The War with Grandma

by Robert Kimmel Smith

“For what reason?”

  “I want to talk to Lin.”

  I glanced at Grandma, who was either avoiding my look or studying her cards.

  Dad handed me the phone. “What time do you guys need to be in town tomorrow?”

  Grandma raised her eyebrows at me.

  “You’ll all find out when I decide you find out,” I said, and then I stalked out of the room.

  22

  Second in Command

  I called Lin’s dad.

  “Hello, Larry, can I please speak to Lin?”

  “Yes, but I would like to tell you, that was the most delightful thing I have seen in a long time, Meg. You and your grandma working together to fly in a strawberry was genius.”

  “Thank you, Larry,” I said in a professional voice. “Is Lin available?”

  Lin got on. “Oh my gosh! You should have seen yourself.”

  “I know, Lin. I know.”

  “Are you okay? When did you get home? Was it amazing?”

  I took a breath.

  “I’m fine, but my grandma is out of control. And no, it was not amazing,” I said, even though parts of it were but the disqualification-undisqualification situation after was really not. “I have to do this thing by myself.”

  “What do you mean, by yourself?”

  I told Lin about declaring war on Grandma. I told her that I was going to tell Grandma at the last minute what the challenges were and do all the prep work and make sure everything went exactly to my plan. “It’s a war, Lin. I am giving her zero advantage.”

  Lin said she understood. “I can’t believe Dawn Allerton almost cut you out of the competition.”

  “I can’t believe she didn’t,” I said. “I saved our butts. We do have to start later than the others tomorrow as a penalty.”

  “What is the challenge?”

  “I know what it is, but no one else in this house does, so I have to read it to you super quiet.”

  “That’s fine. I have good hearing.”

  “That’s true,” I said. She once heard a dog barking a mile away, she told me.

  “Okay, but first I have to ask you something and it’s important.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “I need you to take it seriously.”

  “Pinky swear.”

  I took a breath. “I don’t know if I can trust anyone in my house. It’s really getting out of control over here and so…will you be my second in command?”

  “What?”

  “I need you to be my right-hand woman. I need you to be there for me and to be honest with me and to not let me down.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I will,” she said. “Anything you say,” she added.

  And that’s the response of a true partner, so I read her the challenge.

  STRAWBERRY AMBASSADOR FIRST EVENT

  Strawberry Picking sponsored by Knudsen Strawberry Farms—

  The Knudsen family has graciously invited us to pick strawberries on their UPICK acreage. The UPICK will be open for business for the public but they will have a section cordoned off specifically for the competition. That means there will be people there both picking and cheering you on. You and your partner will start picking at 9:00 a.m. You have until 4:00 p.m. to pick as many strawberries as you can.

  The partnership that picks the most will be awarded $1,000, care of Knudsen Strawberry Farms, to go to your charity. Those dollars will also be included in your total for the grand prize. The team that gets second place will receive $750, third place will receive $500, fourth place will receive $250, and last place will receive $100.

  Please come ready to pick. This activity has been happening in Jewel proper for over 100 years! Happy harvesting!

  Lin was quiet after I read it to her and then she said, “That seems really hard.”

  “All you have to do is pick strawberries.”

  “Have you ever gone strawberry picking before?”

  “We have a strawberry patch in our front yard,” I said. “I’ve picked tomatoes from our garden.”

  “This is a little different.”

  “I think it’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Lin asked.

  “Oh yeah. I mean, my plan is to pretty much sideline my grandma and do the whole thing myself.”

  “Really?”

  I sighed. Lin didn’t understand how serious I was about taking control. “Yes, really. I’m just going to bring her a juice or something and make her sit in the shade. She’s not cut out for this stuff. She hasn’t been preparing like I have.”

  “She didn’t seem unprepared today,” Lin said.

  “Trust me. She is,” I said.

  Now you, reader, might be thinking the same thing as Lin. You might be thinking, What are you talking about, Meg? Your grandma just ran across a field like a gazelle.

  I did write that Grandma was a gazelle and she really was for a few minutes, but what I failed to explain was that she was exhausted afterward. She kept saying to Melanie, “I’m exhausted.” And when we got in the truck to ride home from the whole ordeal, she was snoring immediately, like right after she said that Dawn Allerton was bluffing, right after that she fell dead asleep and didn’t wake up the entire ride home.

  Me on the other hand, I was alert as a jaguar. I was quick as a skunk. I was wily as a coyote.

  “I got this,” I said to Lin.

  “Okay,” she said. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure,” I said.

  She offered to stop by at the strawberry fields and cheer me on, and I was very grateful to have at least one person on my side.

  I was going to win the challenge.

  I was going to take back the reins.

  And things were going to go according to my plan.

  Not Grandma’s.

  23

  Only a Dope Will Mope

  That night when Grandma came to get into bed, she had green stuff on her face and toilet paper all over her hair.

  I wanted to ask what she was doing that for but also I didn’t want to ask. Ever.

  I was on the floor with a blanket and my pillow. I stared at the ceiling like a mannequin.

  “You’re sleeping down there?” she said in a weird voice. The green stuff was getting hard so she had to talk without moving her face, which seemed difficult, I have to say.

  “I am.”

  “It will hurt your back sleeping on the hardwood like that,” she said.

  “I’ll be fine, Grandma.”

  She sat on the bed. “You don’t want to be sore tomorrow. Picking strawberries is hard work.”

  I looked at her. “How did you know we were picking strawberries?” I’d put the competition envelope under my dresser.

  She held up her phone. “It’s posted on the Strawberry Days website. They’re putting up the challenges by seven each night.”

  “What? When did they say that?”

  “Your dad said they announced it at the breakfast. I guess it was after we flew into the cosmos.”

  I clenched my teeth.

  She took off her slippers. “So you’re really doing this war thing?”

  I took a moment. Then, because I had researched and found tips from a well-known resource called The Art of War while they were all playing card games and not focusing on the competition, I found out that you have to be disciplined as a leader on the battlefield and you have to have high standards for yourself and also for the people you are in charge of (this was complicated because I was both in charge of Grandma and at war with her). I said, “We are doing this war. Thank you for asking, Grandmother.”

  She sighed. “I just don’t think it’s for the best, Meg. Forgiveness is the way forward.”

  I smiled and turned to her. “Okay, Grandma. I forgive you. Now wil
l you do everything I say?”

  She laughed. “I will not.”

  “Then it’s war.”

  Hattie walked in. She had green stuff on her face and toilet paper in her hair! I wasn’t sure what they were doing but it made me feel kind of bad that while I was upstairs getting ready for the next challenge they were downstairs hanging out and putting stuff on their faces and wasting toilet paper without me.

  “Are you guys fighting?” Hattie asked.

  “No,” Grandma said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  Grandma sighed. “I picked out clothes for both of us for the strawberry picking.”

  I looked at her. She what?

  “They’re laid out on the couch. We need to get to the UPICK early even if we can’t start right away so we can see what the layout is.”

  “It’s a field of strawberries, Grandma.”

  She nodded. “I realize that but nonetheless, I’d like to get there and be ready to go. We should make lunches and take snacks.”

  I could not believe how she was being. I was going to say we should make lunches and bring snacks. I was in charge. My mind started working fast. I had to stop this. I had to make a move.

  “Water is what we need,” I said. “That’s number one what we need.”

  “Yes. Of course.” She got in bed.

  “You should be nice to Grandma,” Hattie said.

  I didn’t say anything because there was nothing to say. I rolled over and just as I was about to fall asleep, a war idea sprang to life.

  “See you in the morning. I think we should go for a fresh start, Meg. That’s what I think,” Grandma said.

  I was silent as a snake and then she turned out the lights.

  “You know, Meg,” she said, “only a dope will mope.”

  24

  Night Attack

  First act of war.

  At three in the morning my watch vibrated. Following in my dad’s footsteps when he had a war with his grandpa, I felt like the middle of the night was the best time to get things done.

  I got up.

  Grandma’s CPAP machine was humming.

  Hattie was snoring.

  Conditions were perfect.

  I tiptoed out to the front room and found the clothes Grandma had laid out on the couch. She had my flannel shirt THAT I WORE IN THE WINTER. A T-shirt. Long jeans. My leather boots and a big old fat sun hat. For her she had overalls, one of my mom’s flannel shirts, a T-shirt, and boots. There were heavy socks for both of us and scarves and gloves.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  Did she think we lived in the Arctic? It was supposed to be ninety-nine degrees tomorrow. If we wore all this we would die of heatstroke.

  I gathered everything up and made my way outside to the shed.

  It was stuffed with Dad’s boxes. They were stacked all over the place; some of them looked like they were about to fall over.

  I took both our flannel shirts and flung them as far back into the shed as I could. They slid down behind the boxes! Score! Then I threw the jeans and the overalls, which didn’t slide all the way down but far enough. I put each boot in a different box and chucked the scarves and gloves over by the rakes.

  I was about to put the socks in a bag of compost when I heard a noise.

  I stopped.

  Something was moving.

  I held my breath.

  A cracking sound. Like a piece of wood breaking.

  Goose bumps rose on my arms. It was dark out, not even the moon and everything quieter than usual, except those sounds, that crack.

  The trees were looming, there were shadows, and I felt like I was being watched—I could feel a prickling all over my skin.

  I slowly, slowly, slowly turned around.

  Eyes! Eyes staring at me! Eyes of darkness!

  I muffled a scream and staggered backward and was about to be attacked when I realized what it was.

  A fox.

  I let out a breath.

  “You scared me,” I said, my heart thumping.

  The fox didn’t move.

  “I’m just hiding her stuff,” I whispered. “It’s an act of war. She’ll get it all back.”

  The fox still didn’t move.

  “Shoo,” I said. “Shoo. Go away.”

  Nothing. The goose bumps came back. Did Grandma send the fox? Did she and her adventure friends study spells along with upcycling and scuba diving?

  Oh, whatever. I threw everything left into the shed as fast as I could and then I ran to the house.

  “Leave me alone, fox. It’s not my fault,” I hissed.

  I opened the door, tripped over a box and a Frankenstein mask, and almost yelled out in pain.

  Almost.

  Almost.

  But, like a real war leader, I enacted my incredible self-control and discipline and made no sound at all. Instead I crawled wounded to my bed on the hardwood floor of my room, Grandma and Hattie sleeping away.

  “Strike one, Grandma. Your spooky fox didn’t scare me.”

  * * *

  —

  Meg 1, Grandma 0

  25

  Strategy and Supplies

  The next morning I woke up to the sweet sound of Grandma saying, “Stephanie, did you move our clothes?”

  I sat up.

  “What clothes?” Mom asked.

  “I put out those clothes for Meg and me for the competition today.”

  “No,” Mom said. “Nothing was out here when I got breakfast.”

  Grandma started walking back to the room and I hit the deck and acted like I was sleeping.

  I heard her come in.

  I heard her watch me.

  I heard her feel the pain of war.

  I held very still like a piece of wood.

  She left.

  I heard her ask Dad.

  I heard her ask Hattie.

  I stayed in my sleeping bag laughing in my heart.

  When it was almost time to go, I got up and put on a tank top and a pair of cut-offs. Grandma hadn’t come back in the room.

  I went to the kitchen and she and Hattie and Dad were eating cereal. Grandma was wearing a T-shirt, another one of Mom’s long-sleeved flannel shirts, some jeans, and a pair of tennis shoes. She had a bandana around her neck and Mom’s beach hat on her head. She picked up her orange juice and drank it without looking at me.

  Why was she wearing the hottest clothes possible? Was she worried an unexpected blizzard would move in today?

  “How’d you sleep, Meg?” Dad asked.

  “Fine.” I sat down and poured some cereal.

  “We need to get going,” Grandma said. She didn’t say anything about my clothes. Instead she handed me some sunscreen. “Put some of this on.”

  I looked at her. “I already put some on in the bathroom.”

  “What’s the SPF?”

  I had no idea but I said, “One thousand.”

  Dad looked at me. “Meg. Come on.”

  Grandma smiled. “We’ll get over this. Don’t worry, Peter.”

  Grandma went to call Grandpa Arthur to check in.

  I got my lunch ready and put in like fifteen Double Stuf Oreos for energy, a root beer, a handful of corn chips, half a grapefruit, a hard-boiled egg I found in the back of the fridge, and some Swedish Fish. I put my lunch sack in a string backpack I got free at the movie theater once. An abundance of supplies is key to keeping warriors refreshed and energized. I added in another Oreo.

  I called Lin to tell her that I was prepared and to find out what time she was coming. Then Grandma got her lunch ready while I looked for my baseball hat and Hattie was singing a Beatles song called “Strawberry Fields” really loud and Dad said, “Hattie, please.”

  I kept f
orgetting things like my ChapStick, my sunglasses, and a good-luck stone duck that I won at Strawberry Days two years ago that I try to keep in my pocket at all times.

  Grandma kept yelling, “Meg, we’re going to be late!”

  And I kept yelling, “We don’t get to start until nine-thirty!”

  And she kept yelling, “I told you I wanted to get there early!”

  And I kept yelling, “We have tons of time!”

  Finally, we were in the truck. Dad was going to drop us off and then come back and pick us up at the end of the day.

  “You aren’t going to watch us?”

  “I want to but I have to work.”

  “Really?”

  “Sorry, Megs. Mom and Hattie and I will all be there at the end to see you win, though.”

  I looked at Grandma. She had a gigantic backpack—like one you would take to the Alps—sitting next to her.

  “Are you going to carry that around with you?”

  “I’m bringing it just in case. I also have a hydration bladder for both of us.”

  I held up my water bottle. “I’m fine.”

  Grandma nodded. “Great.”

  26

  Strawberry Fields Forever

  The fields were past Lin’s house on the outskirts of town. They were part of the biggest strawberry farm in the county.

  Everyone from the competition was standing around at the barn, and there were people who weren’t in the competition too. They took pictures of Grandma and me when we got out of the monster truck.

  “See, Meg? We’re famous.”

  “Yay,” I said, acting annoyed, but I did do a pretty good face for the cameras.

  Dawn Allerton and her assistant were both wearing sun visors and business suits. There was a lady with a cowboy hat who I guessed was the person in charge of the UPICK. Dawn Allerton was reading her clipboard and then looked up at us.

  “Ah, Meg and Sally Stokes are finally here.”

  “Are we late?” Grandma asked, looking at her watch.

  “No, but everyone else was early.”

  Grandma gave me a look.