I don’t know why it hit me so hard, but tears built up and I had that kind of pinched pain under my cheekbones that always came when I tried not to be a bawl baby.
“It doesn’t matter.” She waved her hand at me. “Stop looking at me like that.”
Oh God. It wasn’t her. Of course, she didn’t burn it. That blanket was the source of her magic. Would Bilbo melt down his ring? Would Gandalf throw his staff onto the fire?
She didn’t burn her blanket. She wouldn’t. I closed my eyes and remembered her on the bus to Las Vegas, holding on to that stupid thing like it was a life raft.
“Tell me,” I said.
She shook her head, her skinny arms wrapped around her rib cage. She looked so normal, wearing a pair of pink shorts and a white tank top. No roller skates. No striped socks. No swimsuit over her clothes.
I pushed, because I couldn’t help myself. I had to know. “Your mother burned your blanket?”
“Shut up, Gideon.” She stood with her hands fisted at her sides, like she was barely holding herself together. “Please.”
Her mother stole her magic. What kind of mother does something like that? I wasn’t even sure I believed that Roona’s blanket was anything more than a ratty piece of cotton, but the idea of her own mother destroying something so important to her made the ground shift under my feet.
“She made a peach pie last night,” Roona said. “For the McElroys. And one for Mr. Dunn. He was my teacher last year.”
My eyebrows lifted into my hairline. I couldn’t even imagine what kind of damage a peach pie baked by Roona’s mother could do when she was in the mood to actually light on fire the thing that was most important in the whole world to her daughter.
I felt sorry for whoever ate it.
“Geez, Roona.”
“She’s made oatmeal cookies and peanut butter fudge.” A fine shiver ran through Roona. “Last night she made a whole bucket of granola.”
I had a vision of Smaug the dragon burning down Lake-town in The Hobbit and thought we would probably read about the results of Logandale eating Mrs. Mulroney’s baked goods online the next day. “A most specially greedy, strong and wicked worm.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” I put a hand on the chain link, threading my fingers through it, even though it was almost too hot against my skin. “I think we used some of Harper’s old blankets to wrap dishes in. I could find you one.”
Roona gave a halfhearted little laugh. She didn’t have to say it. I knew. “That won’t work.”
“It might.”
“God, Gideon. It was all pig poop anyway.”
I didn’t mean to laugh. In fact, I worked pretty hard to hold it in. But when she said pig poop, I couldn’t help it. Roona stared at me, which made it worse. I shook my head, put my hands on my knees, and tried to focus on the dirt between my feet, but I couldn’t stop.
“Wonder Roo was stupid. She wasn’t real.” She narrowed her eyes and stood there like Peter Pan, with her fists on her hips. I swear, I heard her blanket cape snap in the wind, just like when we rode our bikes to the grocery store.
“Pig poop,” I gasped.
And then she laughed, too.
Finally, when we both had our breath again, we moved back into the shadow of the big cottonwood, out of the hot sun—and out of view of our kitchen window. Mom would have to come all the way outside to see that I was talking to Roona.
She collapsed with her back against the chain link and I did the same, sitting a little away from her so that we could turn our faces and see each other.
“Truth,” she said after a minute.
“Okay.”
“Do you ever think about dying?”
Whatever residual bubbles of laughter were left in my belly popped and disappeared. “What?”
“Do you ever think about dying?”
I bit my bottom lip and pressed my cheek against the warm metal diamonds. “I think about my grandma Ellen dying sometimes. She’s old and…”
“And what?”
She wasn’t supposed to ask another question, but I answered anyway. “I think she’s sick, but no one talks to me about it.”
Roona pulled her feet up, so her knees were under her chin, and leaned back against the fence. “I’m sorry.”
I waited a minute, but when she didn’t answer her own question, I prompted her. “Do you?”
“All the time.”
I squirmed a little. I’d never talked about dying before with anyone. Especially not someone my age. “You think about dying all the time?”
She looked at me, her dark eyes searching for something. How I’d react, maybe. What I’d say. I didn’t know what to say, but the silence was too much so I kept talking. “What about it?”
“Mostly about my mom. I think about her dying a lot.”
“Because she almost did?”
Roona bit at her bottom lip and shrugged.
“Truth?” I asked.
“Okay.”
“Did she take too much medicine on purpose, that time?”
“She said it was an accident.”
“Do you believe her?”
Roona shook her head in a way that didn’t mean yes or no. Then she changed the subject. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
I rubbed a hand over my face. “I’m probably going to be grounded until high school for taking that bus to Las Vegas.”
“That’s the thing you got in the most trouble for,” she said. “But it wasn’t a bad thing. What’s the worst, worst thing you’ve ever done?”
I knew the answer. I still woke up from dreams about it, in a cold sweat. But man I did not want to tell her. I picked at the stray grass beside me and wished that I had a water bottle, because my mouth was suddenly so dry.
She didn’t have the same problem with awkward silence I did. She waited me out until I finally said, “I almost let Harper … I mean, I think she was almost…”
I couldn’t say it out loud after all. Roona sat up straighter, and her dark eyes went round. I tried again.
“I was supposed to watch her at the park while my mom was on a phone call, but my friends showed up and I ignored her.”
“Ignoring your sister is the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
My face burned, hotter than even the sweltering afternoon could account for. I’d never told anyone. I was pretty sure even Harper didn’t know. “I saw some guy talking to her. A grown-up.”
“A stranger?”
“Yeah.”
She covered her mouth with her hand. “God. But nothing happened, right?”
“I called her name and she ran to me. The guy got in his car and drove away.”
“Did you tell your parents?”
I shook my head. “I’ve never told anyone. None of my friends saw. I don’t think Harper knew what was going on, or she definitely would have blabbed.”
“Holy crap, Gideon.”
“Your turn,” I said. This was the point of her question. She had something she wanted to tell me and I was suddenly angry that she didn’t just say it without making me remember that man bending down on one knee, talking to my sister on her level.
Roona leaned her head back against the fence. Her wild hair poked through the links. “I was glad.”
“Glad for what?”
“That day, when I came home and my mom took the medicine … the day I had to call 911.”
That didn’t make sense. “Why would you be glad for that?”
“I thought my dad would come home, for sure. I thought he’d come take care of me.” She wiped the back of her hand across her nose. “I thought, finally. He’ll come home and my mom won’t be so sad all the time.”
“Geez, Roona.”
She stood up and brushed her hands over her shorts. “Yeah, well. Whatever. He didn’t come home. Guess he couldn’t, right? Who knows if he would have anyway.”
“I’m sure he would have.” I wrinkled my nose. Lame. “If he could have.”<
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“He almost killed me.” She shook her head and walked toward her house.
I stood up, too, and put my hands on the fence. “Truth?”
She turned back to me. When I didn’t say anything right away she lifted her shoulders. “Go.”
“What would happen if your mom baked a pie right now? I mean, what would happen if we ate one of the pies she already baked? Or, you know, the cookies or fudge or whatever.”
She ran a hand through her hair. Her fingers got stuck in a tangle and she winced as she pulled it out. “Nothing. Nothing would happen, Gideon. Pie is just pie.”
I clenched my fists at my side. “You don’t believe that.”
“Yes. I do.”
“Then pretend you don’t. What would happen if we ate one of those peach pies?”
She stared at me for a minute, turned away from me, took two steps, then stopped. She came back and threaded her fingers through the fence. “We’d cry. We’d cry so much, it would flood both of our houses.”
“Like with that kid’s birthday cake.”
She shook her head. “We’d want to drown in it, Gideon.”
“She’s that sad, about your dad?”
She took a breath. “Not sad tears. Scared tears.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. She finally went inside her house.
* * *
“So.” I poked at my broccoli and kept my eyes on my plate. “Maybe we should invite Roona and her mom over for dinner.”
“No.” Mom spooned more fiesta corn onto Harper’s plate. My sister hadn’t eaten the first serving. She never ate anything with green peppers in it. Even I knew that.
“Give it to Giddy,” Harper said. She put her hand over her plate. “I don’t want more.”
“Mom—” I said.
“Jason, tell him.”
“They’re our neighbors.” Dad took the spoon from Mom.
“Las Vegas,” Mom said. “They went to Las Vegas on a Greyhound bus. Alone. Do you know what could have happened to them?”
“Nothing happened,” I said.
“He could have been kidnapped. Or he could have gotten lost. Or … or … he could have been kidnapped.” She sat back in her chair. “I just started letting him go into the men’s room alone. None of this is okay.”
“Daria.”
“No. No, don’t Daria me. He never would have done anything like that on his own.” She took the spoon back from Dad and spooned fiesta corn onto my plate. “Tell me you wouldn’t do something like that on your own.”
She was right. I wouldn’t. But suddenly I really wished that I would. I wished it harder than I could ever remember wishing anything. I had a flash of a daydream, me telling my mom that I was exactly the kind of adventurous kid who would take a Greyhound bus to Las Vegas to help a friend.
It made me feel better, absurdly, that I had done just that. Better enough to tell her what she needed to hear. “I wouldn’t, Mom.”
She pointed her spoon at me. “I don’t want you hanging out with Roona.”
I took a bite of the corn. “She’s my friend.”
“You barely know her,” Mom said. “You’ll make friends when school starts. I promise.”
I put my fork down and stood up. “Roona’s my friend. You can’t just tell me that she’s not my friend.”
“Okay, Boss—”
I left before Dad finished whatever he was going to say to try to calm me down. I didn’t even take my dishes to the sink. Both of my parents gave me the most Quinton-ish looks possible. Like they’d look at me if they knew I stood up at the front of a movie theater with Roona and her mother, and sang raccoon girl songs.
“Gideon Douglas!” Mom called after me.
“Leave my endangered rear end alone!” I called back, then actually stopped in my tracks, shocked by my own nerve. I heard her gasp, but no one called me back.
I wanted to leave the house. Go get Roona and take off on our bikes. I didn’t even care where. The mountains. The desert. Las Vegas. Whatever. Leave her crazy mom and my overprotective parents behind.
I went to my bedroom instead. I closed the door and leaned against it. It wasn’t far enough away. I heard everything they said.
Mom said, Don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right.
Dad said, They’re our neighbors, Daria. It’s not like we can keep them apart.
Harper started to cry. Mom probably gave her more fiesta corn. Or something.
“This sucks.” I took a breath and said it again, louder. “This sucks.”
Then I yelled it.
“This sucks!”
All the noise out in the kitchen stopped. And for a second I was so angry, I could hardly breathe.
I knew what they wanted.
Mom wanted me to be a good boy. She wanted me to do what Quintons always did: the safe thing. Pretend Roona didn’t exist. That she didn’t live next door. That there wasn’t something pretty scary going on over there. That there wasn’t some awful reason why she didn’t want to go to Boise.
Dad wanted us all to get along. He wanted to tell a joke, call me Boss, and have all the problems go away.
And Harper? Harper just wanted to be a princess.
I decided to do the least Quinton-ish thing I’d ever done.
Even less Quinton-ish than the bus ride to Las Vegas or singing in the movie theater, because it was my idea.
I pulled a notebook out of my desk, and I made a plan to completely meddle in my friend’s life.
Twelve
The next morning, I woke up ready to put my plan into action.
Step #1: get Wonder Roo back.
Mom kept the old baby blankets she’d used to pack breakables with in the garage. Anyone else would have taken them to a thrift store or just thrown them away. Quintons didn’t waste things, though.
You never know when we might need this, Gideon.
You have no idea, Mom.
I pulled down the plastic box Mom labeled “rags” and sat on the floor with it between my legs. The concrete burned the backs of my thighs as I pulled the lid off.
I dug through until I found what I was looking for. Not the blanket with baby barnyard animals. Not the neon-pink one. None that looked very babyish. No cartoon characters.
There! A plain blue blanket, faded about the same amount that Roona’s had been. It was probably mine, first. That felt about right. Maybe passing it on would give it some kind of magic. All we needed was a spark.
Mom was at the grocery store with Harper, and Dad was at work. It had taken half an hour to talk her into leaving me alone and I had to move fast. I picked up the blue blanket and walked out from the stuffy heat of the garage into the burning sun outside.
I just kept walking before I could think myself out of it. Right up onto Roona’s porch. I was relieved, as I knocked on the door, to see her roller skates sitting under a chair. It didn’t occur to me that Mrs. Mulroney might answer the door until she did.
She looked shockingly normal. Like she’d gotten dressed out of my mother’s closet that morning. Or maybe my grandma Ellen’s. She wore a pink dress with a wide skirt and a white apron over it. Her hair was brushed back into a neat ponytail and her lipstick was the exact same shade of pink.
The only thing about her that looked like Roona’s mother were her bare feet.
She wiped her hands over the front of her apron and left trails of flour, just as the smell of pastry washed over me.
“Gideon,” she said, her voice a bit too high-pitched. “I was just … I’m making a pie. I thought I’d bring it over later. A peace offering. Your parents must be so upset still.”
I almost choked. “You’re bringing us a pie?”
“Cherry. I picked some up fresh from the farmers’ market this morning.”
Oh God. Oh please. “Is Roona home?”
Mrs. Mulroney opened the door wider for me. “Sure, come on in.”
I looked over my shoulder, down our street. Still no sign of Mom’s car.<
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Mrs. Mulroney had a cheerfulness about her that surprised me. Roona had made it sound like she was sad. More than sad. She sounded almost too happy when she called out, “Hey, Roo? Gideon’s here.”
Whatever idea I had that things were maybe okay disappeared as soon as I saw Roona.
She wore the same clothes as the day before, and as far as I could tell had probably slept in them. Her hair was a wildfire around her head and she looked like she’d spent the night crying instead of sleeping.
Her mom looked okay. Roona looked horrible.
I expected Mrs. Mulroney to do something—say something—when she saw the state her daughter was in. If I looked like Roona, my mom would have had me in bed with a thermometer in my mouth before I even knew what was happening.
Mrs. Mulroney just smiled without really looking at Roona, and went back into the kitchen. “You two go hang out in Rooma’s roon—Roona’s room—for a while, okay? I need to finish this pie.”
Roona’s face went another shade of pale and I actually stepped closer to her, afraid she was going to faint.
“She’s making your family a pie,” Roona said.
“I know.”
“She’s made fifteen pies in the last two days. And cookies and fudge and—”
“I know, Roona. You told me.”
“She hasn’t slept. Like, at all.”
“Have you?”
She shook her head. “Not much.”
We went to her room and Roona closed the door. She sat on her bed and stared at the wall in front of her. Her eyes moved back and forth, like she was reading something.
“You’re freaking me out a little,” I finally said.
She shifted her eyes to me. “I’m sorry. I just … I’m trying to figure out how to…”
I held up the baby blanket. “I brought this.”
“That’s not going to do anything.”
“Yes it will.”
“Gideon.”
“It will if you believe it will.” It really was like Santa Claus. My dad always said that everyone in our house better believe, or the stockings would be empty on Christmas morning. It was the belief that made the magic real. “It’s worth a try anyway.”
“It was all a big fat lie. There’s nothing special about me.” She sniffed, then rubbed her forearm across her nose. I shrank back from her. She really needed a shower. “I have bigger things to worry about than a stupid blanket.”
The Astonishing Maybe Page 9
