“Make a wish!” said Bree. Wish making was Bree’s very favorite part of birthdays. Bree loved making wishes all the time, but there was something about a birthday wish that made it feel so destined to come true.
“So you go to Fratford?” Bree’s stepdad, Marc, asked Brody, as they all dug into the cake.
“That’s correct,” Brody said.
“That’s a fine school!” Marc said. “One of my partners’ sons goes there.”
Brody then proceeded to sing the Fratford Academy school song, which involved a lot of cheering and hollering. He made different voices for all the parts. It was a huge hit.
“Those voices are amazing!” said Marc, laughing so hard that tears appeared in the corners of his eyes. “Where did you learn how to do that?”
“I love to watch funny movies,” Brody said with a shrug. “Lately, I’ve been watching Monty Python.”
“I LOVE Monty Python!” said Marc.
“We should all watch a movie together tonight!” Bailey suggested.
“That’s a great idea! Brody is such a hoot,” said Bree’s mom adoringly.
“BWODY DA BEST!” said Olivia. She was so excited that she threw a fistful of cake. It sailed across the table, where it hit Bree right between the eyes. Somehow, no one else saw this happen.
“Mom! Olivia threw cake at me!” Bree said.
Her mom didn’t hear her.
“Can Brody sleep over?” Bailey said at the exact same moment. It was his birthday, so of course, everyone heard him.
“Well that’s a fun idea!” said Bree’s mom. “Brody, do you think it would be all right with your parents?”
“I’d love that! Let me call them and check!” he said, excusing himself for a moment.
Bree was seriously confused. The other thirteen-year-old boys she knew were overwhelmingly awkward. They didn’t make jokes, and they certainly didn’t want to hang out with other people’s families. How had she managed to find the one boy who was capable of taking over hers?
With Brody gone, Bree decided to seize the moment and try to get her brother’s full attention.
“Bailey, I can’t believe you’re ten!” she said. “Happy, happy birthday!”
She enveloped him in a giant hug.
“Do you know what I wished for when I blew out the candles?” Bailey whispered into her ear.
“What?” she answered.
“I wished that Brody could be our brother and live with us forever!”
Bree’s heart sank. She supposed she should have been touched that Bailey wanted to share his secret wish with her, but why did it have to be about Brody? Why did everything suddenly seem to be about Brody?
When she had suggested that he help out with babysitting, she had hoped everyone would like him, but she never expected they would like him this much. Bailey’s wish aside, it felt like Brody was on his way to becoming a new family member. But Bree’s family didn’t need any new family members. They already had too many of those to begin with. Plus, Brody was the same age as Bree, so it’s not like he was adding anything new. He was just making her seem less special.
“They said I can stay!” said Brody. Everyone cheered. Bree’s cheer was not quite as loud as everyone else’s.
“Should we open presents?” Bree’s mom asked.
“Yeah!” Bailey and Brody cheered at the same time.
“Uh, I’m not feeling very well,” Bree lied, pushing her chair out from the table. “I’m sorry, can you please excuse me for a minute?” She bolted out of the kitchen and back to her bedroom. She might have looked dramatic, but she knew she needed to cry, and she didn’t want to cry in front of the rest of her family. Not on a birthday day, of all days.
She no longer felt like glitter. She no longer felt like popcorn. She felt way more like the “presents” Veronica kept leaving in her makeup organizer.
Bree ran up the stairs and closed her bedroom door behind her. She stood for a moment with her back against the door, then slid down it, until she was sitting on the floor. It was there she started to cry.
“Meow.”
In a very unusual display of sanity, Veronica appeared from under the bed and came to take a seat next to her. He was sitting still. And in an even more unusual display of understanding, he did not move when Bree began to pet him.
“Veronica, I feel like you’re the only one who is on my side,” said Bree, petting his wrinkly, hairless body. “And you don’t really like me, do you?”
Veronica might have been crazy, but he wasn’t dumb.
He knew it was best not to answer.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dot
At last, it was judgment day. Literally. The Playa del Mar middle school gymnasium was filled with tables, each one topped with a hopeful student’s science project. Dot stood in front of her entry—the hive coolant device attached to a hive, all of it surrounded by a mesh cage, to ensure there would be no accidental stinging. It had all come together at the last minute, not to mention been a real challenge to transport from her home to the school. The apparatus barely fit into the back of her mom’s Prius. But everything had worked out in the end.
Dot was really proud of herself. Beyond proud. She hadn’t yet had a chance to check out the entire gym’s worth of tables, but from what she had seen, the other entries were exactly as she’d predicted.
Mean Zelda Hooper had made the highly expected chart detailing the various types of fingerprints. She was offering “fingerprint reading” services, which was a bit like palm reading, on a much smaller scale. All of the “predictions,” were, of course, mean. According to Zelda, “loops,” the most common of the fingerprints, signified “low intelligence,” an opinion she shared with the majority of the boys’ soccer team. She also told Karyn Davis that the “whorl” on her middle finger meant that cutting her hair into bangs had been a mistake and also that nobody liked her.
In other news, Kevin Jones had built some sort of unimpressive battery. Shoko Harper had constructed a blobby model of the human brain. Most confusingly, Mo Baranski’s project was reading tarot cards, which didn’t seem very scientific at all.
Mr. Frang circled the gym, looking pensive. He was tall and thin and distinguished-seeming, with round eyeglasses and a semi-creepy gray goatee-style beard. Mr. Frang had a habit of petting his goatee whenever he was deep in thought, which appeared to be most of the time.
Dot did her best to read his expression as he visited each table. She knew Mr. Frang did his best to be diplomatic, but even so, she could tell he was not yet impressed with anyone’s project.
Finally, he approached Dot’s table.
“Well, Ms. Marino, what have we here?”
“I’m so glad you asked.” Dot beamed. “This is a beehive coolant device.”
This was her moment. She could basically taste the victory. Bask in the acclaim. Feel the heft of the weight of her first-place trophy as she held it in her hands.
“I see,” Mr. Frang said, petting his goatee. “What is the optimal temperature for bees?”
“Bees are capable of working between fifty-seven and one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. They cannot fly if the temperature dips below fifty-five degrees, and if the temperature creeps above one hundred, they cluster and do not exert themselves in any way. Inside the hive, temperatures tend to hover between ninety and ninety-five degrees. The high temperature accounts for all of the activity taking place inside the hive, which of course generates energy and, thus, heat.”
Dot was satisfied with her answer, but Mr. Frang looked dismayed. She had displayed such mastery of the subject of bees’ ideal temperatures! Why wasn’t he impressed?
Then she noticed. He was staring at the hive with a very quizzical expression.
Sure enough, the bees were moving slower than usual. None of them were flying. And what was that? They appeared to be shivering. Dot hadn’t even realized that bees could shiver. But these bees were doing exactly that.
“Uh-oh,” she said softl
y. Her hive coolant device had performed very well during a recent test run. But today, it was performing a bit too well.
“The hive appears to be freezing,” said Mr. Frang, concern saturating his voice.
“This whole gym is freezing!” yelled someone in the crowd.
“Turn off the air conditioning!” yelled Shoko, pulling her cardigan tightly around her body.
“Make it stop!” yelled Mo, from her tarot card table.
“Quick! Somebody get these bees a blanket!” yelled Mr. Frang.
None other than Pigeon sprang into action.
Of course, thought Dot.
“I’ve got it! Just a minute!” she called as she sprinted out of the gym. Dot just stood there, her mouth hanging open. Pigeon reappeared moments later, wielding one of the fire safety blankets they kept in the science lab, in case someone’s experiment caught flame. She tossed it over Dot’s table, covering the hive. Dot made a pathetic sound. With that one move, Pigeon had squashed both her project and her dreams.
A few people applauded. Dot had expected to hear applause, but for very different reasons. This was humiliating.
“Phew!” said Mr. Frang, panting, like he had personally averted a very stressful situation.
With that, he moved on to the next table, where Zephyr Strauss was all too happy to demonstrate how he had created bouncy balls out of glue and borax.
Inwardly, Dot panicked. That was NOT how she pictured things going. Her mom had been chasing her around the bungalow for the past week insisting that Dot’s chakras were misaligned. Should she have listened? Had she brought this on herself?
Still, all wasn’t lost. Her idea was a good one. Her technology was solid. She had just misfired a little bit. Surely she wouldn’t be penalized for creating something that worked TOO well? Especially given all the predictable things on display all around her.
Then something made her stop cold.
“Wow!” she heard Mr. Frang exclaim.
“These are solar panels that anyone can attach to their vehicle.”
“Incredible!” Mr. Frang said.
“Right now, they’re optimized to work on vehicles with smaller engines, like electric scooters and bikes, but if this same technology were applied on a greater scale, it could work for a gas-powered vehicle, of any kind. With removable, rechargeable technology, this allows you to make some of your trips completely solar powered, greatly reducing your carbon footprint.”
“So you can convert any gas-powered vehicle?” Mr. Frang asked.
“Yes!” Pigeon exclaimed, with glee.
WHAT? Dot nearly died. Pigeon had created WHAT?
Mr. Frang was taking photos. Dot had never seen him do that before. This was unprecedented.
Dot gripped the edge of the table. She thought she might faint.
How had this happened? What’s more, how had Pigeon found the time to create such a stellar advancement with all the babysitting she’d been doing? Was she superhuman? This was all too much to handle.
“I think we may have a winner!” Mr. Frang exclaimed. Pigeon beamed. Dot suddenly felt nauseous.
Dot slowly made her way out of the gym and walked down the hall to the girls’ bathroom. She stood, resting her hands on the white porcelain sink, looking at her own reflection in the mirror.
LOSER was scrawled in blue marker on the tile wall in front of her. Dot’s mom always said to look for signs from the universe, but this was honestly one sign she would have rather not seen. Dot had pictured this day for a long time, but in her daydreams, it had looked quite different. She barely recognized her life.
She had already given up babysitting, and now she had lost science, too.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Malia
At last, the blessed day had come.
It was the day Malia had been waiting for.
No, it was not the day of her wedding to Connor Kelly. No, she was not accompanying Connor to the middle school dance. No, she wasn’t even going on a date or a walk or a previously specified hangout of any sort with Connor. NOT EVEN A GROUP ONE.
Still! It was the next best thing. It was the day of the Veronica concert. And Connor Kelly would be there.
Malia had—using a combination of mindfulness techniques that would surely make Dot’s mom proud—finally shaken off the feeling of seeing him with Sage. So what if they’d gone to Marvelous Ray’s? Everyone had been to Marvelous Ray’s. So what if they’d gone together? After all, Connor had thought that Sage was Malia. How much of an impression could Sage really have made surrounded by all those blinking arcade lights?
Today was a new day. This was a new chapter. And Malia was ready.
After trying on every possible combination of clothes in her closet, Malia decided on—drumroll please—a striped T-shirt and jeans. Yes, it was a variation on what she always wore. But why fix what’s not broken?
Bree arrived at the stadium looking like she was dressed up as a “Veronica fan” for Halloween.
She was wearing a black official Veronica tour T-shirt with Veronica printed all over it in red letters, red jeans, red sparkly sneakers just like the ones Veronica wore, and a red baseball hat covered in various Veronica pins. Her T-shirt had a giant slash on the right side, so her right sleeve dangled somewhere halfway down her arm, where the feline Veronica had tried to help out with styling.
“That’s a lot of look,” said Dot, who was wearing . . . black. Just like Dot always wore black. Nothing to see there.
“What if Veronica can see us from the stage?” Bree said, completely serious. “I want her to know how much I love her.”
“I don’t care if she can see us. I’m only going for the food,” Dot announced, for what was probably the thirtieth time.
“We know, we know. You think Veronica is gimmicky and overrated and you’re only excited about the carbohydrates,” Malia said.
“Precisely,” said Dot, who despite her words was clearly beaming with excitement. “I mean, I can’t even believe I came to this.”
The entry gates were down a long concrete staircase. As the girls made their way down the steps, Bree started to whine.
“Uh, you guys? I have to pee,” Bree said.
“We can pee when we’re inside the concert hall,” said Malia. The plan was to get inside, find their seats, and then find out where Connor was, stat. Everything else could come later.
“It’s kind of an emergency,” said Bree.
“You sound like one of the kids we babysit for!” said Malia.
“It’s probably just all the adrenaline from the concert,” said Dot. “Not that I would know what that feels like.”
“Can we just go around the side, to the porta potties?” Bree begged. She pointed to a sad line of porta potties that stood at the edge of the parking lot.
Malia and Dot both wrinkled their noses.
“There’s, like, no line right now,” Bree protested.
“There’s a good reason there’s no line,” Malia said.
But the three of them begrudgingly trudged over toward the porta potties, because that’s what friends do.
As they made their way to the far side of the parking lot, something shiny caught Malia’s eye. A large black SUV had pulled up next to the building. It was at least ten yards away, behind a blockade of metal gates. Malia had a feeling she knew who was inside.
“Hey, guys,” Malia said, pointing.
Everyone turned just in time to see the back doors open. Two very large men emerged from the SUV, followed by one very small lady. It was none other than Veronica.
She was wearing gray sweatpants with very, very high yellow heels and a black bomber jacket. It was the craziest outfit Malia had ever seen, but on Veronica, it worked.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Bree screamed. It was easily heard on Mars.
“V-V-V-Veronica,” Dot stammered.
Malia thought Veronica looked cool. She was much smaller in person than she seemed in videos. This was one of the top-three coolest
things that had ever happened to her. Still, Malia had to admit, seeing Veronica was, somehow, still not as exciting as seeing Connor Kelly.
“I NAMED MY CAT AFTER YOU!” Bree shrieked.
Veronica turned to see where the outburst had come from. Catching Bree’s eye, Veronica made wild clawing motions at the air, not unlike the feline Veronica. Then she winked before disappearing into the stage door, surrounded by her bodyguards.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Bree yelled again.
Fully in a daze, the girls slowly made their way back toward the entrance to the concert hall.
“I can’t believe it!” Bree kept saying. “I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it!”
“I thought you had to pee,” said Dot.
“It went away,” said Bree. “I can’t believe it!”
At long last, they passed through security, squeezed their way through the crowded entry gates, and into the Playa del Mar Arts Center, which was a giant, open-air amphitheater surrounded by a park. In their town, any event worth going to always happened here. The opening act was already playing, some smaller, up-and-coming band that Malia vaguely recognized.
“Ooh! Chicken fingers!” said Dot, making a beeline for a concession stand.
“Okay, so our tickets are in section D,” said Malia, wishing she’d been able to ask Connor where his box was.
“This place is huge,” said Bree, looking overwhelmed.
The crowd was something to behold. Veronica (the superstar, not the cat) had inspired everyone—from little kids with their parents to teenagers to full-fledged adults—to come out. Still, out of everyone around them, Bree was by far the most festively dressed.
“All right, I’m ready,” said Dot, reappearing with a large basket of chicken fingers.
The girls trudged up a long set of stairs toward section D.
“WHERE is Connor?” Malia asked, looking all over the concert hall.
After climbing for what felt like forever, they arrived at section D. It was what some people would call the nosebleed section. It seemed they were almost in the clouds.
“Okay, these seats are not near anything,” said Bree. “I dreamt that I might be able to reach out and touch Veronica while she was singing, even just one of her toes. But I don’t think I could throw something at her from here.”
The Good, the Bad, and the Bossy Page 13
