“Well, that’s not super cool,” Sam says.
I don’t say anything. My insides have gotten gray and sad and mushy all of a sudden. It’s only lunchtime on Monday, and I’m already afraid that all the hard work we put in on our Siren Call—the string, the shells, the offerings, running away from Red Shorts—was a total waste of time.
—
I don’t want to see anyone during outdoor break, so I go to the last place anyone would want to spend a significant amount of time—the girls’ bathroom. I sit on the toilet, and despite how terrible I feel, I’m smart enough to put the lid down while I play a Pig Mania game on my phone. No loud noises or other surprises are going to cause me to drop my phone in the toilet. As upset as I am, I still have enough focus to avoid that. If I could ever tell her this story, Roberta would be proud.
I hear voices come and go—some I recognize and some I don’t. I hear a bunch of people pee and a couple of people poop, and almost everyone washes their hands. If anyone wants to use my stall, they just pull on the door and give up when they realize someone’s inside.
Until Lisa Lee and Kylie Mae make their entrance.
“He wants to kiss,” Lisa Lee says with an icked-out tone to her voice, “but I just want him to hang out with me at outdoor break and maybe hold hands. Is Lonnie like that?”
“Yeah,” Kylie Mae says.
“He’d better not think I’m going to kiss him at the Bling Bling. He probably thinks I’ll be so scared on the rides I’ll jump into his arms or something. If that’s his plan, he’s barking up the wrong girl!”
I laugh on the inside because I think she means “barking up the wrong tree.” For that second I’m not concentrating on my video game, and when one of them pulls at the stall door, I’m surprised.
CRASH! My phone drops to the floor.
Dad was smart enough to put a thick plastic case on it, so it doesn’t break, but it bounces underneath the door and out into the bathroom. Oh no.
“Hey, I got your phone,” Lisa Lee calls, not knowing I’m the one behind the door.
I disguise my voice, making it low and grumbly. “Leave it on the sink; I’m busy.”
Lisa Lee and Kylie Mae both laugh. “Who is that? Do we know you?” Lisa Lee asks.
Ugh, I do not want to have this conversation! “No,” I say, mumbly and scratchy. “I’m new here.”
“Hmmm,” says Lisa Lee, who’s followed by Kylie Mae with a similar “Hmmm.” Lisa Lee picks up where Kylie Mae left off. “That’s funny. I haven’t heard of any new girls here. Especially none that wear Cleo Nelson’s unattractive sneakers.”
There’s nothing I can do now, so I respond in my own voice. “They’re not unattractive—they’re unique!” They really are. They’re bright pink and I’ve drawn my animated characters all over them. I may not be proud of many things, but I’m proud of these sneakers. I open the door to find Lisa Lee and Kylie Mae standing side by side.
“Ewww, she didn’t flush,” says Kylie Mae.
“I was sitting on the lid!”
“Still,” says Kylie Mae.
“Are you gonna give me my phone?” I ask. I have visions of them tossing it in the trash can or, even worse, throwing it in the toilet.
“I don’t want your dumb phone,” Lisa Lee says, handing it back to me. “You probably don’t have any good apps or games anyway.”
“Thanks,” I say, not meaning it. I head toward the door.
“Hey, we’re sorry about the Bling Bling Summer Fling,” Lisa Lee’s voice says behind me.
I turn around. “What about it?”
“She doesn’t know,” Kylie Mae whispers to Lisa Lee, though I’m standing right there and can hear her.
“Madison’s coming with us,” Lisa Lee says.
“To the Bling Bling?” I ask.
“Duh,” says Kylie Mae, and I don’t blame her. Of course that’s what she meant.
I try to cover up my surprise and sadness with a forced smile. “That’s okay,” I say. “I’ve got other plans anyway.” I open the door, thinking that if what Lisa Lee just told me is true, my other plans will be to not go to the Bling Bling at all. I’ll stay home and start convincing Dad to move back to Ohio.
As the door closes behind me, I think I hear Kylie Mae say one more thing. “Her necklace isn’t as cute as Madison’s.”
When Dad picks me up, his necklace is still tight around his neck. He doesn’t complain at all, but I see him scratch at it every once in a while when we’re at a stoplight.
“Dad, you can take off that necklace if you want,” I tell him.
“No, I like it,” he says with a smile that may or may not be real.
“No, you don’t. It’s stupid. It’s ugly. And it’s uncomfortable and it’s scratching your neck.”
“That’s not true,” he says, then thinks about it. “Well, that’s half true. Yes, it is a little uncomfortable and, yes, it’s scratching my neck, but it’s not ugly. And it’s definitely not stupid. Nothing you make for me could ever be stupid.”
I don’t believe that for a second, but it kind of makes me smile, since it’s another one of those types of things parents have to say to their kids. I want to put Dad to the test. “Okay, what if I made you a smoothie of kale and wasabi and onion and Tabasco and then topped it off with mud?”
Dad looks at me with a grossed-out expression, but he gulps and says, “Delicious.”
“Okay, what if I made a sculpture out of Toby’s turds, spray-painted it gold, and wrote ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ on it?”
“That would be…delightful,” Dad forces himself to say.
“Then you are the World’s Greatest Dad.” I laugh.
“You’re right,” he says. “But please don’t make me that sculpture.”
—
It’s nice to laugh for a minute, but inside the house, as I walk from the front door to my room, I make the mistake of glancing toward Dad’s office in the dining room. His computer with the biggest screen has a website up, and even from across the house, I can see white bells and ribbons, doves and cakes, and fancy cursive writing that reads “Save the Date: We’re Getting Married!”
Whatever smile I might have had on my face is gone now.
On one side of the page, faded in the background, is an old-fashioned photo of a dark-haired four- or five-year-old girl dressed like a bride in a little white dress and veil, her tiny feet in grown-up heels way too big for her. I immediately know that this is a young version of Samantha’s mom. The photo probably came from the scrapbook she gave my dad the other day!
There’s no picture of a little boy on the other side, but I bet Dad doesn’t know where any of his old photos are. He can’t keep track of anything in our dumb, messy house. He doesn’t even know what happened to my mom’s collection of shells from the New Jersey beach.
We’re Getting Married?
Suddenly it all makes sense! This is what he and Paige have been talking about all this time! On the phone, at school, over coffee and tea. Now that I think of it, Dad was dressed kind of nicely for the art show, probably because he knew he’d see her there! And he says he’s been taking longer hikes and bike rides…but maybe that’s not what he’s been doing at all. He’s been going on dates and not even telling his only daughter!
It seems crazy and out of control and way too fast, but that’s the way Dad can be! He moved us to Los Angeles because of Terri, and he didn’t tell me about that forever. He was in love with Terri back then, and I never knew. I just thought she was a girlfriend.
So it’s true. He’s getting married—to Samantha’s mom—and hasn’t told me yet. So much for the World’s Greatest Dad.
I’m not sure whether I want to throw up or cry or punch things, but whatever I’m doing, it’s going to be in my room, far away from Dad.
I stomp to my room, pull POCIÓNES FANTÁSTICOS from under my bed, and throw it back to the ground. That book is estúpido, muy muy estúpido! I crush it with my foot, not even caring that I have to re
turn it to the library. No one else in the world should ever check out this idiotic book, ever! The Siren Call hasn’t solved anything; it’s only made everything worse. And I have a red rash around my neck to prove it.
I open up my desk drawers, looking around for a pair of scissors. I finally find some under a bunch of Pandaroo storyboards I never finished. I walk over to my mirror and pull the scratchy string away from my neck. I probably shouldn’t be taking a pair of scissors to this important part of my body when I’m this upset and my eyes are teary, but the necklace is strangling me. Dad hates me using the word hate, but guess what? I don’t care! I hate this necklace! I hate love potions, I hate love charms, and I hate love!
I lift the scissors to the frayed string, but before I make my first snip, I see something behind me, reflected in the mirror. It’s small and rectangular and has a colorful photo on the front.
Not another postcard?
I put down the scissors, walk over to Millie’s terrarium, and pick it up.
Yep, it’s another card from Uncle Arnie. Why is he bothering me again so soon?
At first I liked these cards, as weird and confusing as they were, but today Uncle Arnie is more annoying than anything else.
I look at the stupid card anyway. What else is there to do with it?
I SAW THE METEOR CRATER AND RV PARK IN WINSLOW, ARIZONA! it says across the top. And sure enough, the picture is of a canyon-like hole in the ground with nothing around it in any direction except for dirt, dirt, and more dirt. There’s a wooden boardwalk over a small section of the hole, and the people standing on it are teeny-weeny, so this crater must be gigantic.
On the back, Uncle Arnie has written:
What did the asteroid say to the Earth? “Time for a last-ditch effort!” Get it? Because it made a really big ditch! Don’t reach for the stars, Cleo; reach for the asteroids!
Yep, once again Uncle Arnie has sent a postcard that barely makes any sense, at a time when I really don’t need any more mysteries. But I can’t ignore it either. It has to mean something. All the others did.
I can sort of guess what a “last-ditch effort” is, but I look it up online anyway. It says it’s a term from when wars were fought in ditches. The last-ditch effort was the last desperate attempt.
I sit on my bed holding the postcard over my crossed legs. So what does Uncle Arnie mean with this one?
I scratch at my necklace.
I pat Toby’s furry head when he pokes it on the bed by my knee.
I look at the postcard again. I read the facts on the back in small type. What were the chances of this asteroid hitting our planet fifty thousand years ago and now becoming a tourist attraction where you can take photos, buy souvenirs, and have lunch at Subway? That asteroid was minding its own business, probably having a fine time zooming through the solar system, and BAM! It hit our little planet. And it didn’t slam into the other side of the world; it hit the state right next to mine.
If that can happen, anything can…right?
The Bling Bling Summer Fling is three days away. School ends the day after that.
Is it time for a last-ditch effort?
I think Uncle Arnie would say yes.
—
Step one of my last-ditch effort is to try one more charm. And since time is running out, I need Samantha’s help.
But will she give it to me?
When we went to Madison’s and Sam translated the Siren Call, we might have been moving toward becoming friends again. But after she saw Larry’s monkey at the lake, I have no idea what direction we’re heading. It could be right off a cliff!
It takes all morning to build up my courage, but I pull Sam aside at outdoor break and ask if she’ll translate one last charm—hopefully the charm that will fix everything. I don’t tell her exactly what’s broken, just that nothing is turning out as I’d hoped.
She absentmindedly touches her necklace. It’s still around her neck, which means her wish hasn’t come true either. She must be ready for a last-ditch effort too, because she says she’ll do it. I sneak POCIÓNES FANTÁSTICOS from my backpack to hers, and then I wait.
The rest of the school day passes. Dad drives me home. We eat dinner. I stare at my homework. I look at my phone every five seconds. Nothing from Sam.
Did she change her mind? Did her necklace fall off, so she doesn’t care about me anymore?
I put on my pajamas, but I know I’ll never fall asleep. Then, just as I’m about to turn off my light and try to go to bed, my phone dings.
Too long to text. Check your email.
I turn on my computer. The subject line of her email is MENSAJE EN BOTELLA.
En inglés, she has written, it’s MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE.
Messages in bottles have been used since time immemorial.
Okay, I don’t know what immemorial means, but I’m going to guess it means “a super-long time.”
These messages began as a way to study the movements of the seas but soon became a romantic notion. A person who would find your message across a great expanse of water would be the person who understands you, who helps you, and who might be your true love.
Or, to quote Ryder Landry, your Only One! This charm is sounding good so far.
Write a letter to the person who will understand your dilemma. Tell him or her, or even the universe, who you are and what you are feeling. Share your deepest wishes and desires, no matter how silly or unattainable they seem.
Sam has written her own note here: “Not sure if ‘unattainable’ is the word. May be ‘unfeasible’ or ‘unreachable’ but I think they’re all the same thing.”
If Samantha thinks so, I’ll believe her. I’ve got a spell to read!
Decorate a bottle with the colors and designs that mean much to you and deposit the letter inside. When your loving feelings have charged the bottle with positive energy and happy emotions, walk to the edge of a body of water, toss in the bottle, and ask the powers of the universe to listen to your message.
I read the charm again, and then one more time. During my third reading, there’s a knock at my door and I nearly jump out of my chair. “What, Dad?” I shout as he opens the door and sticks his head in.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Five minutes, then lights out.”
My mind is full of ideas from reading the instructions, so I don’t say anything back.
“Did you hear me?” Dad asks, and I jump again.
“Yeah, yeah. Five minutes.”
“I hope it’s homework that’s captured your attention like that,” he says.
I’m barely listening, so I just say, “Yeah, yeah” again.
Five minutes isn’t enough time to do everything I need to do, so I say good night to Dad and turn off my light like a good little daughter. I lie in my bed looking at the ceiling (I might as well be in one of those pitch-black restaurants, since I can’t see a thing) and wait.
I hear muffled voices coming from the living room. Dad’s streaming something on our big screen. I hope it’s a short TV show, not a long movie.
I wait.
Finally the voices click off. The house is quiet except for the sound of Dad’s socks on the floor and him mumbling to Toby.
I wait more. Teeth are brushed. Water is sloshed around in mouth. Toothpaste is spit. There might be a fart. Or the creaking of a door, I’m not sure.
I wait. I hear a click; that must be Dad’s light going off. A door closes. Dad’s bed slightly squeaks.
Finally!
I throw off my covers and go over to my computer, turning the volume down so Dad won’t hear it start up.
I’m not much of a writer, and I’m definitely not a typist, but I have a lot to say and I can’t waste any time judging myself. I need to write what’s in my heart.
Dear Ryder,
Hi! How are you? I know you get a lot of letters and I doubt you’ll get this one, since I’m throwing it in a lake, but I could use your help. My name is Cleo Nelson. I’m almost twelve and I live in Los Angel
es, but not in a big mansion like you. I live with my dog, Toby, and Millie, my millipede, and my dad. My dad’s okay but he misses his girlfriend, Terri. He thinks he wants to marry someone else, but I know he doesn’t.
I like your music because it makes me think about love, and he loved Terri a lot—and my mom too, but she died when I was little. I hope that doesn’t bum you out, because we’re happy people most of the time and I bet you’d like us.
Just so you know, this is not a love letter—it’s a letter about friendship. You helped bring me and my friend Madison closer together, and I’m hoping you can do that again. Maybe you could send her an autographed picture. Or a text. Even if she never knew it came from me, even if it didn’t make her choose me over her other friends, I would still be happy because you made her happy. But maybe your pure Landryness will show her other friends that we’re not that different. Like you say in your song “Under the Sun”: “No matter where you’re from, how far you can run, whose heart you have won…we’re all one, under the sun!”
If you don’t have time for any of this, I understand and will still be a big fan. Have a good time in Asia!
Your friend, Cleo Nelson
I look at my computer screen and smile. It’s done. It’s good. Then I notice the clock in the corner. Oh my gosh, it’s two in the morning!
I can’t print the letter now; my printer makes a really loud GEEEZZZHHH GEEEZZZHHHH noise and would probably wake up Dad. What I can do now is copy the letter and send it to Ryder on his website. I once read on the WickedHappyTeenTime blog that Ryder can get up to a thousand letters a day, so I know the chances of him reading mine by the end of the school year, three days from now, are about as good as the chances of a giant pistachio growing on a bay tree on the moon.
But I had to try.
My eyes are getting heavy, but I have to stay awake. There’s still a lot to do. My plan is to get up super early in the morning while Dad’s still asleep, sneak across the street, and toss the letter in the lake before the sun is even up.
Twist My Charm Page 14
