But first I need a bottle.
I pull at my door, cringing when it creaks, and open it only enough for me to squeeze through sideways. I tiptoe to the recycling bin in the kitchen and dig around. The cans and glass and plastic all clank against each other noisily. I “shhh” them (why, I’m not sure) and finally find a wine bottle.
I wash it out thoroughly in the kitchen sink, because one thing I’ve read on the Hot Cool Fab Teen website is that Ryder Landry “simply cannot abide alcohol. He doesn’t understand why people, especially young people, need it to have fun.” He and I agree on that! When I turn off the water, I accidentally hit the garbage disposal. It’s as loud as a garbage truck on top of a steam train, but my reflexes are fast and I turn it off in less than one second. I’m feeling pretty proud of myself, when…
CRASH! CLANG! I drop the bottle in the sink. It didn’t have far to fall, so it doesn’t break. Whew! I scoop it up in my hand and stand super still. From far away, Toby lets out one bark. I think Dad mumbles, “Quiet, Toby.” It’s a sound-asleep type of voice, so I hope I’m safe. I wait one more minute, then turn off the light and sneak back to my room.
My clock says 2:14 a.m. I want to get up at six. Less than four hours of sleep, and there’s still more to do. Last-ditch effort, I tell myself. Last-ditch effort. After this, life goes back to normal. Whatever normal is going to be. Hopefully it means Dad won’t be marrying Paige, Larry won’t be in love with me, and Madison will be my friend again.
Before all that can happen, I have to decorate the bottle. I open my closet and grab art supplies, barely looking at them. Construction paper, Magic Markers, glitter, glue, ribbons, pipe cleaners, anything. I lie on the floor on my stomach, cutting out photos of Ryder from magazines and pasting some of them to the outside of the bottle. Then I make red and purple hearts out of construction paper and write our names on them—me and Ryder and Madison, Sam and Larry, Dad and Terri. I paste some of them on the outside and roll some up and put them inside. I find a red ribbon and tie a bow around the top.
The final decoration—the icing on the cake, the roses on the icing—will be some swirls of glitter between the photos, the hearts, and the ribbon. It’s going to look magnif…
“Cleo! Breakfast!”
My eyes open. The first thing I see is the wood of my bedroom floor. Why? Because my head is on the floor. My body is on the floor. I fell asleep on the floor! A small pool of glue is also on the floor, and my almost completely decorated wine bottle is less than a foot away. I jump to my feet, pick it up, and quickly but gently place it in the bottom drawer of my desk. So much for doing the MENSAJE EN BOTELLA before school.
I throw off my pajamas and find some clothes to wear.
“I’m making smoothies!” Dad shouts from the kitchen.
“Great!” I yell back, though I really don’t care. He’s probably getting all healthy for his wedding to Paige. Since I happen to be around, I get a smoothie too.
I grab my brush and look in the mirror. That’s when I see that there is glitter—along with tiny specks of dust and dirt—all over my cheek and the side of my face that was on the floor. I wipe my cheek with my hand…or at least I try to. The glitter is not moving. It’s glued to my face.
I run to the bathroom. I need to wash my face—bad! I rub soap in my hands and scrub the right side of my face, hard. The dirt kind of comes off, but the glitter does not. I pick up a washcloth and try harder. Still nothing.
I’ve got two other ideas, but they’re dangerously close to where Dad is. Covering the side of my face with one hand, I run to the kitchen sink and grab a sponge and the scrubby thing we use to wash the dishes. Dad, who’s working on a smoothie, turns around. “What are you doing?” he asks over the grinding of the blender, but I run back to the bathroom without answering. The rough side of the sponge gets a little of the glitter off, and the scrubby does the rest.
I look in the mirror and sigh with relief. I’m glitter- and dirt-free. Only now the right side of my face is as red as a strawberry smoothie and the other side is normal. For a second I consider taking the sponge and scrubby to the left side of my face so they’ll match, but Dad calls me again for breakfast.
He doesn’t even bother asking what’s up. Dad’s seen enough strange stuff around this house; he’s starting to know better than to ask.
Even without doing my MENSAJE EN BOTELLA this morning, maybe the universe is looking out for me, because (1) my cheek has turned from bright red to a less noticeable pink, and (2) when Dad drops me at school, Paige is not in the parking lot. If I saw her and Dad together right now, I just might barf all over both of them.
I even get the chance to express my thankfulness for these small blessings, because today in Recreational Wellness, Janet has decided it’s time for a Spiritual Growth class. We’re sitting in the gym on individual yoga mats with our legs crossed, waiting to see what “mumbo jumbo” she has in store today. In a voice that works a lot better for activities like crab soccer and kickball, she announces/shouts that “TODAY IS ABOUT GRATITUDE AND BEATITUDE!”
“What do those mean?” Kylie Mae whispers to Lisa Lee behind me.
“Gratitude is being grateful,” she whispers back.
“So does beatitude mean being beautiful?”
“It better not, because Cleo would be in trouble! Did you see her tomato face?”
“I saw half of it,” Kylie Mae replies.
So much for my gratitude! My face barely looked pink in Dad’s rearview mirror! I turn around and hiss at them to be quiet—and that is, of course, what Janet hears.
“Cleo! We’re meditating today. It’s time for clearing the mind, for silence.”
I nod, working hard not to roll my eyes. I think Janet is kind of nutty to expect twenty or more sixth graders to sit quietly, unmoving, just breathing, for fifteen minutes, but she tries, yelling as always. “BREATHE IN! BREATHE OUT! LIVE IN THE MOMENT! DON’T LET YOUR MIND WANDER!”
I try not to let the usual truckload of thoughts barrel through my brain. As I breathe in and out, I try to only think of the things I want from the universe. My friendship with Madison. Dad and Terri. Larry and Samantha. But my mind wanders. Is my face less red now? What’s for lunch? Dad gave me money for lunch today….
“BREATHE IN, BREATHE OUT!” shouts Janet in an anything-but-calming manner.
I force my mind to go back to what’s important. My friendship with Madison. Dad and Terri. Larry and Samantha. Shepherd’s pie! That’s what’s for lunch!
I mean, my friendship with Madison. Dad and Terri. Larry and Samantha. Breathing in, breathing out.
A heavenly little bell rings, which means our fifteen minutes is over. I can’t believe it. I actually feel pretty relaxed.
That feeling doesn’t last long, though, because in the gym doorway, I almost bump into Madison. Since she had lunch with Lisa Lee and Kylie Mae the other day—and especially after what they told me in the bathroom—I don’t know how to talk to her anymore; I don’t know what to say.
I think for a second and come up with something. That something is “Hey.” I really am a poet when it comes to choosing the right words.
“Hey,” she says back. “I almost fell asleep just now.”
I smile. “Yeah, I feel very relaxed.”
“See you in the lunchroom,” she says, and walks ahead.
Does “See you in the lunchroom” mean she’s sitting with me today?
I can’t know until I get there. Until then, I have to “live in the moment”…but all I can think about is five minutes in the future. Lunch. Lunch. Lunch.
—
I dawdle before getting in the lunch line, hoping Madison will come by and we can go through it together, but I can smell the brown meat and gravy mingling with the white mashed potatoes and gravy, and I can’t wait any longer! I get my food and join Larry and Samantha, who are already sitting together. Sam is waving Larry’s (former) monkey around as Larry tries to grab him out of her hand. I might be annoyed if someone was
waving around a precious item of mine like this, but Larry’s just laughing.
Samantha taps me on the shoulder. “Hate to mention this, Cleo, but you’re gonna see it sooner or later.” She points over at the popular table. Madison is settling in there again, only this time she’s wearing a Ryder Landry T-shirt that must have been under the sweater she had on in Spiritual Growth class.
Even worse, Lisa Lee and Kylie Mae are wearing the same shirts. I recognize the picture of Ryder on them. It’s the same photo from the laminated badge Madison threw in the lake. They must have bought the shirts together at the concert.
Does this mean Madison asked the universe to be friends with Lisa Lee and Kylie Mae again? Why would she have asked for that? She could have had that anytime, without doing a charm. I didn’t notice in Spiritual Growth whether or not she still had her necklace on. I squint my eyes against the sun streaming in the lunchroom window and try to focus on Madison’s neck.
The necklace sure looks like it’s still there.
So what’s going on?
My original idea must have been right. Madison used her Siren Call to call Ryder Landry. And later today, I’ll give him an extra push.
The whole thing has made me lose my appetite, though. I look down at my shepherd’s pie, breathe in the yummy aroma, and decide I’ll eat it anyway. No point in letting delicious food go to waste, no matter how bummed out I am that the universe hasn’t listened to me yet.
—
When I get home, I grab the decorated wine bottle out of my desk drawer. Even though I fell asleep while making it (and there’s still glue and glitter and little pieces of construction paper on my floor to prove it), it doesn’t look half bad. I straighten the ribbon I tied at the top and reglue a few of the purple and red hearts on it. My printer wheezes GEEEZZZHHH GEEEZZZHHHH as it prints out the letter I wrote last night and spits it into the tray underneath. I reread it.
I’m not usually the bragging type, but I have to say, it’s pretty good. If Ryder happens to pick it randomly from the thousand emails he gets today on his website, he might actually pay attention. And if the letter somehow contacts the universe, it might pay attention too. Proud of myself, I roll it tightly and put it in the bottle.
There’s one last thing to do. I walk over to my dresser and look at my love potion. At the bottom of the red bottle, there’s a super-thin line—almost undetectable.
After all the potion we used during our Siren Call, there’s only one drop left.
It’s almost gone.
But so what? What more do I have to lose? Time for a last-ditch effort, like the postcard said.
Only this one really will be the last.
I take out the stopper and raise the lip of the potion bottle up to the top of the wine bottle. There’s so little liquid left, it doesn’t even PLOP like it did before; it just quietly slips from one bottle to the other. And it’s gone. Done. Over.
If the love potion was ever going to work, it’s got to work now.
I put the wine bottle in my backpack and zip it up. I shout for Dad, telling him I want to get some fresh air and take a walk. “Are you taking Toby?” he asks.
“I guess,” I say. When I walk toward the front door to grab Toby’s leash, I see Dad at his computers in the dining room. The wedding website is up on the big screen, and he’s changing the size of the “Save the Date” font. When Dad realizes where I am, he clicks a button and the screen goes dark.
That jerk! He doesn’t want me to see it! His own daughter! The one person closest to him in the whole entire world! Maybe he wants this big wedding announcement to be a beautiful surprise. While Madison and Lisa Lee and Kylie Mae are all doing the hula on the soft sand and surfing the warm waters of Hawaii, Samantha and I will be planning her mom’s bridal shower and getting fitted for ugly, irritating bridesmaid dresses. I don’t want to wear flowers and ribbons in my hair…yuck! My first summer in California is going to be my worst summer ever, anywhere.
I want to shout and scream and stomp my feet, but I bury that feeling way, way down in my stomach.
I still have one chance. Last-ditch effort.
“Okay, I’m going, Dad,” I say through my gritted teeth.
“Do your homework when you come back,” he says.
Ugh! I want to scream! He’s so stupid! “I don’t have any homework. Tomorrow’s the second-to-last day of school.” I must say it in a really snotty way, because he tells me to go take my walk and change my attitude. I haven’t heard that in a long time.
I’d be happy to change my attitude, but it’s pretty hard with things like this going on behind my back! “Come on, Toby,” I say. He runs to me excitedly with his tongue hanging out. At least he’s happy. I’m glad someone is.
—
I need to calm down, so I walk farther with Toby than I usually do. I walk all the way through the meadow where Madison, Sam, and I did our Siren Call and continue on the dirt path. I breathe in and breathe out. I think about Dad with Terri instead of Paige, my friendship with Madison, Larry liking Samantha instead of me. I keep breathing in and out, in and out. Sounds of people come and go—conversations, games, babies crying. Traffic passes, but it sounds very far away. Breathe in, breathe out. Suddenly I find myself on the opposite side of the lake, looking across at our house. I only ever walk this far when Dad and I walk around the whole lake together. I’ve never been here by myself.
I find a quiet spot, far from people passing by, and sit on the grass by the edge of the water. Toby sits beside me and we breathe in and out together—though his breathing has a more slobbery sound.
Before I send my message in a bottle to the universe, I have one more thing to say, and I want to put it in writing. I unzip all the zippers of my backpack, looking for a pen. I find a short, stubby pencil from when Dad and I played miniature golf back when we first moved here. I can’t find even the smallest scrap of paper anywhere—who uses paper anymore?—but luckily there’s a crumpled napkin from a time Dad treated me to some fast food. There’s a little smudge of ketchup on the napkin, but otherwise it’s clean. I don’t think the universe will mind.
Dear Universe,
If Ryder Landry can help bring me and Madison together, please bring him.
If you or anyone can bring sense to my dad, please bring it!
And don’t worry about me anymore. If Larry likes me, so what? I’ll deal with it.
Work on those other things if you can. Thanks!
Your friend, Cleo Nelson
I roll the napkin up tightly and put it in the wine bottle with the letter.
I give the bottle a little kiss—a friend kiss, not a romantic one—and throw it into the water. Toby jumps up and barks once, excited by the splash. I turn around, satisfied. Maybe I contacted the universe. Maybe I achieved something special. If not, at least I tried.
“Hey, did you throw trash into the lake?” a voice shouts. Oh no! It’s Red Shorts—again! He’s over on the path, walking in place. Why is he around every time I try to call the universe?
He seems just as surprised to see me. “You again?”
Toby barks angrily now and runs toward the man. I grab his leash before he can get too close, but Toby thinks Red Shorts is up to no good and pulls me along.
My first instinct is to pull Toby in the opposite direction, run and get home as fast as humanly possible, avoid Dad at his computer, and hide in my room. But today, after all my breathing in and out and my summoning of the universe, I have courage. I walk over toward the man, who’s walking in place and unzipping the sack on his butt to get to his phone.
“It wasn’t trash. I was doing something very special. Almost spiritual,” I tell him. I glance out at the lake. The bottle is slowly floating away. “And I promise I’ll never do it again.”
“Well, that’s interesting,” he says. “If it wasn’t trash, what was it?”
Right now, I don’t care who knows. “It was a message in a bottle.”
Still moving his feet up and down lik
e he’s walking, he looks at his phone but doesn’t dial. “What kind of message?” he asks.
“It’s a private matter.” I’m acting all mature, but on the inside I’m a scared, squalling baby.
He smiles. “A love note?”
“No. Not really. I mean, I did write to a boy, but it wasn’t a boy I want as a boyfriend; it was…well, a famous boy, and for some reason—and I’m not really even sure why or how anymore—I’m thinking that he could make everything right between me and a friend of mine.” All these words come gushing out of my mouth like a waterfall. I have no control over it. But I can’t stop. I guess I really want to tell someone all of this, and who better than this stranger who never stops walking? He’s here, he’s listening, and he doesn’t seem to be judging—not yet. So I go on, whether he wants me to or not. At least as I’m talking, he’s not dialing the police.
“But I also wrote to the universe because I want my dad and his girlfriend—well, his ex-girlfriend—to get back together because she’s his Only One and I know it, maybe because they weren’t a lovey-dovey boyfriend and girlfriend, the kind that make you wanna go blech and throw up. They had fun together; they seemed like friends, and now he’s going to marry Paige even though he’s never looked like he’s friends with her. She’s another friend’s mom, though I’m not sure whether Sam is a friend or not, but that’s another story and”—I take a breath—“I guess, if you really want to know, it wasn’t a love note. You could maybe call it a friendship note.”
Red Shorts looks thoughtful. “Friendship is just as important as love,” he says.
“Really?” I ask. “It seems like all anybody talks about anymore is love, love, love. I’m kind of sick of it.”
He laughs. “I know what you mean. It’s best when you have both: love and friendship. My wife—she was my best friend. A person like that is hard to find.”
Twist My Charm Page 15
