by Sandra Byrd
Louanne faced me. “Nothing.”
She was lying. Hmm, I could coax it out of her so I’d have some blackmail material to make her do my chores. . . . Kidding! But it wasn’t like Louanne to flat-out lie to me. I wondered what was up.
“Nothing?” I looked at her face. It was kind of red. A little puffy around the eyes.
She sniffed a couple of times. “Nothing!” she said in a tone that warned me not to ask more questions.
“Okay. Whatever you say.” I didn’t say anything more even when she went directly to the downstairs loo and washed her hands for a good two minutes. Even Growl lifted his head and looked toward the bathroom before settling down to continue staring out the window at nothing.
I grabbed a bowl of Weetabix cereal and a pack of Smarties—the British chocolate kind, not the chalky American kind—from the kitchen and headed into the living room. Growl gave me a dirty look when I plopped down on the couch, but hey—who was the human here? “Sorry, dude. Move over.” To be nice, because I’d had a great day, I threw a piece of Weetabix at him. He gobbled it up and returned to his perch.
I opened the Wexburg Register and started scanning. Of course, I read the Dear Auntie Agatha column first. Her advice was pretty good that day, if I may say so myself. The old girl still had the go juice in her. Then I turned the page and saw several ads for dresses. Fancy dresses. For the May Day Ball, no doubt. One was for the Marks & Spencer nearby, one for Miss Selfridge in Kensington, which I loved. Another was for a shop in our village. It caught my eye, and I folded the paper back to read it more closely.
My heart tripped like a high heel snagged on an uneven sidewalk. So unfair. I mean, if anyone would appreciate both fashion and helping others, it was—
At that moment, Louanne snatched the paper from my hand.
“Hey!” I said. “What are you doing?”
She folded the paper back to the front page and then tossed it in my direction with a snort of disgust. “I thought this was the Wexburg Academy Times. Not the local paper.”
I caught the paper as it fluttered in my direction. Giggle had had enough, and he jumped off the couch, slinking toward the kitchen. “Since when are you interested in the WA Times?”
“Well, uh, since you’re interested in it, of course I am too,” Louanne said. “I mean, anything you like, I like. Right? You’re my big sister and all.”
I raised an eyebrow. Louanne didn’t know I wrote for the paper, just that I delivered it. “Cool! So when do you want to work on a new look for your wardrobe?”
Louanne wrinkled her nose and shook her head.
“Want to learn to play the guitar?”
She shook her head some again, harder this time. She was going to get dizzy soon. “Just bring me a paper on Thursday, okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed, and with that, she ran upstairs and closed her door.
I headed back to the kitchen and put my cereal bowl in the sink. Growl was sniffing the bags and jackets hanging by the back door. I stared out the window toward the garden. Ours was completely overgrown with ivy and other untended greenery. The smattering of stringy plants looked like Louanne’s hair the morning she had woken up with gum tangled in it.
My mom came in and set a couple of bags on the kitchen table. “It’s a real mess out there, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Nothing like your garden in Seattle.” My mom had been famous for her neatly tended garden.
She sighed. “I know. I bought a few geraniums to freshen up the window boxes in the front, but I don’t dare pull any plants back there to do anything else. After all, the yard and house belong to Aunt Maude.”
Aunt Maude wasn’t really our aunt; she was a friend of our grandmother and was renting this house to us. She wasn’t so bad, but she was pretty unpredictable. We never knew what was going to set her off.
“She probably has some dead bodies buried in the back garden. Best not to disturb them and dig up trouble.”
Mom came over and gave me a playful swat, and we laughed. “Can you put these groceries away? I want to plant the flower boxes so they’re blooming by May.”
My mind wandered as I tried to stuff the groceries into our tiny fridge. Ah, May. . . . I imagined it now—I’d find the perfect dress at Be@titude. No one else would have it, of course. I’d arrive just a little late to the May Day Ball on the arm of . . . well, on the arm of someone. Penny would be so glad for me. In fact, we’d probably double-date. Afterward, I’d joke about how I’d worried that I would get to my sixteenth birthday without a first kiss, but clearly . . .
“Savvy!” My mom jiggled my elbow a little. “Are you daydreaming again? You dropped two eggs on the floor!”
“Sorry, Mom.” I went to get a rag. Even Growl seemed to roll his eyes at me. Then I headed upstairs to work on my composition paper. I wondered what Rhys’s composition paper—the one he wanted my help on—was about.
Chapter 6
The next day I sat with the Aristocats at lunch. It’s not like I was a member of the popular crowd—not even on probation, really. But I was good friends with Penny, and Penny had perfect Aristocat lineage. So they tolerated me, anyway. Penny munched on her protein bar. There was an unwritten list of very few “allowable” Aristocat lunch items that you were supposed to commit to memory. Protein bars, energy drinks (diet, of course), cut vegetables, bottles of water. Everything else was frowned upon. I was usually starving by the time I got home. And tonight I wouldn’t have time for a quick stop at Fishcoteque for some fish-and-chips first.
“I’m going to the coffeehouse at my church tonight,” I told Penny.
“Brilliant—a coffeehouse at church,” Penny said. “Not that I’ve ever been to one. We don’t go to church much. Ever, actually.”
I knew I should have invited her right then. It was an opening, and I, as a Christian, was supposed to be looking for those things. But it felt weird. I didn’t want her to come when I was still as geeky as a newborn calf there. Once I knew a lot of people and felt at home, then I’d invite her. “I’ll let you know how it goes,” I said. “Want to do Fishcoteque after school tomorrow? I won’t be at lunch, so I’ll be good and hungry.”
“Why won’t you be at lunch?” she asked.
“I’m meeting with Rhys to help him with his paper.”
Penny slowly crumpled the protein bar wrapper, got up to throw it in the dustbin, and silently sat next to me.
“You have a great way of showing your disapproval without saying a word,” I noted. “He’s a new kid. He needs help. He hangs out in the library during lunch just like I used to because he hardly knows anyone.”
“Wherever did you get that idea?” Penny said. “He’s been here longer than you, and you manage fine. And he hangs out in the library during his fourth period because he’s on academic suspension. I know because he’s in my maths class. He has second lunch.”
I shrugged it off. One of the things I prided myself on was being a fine judge of character. After all, I’d picked Penny, hadn’t I? I, too, could neatly and quietly fold up my protein bar wrapper and then throw it into the rubbish bin without a word. It was the first time I’d been really irritated with Penny. But I felt justified. Really.
On the way out of the cafeteria, I walked by the newspaper table, and Melissa stopped me.
“Here, Savvy,” she said, handing over a beautiful, leather-bound Wexburg Academy Times notebook. It wasn’t quite a pen—those were saved for writers with bylines—but it was definitely a sign of acceptance. “Since you’ll be an information stringer with Natalie for the May Day Ball, I thought you deserved this to take notes in. Jack agreed.”
I looked over at him, and he grinned. He knew I deserved one for the Asking for Trouble column. “Thanks, Melissa.” I hugged her, amazed at how she could always find a way to do something kind.
“You can meet Natalie before you deliver the papers tomorrow morning,” she said. Her smile disappeared. Even Hazelle looked away at that.
Chapter 7
“You coming?” he called to Louanne. Once again, she was mooning around by the back door. It was odd. Had she suddenly acquired Mom’s interest in gardening?
“Um, no. I think I’ll stay here. Giggle might need me.”
Dad and I both looked at her quizzically before I spoke up. “Church is only like twenty to thirty minutes away. Growl probably won’t move from the back of the couch.”
“Still,” she insisted. We locked her in and took off.
“Nervous?” Dad asked.
“Oh, a little,” I said. “I know Supriya, though, and I can just hang out in the back and do nothing for a couple of months until I get to know more people. Lie low. You know.” I sounded more reassured than I felt. “Fake it till you make it,” Grandma Trudy used to say.
Pretty soon we pulled up in front of the church. It had taken us a few church visits and mishaps before we’d found a place we felt comfortable. We’d been going Sunday mornings for a couple of months, but it was a big church, and I felt lost in the crowd. I was hoping to make a few Christian friends, and Supriya had told me it was easier to do that on Wednesday nights. As Madame Antoinette, my French teacher would say, “Et voilà.” Here I was.
“Go get ’em, Tiger,” Dad said.
I smiled weakly. I was not in the mood for geek encouragement.
I walked into the building and headed toward the youth group area. I could smell the coffee—not tea, like they usually had in this country, but coffee. Thank You, Lord, for a little encouragement. My former hometown, Seattle, was known for its coffee. I had felt confident and welcome in my church there. The nutty roasted perfume floating through the building reminded me of that and gave me a boost.
I walked into the room and stood there for a minute getting my bearings. Almost immediately, Supriya spied me from across the room and came running over. She didn’t have on a sari, which she often wore on Sundays. Her purple sweater over dark blue jeans was perfectly suited to her creamy skin, and tiny diamonds sparkled from her nose and ears. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s find a good seat before everyone and their cat arrives. The best seats are on the soft couches.”
She pulled me over to a corner where a few people were already drinking coffee. One guy clowned around and let the foam from his latte make a white Colonel Sanders mustache. Supriya introduced me to everyone and then ran off to get a refill on her coffee. I held our places; I’d get a mocha when she got back.
“Hi, Savvy, my name’s Joe.” One of the youth leaders held out his hand, and we chatted for a while. Turned out he was on the praise team—I remembered seeing him up there playing the guitar.
“I play guitar too,” I offered.
“Really? What do you like to play?”
“Oh, some worship music. And Taylor Swift. I like her because she writes her own stuff. And because she writes about stuff that I can relate to and understand.”
He and I talked music for a few minutes before he said, “Would you ever consider playing guitar on the worship team?”
How could he have known that was a dream I’d had? “I’d love to!” I said. I didn’t normally like being in the spotlight, but I figured when you’re up there with the whole worship band, it’s easy to melt into the whole group.
“Great,” he said. “I’ll keep it in mind next time we’re thinking about adding a guitarist.”
After that our conversation drifted off. I felt someone sit down on the couch next to me. I turned to tell Supriya that I would get my coffee from the barista at the cart in the back. But when I looked, it wasn’t her. “You’re not Supriya!” I realized how idiotic it sounded as soon as it came out of my mouth. But the guy sitting next to me didn’t make fun of me.
He smiled and shook his head. “Nope. Sorry to disappoint.”
Chapter 8
I almost blurted out that there was no way I was disappointed, but I stopped the words just in time. I replaced them with a cool, “Hi, Tommy. I never noticed you here before.”
“You sure do know how to build a lad’s confidence.” I was pretty sure there was a touch of playful teasing in his grin.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m pretty new here.”
“And it’s a big place,” he said. “I understand. Don’t like coffee?”
I looked around, and everyone else was holding a mug or a takeaway cup. “I love coffee. I’m originally from Seattle, the birthplace of Starbucks. I was just saving a spot for Supriya until she got back.”
“I’ll get one for you.” He stood up. “What do you like?”
“Mocha?” I said hopefully. “No whipped cream,” I added. Drat those Aristocats. Their diet rules had even infected my coffee habits. But it was too late to take it back. Next time, extra whipped cream. Even if it showed up as a slight muffin top later.
“Sure,” he said.
As Tommy left, Supriya came back. “You know each other?” She nodded at his retreating back.
“We go to school together,” I said as coolly as I could. “And I met him at one of my sister’s dog shows.” The truth was, every time I’d bumped into him at school, we talked a little longer and I liked him a little better than before.
“You’re red in the face, Savvy,” she teased. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you fancied him.”
I prided myself on avoiding little white lies lately, after my share of missteps in this area. So even though I wanted to deny it, I said nothing.
Tommy came back in a couple of minutes. He looked around quickly out of the corner of his eye. I wasn’t sure if he was looking for a place to sit on the overcrowded couches or if he was looking for someone else to talk with. “Here you are,” he said, holding out my coffee. He didn’t let go of the cup till I took it firmly in my hand. Which meant our hands touched for a brief second.
Savvy, you sap, I thought. Your hands touched on a coffee cup? Oh, boy. Get a life. The fans in my heart’s inner stadium were doing the wave, though, and I didn’t make them sit down.
“Thank you,” I said, hoping to reflect a calm I didn’t feel. As good of a friend as Supriya was becoming, I wished she’d find something else to do right then—just for a minute—away from this particular couch. She was dead to the vibe, though, and deep in conversation with someone else.
“Still waiting to read something from you in the newspaper.” Tommy slowly walked toward a group of his friends and waved good-bye to me.
I took a moment to savor that. He’s been reading the paper looking for my name! I almost blurted out my secret, that I was in the paper every other week, writing the popular Asking for Trouble column. I’d never wanted to tell anyone as much as I did right then.
We stood when the music started—thankfully a worship song I already knew—and soon enough I was deep in the music. I closed my eyes so I could connect better with the Lord. It was a little strange to be worshiping with people in London—people who’d originally come from all over Great Britain, from India, China, Australia, and Africa. And me, from America. I guess before I came to London, I’d always just kind of pictured Christians as Americans.
Goofy, I had to admit now. But my world had been that small. And now it was not.
After a couple more songs, we sat on the couches again while the youth pastor spoke.
“As you know, it’s April 1 in a couple of weeks.” A big groan went through the crowd. I wondered why. After all, early April brought half-term school breaks, Easter, and lots of holiday time.
“Not this year, please; please, no,” someone called out, and a laugh ran through the room.
; “Ah, yes, this year will be no exception,” Joe said. “Last year we had a lot of smashing entries. And a couple of dodgy ones too. But that makes it fun, right?”
“Rubbish,” a guy on the other side of Supriya muttered.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to Supriya. She nodded toward the stage.
“In case you’re new here in the last year, and I know several of you are, let me explain what the groans are about. Every year the youth group sponsors an ‘April Fools for Christ’ day the first week of April. Brave souls venture forward to offer a talent—singing, reciting, reading, a skit, whatever—to do in front of the group. In the back of the room we have lidded boxes with a performer’s name on each one. Afterward, we add up the money donated in each box. Whoever has the most donations gets to decide which charity all the money will be donated to.”
Joe gave a few more details on the event before launching into a short lesson, and then we dissolved into small groups. Supriya’s discipleship leader, Jenny, who was at university, invited me to join their group. I wondered if Supriya had mentioned it to her. Either way, I was glad, and I thanked God for Supriya.
“Anyone going to volunteer for April Fools?” Jenny asked after we wrapped up the Bible discussion.
To my surprise—and delight—Supriya volunteered. “I’m going to read a poem in Hindi this year.” She mentioned a local children’s charity she wanted to sponsor. Jenny gave her a big grin and wrote her name down.
“I am totally going to support you with my donation,” I said. She smiled and we inputted each other’s numbers into our phones before getting ready to leave.
I’d nearly made it to the door when Joe grabbed my arm. “Hey, Savvy, I have a great idea. Why don’t you do a song on your guitar for April Fools for Christ? The practice sessions would be an amazing way to get to know people. And it’ll give the worship team a chance to hear your guitar playing.”
