by Mary Amato
SPLATTER! SPLAM!
Uh-oh.
Princess Coconut wasn’t white anymore. She looked like a giant pink gumball that somebody slobbered on.
Scarlett walked in. “Are you done, Lu—” She looked at the cat.
“She looks pretty in pink,” I said. “Don’t you think?” Then I said, “Hey, that rhymes!” I was on a roll with the rhymes.
“Who cares about rhymes?” Scarlett screamed. “You need to wash Princess Coconut or we’re in big trouble.”
Just then, the cat darted out of the cottage.
We both ran after her. Scarlett caught the cat and I grabbed the garden hose. I turned it on and aimed it at the cat. Scarlett screamed, “Stop!”
It took me a few seconds to figure out how to turn it off. Both Scarlett and the cat were dripping wet. Princess Coconut hissed at me, jumped out of Scarlett’s arms, and ran into the house.
“Well, she isn’t pink anymore,” I said.
“Thanks a lot,” Scarlett said.
I gave her my hoodie to dry off.
She grabbed her sign off the table. Water had gotten all over it. “Oh no! I worked hard on this,” she cried. “It had no drips. Now it’s a mess.”
“Sorry. But at least I finished painting,” I said to cheer her up. “Check it out.”
We went into the Craft Cottage and looked at the walls.
“Oh no!” she screamed. “This is bad, too, Lucy. It’s drippy. And it’s not very pink.”
She was right. It was drippy and it didn’t look pink.
“Real life is not turning out the way I want,” she said sadly. “In my head, this whole thing was really pretty.”
I know how that feels. I tried to make a lion costume for Halloween out of yellow pajamas and brown face paint, and I just looked like an old banana with bruises.
“Don’t worry, Scarlett,” I said. “We can still make the cottage look pretty. I’ll bring something special.”
She looked up, and her eyes were watery like she was going to cry. “Not another cat sculpture,” she said.
“Something really pretty,” I said.
“Okay, Lucy. Thanks.” She gave me a little hug. I’m sure she would have given me a big hug, but I had paint on me.
Think. Think. Think. What could I bring to cheer up Scarlett?
I looked all over the house. In the dining room cupboard I found my mom’s pretty teapot with the tiny pink flowers. As Leo would say, Scarlett would go peepee in her pants over that. I didn’t think my parents would mind if I borrowed it for a little while, so I hid it in my backpack.
The next morning, I gave it to Scarlett. She jumped up and down.
“Lucy! I love it!” she said, and gave me a big hug.
A huge bubble of happiness filled me up on the inside, big enough to last for the rest of my life.
Then something terrible happened, and the bubble of happiness went poof!
The Morning Mix TV show started. The fifth graders get to do school announcements every morning on their TV show, and we all watch it. Devon, the fifth grader who was hosting the show, said that Mr. Hopkin had a special announcement.
Mr. Hopkin came on the TV. Mr. Hopkin smiles a lot, but today he had a frown. “I am sad to say that two bottles of pink paint and two paintbrushes are missing from the art room,” he said. He was looking into the camera, but I felt like he was looking right at me. “We have never had a problem with stealing here at Slido Creek Elementary, and I hope this is a mistake rather than a crime. If any of you know anything about this, please come and talk to me.”
I remembered that Phillip Lee saw me with the bag of paint. He would tell Mr. Hopkin about me! I was too afraid to look at him. I looked at Scarlett, but she was very busy with her shoelace and she wouldn’t look up.
All morning, I thought the police would come and take me away. I had to wait until recess to talk to Scarlett.
Finally recess came and Scarlett and I ran down to the fence where nobody could hear us.
Her face was red.
“Don’t tell anyone or you’ll get in trouble, Lucy,” she said.
“But you told me that Mr. Hopkin said I could take the paint,” I said.
She shook her head. “I said he probably would let you take it if you asked nicely.”
“You did not, Scarlett! I would remember that.”
“You don’t have a good memory, Lucy,” she said. “You’re mad at me because you stole the paint without asking.”
“I didn’t steal it! You told me it was okay. It was your idea, Scarlett.”
“It was my idea to ask, not to steal, Lucy.”
Maybe Scarlett was right. Maybe I didn’t have a good memory. This was terrible. The whole thing was making my stomach hurt. “I’m going to tell Mr. Hopkin the truth,” I said, and started to leave.
She grabbed my arm. “Lucy,” she said, “if you say anything about me or the paint, I will get in trouble, and I will never be your friend and nobody will want to be your friend because they’ll find out that you ruined everything.”
My stomach hurt more. I walked away.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’m going to stick my head in a garbage can. That’s my big exciting plan,” I said.
Another rhyme. And I wasn’t even trying.
I walked up to the blacktop and sat by myself. I felt like somebody was watching me. Mr. Hopkin had probably hired a detective who was hiding in the bushes with binoculars. I was probably going to get arrested and go to jail. While Scarlett and Victoria and Mara and Resa got to make crafts and have cookies and tea in the Craft Cottage, I’d be in jail with beetles and bugs and centipedes and slugs and droopy spiderwebs and poopy mice and real robbers who were probably smelly and mean. All the teachers would be in the teachers’ lounge saying, “What a shame about Lucy McGee. She used to be a nice girl.” And my mom and dad would cry. And Leo and Lily would miss me.
I could not let that happen. I had to fix this. Think. Think. Think. And then it hit me. I ran over and pulled Scarlett away from Victoria and Mara. “We can buy pink paint and return it to Mr. Hopkin’s room without anybody finding out,” I said. “If the paint is returned, we can’t get in trouble.”
She clapped. “That’s the best idea you’ve ever had,” she said, and smiled. “On Monday, I don’t have my violin lesson because my violin teacher is having a roof canal. So I’ll get my babysitter to take us to the art store after school.”
“Yay!” I said.
“But only if you promise not to tell anybody anything,” she said.
“I promise,” I said. “We have a plan that will not fail, and I won’t have to go to jail!”
Another rhyme!
Hmmm…maybe I should be a songwriter.
Eleven bucks. That’s how much we needed for our secret plan. Paint costs a lot.
I couldn’t tell my parents what it was for, so I just said I wanted to buy some special art supplies. My dad said that I could earn money on Saturday by cleaning the basement. More sponges. More spiders. Yippee. Scarlett promised to come over after gymnastics and help.
On Saturday, I scrubbed and mopped and dusted. Scarlett didn’t come.
I called her on the phone, and her dad said she went over to Victoria’s after gymnastics. Her memory wasn’t that good after all.
I didn’t whistle while I worked, but I sang, and that made it fun. I like to sing, and I got eleven dollars!
On Monday, I brought the money to school in my pocket. When I walked down the hall, it felt funny to have eleven dollars in my pocket. I hope I do not get robbed, I thought. I would be so sad. Then I thought about how sad Mr. Hopkin was to find out his paint was stolen.
All day, I felt like there were eyes on me.
After school, Scarlett’s babysitter took us to the art store and we bought the paint. “It’s for school,” Scarlett told the babysitter, which was true. “We need to bring it back right away.”
She let us go back to school. It was f
our o’clock. The teachers were all having a meeting in the cafeteria. The hallways were quiet.
“You put the stuff back in the art room,” Scarlett said. “I’ll wait by the cafeteria. If anybody comes out, I’ll talk so they won’t follow you.”
“Why don’t you put the stuff back?” I asked.
“You have quieter shoes than me,” she said. It was true. She had on fancy shoes with little heels that went click, click, click, click.
I tiptoed down the hall to the art room with the bag of paint. My heart was beating fast. The door to the art room was closed. I turned the knob and peeked in. It was dark. Mr. Hopkin was nowhere in sight. I crept in and headed toward the paint shelf.
“Robber!” someone yelled, and flipped on the lights.
I jumped and turned around.
Phillip Lee was standing there with a bag of potato chips. “I knew you were the robber!” Phillip Lee said. “I knew you’d strike again!” He jumped up and down with glee, and some potato chips went flying.
“Shh! I’m not stealing, Phillip! I’m actually doing the opposite of stealing. I’m unstealing.” I showed him the pink paint. “See, I’m putting it back.”
He stopped jumping. “What?”
“I’m not a real robber. I took the paint by accident. I thought I had permission. I’m returning it.”
“Oh,” he said. “I’ve been spying on you. It looked like you were plotting with Scarlett. I thought you were planning on stealing more.”
“Did you tell Mr. Hopkin that you saw me with the paint?”
“No,” he said. “I wanted to surprise him by catching you in the act.”
I put the paint and the brushes and the cup back. “Please don’t say anything to anybody about this, Phillip. I don’t want to get in trouble. And I don’t want Scarlett to get in trouble.”
He looked like he wasn’t sure what to do.
“Does Mr. Hopkin know you’re in here?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I snuck in so I could catch you.”
“I don’t think students are supposed to be in teachers’ rooms after school even if they are trying to catch robbers,” I said. “So let’s both drop it.” I started to walk out.
“Wait. What did you want the paint for?” he asked.
“It’s a secret,” I said.
“What kind of a secret?”
“A secret club kind of secret.”
“Why don’t you just come to Songwriting Club?” he asked. “It’s fun.” He set down his potato chips and picked up his uke, which was on one of the art tables. “I wrote a song while I was waiting to catch you.”
He played and sang:
I know who likes to steal.
I’m quite a good detective.
All day I hide and spy.
I’m really quite effective.
So if you want to rob a school,
a store, a house, or bank,
I’ll catch you in the act
And everyone will thank…
Me, me, me!
I catch robbers as they flee.
Me, me, me!
I catch robbers named McGee.
He held out his uke. “You can try it.”
I took it in my hands. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I pretended to strum as I sang:
I really like your song,
except for the last line.
Because Lucy McGee
would never do a crime.
So please stop catching robbers
as they try to flee
and stick to playing songs
on your ukulele.
Phillip smiled. “You really should join the club.”
He held out his bag of potato chips. “Want one?”
That made me smile for two reasons. Nothing like a compliment and a potato chip! Yum! Yum!
I ran outside and told Scarlett the news. “The paint is back,” I said. “Everything is okeydokey.”
She gave me a big hug. “We can decorate on Wednesday. It’ll be so much fun. I told Victoria, Mara, and Resa that the cottage would be ready for our first club meeting the Wednesday after that. They can’t wait!”
Sometimes things get stuck in my brain and they don’t want to come out. I kept thinking about the fun song Phillip made up and what a happy sound his ukulele made when he was strumming it. I also liked the way he smiled when I made up my song on the spot. I wanted to go to the Songwriting Club. I also wanted to help with the Craft Club. I wish I had two of me so I could do two things at once.
On Wednesday, I met Scarlett at the flagpole after school. I had an idea.
“Maybe we should go to the Songwriting Club first and then go to the Craft Club,” I said. “In the Songwriting Club, we could make up songs. And then we could sing them in the Craft Club.”
She made a face. “Boys don’t know how to have a good club.”
I didn’t think that was true. Leo made up a very good club last summer called the Sharks in the Park Club where everybody in our family went to the park and pretended to be sharks. How can that not be a good club? Before I could say anything, Scarlett pulled me along.
While Brandy and the babysitter watched TV, Scarlett and I moved stools and a table into the shed. We put a tablecloth and a vase with flowers from the garden on the table, and it really did look pretty. And then the door opened and a man’s face poked in and we screamed.
It was Scarlett’s dad, home from work early.
He didn’t have a happy look on his face at all. Brandy popped her head in, too.
“What are you girls doing?” he asked.
“We’re decorating,” Scarlett said.
“Did you ask your mom?” he asked.
“She didn’t,” Brandy said. “I told her she was going to be in trouble.”
Scarlett made a face at Brandy. Then she turned back to her dad. “Lucy wanted to have a club in here.”
“Me?” I looked at Scarlett, but she wouldn’t look back.
“What did you do with my gardening tools?” her dad asked.
My stomach knotted up.
“I didn’t touch them,” Scarlett said.
“Lucy?” Her dad looked at me.
“I put them in the garbage can,” I said.
“You what?” he yelled. “Those were good tools!”
“Uh-oh. You’re in big trouble, Lucy,” Brandy said.
“That’s where Scarlett told me to put them,” I said.
“I said put them in the garage, not in the garbage!” Scarlett yelled.
“No you didn’t!” I yelled. “Stop lying!”
Her dad stepped between us. “You both should have known that you needed permission before you did anything out here.” He looked around. “Who painted the walls? It looks terrible.”
“Lucy did,” Scarlett said.
“Scarlett told me we could do whatever we wanted,” I said.
Scarlett made a sad face and looked at her dad. “I’m sorry, Daddy. Lucy seemed so happy about the idea, I didn’t want to disappoint her.”
Her dad pulled out his phone and called somebody. At first I thought it was the police, and then I heard him say my dad’s name. “Moz, this is Roger. I’m sending Lucy home. She talked Scarlett into turning our shed into a clubhouse and basically made a mess of everything. She threw out my perfectly good gardening tools and slapped some kind of kiddie paint all over the walls.”
I couldn’t hear my dad’s voice. He was probably having a heart attack.
Scarlett started crying, but it didn’t look like real crying to me.
“Ha-ha, told you so,” Brandy said.
“Go inside, Scarlett,” her dad said. “You, too, Brandy. Lucy, your dad said you should walk home.”
Scarlett and Brandy went inside. Before the back door closed, Princess Coconut came out and hissed at me.
That cat didn’t like me. I didn’t care. I didn’t like her, either. From now on, I thought, I’m calling her Princess Dodobutt.
If you know you’ll be in tr
ouble when you go home, you don’t exactly want to run there. I walked as slowly as I possibly could. First I took slow, small steps. Then I went zigzag. But my stomach was hurting, so I finally went straight.
My dad was sitting on the front steps, waiting for me. Leo and Lily were in the yard playing Pig on a Blanket.
Pig on a Blanket is when you get a blanket and you pretend to be a pig on it. Seeing Leo and Lily oinking and wiggling their pretend tails made me feel sadder. When I was Leo’s age, I was cute and got to play games. Now that I am nine, life is one big problem after another.
“What did you do at Scarlett’s, Lucy?” my dad asked. His face looked like a rainy day.
The truth gushed out. I told my dad that I put Mr. Tandy’s tools in the garbage can. I told him that I took the paint from Mr. Hopkin’s room. I told him that I didn’t go to the Songwriting Club. I even told him that I borrowed Mom’s teapot. I started to cry, and it was real crying because all those things in one list made me realize how bad I had been.
He hugged me and said, “Lucy, it’s hard sometimes to know what’s right and wrong. But if you have a feeling in your gut that something isn’t right, you have to listen to that feeling instead of listening to someone like Scarlett.”
“I know,” I said. “My gut said that I shouldn’t have gone to Scarlett’s without permission. My gut said that I shouldn’t have put tools in the garbage can. My gut said that I shouldn’t have taken the paint or the teapot. My gut said a lot!”
“Then why didn’t you stand up to Scarlett?” he asked.
“She’s very tall,” I said.
My dad laughed for some reason. His rainy-day face went away, so I hugged him, and he hugged me back.
