Gloria rolls her eyes up at the ceiling. “I didn’t say unsweet. I want half-sweet.”
I hesitate. I’ve heard people order it that way at restaurants, but that doesn’t mean I know how to make it. “And how would I do that?”
Gloria gives me a look like I’m a bug that crawled out from under the floor mat. “A girl who doesn’t know how to make tea? Go on to the kitchen—I’ll explain.”
I want to ask why it’s somehow worse to be a girl who can’t make tea, but I hold my tongue. She’s old and set in her ways. The only thing arguing will do is extend my time at her house, which is the last thing I want.
She barks out orders at me and I make the tea. First boil the water. Then add the sugar—she says five scoops. I have no idea what she means by a scoop, so I find a clean-ish serving spoon and use that. I stir the sugar until it’s gone and then turn the heat on again. When I start seeing the first bubbles come up, I turn off the heat and add the tea bags.
This feels like it’s taking a long time. I use the sugar spoon to push on the tea bags, trying to hurry things along a bit.
“Whatever you do,” Gloria calls out, “never squeeze those tea bags. Makes the tea bitter.”
I look down at the tea bags that I’m currently squishing.
“Of course not,” I answer. Quickly, I add a few more scoops of sugar. That ought to hide the bitterness.
Then I put ice in a tall glass and pour until the glass is almost full. In the sunlight, it glows amber. I go back to the living room and put it on her tray.
She reaches for it, hand shaking, but manages to bring it to her lips. At first she looks pleased, but then she grimaces. “Somehow you made this too bitter and too sweet at the same time.”
She sets it on the tray, then winces and rubs her arm. She’s hurting. I wouldn’t be in a good mood, either.
“Sorry,” I tell her.
Gloria’s eyes narrow. “Seventh-grade girl and can’t make tea. I was doing a lot more than that by your age. Your mother should be taken to task!”
My cheeks burn. I don’t see why she has to bring Ma into this.
“My ma isn’t around,” I say through clenched teeth. “But even if she were, I wouldn’t care to learn. I don’t see why I should learn to make tea when I don’t even like it. I was trying to be nice!”
Gloria opens her mouth to say something more, but I don’t want to hear it. The only thing stopping me from running out the front door is knowing that Dad would hear about it. Instead, I go to the kitchen and scrub the dirty dishes. Then I take out the trash. Finally, I return to the living room.
Otto is sprawled on his back, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. His eyes are wide open and glassy-looking. I watch him for a long moment, but he doesn’t blink. I look at Gloria.
“Is he okay?” I ask.
“He’s sleeping,” Gloria says sharply.
“But—his eyes are open,” I say.
“So what?” she answers in a huff. “That’s how he sleeps.”
He snorts and rolls onto his side. His eyes are still open in a creepy kind of way. Like a very hairy zombie.
“Listen,” says Gloria. “About the tea …”
I raise my eyebrows. Maybe she’s going to apologize. “Yes?”
She nods crisply. “You’ll get better tomorrow.”
Right. Tomorrow.
Gloria gives me a sharp look. “Lock up on your way out.”
I sigh and head for the door, shutting it tightly behind me.
This is going to be a very long, very unlucky summer.
CHAPTER
13
After supper, Dad, Ray, and I walk over to Lulu’s for the town meeting about the festival. Somehow, the night air always feels more special up here in the mountains—it’s sweet and crisp, like it comes direct from the stars themselves.
It seems like the whole town is crowded onto the patio at Lulu’s. Twinkle lights strung around the arbor make the whole place glow.
“Hey there,” says The Earl. He sits at a table with Mayor Barnes. The mayor’s hair is the same shade of red as his son Tyler’s, but instead of a buzz cut, the mayor wears it slicked back with lots of hair product. Dad and Ray pull up chairs and sit down. I stand to the side.
“It’s an opportunity, that’s what it is,” says Mayor Barnes. “To bring in those tourism dollars Mountain Ring snatches away from us.”
The Earl strokes his chin thoughtfully. “An opportunity to make our little town shine like it should.”
Ray nods eagerly. “Mountain Ring isn’t so great. What do they have that Oak Branch doesn’t, anyway?”
I can’t believe Ray, acting like a big shot. What does Mountain Ring have that we don’t? For starters, Mountain Ring has two luxury ski resorts, a downtown with fancy shops and art galleries, and festivals almost every weekend. Plus, they’re much bigger and have lots more choices for restaurants and shopping than we have in our little town.
The Earl claps Ray on the back. “Might want to avoid those direct comparisons, son. Comparing little Oak Branch to Mountain Ring is a fool’s game.”
The men’s laughter booms. Ray’s cheeks flush. I feel a pang for him, but he didn’t think that idea all the way through.
I wander over to the long table set up with snacks and drinks, choosing a muffin and three cookies. I’m reaching for a napkin when I bump arms with someone. It’s Faith.
“Hey,” she says. She’s holding a plate stacked high with treats. “I’m glad you’re here. I have your backpack.”
I frown. “My backpack?”
“Remember?” she says. “You left it the other day at the park. I brought it back here.”
So that’s where it went. I guess I should be glad it wasn’t stolen, but mostly I’m confused.
“Why would you bring it here?” I ask.
She gives me a look. “I already told you. I’m staying with my aunt. This is her place—I’m working here this summer.”
I smack my forehead. I get it now—Faith’s aunt Louise is the same Louise who owns Lulu’s. I don’t know why I didn’t make that connection. I’ve known Louise for years. She wears her locs gathered in a high ponytail and has big dimples when she smiles. She also has a habit of sneaking extra cookies in the bag whenever I visit.
“After I help set everything out, I’m going to stay for the meeting,” Faith says. “Aunt Louise says I can work on her float. I’m going to make it look like a big coffee cup and paint those rosy maple moths on the side.”
It must be nice to have someone excited about her float design. I wouldn’t know what that’s like.
“That sounds adorable,” I say finally. “Maybe you could do dry ice to make the cup look like it’s steaming.”
After I say the words, I wish I could bite them back. This is Faith’s project. She won’t want me sticking my nose in.
But Faith nods like she’s thinking it over. “Not a bad idea. Help me set these out, and then we can talk more about it.”
I try to keep my mouth from dropping open. I said what I thought and she didn’t get mad. We walk to and from the kitchen until the table is loaded with all kinds of treats.
Faith bumps my arm. “Let’s go—everyone is at a table in the back.”
I follow her, but when I see a flash of red hair, I stop walking.
“That’s Tyler,” I say flatly. The king of Ding-Dong Ditch, otherwise known as the king of Ruining My Summer. With my luck, of course he’s here.
Faith looks puzzled. “Yeah, Tyler and a few others—Nailah, Alicia, Javier. Grant, too. Oak Branch Middle is offering service hours, so there are a lot of eighth graders.”
I smile. “Grant? Just slipped that name in there at the end, huh?”
“Hush,” she says, smacking me on the arm playfully.
I’m stuck. I want to spend more time with Faith, but the last thing I want is to be around Tyler.
When she sees me hesitating, she shakes her head. “Come sit with us.”
I foll
ow. When we get to the table, there are only two open seats. Somehow I end up taking the one next to Tyler. He has a stack of cookies in his hand: lemon poppyseed, white-chocolate macadamia, and chocolate cinnamon, and then he takes a bite of them all at the same time.
“There’s no way that tastes good,” I tell him.
He sees my expression. “What? You don’t like cookies?”
“Not all together like that,” I say. I take a small bite of my lemon poppyseed for emphasis.
Tyler smirks. “Sometimes I need maximum cookie infusion,” he says.
I shake my head, and he laughs loudly. He sounds like a seal. I edge my chair away.
That doesn’t stop him from leaning in my direction and talking in my ear. “What happened to you the other day when we were at the park? You were supposed to come back after Ding-Dong Ditch, not run away.”
I open my mouth to tell him off. He thinks I ran away? Why would I do that? He has no idea of the consequences I’m facing. I’d love to see him washing Gloria’s dishes and making her tea.
But I think better of it. If I tell Tyler, he will tell the whole world. Then everyone will know it was my fault she fell. I can’t stand the idea of disappointing Dad like that.
“I had something else to do,” I say in a “this conversation is over” tone.
He frowns and starts to say something else—but thankfully, JoJo starts calling for everyone’s attention.
“Let’s all settle down,” JoJo says with a smile. “First, a few words from our mayor to start us off.”
Mayor Barnes gets to his feet. He pauses for a moment, like he thinks there’s going to be applause, but that’s not realistic. He’s not onstage—he’s just a guy standing on a patio with muffin crumbs on his tie.
“I’m pleased to be here, talking about the future of Oak Branch,” he says. “We need our town to be its own destination, not a little stop on the way to Mountain Ring.”
JoJo pats her hair. “Our festival is named for the rosy maple moth. We picked it because it’s a little something that’s easy to miss. But when you look closer, you realize that it’s quite special.”
Mayor Barnes clears his throat. “First off: the festival will be held in four weeks.”
This announcement starts a round of murmuring among the crowd. Four weeks doesn’t seem like very much time.
“But that’s so soon,” someone calls out.
JoJo nods. “It’s the only weekend this whole summer that Mountain Ring doesn’t have a big event scheduled. We thought our little festival would stand more of a chance this way.”
Discussion goes on. They’re planning for a parade in the late afternoon, which will wind through downtown and end in the park near Gloria’s house. Then, at the band shell, there will be food, music, and dancing. The whole time people are talking, Tyler gobbles cookies like it’s his last day on Earth. I scoot my chair a little farther away.
They start splitting people into groups according to task. JoJo is helping coordinate the floats, Mayor Barnes is leading the music planning, and The Earl is planning all the food.
Grant looks at Tyler and Javier. “Food.”
“Yes,” says Javier.
“I’m going to do music,” says Tyler, pushing his chair back. “Maybe my dad will let me DJ.”
The boys get to their feet and head toward the food planning area. Grant glances at Faith like he thinks she’ll go along.
She shrugs. “I’m doing floats.”
“Me too,” I say.
Faith and I head over to JoJo, who is busy writing a long list of planned floats.
“We’ll use the old barn as building space for those who need it,” says JoJo. The barn is on the back edge of downtown. It used to be part of an actual farm with animals, but now it’s used mostly to store the town’s holiday decorations.
JoJo bites her lip. “So many floats. I hope we aren’t getting in over our heads.”
I look around. Dad and Ray are deep in conversation. I’m grateful that I have Faith to talk to.
Her aunt Louise comes over to check on us. “How’s it going, girls?”
Faith shows her the drawings, and I explain my idea for the dry ice.
She claps her hands together, eyes sparkling. “I love the detail y’all are putting in. This is going to be fabulous.”
Faith grins. She and Louise have the same dimples.
Louise leaves to check in with the food committee, so Faith and I go back to looking at the sketch.
Faith frowns. “I wonder how to add the dry ice.”
“Maybe the coffee cup could have a space inside to hold the dry ice, like a shelf along the rim. We could build it so the vapor can float around the cup.” I hesitate, wondering if I shouldn’t have said that we could build it. Faith might not want my help.
But she looks happy. “That’s a great idea. So you’ll help me? You won’t be too busy with your family’s float?”
“Absolutely,” I say without hesitating. “I can help.”
“Yes!” says Faith. She pulls out a pouch of colored pencils, and we start to sketch ideas for a design on the side of the coffee cup. Should it be a big rosy maple moth or lots of little ones? We decide to draw each idea and then make a decision.
I grab a yellow pencil and color in the moth’s furry body. I hear Dad and look up. He’s talking with Louise, using that same sweet-as-pie voice he used on Gloria, which is strange. Maybe he’s making a habit of it. Ray is busy sketching. Neither of them glances over at me.
I look back at my sketchbook. Ray and Dad don’t need me. I don’t need them, either.
CHAPTER
14
The next day is sweltering. By the time I reach Gloria’s porch, I’m covered in sweat.
“It’s me,” I say through the screen door. I brace myself for Otto’s barking, but for once he’s quiet.
“Come on in,” she says crankily. “Do you need an engraved invitation?”
She doesn’t have to be so grumpy all the time. Maybe she wouldn’t be if my bad luck had never showed up on her doorstep, I think, but I quickly push the thought away. I let the door snap shut behind me. Inside, it smells even more like soup than usual.
There’s a fan blowing in the front room. Albert must have set it up when he checked on her last night.
I head to the kitchen and refill Otto’s food and water dishes. The room looks better now that I’ve tidied it. I wonder if there’s anything else I could do. My mind replays the sound of her falling, that sickening thud. If she fell again when her arm was healing, it could be really bad.
I return to Gloria. “Should I sort through some of these boxes for you? Since I’m here anyway, I mean.”
She peers at me suspiciously. “You sound like you’ve been talking to Albert. Last night he told me I should get rid of it all so I can move to Shady Lane with all the riffraff.”
That’s the name of the old folks’ place on the outskirts of town. We did a fourth-grade service project there, making art for the residents.
“I’ve been there,” I say. “The people who worked there seemed nice.”
She smacks her good hand against the arm of the recliner. “They can carry me out of this house when I’m dead and not a moment before!”
Then she quiets, reaching down to trace her fingers through Otto’s hair, the part on top of his head where it sticks straight up. She rubs his ears, and his eyes shut. He’s completely blissed out.
“Even if they are nice, that’s not the issue,” she says finally. “Otto couldn’t go with me. No dogs allowed.”
She continues to stroke his ears. Gloria may have harsh edges and sharp corners with most of the world. But with Otto, she’s as gentle as a blurred pencil line. Which Gloria is the real one? Crisp and mean or soft and kind?
We’re quiet like that for a while. Otto sighs. To Gloria, Otto is beautiful. Without him, her whole life would fall apart.
“I’ll leave the boxes where they are,” I tell her.
She look
s startled, like she forgot I was there. “No, no. It was a good idea. It would be one less thing for Albert to fret over.”
“I could organize them a little,” I say. “Show you what I find and you can decide.”
“Pish,” she says. “Most of it’s junk—the kind that accumulates over a lifetime.”
I want to argue, but after seeing what she’s kept in her kitchen, it’s hard to be very confident. It probably is junk—a whole lot of junk. But at least it will give me something to do.
She looks at me warily. “Don’t think you’ll find anything expensive. I don’t have antiques or anything collectible. There’s nothing worth stealing.”
Stealing! That does it. It’s one thing to be crabby. It’s another thing entirely to accuse me of being a thief.
My face burns. “I’m not going to steal your stuff.”
“Hmph,” Gloria retorts. “Pish.”
I grit my teeth. “Look, if you don’t want me to help, say so. I’ll fill Otto’s dishes and then leave. I don’t care about your boxes. I don’t even care if you fall and break your other arm.”
I gulp, realizing that I’ve gone too far. It isn’t even true. But she should know that I’m not a thief.
Gloria glares at me. All her soft lines are gone. “I thought little girls were supposed to be sweet.”
My breath catches in my throat. So she thinks I’m not sweet, when I visit every day without complaining even once? When I do her dishes and bring her food—when I take care of her terrifying dog? I’ll show her what “not sweet” looks like.
I put my hands on my hips and glare right back at her. “I thought old ladies were supposed to be gentle.”
She scowls. “Girls should be sugar and spice and all things nice!”
I stomp my foot. “Old ladies should be baking cookies. And knitting those little shoes for babies!”
We stare at each other for a moment. I’m breathing hard. Her eyes glint like sharpened steel.
“Booties,” she says, spitting out the word.
My mind whirls. Is this like her saying hand phone for cell phone?
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
These Unlucky Stars Page 7
