But no.
Oh no.
Oh no no no no no no.
I found out very soon that I was wrong.
I was so wrong.
Wrong wrong wrong.
Wronger than slimy carrots in your sack lunch.
The wrongest.
Grandma was not fragile. NOT AT ALL.
And here’s the thing: looking back at little baby me, who didn’t know what she was up against, I choose to forgive myself for wearing the tuxedo. Sometimes you do what you gotta do to get through the day, and I really, really wanted to win those bikes.
So I put on the tuxedo and I gave myself a pep talk:
We had written a speech.
It was good.
It was really good.
We’d practiced it over and over again.
We gave it to Dad and Hattie.
We gave it to Daisy the cat and to the horses down the road, which Grandma loved. She always took them apples when she came to visit.
We gave it to my mom, who, by the way, had hugged and hugged Grandma when she got home from work. Mom was thrilled Grandma was there. Thrilled!
Did she see the monster truck and fallen mailbox outside? Did she see the boxes of costumes and suitcases? Was she at all worried that Grandma was going to ruin my chances at winning the Leaf bikes? If any of those fears were in my mom’s mind, you would’ve never known it.
“Thank you, Sally,” Mom kept saying over and over again. “Thank you so much.”
Mom didn’t even get mad about all the boxes everywhere, and I was counting on that. She just stepped over them and kept saying, “You dropped everything to come help us, Sally? You’re a saint.”
“I wouldn’t call me a saint,” Grandma said.
And Mom said, “Well, I would.”
I knew I had to make Mom see the truth.
“She’s sleeping in my bed,” I said with a knowing look.
Mom looked at me. “Oh. Your bed?”
“Yup,” I said.
That’s right, Mom. MY BED. I thought for sure Mom would say something then like, How about the couch? or We could put up a tent outside or even Wouldn’t the motel be more comfortable?
But no. No. My mom said, “Hey. That’s fun. I hadn’t thought of that. With Arthur not here, I guess there’s plenty of room with the girls. It will be like a big sleepover.”
MY WHOLE FAMILY WAS AGAINST ME.
Anyway, the point is, I felt like we had a strong speech and maybe people wouldn’t notice my shiny tuxedo if I stood behind Grandma.
After my pep talk that didn’t really pep me up, I put the final touch on, the dumb top hat, and stared at myself in the mirror.
Why?
I heard Grandma talking on the phone. Probably to Grandpa Arthur. I couldn’t hear the conversation except for when she said she was very excited and he should see me in my outfit. Ugh.
When she was done talking, I went out.
“Oh, you look perfect,” Grandma said, whispering and squishing my face between her hands. “Perfect!”
“Thank you,” I muttered. I couldn’t believe I was doing this.
Then she said, “Now for makeup.”
“What? Makeup?”
“Please?” she said. “A little goes a long way and we’re going to be up on stage.”
“Grandma. I don’t wear makeup.”
“I know, but it’s part of the costume, sis.” She patted a stool in the kitchen. “Let’s do it in here.”
“Grandma,” I said. “This is going too far.”
“Come on. Don’t be a stick in the mud.”
This was the first time I’d heard Grandma use that phrase in reference to me and I wasn’t a stick in the mud. That was one thing I was not.
I sat on the stool and Grandma put on an apron—a makeup apron?—and started painting my face.
“Wow, Grandma. It’s so sticky,” I said. She was slathering stuff on with a gigantic sponge.
“That means it’s working,” she said. “You have to go heavy when you’re going under the lights.”
“What? We’re not going to be under lights. What lights?”
She took a step back to look at her work. “On the stage. Stage lights.”
“It’s a pancake breakfast. There will be no lights. Also, you said a little goes a long way.”
She squinted and rummaged in her box for who knows what. “In general, a little goes a long way and really, you shouldn’t be wearing makeup. Not for a long time. But for things like this, performances”—she pointed a purple pencil at me—“up on stage, lights or not, you really have to cake it on.”
Sweat started to bead on my forehead. That could not be good.
When she finally finished, she held up a mirror. I almost screamed in terror. “Grandma!” I said.
“Shhh,” she said. “You’ll wake everyone up.” And then she said, “I love it. It’s theatrical.”
“It’s awful. I look like an owl.”
“Oh puffo. It’s perfect. Don’t be so dramatic.”
I could’ve died. I really could have.
16
A Little Help from My Friend
At six forty-five we pulled up to Kiwanis Park in Grandma’s truck. Grandma drove, Dad sat in front, and me and Hattie were in the backseat. It was a huge truck. Dad had been very supportive of the caked-on makeup, by the way. He said, “Oh, what’s this?” when he saw my face.
And before I could say, HELP! DAD! MAKE IT STOP! Grandma swooped in and explained about the stage and the lights and how crucial it all was.
“Wow, Meg,” Dad said. “How lucky you are to have your grandma here to help you. I had no idea.”
Lucky?
Anyway, Grandma drove to the park and the whole way she sang Dolly Parton with the windows down.
Dad sang too.
That’s one thing they both love, belting songs.
Hattie was smiling her face off.
And I was about to explode.
Dogs running in waves. Dogs running in waves. Dogs running in waves.
Kiwanis Park is huge. There’s a bunch of soccer fields, two playgrounds, pavilions, a baseball diamond, and a running track. It’s where the Strawberry Days stuff happens because they need all the space. On the first day of the festival there is always a strawberry pancake breakfast with tons of picnic tables and millions of pancakes. At the end at least ten hot-air balloons go up. This year was the 100th celebration, though, so I knew it would be even bigger.
Grandma was impressed when we got there. “Wow,” she said. “They’re serious about this thing, aren’t they?”
The balloons were laid out all over the soccer fields and across from that, over by the playground, was a big stage with a sign that said TOWN OF JEWEL STRAWBERRY DAYS CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION.
There was also a serving area where people were setting up griddles and syrups and then like a hundred tables and chairs. Dad had a bunch of griddles he had to bring too. Grandma was thrilled when Dad asked if we could drive her truck over. “See?” Grandma said when we were loading up. “Isn’t the truck wonderful?”
The best part of the Strawberry Pancake Breakfast this year was that on the stage were two Leaf bikes. As Grandma would say, Be still, my heart.
“I told you, Mom,” Dad said. “It’s pretty exciting. It’s the best time of year.”
Dad seemed sad. He’d brought water and fruit snacks for us to keep in our pockets for energy. He was wearing his JEWEL baseball hat that he got when he played softball on the municipal team and his Shakespeare T-shirt from The Merry Wives of Windsor that says Experience is a jewel, and it need be so, for it is often purchased at an infinite rate.
I hadn’t really thought about his feelings in all this. He looked at me from the front seat an
d smiled. “You can do this,” he said. “You can get those bikes.”
“Sure,” I said, fighting back tears. He should have tried harder. He should have found a loophole. This was our competition.
When Grandma parked the truck, we got out and I almost fell on my face because the ground was about twenty feet from the truck door and I was holding our gigantic Alzheimer’s Association poster.
“Careful, Megs,” Grandma said. “We don’t want to get injured before we start.”
“I know, Grandma,” I said.
I was not feeling good. I had a pound of makeup on my face. I was wearing a glittery straitjacket. And my grandma was giving me advice about a contest that up until yesterday, she had been calling the Raspberry Competition.
Ugh.
One thing was for sure: I was dying to see who the other people competing would be.
Frank Biddulph was mixing pancake batter. Dad and Hattie carried over the griddles to join him.
“Oh look,” Grandma said. “There’s a strawberry-shaped balloon.”
“Yeah,” I said. “A lady named Melanie Bacon pilots that one. It’s here every year.”
The strawberry balloon had been around since before I was born. Melanie Bacon and her brother used to do the hot-air balloon with their dad when they were kids. Now that her dad was retired and her brother had moved away, she did the balloon all by herself along with her balloon team. She worked at Soelberg Grocery and she liked to tell me about all the adventures she and the strawberry balloon went on.
“I’m going to talk to her,” Grandma said.
I shrugged. “It starts in fifteen minutes. Don’t be late.”
“Sounds good, goose,” she said, and walked toward the balloons.
I saw Lin and her dad getting out of their car.
“Lin!” I yelled.
She walked slowly toward me, like she was confused. Was something wrong?
I jogged over.
She froze. “Oh my gosh,” she said. “Is that you? Meg?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
She was in shock. She was in actual shock, like I wondered if I should call a paramedic. “What is happening? I barely recognize you,” she said, her hand to her face.
“What are you talking about?”
She circled around me. “I mean, it kind of looks like you, like it’s the same general shape, but—” She came around to my front, her face red, like she was going to burst out laughing.
“I could also be a penguin,” I said.
Her dad walked up and he was confused too. “Meg?”
I tried to remain calm. Grandma said in the face of uncertainty, remain calm. We’d had a lot of talks in bed last night before she put her CPAP machine on. Benefits of not staying in a motel, she reminded me.
“Hello, Meg?” her dad said again.
“Hello, Larry.” That’s her dad’s name. “How was camping?”
Then Lin started laughing. Like laughing and laughing and laughing. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m just. Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. Why are you wearing that? Are they making you wear that? Does everyone have to wear that? Where’s your dad? Is he wearing a costume?”
In all the awfulness and excitement I’d forgotten to call and tell Lin that I’d had a change of partner.
Once she got ahold of herself I told her the news. “My dad isn’t competing.”
“What?” she gasped.
We walked toward the pancake area. Lin’s dad was also a volunteer cook and he and Lin were carrying more griddles. It was griddle heaven.
“I have so much to tell you.”
“I want to know everything,” she said. Lin really was the best, even if she laughed, but I would have laughed too—I looked like a whole different person.
First we went and touched the bikes.
Oh the bikes, the loves of my life.
They were yellow and the word LEAF was painted on them in green. The cargo bags were just as big as they said online. I kind of wanted to hug them and whisper I’ll be seeing you soon, but I resisted.
We sat at the contestants’ table and I told Lin all the gory details. The truck, the jumpsuits, the costumes.
“She brought costumes?”
“So many costumes. Like hundreds of them.”
“Hundreds?”
“I don’t know. A lot.”
“Oh my gosh, I love your grandma. I want to see them all.” Lin likes things like costumes. I do not.
Right then, I saw Diego and his brother coming across the field.
I wanted to sink into the ground. “Hide me,” I said to Lin.
“That’s going to be hard. You’re about to get up on the stage in front of the whole town.”
“I know, just, oh man. I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Hey, guys,” Diego said. “Uh, Meg?”
I looked at him with confidence because I decided to fake it to make it. That was another piece of my grandma’s advice last night, by the way. “How can I help you?”
“Um, why are you dressed like that? Did some tap dancer die?”
“What?”
“You look like you’re going to a tap dancer’s funeral.”
Lin started laughing again. “I’m sorry,” she said midlaugh. I tried to forgive her.
“What are you talking about?” I said, in a loud voice. “This is from the Phantom of the Opera.”
“From a ghost?”
Lin looked at him. “No, an opera.”
Diego shrugged. “A ghost or an opera, I don’t care. I just am very glad Meg decided to wear it because it has made my day so much better.”
I folded my hands across my chest. “I’m glad I could help out,” I said.
Diego laughed. “But for real, what happened to you?”
“Her grandma did it,” Lin said.
“Who?”
“My grandma.”
“Your grandma?”
I sighed. “Yes. My grandma.” Right then, like magic, Grandma Sally appeared.
“You rang?” she said.
And that’s how Diego met my partner and found out he was probably going to win the Strawberry Ambassador Competition.
I could write more.
I could write about how Diego’s brother looked like the Incredible Hulk. A not-green Incredible Hulk who was going to medical school, and Lin whistled! She whistled!
“I thought you said he was training for the UFG,” I said.
“It’s actually UFC,” his brother said, “and I am doing that and school.”
I could write about the chitchat Grandma made with Diego’s brother and how he said we looked like Phantoms from the Phantom of the Opera. He really did say that and he hadn’t heard the earlier conversation.
Grandma about peed her pants, she was so excited. “Did you hear that, Meg? Did you hear that?”
“I did hear that, Grandma.”
I could write so many things but for now, I will move forward.
The other kids began to arrive and it wasn’t looking good, who we were up against.
First came Ellie Hansen, who goes to the other elementary school and who won the district spelling bee and was a star soccer player and one time sang a solo at the town Trunk or Treat. She showed up with her mom. Ellie was wearing a button-down blue dress and her mom was in a blue skirt and white shirt. They blended in with the pancake griddle crowd.
Cooper Hedengren and Mr. Bailey, our teacher, came next, which was kind of surprising but not too surprising. Cooper lived with his mom and his brother and like fifty dogs. He was nice and he one time gave me a pack of Mentos after school. Mr. Bailey was Cooper’s uncle. Both of them were in jeans and T-shirts. What I wanted to wear.
And finally Zoe Jackson arrived. Zoe does homeschoo
l but she comes to our school fairs sometimes. She once won a short story contest that was published in a national magazine and got on the news. She was with her dad and he was in a nice shirt and dress pants and she was wearing a zippered skirt. Business casual. Good choice.
No one else was wearing tuxedos and top hats.
No one else had evil eyebrows and gallons of makeup.
No one else had my grandma for a partner.
I slumped in my seat.
17
The Smell of Fear
A lot of people came to the Strawberry Pancake Breakfast because of the hot-air balloons and because it only cost five dollars for the most delicious pancakes and okay eggs and sausage and orange juice. Companies shut down to take their employees. It was a big deal.
I kept trying to be calm and normal but really I wanted to shrink and disappear into the grass. Later, Dad, trying to make me feel better, said, “You seemed like you were fine sitting up there,” and I said, “Dad, at no time, no time, was I fine. Never. If anything I was the opposite of fine.”
So we were all sitting there and Dawn Allerton walked up with a clipboard. My throat went dry. There was a man who looked like a mouse following her. He was holding a briefcase and a plate of pancakes. Her assistant? Keoni from my acceptance letter? Dawn was wearing a gray suit. Her hair was pulled back tight and it looked like she meant business.
“Hello. Welcome to the Strawberry Pancake Breakfast. We’re excited to have you here and to introduce you to the people of Jewel—your hopeful charitable contributors.” She looked down the row of us and stopped when she landed on Grandma and me.
A look of distaste crossed her face. It really did.
Grandma grabbed my hand and I tried to remain strong. The final piece of wisdom Grandma had handed out last night was that some people might disapprove of us for whatever reason. Maybe because they’d been yelled at on the phone? I suggested. Whatever reason, Grandma had said.
“We will embrace the disapproval. We will draw energy from it. We have to stand out from the crowd and sometimes, people who are different get ridiculed,” she’d said.
And now here we were.
The War with Grandma Page 7
