“Huh?”
“Just go, Matt. Like always. Things get bad, you take off. Close up.”
He’s staring at me. “What does that mean?”
I see Jorie’s mom backing out of their driveway. “I don’t know. Think about it. I’m leaving.”
Matt says, “Hey!” but I start walking.
When I get into the backseat, Jorie lets out a sigh. Then another, and another. She’s just waiting for me to ask.
I finally give in. “So you and Eli are going to homecoming?”
“Yes,” she breathes.
I have to say it. “He asked you?”
“More or less.”
I feel sick.
“I’m happy for you. You guys are good for each other. Did you get the red dress?”
“I still can’t decide. But I have time.” She turns to me. “I want you to go in the group with me and Eli. So I’ve made a list of potential dates.”
“Seriously?”
She’s completely serious. “So far I’ve come up with three.” She shows me the list on her phone: Leo Berman, Raj Patel, and Grady Brunson.
First, I don’t know any of these boys, except for a face in the hall. Second, I don’t want Jorie to choose a date for me. Third, I don’t even know what third is. And fourth, this is not how you dream about these events in your life.
“Isn’t Leo Berman shorter than me?” I ask.
“So you won’t wear heels.”
“And I thought Raj had a girlfriend.”
“They broke up.”
“Oh.”
“Listen, Nina, tell me you’ll think about it. Because it will be such a fun night, and I really want you to be there. We’ll get our hair and nails done and get ready together.” She makes these puppy-dog eyes. “It’s the beginning of everything! Our whole high school lives! Say okay! Okay?”
“But … I don’t really know Leo or Raj or Grady. Why would they even ask me?”
We’re at school. Jorie opens the car door. “Not a problem.”
“Jorie! Wait!” I call, but she’s off. She’s probably going to find one of those boys right now. I have the urge to reel her in with a very scratchy rope.
“Thanks for driving us,” I say to her mom.
“Nina?” She’s looking back at me. I realize she didn’t give us one of her warnings.
“Yeah?”
“Watch out for her, would you?”
I nod. “I’ll try.”
She slides off her sunglasses. She looks sort of sad. “Thank you, honey.”
Forty-six.
In art, Ms. Quinlan is showing our perspective drawings and commenting on each. When she holds up mine, she says, “Interesting viewpoint. I like how you’ve drawn the circle of houses. Where were you standing?”
“I was sitting in a hammock.”
Chase nods. Sariah tips her head to the side.
Ms. Quinlan hands it back to me. “What’s that, at the last house?”
“It’s a fox.”
“Nice touch. Adds a little mystery.”
Thomas is waiting for me when I get home. The cape. After cleaning up the mysterious garbage and having my nighttime heart-to-heart with Myrna Millman, I forgot to sew his cape.
“Thomas,” I say.
He has his arms crossed. “I need my cape fixed. Today! The bad guys are getting closer!”
“I know. I’m really sorry. I got a little busy. I mean—”
“What do you mean, you got busy?” Thomas’s eyes get wide. “Wait, are you … Mystery Girl?”
“No, no, I’m not, but I know her very well.”
“You’re really not her?”
“Um, yeah.” Mr. D. and Eli already know; Thomas will tell everyone else, and who knows what Mrs. Millman will do then. Turn me over to the authorities, I suppose, although what would they charge me with? Premeditated good?
“Well, could you tell her I really, really, really need my cape back?”
“Yes, sir.” I salute him.
He trots back into his house. The homecoming sign has been taken down.
I see a piece of paper taped to our front door: URGENT (all caps, red ink). Mrs. Millman has called another meeting.
Please meet in the center of our cul-de-sac this evening at 8 p.m. to discuss the peculiar goings-on in our neighborhood. We can no longer ignore this vitally important matter.
Mrs. Myrna Millman
I doubt my parents will go. I leave the note on the kitchen table, then run upstairs, grab Thomas’s cape, and spread it across my lap. I remove the button tray from the sewing basket and dig for the black thread, but a long piece is caught around two other spools. When I pull everything out to untangle them, somehow, somehow, Grandma’s wedding band falls into my palm. The one that was lost. A thin band with tiny chips of diamonds. From her fifty-two-year marriage to my grandpa. She wanted to be buried with it, but no one could find it. No one thought to look in her sewing basket. And here it is.
There is nothing else to do but slip it onto my finger.
I twist the band around and wish I could somehow get it to her. A good thing that I will never be able to do.
At the funeral, I couldn’t stand up in front of everyone and share memories of her. Mom spoke, Mom’s sister spoke, and one of my cousins. They all talked about how she loved her family, and tradition, and of course, things like sewing and cooking and holidays, and how she just simply couldn’t understand email. Mom joked about her too, which is something I guess people do at funerals.
But none of them really got her.
At first I felt sad that I wasn’t able to get up and talk. But then I thought she’d have been okay with it. Because we got each other. And we both knew it. So why did I need to tell everyone else?
I take off the band and hold it up to my window, sunlight catching in the tiny diamonds. Maybe Grandma wasn’t meant to be buried with her wedding band. Maybe it was meant for me. From one old soul to another. What if, this whole year, it was waiting for me at the bottom of her sewing basket? A treasure in the most unlikely place. Or the most likely place, really, when you think about it. And I found it because of a good thing I’m doing—sewing Thomas’s cape.
With her band back on my finger, I thread the needle and sew the ripped part of the cape. Small, even stitches. Then I bring it to Thomas’s house. Except Eli answers the door.
“Oh. Um. Is your brother here?” I ask.
“He fell asleep.” Eli reaches for the cape. “Here, I’ll take it.”
“Okay.” I turn.
“Wait, Nina?”
“What?” My “what” is sharper than I meant it to come out, and I don’t know why. Yeah, I do. That sign.
“Just, thanks for fixing it again.”
“Sure.”
We glance at each other; then he twists his mouth a little, looks away.
“Well,” I say. He’s gone over to Jorie Land. I start to walk away, then turn back as he’s closing the door. I touch Grandma’s band. “Eli. This little thing? Fixing the cape? To Thomas, it’s huge. Can’t you see that?”
“I mean, yeah, but it doesn’t make a difference in the real world.” He balls up the fabric in his hand. “It’s pretend.”
I shake my head. “Not to me, or Thomas.”
“Whatever.”
He shuts the door.
I have never seen so many people on the street at one time. Mrs. Chung on her crutches. Mrs. Cantaloni, with her arms around her stomach. Her three boys and Thomas, wrestling on the Cantalonis’ front lawn. Jorie’s mom and dad. Mr. Millman, a cigar tucked into his shirt pocket. Mrs. Bennett in her nursing scrubs.
And, unbelievable. Fine and Ross. They’ve left the kitchen table.
I’m taking it all in from my favorite spot—the hammock. A perfect view.
Mrs. Millman is ecstatic. “Thank you all for coming.” She clasps her hands. “I believe we are facing a crisis here, and it is of vital importance that we discuss how to handle this situation.”
; “Yes, Myrna, we received your note,” Dad says sarcastically.
“As most of you know, my poodle, Beanie, was the victim of an attack by an animal in those weeds.” Mrs. Millman waves her hand at the Dixon house. “She is suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome.”
Jorie’s dad laughs. “I didn’t know a dog could get that.”
“This is not funny!” Mrs. Millman snaps.
“Sorry. My sincere apologies.”
“Secondly, it has come to my attention that someone is using the vacant Dixon property as a hangout. My guess is teenagers. Most likely drinking.”
The neighbors look distressed. “That’s not good,” Mrs. Cantaloni says.
Mrs. Millman nods. “I have asked the police to patrol the area more frequently.”
Jorie’s mom pats her arm. “Good idea.”
“Thanks for taking the lead on that,” Jorie’s dad says. “Has anyone seen the kids? Know who they are?”
“No,” Mrs. Millman reports. “But believe me, I will stay on it.”
I’m surprised she hasn’t said anything about me and that night. Probably wants to take all the credit for being on top of things.
My parents have been quiet. They’re checking their phones.
“However, neither of these incidents is our biggest problem anymore,” Mrs. Millman says.
Mrs. Bennett yawns. “Oh, excuse me. Long shift.”
“What’s our biggest problem?” Jorie’s mom asks.
Mrs. Millman lowers her voice, and I have to lean forward. “I now believe that everything that’s been happening around here all summer … is the work of otherworldly spirits.”
“You mean ghosts?” Mrs. Cantaloni asks.
“Yes.”
“Oh, come on!” That’s Dad. “You didn’t call us out here to tell us you think ghosts are haunting that house? I don’t believe in that stuff.”
“Agree,” Mom echoes.
“Well, let’s listen to her point of view,” Mrs. Bennett says. “Go on, Myrna. Why do you think that?”
Mrs. Millman describes the lights, noises, shadows, and faces she’s seen. “And haven’t you all noticed the highly unusual goings-on? Pennies in people’s mailboxes? Golf balls and cigars popping up out of nowhere? A smiley face balloon in my flowerpot?”
Dad is staring at Mrs. Millman. “Maybe you should talk to someone, Myrna. Someone professional.”
“I’m not crazy!”
Mrs. Chung has been quiet until now. “It’s the kumiho.”
Dad turns to her. “Excuse me?”
“Fox spirit.”
Everyone stares at her for a minute; then they start talking at the same time. I can’t make sense of anything.
Then Dad shouts, “Stop, everyone! Settle down!” He turns to Mrs. Millman. “Look, Myrna, while there may be some issues with the Dixon house, you’ve already notified the police, so I’m not sure what else we can do at this point. As for what you’re calling ‘unusual things,’ I just don’t see anything there. It all sounds harmless. I’m sure everything has a reasonable explanation. Coincidence. And ghosts?” He looks around at the other neighbors. “I don’t think you have a lot of support for your argument.”
Mrs. Millman starts to say something, but the meeting breaks up.
“We should get together,” Jorie’s mom says to mine. “It’s been so long since we had dinner.”
“It has.” Mom nods. “We’ve been immersed in this case. The summer is just speeding by. I still have to buy everything Matt needs for college.”
“College! Hard to believe. Where did the time go?”
“I know,” Mom says, and for a second, she looks … different. Softer? Her face. Her shoulders. Something … I think of that night, when I saw her crying.
“I’ll email you some dates,” Jorie’s mom says.
“Email?” Mrs. Chung laughs. “Why? Talk.”
Dad and Jorie’s dad shake hands. Mrs. Bennett asks Mrs. Cantaloni how she’s feeling. The Cantaloni boys and Thomas start a game of monkey in the middle. Mrs. Chung claps when Jordan catches the ball. “Good for you!” she calls.
Unusual things indeed.
This is a huge number forty-seven.
I’m counting it even though I didn’t do anything.
Or did I?
Jorie is having people over and invites me.
She didn’t mention that “people” include the three boys she decided are my potential homecoming dates.
She didn’t say anything about boys at all, so I’m wearing an old pair of jean shorts and a T-shirt of Matt’s that shrank in the wash. And my glasses. Not the greatest first impression. If I wanted to make one.
There are a bunch of people from her class too. And Eli’s friends Tyler and Sam, who are calling Jorie “chocolate girl.” But I don’t see Eli.
I spot the boys:
1. Leo Berman hasn’t grown since about sixth grade. He’s nice, but I just can’t get past the height issue. He barely reaches my nose.
2. Raj Patel has had about ten girlfriends, each lasting two weeks. Do I want to be number eleven? Besides, Raj seems like the kind of guy who would take off and find someone else during the dance.
3. I realize that Grady Brunson is the guy in the plaid shorts who always throws around Jorie’s water bottle. He wouldn’t go to homecoming with me in a million years. I don’t know what Jorie was even thinking.
But the weirdest thing of all is that Sariah is here. I have to say hi. If I don’t, we’ll be eyeing each other all night and it’ll just be more awkward than ever.
So I do. (Forty-eight.)
“You know Jorie?” I ask her.
“Not really. I’m friends with Raj.”
Was she one of his girlfriends?
We avoid each other’s eyes for a second. Then I say, “Want to sit somewhere?”
She shrugs. “Okay.”
Jorie turns up the music, and Sariah and I find a spot on the floor.
I pull a thread on my shorts. “How’s your self-portrait going?” Our final project in art.
“Oh. Good. Yours?”
I smile. “I’m having some problems with my eyes. Drawing them, I mean.”
“I can help you.”
“That would be good. They don’t look human.”
She laughs.
“So … anything you want to tell me about frogs?”
“Oh my God.” She covers her face for a second. “I am so weird sometimes! I really do have a frog collection, but when I get nervous, I start saying all these odd, random thoughts. They just pop out, like I can’t help myself. You must think I’m so strange.”
Wait. Random thoughts?
Turns out, Sariah has a whole brain full of odd things to say, only they don’t seem so strange anymore. She’s funny and quick, and keeps making hilarious observations about people at the party. I can’t stop laughing.
We’re about to get some pizza, but Jorie is dragging Grady Brunson over. “Why are you hiding in the corner?” she says to me. Then to Sariah, “Oh, hi.”
I stand. Immediate this-is-so-wrong feeling. Definitely mutual, as Grady looks at the wall to the right of my face.
“Grades,” Jorie sings, “this is Neeennna.”
“Hi.” He looks at some girls at the other end of the room.
He’s very cute, if you like guys with long stringy hair, low-hanging baggy jeans, leather flip-flops, a wrinkled Hollister T-shirt. Guys who are rude to girls like me.
“So,” Jorie says loudly, “I was just telling Grades that you are thinking of going out for girls’ basketball.”
I am?
“Grades plays basketball,” Jorie says, threading her arm through his. “And he’s really good. He’ll probably make varsity. Isn’t that amazing?”
Well, it’s a match. We have tons to talk about.
“I played one year in junior high,” I say. “Point guard. I didn’t start, though. I’m not sure I’m good enough for a high school team. I’m only five-one.”
> Why am I talking? Grady’s not even listening, and Jorie has drifted off. Sariah stands. “I played in junior high too.”
“Really?”
“Also point guard.”
Grady shifts his feet. Sariah rolls her eyes.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “You don’t have to stay and talk to us.”
He tips his head at me, the first acknowledgment that I’m here. “See ya around, Gina.”
I make a face as he walks away.
Sariah says, “Jerk.”
“Yeah, my grandma would have said that boy hasn’t got a lot upstairs.”
“So true.”
Jorie marches over. “What happened?” she whispers. “I set the whole thing up. I bragged about your basketball skills for, like, twenty minutes. Told him you were sweet and funny and, like, a really helpful person.”
“Forget it,” I say, my voice low.
“Oh God, Nina, you’re hopeless.” Jorie’s still whispering. Sariah has moved away a little.
“Thanks. Thanks a lot. He couldn’t even remember my name.”
“I’m just saying. You have to make it happen, you know?”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m fine, okay?”
Jorie does that half-smile-raised-lips thing. “What-evs.”
Sariah and I talk the rest of the night. Finish each other’s sentences. A hundred random thoughts. But nothing about frogs.
When I’m home and fall into bed, I smile at the ceiling. Is it possible I found someone who gets me?
It takes Mom a few days to notice that I’ve been wearing Grandma’s band.
She’s at the kitchen sink, rinsing carryout containers, and I’m sitting at the counter, finishing my self-portrait. My eyes look a lot better since Sariah gave me some tips.
Mom turns off the water. “Is that my mother’s ring?”
I nod. “I found it in her sewing basket.”
She dries her hands and sits across from me. “Really.”
I slip it off and give it to her. Mom holds it in her palm. “Her sewing basket.” She shakes her head. “Of course. Why didn’t anyone think of that? Why didn’t we look there?”
She puts it on her finger, but it goes only about halfway. “She had such small hands.” Mom gives it back to me, nods. “You have her hands. Every time I see your hands, I see hers.”
The Summer I Saved the World ... in 65 Days Page 9
