She straightens and adjusts the tone of her voice. “Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow.” She adds, “Sorry, it’s just that Shakespeare said it best.”
I pull her into a hug. “Actually, Rae, you did.”
Somewhere in Georgia, I get out a notebook and start making a list. Good ideas for the school year.
Talk to Rae every week.
Find something to do with Mom.
Make some more friends.
I stare at this last item, thinking of Taylor. Yesterday, when I took the last of the mail out of the mailbox, I found something wedged in the back corner. From the mid-July postmark, I could tell that it had been stuck there for a couple of weeks. It was a picture of the lake and trees at Camp Berrybrook. On the other side, just two words and some symbols.
Miss ya! XOXO—T.
It may sound strange, but the postcard made me think of a dinner we had last week. It was a busy night for the BEST Diner—so busy that Dani forgot to bring the fried pickles until after we had eaten dessert. We were still happy to get the pickles, but we were all pretty full. And pretty satisfied.
I continue writing.
Read some Shakespeare and try to understand it.
Ask parents for a real phone, not a Jitterbug.
It’s Beatrice’s turn with the glasses. She turns around in the seat and looks at me.
“What are you doing, Edith?”
“Making a list.”
Paint my toenails glow-in-the-dark.
Because why not? Beatrice watches me write, and says, “Why do you want to paint your toenails glow-in-the-dark?”
I shrug. “Just for the fun of it.”
Henry doesn’t look up from his book, but he says, “That’s a dumb idea. When Marie Curie discovered radium in 1898, it glowed in the dark too, and people started using it on everything, like their fingernails. And you know what? They died, Edith. Died. Someone finally figured out that it was poison.”
“Here’s a news flash for you. Henry,” I say. “They don’t make radioactive nail polish anymore.”
“It’s still pointless,” Henry says, and turns back to his book.
“Oh, you know what?” I say. “I just got another idea for my list.”
“What?” they both ask at the same time.
“Find a surgeon.”
Henry looks up from his book. “Why do you want to find a surgeon?”
“Because you need a personality transplant,” I joke.
Beatrice smiles. Henry does not.
“You can’t transplant a personality.”
“You’re right, Henry. As usual, you’re right.”
Henry just sighs and shakes his head. “Edith, your list is full of bad ideas.”
Bad ideas. I laugh. I add more to the list.
Write a love letter.
Run away for a day.
Ask someone to a dance.
Let them be bad ideas. Ridiculous, irrational, pointless ideas. Because sometimes the worst ideas turn out to be the best ideas of all.
Acknowledgments
“I am not going to shy away from the things that make me uncomfortable sometimes.”
It was a few years ago, at a very sad time, that I came across these words. I had just lost my mother to illness. I was cleaning out her house and found these words scribbled on the bottom of a household bill that I’d almost thrown out.
I don’t know what was going on when she wrote those words, but finding this when I did felt especially significant. Grief had me wanting to shy away from everything, but these oddly placed “last words” made me think that maybe bravery comes in lots of forms.
We all have things that make us uncomfortable, or intimidate us, or even scare us witless—whether it’s losing someone we love, or snakes, or mean people, or public speaking, or public restrooms. But maybe fear and growth go hand in hand. Avoid the things that scare you, and shrink—or face up to them, and grow.
These words became like a mantra to me. For that and much more, Mom, I’d like to thank you.
I’d also like to thank:
Joe McGrath for lots of much-needed love and encouragement, for the willingness to read and reread, and for mastering compassionate criticism.
Abby Ranger, my beloved and courageous editor, who led me to victory over such things as spy rings and secret weddings. If it sounds like I’m being melodramatic, trust me. I’m not.
Holly Root, my intrepid agent, who also happens to be a great problem solver and a motivational guru.
Kylie for sharp witticisms, Finn for intriguing insights, and Aidan for clever perspectives—and thanks to all of them for being so smart and funny, and for reminding me why I like writing for this age so much.
Michele Nesmith for always knowing how to put things in perspective for me. Meeting you in middle school was something I never stop being grateful for.
And if you’re still reading this, thank you. May you find your own brand of bravery. And, of course, lots and lots of bad ideas.
About the Author
Photo by Billy Tidwell
KIERA STEWART writes novels for teens and tweens, including Fetching and How to Break a Heart. Her qualifications include never having gotten wisdom teeth and having the same best friend since eighth grade. She lives in Sonoma County, California. Read more about her at www.kierastewart.com.
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Credits
COVER ART © 2017 BY JULIE McLAUGHLIN
COVER DESIGN BY WHITNEY MANGER
Copyright
THE SUMMER OF BAD IDEAS. Copyright © 2017 by HarperCollins Publishers. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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ISBN 978-0-06-236021-2 (hardcover)
EPub Edition © April 2017 ISBN 9780062360236
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FIRST EDITION
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The Summer of Bad Ideas Page 20
