“Pretty low-grade lately,” I told her. Then I remembered Lil Me and paint balloons … and the invisibility … and the steam ears. “Kinda.”
“Do you think they’re diminishing?”
“Oh gosh no,” I said instantly.
“And how are you feeling about them?”
“Not my favorite thing, to be honest,” I answered. “They’re better than they were … sometimes. And I’ve gotten kinda used to them … maybe. But if I had a magic wand…”
“You would make it so you didn’t have the powers at all?”
“Absolutely,” I said. I didn’t think about it for even a millisecond.
“Great!” Lucia’s eyes lit up.
“Argh!” Charlie huffed from upstairs. It sounded like he was having a hard time with something.
SLAM! Charlie’s bedroom door shut. He clomped down the stairs at record speed.
“Ready!” He was wearing a dark purple zip-front hoodie that was as wrinkled as last week’s lunch bag. “Cake day awaits!” Charlie grabbed my arm and whisked me toward the door. “Bye, mum! Love you!”
The slam of the front door cut through the air before I could even say my goodbye.
“Uh-oh, Parental Smooch Alert, Veri,” Charlie warned me as we approached the car.
I averted my eyes, suddenly taking an intense interest in the mulch that lined Charlie’s driveway as I got into the car.
“Thanks again for inviting me, Rik!” Charlie said as we drove toward town.
“My pleasure, Chuck. The more of their cake you eat, the less of my groceries you eat.”
* * *
Fast-forward to thirty minutes later: Two of us were ready to never eat cake again. The other two, on the other hand …
“Why not get all of them?” Charlie asked between bites of cake.
“Now that’s a good idea,” Dad agreed as he shoved another fork load of chocolate layer cake into his mouth.
Ms. Watson and I shared a pained look.
“I really quite liked the cinnamon,” Ms. Watson offered, “but I wasn’t fond of the frosting. The chocolate frosting on the raspberry cake was good.”
“The cinnamon is a good autumnal flavor,” I agreed. “Oh, wait! What if you got the Mexican chocolate frosting on the cinnamon cake as one layer…”
Charlie’s jaw dropped, revealing half-eaten marble cake. “Yes.”
“And then the second could be the caramel cake with buttercream?”
“Sign me up!” Dad agreed.
“Then the top could be something that is, like, each of your favorites. Since that will be the one you keep to eat on your anniversary.”
“You keep a cake for a whole year?” Ms. Watson asked.
“In the freezer,” I reassured her. I’d done my research.
I looked at Ms. Watson. I could tell by the faraway expression in her eyes that she was struggling with the thought of eating cake old enough to have a birthday. Dad could tell, too.
“You can never have too much cake.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” Charlie agreed.
The baker interrupted the massive cake plea. “Eight flavors down. Any favorites?”
“They’re all amazing, Alfonse,” Dad complimented him. “We did have a few ideas for flavors that aren’t here.”
Alfonse wrinkled his nose. “In just a week’s time, these are the only flavors we will have available.”
“These were all great. We don’t need to do my idea,” I said.
“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Dad agreed.
“We would like a cinnamon cake with Mexican chocolate icing as the bottom layer. Then a caramel cake with buttercream for the second. Top it with a…” Ms. Watson looked at Dad.
“German chocolate cake,” they said at the same time.
“Okay. That was adorable,” Charlie whispered to me.
Alfonse gave her a sheepish grin. “There really is no way—”
Ms. Watson cut him off. “If I can humanely fend off a boa constrictor while talking a six-year-old through landing a completely full 757 airplane, I think you can rustle up some coconut.”
Alfonse paused before giving in. “Right. Why don’t you two come to the counter with me and we’ll get it all set up?”
“Much appreciated,” Dad said gratefully.
They scooted out of their chairs and followed Alfonse.
“What was that? A boa constrictor?” I turned as I asked Charlie, but he had his phone plastered in front of his face. “Charlie?” I said after a minute.
“Oh, sorry. Just messaging Bets.”
Bets.
“Wanted to capture that Ms. Watson gem before I forgot it,” he said, shoving his phone back in his pocket.
“Ah,” I mumbled. “Wait, I thought she didn’t have a cell phone?”
“This weekend she can use the computer,” he explained, not looking up from his phone. “And my messages go straight to it. She’s pretty good at replying as long as she isn’t playing with her brother.”
Maybe now was the time to bring it all up? “Things going good with you two then?” I ventured.
“Bets is fantastic. Seriously,” he insisted after seeing the look on my face. “You need to spend more time with her.”
“I like her. I do! Just might take me time to get past all the old trauma.”
“Well, hurry up, ’cause she’s amazing.”
I looked away from Charlie and his front-lit, goofy grinning mug. At the counter, Dad and Ms. Watson stood talking to Alfonse. Dad had his arm around Ms. Watson’s waist. She looked at him, and they both smiled at each other. A very familiar goofy-grinning look.
* * *
The next morning things weren’t any less confusing.
Bzz! Bzz!
I reached deep into the pile of leaves I had raked up and flung myself into about half an hour earlier. The desire to hoist myself out hadn’t hit me. I wasn’t sure it ever would.
Bzz! Bzz!
“All right, all right,” I mumbled, finally finding my phone. It was a text from Charlie that read:
“Can you come over? We need to talk about something…”
My brain flooded with thoughts, each going in a million different directions, but one floated to the top. He’s gonna tell me they’re a couple, I thought.
Bzz! Bzz!
I chucked my phone out of the leaves but still didn’t get up. Instead I fanned my arms out, then up and down through the leaves. Maybe as a Leaf Angel I could fly my way out of this. Wait. Back up, Veri. That wasn’t really fair to Charlie. Feeling left out was one thing, but this other feeling I had no right to.
Bzz! Bzz!
Bzz! Bzz!
As much as I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself, I was jealous, but I didn’t know why. Or did I? It’s probably a bad sign when you’re being cryptic with yourself.
“Ugghh,” I groaned as I finally stood up and faced the music. In this case “the music” was the endless Bzz! Bzz!-ing of my phone. In typical Charlie fashion, he had messaged me the same sentiment in a hundred different ways. I had to laugh. Was I really going to give in and lose Charlie as my best friend because of my butthead emotions? Only one way to find out.
“On my way,” I texted back.
* * *
“You all right, Veronica?” Mrs. Schwob called from the porch the third time I’d passed her house.
I had turned around a few times en route to Charlie’s.
“Yeah, just avoiding imminent doom,” I said cheerfully.
“That’s nice!” she said absentmindedly. “Looking forward to the wedding! Gonna be a whopper!”
“Yep!”
But I could only procrastinate for so long. Eventually there was nowhere else to go.
After ringing the bell, I was expecting to see Charlie and Betsy open the door. Instead I was treated to a very odd sight in many ways.
“Veronica!” Lucia cried as she answered the door. Charlie was with her, grinning ear to ear, but the strangest thi
ng of all was that Dr. Weathers, who I had never seen answer the door or smile, was doing both.
“Come on in,” the doctor added excitedly.
“What’s going on?” I asked. For some reason, I couldn’t help but smile with them.
“We have some very good news,” Dr. Weathers continued as they led me to the living room.
This was awkward and a little more than disheartening. How could Charlie’s moms like Betsy so much that they wanted to be part of telling me that she and Charlie were a couple?
“Good news, depending on how you look at it,” Charlie clarified, which only doubled my confusion.
“Okay…,” I said slowly.
All three of the Weatherses looked at each other, waiting for one of them to speak. Until they all did at the same time.
“Veri, my dear,” Lucia started.
“We’ve had a very important breakthrough,” Dr. Weathers continued.
“They can cure you!” Charlie cut in.
Wait. What?
The words hit me like a frying pan to the face. I looked at Charlie. “Did you just say what I thought you said?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “They figured it out!”
“I-I don’t…”
“It’s true,” Lucia confirmed. “Over the past few weeks we’ve been inching closer to isolating a cure. We believe it’s something triggered in your hypothalamus.”
“Or your hippocampus, but what I can say is we’ve officially inched over the finish line,” Dr. Weathers said. “And, whatever the etiology, we can completely cure the symptoms you present with.”
“Are you happy? Happy as a hippo-campus?” Charlie asked.
“My brain can’t even,” I managed to say.
“Understandable. It’s crazy!”
“When? How?” I asked.
“First things first,” Dr. Weathers instructed, “you’ll need the approval of your father. Especially since he didn’t sign off on our initial observations.” She gave me a bit of an evil eye.
“Okay, what do I tell him you’re going to do, exactly?” I asked, knowing Dad would have a lot of questions.
Dr. Weathers answered, “It’s a very simple PO administration of non-synthetics.”
Charlie and I looked to Lucia to translate.
“What she’s saying is that it’ll be a pill or something else you can easily swallow that’s made of, actually, some really simple natural stuff, some sugar and tapioca. A mixture of organic oils. It’s more about the preparation of it that will make your symptoms go away.”
“Charlie…” My cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling.
“We’ll scoot so you two can discuss.”
The two women went into the kitchen, leaving me and Charlie alone on the couch. I turned to him and covered my mouth with my hands.
“I know!”
“And you’re okay with this?” I asked. “You’ve always thought my powers were cool.”
He shrugged. “I do. But I also know they can be a big pain for you.”
“Thanks, Charlie.”
“I’d rather have you happy than cool,” he joked.
I playfully smacked his arm.
“Besides, sadly, it’s not that important what I think. Are you okay with this?”
“Are you kidding? A life without constantly worrying that I’m going to do something mortifying at any given moment? Sign me up!” The reality of it was hitting me. Normalcy. How could anyone possibly say no to this?!
* * *
“No. Absolutely not.”
Those words didn’t come out of the mouth of the person you’d expect.
I looked to Dad for backup. He was as befuddled as me.
“Why not?” he asked Ms. Watson. Then, seeing my eager expression, he added, “Not that I’m saying yes.”
“Other than the basic health and safety concerns?” Ms. Watson inquired. “This ‘cure’ hasn’t been approved by the FDA. I’d imagine it hasn’t even had animal trials.”
She looked at me for confirmation.
“I dunno. Probably not? Lucia said it’s all natural stuff. Nothing harmful or scary. I wouldn’t think you’d need FDA approval for mixing two healthy things together, right? You wouldn’t be upset if I mixed brussels sprouts with lima beans.”
“She’s right,” Dad reminded her. “And these aren’t some random doctors. They’ve known Veri since she was tiny.”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“This is too risky.” Ms. Watson shook her head.
“Dad?”
He looked at me sympathetically. “I know it’s exciting, but there is a lot to think about. We’ll discuss and get back to you, kiddo.”
I felt my jaw tighten. Here we were again. Other people making decisions about my life for me. Big decisions! And I was being cut out completely. I wanted to say something, but it wasn’t a good idea. Dad was trying to be levelheaded and would totally blow a fuse if I didn’t do the same. And that would completely annihilate my chances. I held my breath and nodded before going up to my room.
CHAPTER FIVE
A MOTHER OF A PROBLEM
Going back to school on a Monday is hard enough. Going back to school on a Monday when you are super-duper irritated at your father is a whole other thing.
“Veronica, do you have any more of that confetti that’s shaped like wedding rings?” Dean asked me during art class.
“No,” I said.
“What should we use instead?” Lizzie asked. “We don’t have anything for the last few crackers.”
“Leave them empty,” I said in a dark tone.
They both laughed. “I’m sure there’s something around here,” Lizzie said as she rummaged through the wedding craft box I had brought from home.
I continued working on the portrait but wasn’t feeling it. Unfortunately, whether I was “feeling it” or not didn’t matter anymore.
I had gotten a lot of nice comments from my classmates, but something about the portrait seemed off to me.
“Do you think there’s something missing?” I asked Lizzie and Dean, leaning away from the canvas so they could get a look.
Lizzie tilted her head and Dean squinted his eyes at the portrait.
“It looks fantastic, art-wise. But I do think there’s something that’s not there,” Lizzie said.
Dean nodded. “Yeah, but what?”
“I wish I knew,” I sighed.
Our blank staring went on until the bell rang and I was cruelly forced to go to English class.
Please let Mr. Murray be back, I wished as I pushed the door open. Nope. Mr. Stephens was sitting at his desk, feet propped up on a set of dusty blue dictionaries. He gave me a toothy grin. I ignored it and went to my seat. Lo and behold, there was a notebook on my desk that read, in giant neon orange letters, PROPERTY OF MARK BELIEVE and, below that, MARK BELIEVE + IMAGIN-AMY = BF4EVR. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mr. Stephens watching and pretending to hold back his laughter. He had made up a new imaginary person. Cute. The kids were eating it up. Instead of doing anything, I just walked to the back of the room where there was one empty desk next to George Antiliheese. There was always at least one empty desk next to George. I smiled at him, but there was no reaction. Phew. That meant he was already asleep. Being able to sleep with your eyes open was an impressive skill, I’d definitely give him that, but the rumor was that if you woke him up, he’d kill you. True story.
I sat down as silently as I could.
“Oh, Veronica. You spoilsport. Maybe one day you’ll grow a sense of humor,” Mr. Stephens said.
By the time class was over, I didn’t feel at all like leaving Charlie a stupidmessage. Actually, I didn’t feel like even seeing anyone the rest of the day. I was going to sneak home alone after school. First, I had to sulk through the rest of the day.
* * *
I walked down the hill toward home. About two blocks in, I noticed a familiar-looking woman leaning on a forest green SUV. Her hair was the wrong color, though.
/> “It couldn’t be,” I said to myself.
She waved when she saw me. Her other hand was occupied holding a cigarette that she quickly snuffed out when I reached her.
“Mother,” I said very officially.
“Hey, Veronica,” she said. “Got this.” She fished the wedding invite out of her coat pocket. “I assume you sent it, not your father.”
“Yeah. I, um, thought it would be nice if we could patch things up, you know?”
“Patch things up?”
I nodded.
“You still dangerous?”
“I’ve never been dangerous,” I said softly.
She laughed. “So, the answer is ‘yes,’ you still have your … whatever.”
This wasn’t going at all the way I had hoped. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m dangerous.”
“Well, you know that means I can’t be involved with you.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Lots of people see me every day and it’s fine. I’m sure if you just spent some time with me—”
“Listen, it’s not about that. I’m sure you are a great person, but what you have isn’t natural. And that scares me. I know you are all loyal to your father for whatever reason, but since he won’t get you the help you need, I can’t be in your life. This is his fault. Not mine.”
Oh, lady. You did not. “Dad takes care of me,” I said gruffly. “He has for all these years that you’ve been gone.” I paused to collect myself. “I just want us to be normal,” I finally said.
She opened the driver’s-side door and started to get in. “That would be wonderful,” she said sadly. “Hit me up when you’re allowed to be normal.”
My mother slammed the door and took off, her tires squealing on the damp pavement.
I stood there trying to figure out what had just happened. In a flash my mother had reappeared and, again, ripped out any hope of making things better with her.
I needed to figure some things out.
* * *
I’d managed to get to my dad’s office before Ms. Watson.
“We need to talk,” I told him.
“Can you give me a minute, hun?” Dad asked through his white mask.
All the Feels Page 5
