on this one. You’re gonna miss, Billy.”
Billy tossed the ball up and caught it.
“What are you waiting for? The target isn’t getting any bigger.”
Billy’s face turned red and he fired the ball. He nicked the edge of the target, but not hard enough to dunk Mr. Lassiter. He immediately fished in his wallet and paid for another chance.
“Oh too bad, Billy. Better luck this time.” Mr. Lassiter swung his feet back and forth.
“You’re goin’ down, Lassiter.” Billy threw the ball.
Missed.
“That’s Mister Lassiter to you.” He laughed. “Your coach needs to spend more time with you in practice.”
Billy stomped a few steps away, pounding his fist in his hand and muttering under his breath.
Zach wandered into the area and Mallory’s face lit up. She nudged me.
“What?”
“No one else is in line, why don’t you take a shot?”
I wiped the sweat beads off my forehead. “I don’t know.”
Billy stalked back and forth like a caged tiger, waiting to unleash his anger on some unsuspecting kid.
Zach waved and made straight for us ... and ran into Billy. He bounced off Billy, stumbled a couple steps back and fell on his butt.
After a quick look at Mr. Lassiter, Billy kicked dirt on Zach. “Watch where you’re goin’, shrimp.”
Zach scrambled to his feet and dusted his shorts off.
“Where’d you get those scrawny chicken legs anyway, Taylor?” Billy tucked his thumbs into his armpits. “Bwauck. Bwauck, bwauck.” He flapped his arms while scratching at the dirt with his feet. “You’re just a chicken in boy form and you got the legs to prove it.”
Zach’s jaw set and clenched his hands into fists.
“Whatsa matter, Chicken-boy. You gonna cry?”
We needed a distraction and quick. If Zach tried to beat up Billy, he would get pulverized. All Billy had to do was sit on him.
Mallory nudged me in the side. “I’ll bet if you buy three chances, you’ll get Mr. Lassiter with one of the throws.” She used her best coaxing voice.
The one I always gave in to. It was odd ... Mallory wouldn’t say boo to a goose, except answering questions in class, and with me.
“All right. But no teasing if I miss.” At least, it would stop Billy from torturing Zach.
She grinned. “Deal. But you won’t miss.”
I bought my chances.
“Whaddya think you’re doin’, Ashby?” Billy Shipman stood between me and the target, his mouth curled into a sneer.
I held the ball in front of his face. “I’m gonna throw the ball, whaddya think?”
Billy tried to snatch the ball as I skipped two steps to the side.
Between Billy and Cynthia it was a tight race for the biggest bully award. “What’s it to you, Shipman? Is there a law that says you have to be on the baseball team?”
His nostrils flared. “You’ll miss.”
“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. Get out of my way.” I pushed him to the side.
Lassiter muffled his laughter behind his hand. “Next up, we have Angela. No arm on this one for sure. I’m going to be dry all day long.”
I threw the ball and it sailed high. Missed by a mile.
Billy Shipman sniggered. “That was worse than both of mine combined. What’re you gonna do for an encore?”
C
ynthia joined Billy. “Good grief, Ash-can. You throw like a girl.”
I had to throw twice more in front of Cynthia and Billy? If I missed again, my life was over—they’d never let me hear the end of it. I’d never forgive Mallory. I glanced over at the sidelines and she and Zach gave me a thumbs up.
“Come on Angela, you can miss again.” Lassiter’s smile spread.
He got a kick out of everyone missing. I didn’t know whether I could put up with his smirking for two more throws. Especially if I missed.
I looked at the ground to shut out the rest of the world and the black cat from the fortune-teller tent trotted across the grass in front of me. Strange how it kept showing up.
“Quit stalling and throw, Miss Ashby.”
Lassiter’s smug expression made me want to knock the smile off his face.
Cynthia’s braying laugh surged over everything else, and anger ignited inside me. I imagined the target was her head and threw the ball as hard as I could.
Hit. Dead Center. Success.
Splash. Mr. Lassiter dropped into the water and the kids nearby cheered. Except Billy and Cynthia.
“Yeah.” Zach raised his arms in a victory ‘V’.
As Mr. Lassiter climbed out to return to the platform, the water streamed off him. Even worse, the water caused the sunlight to glint off his graying chest hairs. I might have nightmares for weeks.
Mallory danced along the sidelines. “You’ve got one more chance, Angela. Get him again.”
Billy’s hands curled into fists and Cynthia pouted. At least they wouldn’t be able to tease me on Monday.
“Beginner’s luck, Angela. You’ll never get me again.”
“You’re wrong.” I wound up and threw.
Bullseye. Mr. Lassiter raised his hand to plug his nose before going under the water, but didn’t do it fast enough.
I turned and walked back to Mallory, Zach, and Mrs. Chan.
“Sign that girl up for the baseball team. We need someone who can throw.” Mr. Lassiter sounded half-serious.
I couldn’t help myself. I peeked at Billy’s face. He looked like he had a mouthful of prunes. He was supposed to be the baseball star. He took out his wallet and pulled out a wad of cash.
Now he had to try to show me up. Too bad I wasn’t going to stick around and watch him.
Chapter Four - Empty House
The lights were off when we pulled up, turning the dark windows into blind eyes. I sat and stared at the empty house for a few moments, not wanting to go in. We’d stopped by Mom’s work and she’d given me her credit card and a note so I could use it. She had worked out an agreement with Dad. She promised to be home by the time we were done.
But Mom still wasn’t home from work. Unbelievable. This was supposed to be her day off.
Mallory nudged me.
I grabbed the bags of clothes. “Thanks for taking me shopping, Mrs. Chan.”
“Thank you for helping us decide what to do with Mallory’s room.” She smiled. “Do you want to come to our house until your mom gets home?”
Tempted to say yes, I shook my head. “She’ll be home soon. Thanks for asking, though.”
After getting out of the car, I peered in at Mallory. “Have fun turning your room into a zebra haven. I have to go to my dad’s tomorrow, so I’ll see you on Monday. Good-bye, Kirky.”
I turned to step toward the house and a small animal streaked across my path. I jumped back, hand on my chest, heart beating wildly.
A mechanism whirred, and the window slid down behind me.
“Angela, are you okay?” Mallory’s voice rose as it did whenever she got a little nervous.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just got startled by an animal.” I scanned the front yard. Movement over by the side of the house caught my attention.
Dwayne rounded the corner, the bass cranked up so high, the ground beneath my feet vibrated. His headlights caught the animal’s eyes and they glowed an eerie white, like an alien being. But it was just another black cat. Mrs. Hernandez must have adopted another stray.
If I were superstitious, I might be more than a little freaked out. Weren’t black cats crossing your path supposed to be bad luck? Not that I believed in such guff, but seeing two of the creatures in one day seemed like a little more than coincidence. I shrugged it off.
Mrs. Chan waited at the curb until I unlocked the door and let myself in. Kirky was so cute; he kept waving until they were out of sight.
Once I closed and locked the door, I slumped against it, bags at my feet. I didn’t want to move.
Dusk deepened and cast shadows across the entryway. Tears filled my eyes and threatened to spill over. I hated my life. I spent most of my time alone. My family ripped apart.
Dad and I used to do everything together. Now I saw him once a week ... if I were lucky.
I flicked the tears away, pushed off the door, and ran upstairs with my bags. If I started crying, I might not stop. Mom shouldn’t have to come home to tears.
I managed to choke back my sobs while putting away my new things. Gathering the bags to throw them away, my hand curled around an object at the bottom as I tried to crumple it. Reaching inside, I pulled out the journal. Oh yeah. I’d tucked it in the first bag while shopping because I didn’t want to carry it around, but had felt weird leaving it in the Chan’s car.
Tossing the journal on my bookcase, I frowned. How had Madame Vadoma disappeared so quickly and completely? The journal proved we had met her.
I grabbed my math and reading books then clomped back downstairs to the kitchen to finish my homework. If I didn’t, I’d have to do it at Dad’s tomorrow. I tossed my books on the table as I passed on my way into the kitchen.
I stared in the fridge. Stacks of leftovers in old whipped butter containers filled the second shelf. I grabbed one from the right and peeled off the lid. The stench hit me and my head jerked back. My eyes watered from the furry contents and I quickly sealed it and put it back in the fridge.
Not willing to brave the rest of the mystery containers, I searched the other shelves. Nothing looked good. As I leaned against the wide open door, Mom’s voice sounded in my head.
Shut the door. I’m not paying to refrigerate the entire kitchen.
I moved to the pantry. Nothing. All I wanted was a quick snack while I did my homework. Hopefully making a snack wouldn’t turn in to making my own dinner again.
Twelve was old enough to make some simple things to eat. But I wanted Mom to be home to make dinner for me. She worked too many long hours, though. I grabbed a couple graham crackers and globbed peanut butter on them. Better than nothing and minimal cleanup. Double win.
Ugh. Stale crackers. A cracker is supposed to crunch and these were as soggy as if I’d let them sit for a couple hours after putting the peanut butter on. I sighed, poured some milk, and did my homework.
I’d just finished when Mom called to say she’d be late. Again.
When I took my books upstairs, my eyes traveled from the rainbow-colored graffiti wall stickers to the rainbow-striped comforter. I groaned.
Laundry. If I didn’t get it done now, I’d have to do it before I could go to Dad’s, and I’d have even less time to spend with him.
Stripping the bed, I carried the comforter, blankets, and sheets out to the hall, the pile so high, I couldn’t see over it. My foot inched forward as I felt for the edge of the stairs.
Success. Edge found, but now what? I peered around the mass in my arms. I’d never get to the laundry room in one trip and I’d probably fall down the stairs.
Who wanted to spend all night slogging laundry up and down the stairs? The weight caused my arm to slip and I almost dropped everything.
Wait. I didn’t have to carry the big bundle down. Stepping back, I wrapped the blankets tighter and tossed them.
Halfway down, they brushed the wall with a horrific scraping noise. Mom’s favorite picture fell and tumbled down the stairs with the blankets. “Oh, no.” What had I done?
I scam
pered down, afraid the picture had broken during the fall. I’d be in so much trouble if Mom found out.
The bedding stretched from the third stair down to the floor. I grabbed the flat sheet and gently pulled. If by some miracle the picture hadn’t broken, I didn’t want it to tumble out of the bedding and onto the tile.
The frame peeked out from underneath the comforter. “Please don’t be broken.” I grabbed the edge and closed my eyes. Mom would kill me if anything happened to this picture. Especially if she found out I’d knocked it off the wall throwing laundry down the stairs.
Phew. Not broken. A portrait of Grandma, Mom, and me taken two years ago, before Grandma passed away. I remembered sitting in one place for too long, smiling. But the picture was worth every minute.
When I put it on the hook, my heart skipped a beat. The lower-left corner was chipped.
I dashed to my room and yanked open the desk drawer. Praying the brown felt-tip pen hadn’t dried out, I snatched it and sped back to the picture. Carefully, I colored on the lighter wood so the chip didn’t show quite so much.
Dad had taught me the trick of coloring wood when it got chipped. If I found the piece, I would glue it back on and the felt tip would keep the seams from showing. And if I couldn’t find the piece, it might keep me out of trouble.
Shoving the pen in my back pocket, I scooped up the bedding and shuffled to the garage, taking extra care not to knock anything else off the walls or any other surface.
The bedding dropped with a floomp on the concrete floor. I carefully picked up each sheet and shook it, checking to see whether the chip fell out. Nothing. I repeated the process with the blanket, comforter and pillowcase.
Opening the washer, I shoved the sheets and blanket in. I eyed the washer interior. It still had more room and it would save me time on the laundry if I could get the comforter in there too.
I picked up the comforter and squished. Mostly air, so it should pack down. I twisted it like a rope and jammed it around the spindle.
Knob pulled out, soap thrown in, I dropped the lid with a clang. “Now to find the wood chip.”
Cold from the tile seeped into my hands and knees as I searched. The chip shouldn’t have gone far, but I didn’t see it. A breeze snaked under the front door and I shivered. Mom’d been after Dad to fix it for ages. Once the sun went down, the temperature plummeted and Mom grumbled about how much it would cost to heat the house in the winter.
The Journal of Angela Ashby Page 3
