“I want to help, but I don’t really know what to do,” I told her. “I’m always here if you want to talk, though.”
She smiled. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
“So, what happened with Ms. Strickland?” I asked. “Did she say she’d still help with the fair after you told her why we wanted to have it?”
“The conversation was kind of … strange,” Carmen said, picking up a handful of sand and letting it slowly slip through her fingers. “She said she wanted to think about it, and she’d get back to us.”
“Hm. Do you think that means she wants to talk to her son about it?”
“Maybe. Mr. Dooney seemed to be on our side. I have a feeling it’s going to be okay. I don’t know why I think that, exactly, I just do.”
“Hey, can you guys come help me?” Oscar called out.
He’d drawn a big circle with two triangles at the top. Then he was dumping sand into the outlined area, trying to make it three-dimensional. Basically, he was trying to do the same thing we’d done with the turtle’s shell when Miranda and I had made a sea turtle in the sand. But instead of a simple shell, he was going to try to make it look like a cat’s face.
“What do you want us to do?” Carmen asked.
“Make it look like a cat,” he said. “It’s a lot harder than I thought.”
I stepped over and kneeled down next to him. “Let’s smooth out this sand as best we can and then we’ll go to work drawing the nose, mouth, and whiskers. That will make it look more like a cat, I think.”
“Okay,” he said with a grin. “Thanks!”
As we all worked together, I knew this was what Mom had meant when she’d said there were things I could do for them even if I couldn’t solve all their problems. Making a cat in the sand was difficult, but not impossible. I’d help until Oscar was happy with it. Sure, there were lots of things I couldn’t do, but this was something I could do, and I was so glad about that.
Reasons Carmen’s mom should be allowed to stay
* She’s a mom to two children who were born here.
* She just wants to make a nice life for her family.
* She’s not doing anything to hurt people.
* Carmen and Oscar have to live without their dad; they shouldn’t have to live without their mom, too.
* Kids shouldn’t be punished because adults have some weird idea of what “safety” means.
* The United States is a country made up of immigrants. Why does it seem like so many people have forgotten that?
We spent hours on the cat. Lots and lots of people stopped, took photos, and complimented us on our mad skills. By the time we were done, it was a made-of-sand masterpiece. Oscar was so proud. I took photos with my phone and told him I’d print them out and give them to him so he could remember it forever.
The sad thing was, when it was time for them to go home, Oscar didn’t want to leave his cat, which he’d named Sandy.
“She’ll miss me,” Oscar said.
“She’s not real, bro,” Carmen said. “Come on. It’s way past lunchtime and I’m starving.”
“But—”
Carmen shook her head. “Nope. Time to go.”
I stood up and tried to brush the sand off my pants, but it was a lost cause.
“What are you going to do now?” Oscar asked me. I think he was hoping I’d say that I’d find a wizard who could turn the cat made of sand into a real cat and make his biggest wish come true. But of course, I couldn’t say that.
“I’m going to go see our friend Emma,” I said. “I have something I need to talk to her about. After that, I’ll go home and make something to eat. Probably a pickle and turkey sandwich.”
Oscar gently brushed his hand over one of the cat’s ears. “I’ll never forget you, Sandy.”
“Is your mom allergic to cats?” I asked, thinking about Emma and the reason she couldn’t have one.
“No,” Carmen said. “I think she just worries about the cost.”
“You want me to paint you a picture of a cat?” I asked Oscar. “I can do any color you want. Then you could hang it in your room.”
He stood up and rubbed his hands together, trying to get rid of the sand. “It’s not the same as having a real one, though.” Then he shrugged and said, “But … okay. Can you do a gray one?”
“Yep. I’ll do one tonight, after dinner.”
“We really love the beach one she did for us, right, Oscar?” Carmen asked.
“You mean the one that I’m in and you’re not?” he teased. “It’s all right, I guess.”
I laughed. Carmen rolled her eyes, like, “Oh, brother.” Literally. “Thanks, dude,” I said. “I’m honored.”
“See you later,” Carmen said as she grabbed Oscar’s hand and gently pulled him toward the boardwalk. “Hope it goes okay with Emma.”
“Me, too,” I said. “Bye!”
As I walked down the boardwalk toward Emma’s house, I could see Ms. Strickland and Mr. Dooney outside on his patio. She was at his house? Again? I noticed he was dressed a little nicer than he usually was, in a short-sleeved dress shirt and slacks and no cap on his head for once. She wore another pretty skirt, this time with little birds all over it.
“Hello, Mr. Dooney,” I said when I approached them. “And hi, Ms. Strickland.”
“Hello, Juliet,” Mr. Dooney replied. “How are you on this fine Saturday?”
“I’m all right, I guess,” I said. I looked at Ms. Strickland. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back yesterday with Emma and Carmen to talk to you. About why we want to have the arts and crafts fair.”
“It’s perfectly fine,” she said. “They explained the situation to me very well. And I’ve decided to move ahead with the fair because I truly think it’s a wonderful idea.”
I was kind of shocked. She was really going to take our side? “But what about your son? Did you talk to him about it?”
“No, I haven’t,” she said. “I thought about it but decided I wanted to make up my own mind without his influence. The way I see it, he told the Buttons they could pay rent and keep the bookmobile in its spot, and so there’s nothing wrong with me playing a small part in helping to do that.”
I didn’t want to talk her out of it. I really didn’t. But I also thought she should know the whole story. “He told Emma’s dad he was hoping to put a hot dog stand in its place. So I think he’s hoping they’ll move it somewhere else. Does that … change your mind?”
She wrinkled her nose. “A hot dog stand? Oh, my. That’s a terrible idea, if I do say so myself. You girls should get that application filled out as soon as possible so we can get to work. Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay. I’m going to see Emma now. If you’re going to be here for a little while, we can probably bring it back this afternoon.”
“We’re going for a walk on the beach now,” Mr. Dooney said. He looked at his watch. “How about if we meet up here at two o’clock? That gives you an hour or so.”
“Sounds good.” I started to walk away but then I stopped. “Mr. Dooney, can I ask you something?”
“Of course you may,” he said.
“Were you ever scared that people wouldn’t like the stories you wrote?” I asked.
“All the time,” he said. “But you know what I told myself?”
“What?”
“As long as you’re trying, you’re not failing. Failing is if you don’t try at all. Does that make sense?”
“I think so.”
“Are you a writer?” he asked.
“No. Just an artist,” I said. “Or, I want to be, anyway.”
“If you’re making art, you’re an artist,” Ms. Strickland said with a smile. “It’s as simple as that, really. And if you don’t mind, I have a bit of advice for you, too. I love making my own clothes, like this skirt, and sometimes I’ll worry about whether everyone will like it or not. But then I remember, it doesn’t matter if everyone likes it. All
that matters is that I like it! Who cares about the rest of them?” She winked at me. “Draw or paint for yourself. Do it because it makes you happy. And I bet if it makes you happy, it’ll make other people happy. Not everyone, of course, but you’ll find your people. You’ll see.”
“Thanks,” I said. “See you back here in a little while.”
When I got to Emma’s house, Emma, her dad, and her brother Lance were all outside. Emma was kneeling on the pavement, petting a scruffy brown dog. It didn’t have a collar and wasn’t on a leash.
“Hey, Juliet,” Emma’s dad, Rick, said. “You wouldn’t happen to know where this sweet boy belongs, do you?”
“I found him on the boardwalk all by himself,” Lance said.
I glanced at Emma but she was focused on the dog. I wanted her to look at me. To say something or smile and let me know we were okay.
“No, sorry,” I told them. “Never seen him before.”
“Can we keep him, Dad?” Emma asked. “Please? I’ll do all the work of taking care of him. I promise.”
“Honey,” Rick said. “You know we can’t do that. He belongs to someone, and that someone is probably really missing him right now. Come on, let’s get him in the car so I can take him to the shelter. They can check to see if he has a chip.”
“If he doesn’t, what happens to him?” Emma asked.
“He’ll stay at the shelter and hopefully his family will look there when they can’t find him,” her dad replied.
“Hopefully?” Emma said. “What if they don’t? What will happen to him?”
“Let’s not worry about that right now,” Rick said. “One thing at a time. He might have a chip and everything will be fine.”
Emma leaned in, wrapped her arms tightly around the dog, and buried her face into his neck. Lance walked over, leaned down, and whispered something in Emma’s ear. After that, she let go and Lance picked up the dog and carried him to the car.
“You girls want to go?” her dad asked.
I waved the application in the air. “Emma, I have news. About the fair? We’re supposed to meet up with Mr. Dooney in an hour.”
“Oh, okay,” she said. “We’ll stay here, then. But, Lance, will you text me and let me know what happens?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said as got into the car.
Emma watched them drive away. When they were gone, she finally turned to me. “I wish we could have kept him.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.” I paused. “And not just about the dog. I’m sorry about yesterday. You were right, I was using Ms. Strickland as an excuse. But I’ve decided I’m going to set a goal of doing two paintings a day and sell my paintings at the fair, which we get to have at the senior center because I just talked to her.”
“Really?” she asked quietly, clapping her hands together. “It’s really going to happen?”
“Yep. I even told her about the hot dog stand idea, to make sure she didn’t want to support that instead, but she said the bookmobile is a much better thing to have in the parking lot.”
“So what happens now?” Emma asked.
“We need to fill out the application and then take it to her at two o’clock,” I said. “We’ll need an adult to sign it. Is your mom home?”
“She’s at the ice cream shop, but we can walk over there and have her sign it.” She smiled. “And get a cone while we’re at it.”
My stomach gurgled at the thought of ice cream. I hadn’t had lunch yet and I was hungry. Cake for breakfast and ice cream for lunch? This was turning out to be a very good day!
As we went inside, I told her about building a sand kitty with Oscar and Carmen. “They both want a cat really bad,” I said.
“I know the feeling,” Emma said. “I guess we’ll just have to come over to your house all the time and love on Casper. He won’t mind, will he?”
“For the first ten seconds, no, he won’t,” I told her. “But after that, your guess is as good as mine. Since you’ve never had one, you might not know that cats can be kind of, um, moody?”
She smiled. “Hey, just like me! I love cats even more now.”
I laughed. “Right—easy to say before one tries to scratch your eyes out.”
Reasons I wish I could give Carmen and Oscar a cat
* A pet can help you feel better when you’re sad.
* Lots of animals need love and Carmen and Oscar have some to give.
* Cat snuggles are the very best.
* Those two deserve something happy in their life.
* They’d be the purr-fect cat owners, I’m sure of it.
Once our application was accepted, we got busy. The fair was scheduled for the Saturday before Mother’s Day, coming up in a couple of weeks. Ms. Strickland made flyers, and Carmen, Emma, and I helped put them up around town. You should have seen Mrs. Button’s face when we told her about the fair. She could hardly believe we were doing it to help save the bookmobile.
“How will I ever be able to repay you girls?” she asked with tears in her eyes.
“You’re here almost every day with free books,” Emma said. “What else could we ask for?”
Every night, I painted at least one picture, sometimes two. Mom pitched in some money and helped me buy thirty small canvases. I figured if I could come up with twenty-five paintings that I was happy with and charged ten dollars a painting, I’d make two hundred and fifty dollars. I could donate half of that to the Buttons, pay Mom fifty dollars for the canvases, and still have some money left over for myself.
But that meant I had to work fast. Not only that, I could only throw out five paintings I wasn’t happy with. I promised myself I wouldn’t make any decisions until I had done all thirty. And even then, I wouldn’t decide on my own; I’d ask my family or friends for their opinions. Unless I really messed up and couldn’t stand the thought of showing something to anyone.
And that’s what happened with the very first painting. I’d had this brilliant idea to paint a tree with a little girl sitting under it, reading a book. I thought if I had the girl holding a book in such a way that her face was naturally covered, it wouldn’t be too hard. But I was wrong. It looked like the poor girl was suffering from some terrible disease that caused her fingers to swell up like sausages.
When I got brave enough to show my sister the ugly thing, she told me, “Keep it simple, Pooh. Do the things you love to do and do well. Like owls. People love owls, I’m telling you. You could probably do thirty cute and colorful owls and you’d sell out in an hour.”
“That’s banana pants,” I told her.
“No, it’s not,” she replied. “It’s called being optimistic. You should try it sometime.” Then she’d waved her hands in front of me like she was casting a spell. “Believe, Juliet. You can do it. Believe.”
I remembered how I’d said that to her before we’d gone to Dad’s apartment for the first time. It hadn’t worked then; why should it work now?
Still, I thought about what she’d said. My list of favorite things to paint has six things on it: the night sky, owls, trees, cats, cupcakes, and flowers. So I stuck to those. And my sister was right—by painting the things I was good at, I didn’t have any more disasters. And painting went a lot faster since I had my process down, although every day I grew more and more nervous I wouldn’t have enough to display in a booth all to myself.
My favorite painting was a gray cat like I’d given to Oscar, except this time, I painted a red-and-white checkered collar around his neck. When I paint cats, I do them from behind, like sitting on a windowsill looking outside, so I don’t have to try to get their eyes, nose, and mouth exactly right. The little bit of color on the collar really made the piece super adorable for some reason.
Before I was able to finish all my paintings, I had to take a break for the weekend because we went to see Dad again. I thought about taking my art supplies with me, but it would have been a lot to manage, so I told myself when I got home, I’d
just have to work three times as hard.
When we arrived at Dad’s place, with a Tony’s pizza and some side salads in hand again, he said, “Do you want to see your rooms now or after we eat?”
“Silly question,” I said as I glanced at Miranda. “Right?”
“Now!” she said as she dashed toward her room. I did the same. I had expected it to be pretty basic, with a bed and a nightstand and maybe a small dresser. But Dad had gone above and beyond, because I had a bookcase filled with books. As I skimmed the titles, I was pretty impressed that he’d gotten a nice mix of classics and contemporaries. All of them had stickers on the front, like he’d bought them at a garage sale, but I didn’t mind. I loved that he’d made the effort to get me something for my room that he knew I’d like.
“What do you think?” he asked from the doorway.
I turned around and studied the room a little more. The bedspread wasn’t very exciting—just plain navy blue, but on the floor, at the foot of the bed, was the best rug I’d ever seen. It was covered in bright, colorful owls.
“The rug is my favorite,” I said. “And the bookcase, too. I can’t believe you even went and bought some books for me.”
“Well, I want it to feel like your second home. Eventually. I mean, I know it’ll take time, but hopefully having things you like will help.”
I went over and gave him a hug. “Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re welcome.”
Miranda came in just then and gave him a hug as well. “I’m impressed,” she said. “Everything looks amazing. I love that you got me a vanity so Juliet and I don’t have to fight over getting ready in the bathroom like we do at home.”
“Did you put everything together yourself?” I asked.
He laughed. “Oh, no. I had help from some friends. It took us about a day to get it all done. We listened to music and I fed them well. It was a pretty fun day.”
We went to the kitchen table and took our seats. As we put dressing on our salads, Dad said, “It’s supposed to be nice and warm tomorrow. Want to go to a new park across town and have a picnic? Toss a Frisbee around?”
Wish on All the Stars Page 9
