The Great Museum Mix-Up and Other Surprise Endings

by Deborah Lytton

  I am in a bookstore, signing my first book called Unicorns For Real. People from all over have come to meet me because I have seen a unicorn with my own eyes. They are lined up all the way out the door and down the street. Even Mrs. Sablinsky and Mrs. Xia are here, which is amazing. Will B and Bryden are also here, which is not so amazing. My family is really proud of me. I have proven the existence of the unicorn.

  Suddenly, the lunch bell rings, startling me. I’m in Room 15, not at my first book signing.

  “Ruby? Are you sleeping with your eyes open?” Siri is waving her hand in front of my eyes.

  I blink.

  “Just thinking,” I answer before I hurry to get my lunch from my backpack. Then the Unicorns walk together to the lunch tables.

  Our mission for today is to find a new place to eat.

  “I hope we can find a table far away from flying food,” Jessica shares.

  I grin at her. “Me too.”

  Only finding a new place to sit isn’t as easy as it sounds. Because there are only a few empty spots here and there, but not enough room at any of the tables for all five of us.

  We walk around the lunch area once. Twice. We are about to circle a third time when the aide stops us.

  “Girls, please take a seat,” she says with a frown. Causing trouble at lunch can result in the dreaded trash pickup assignment. Nothing is worse than picking up other people’s leftover food and wrappers (except maybe having an unknown gooey object stuck in your hair).

  We have to make a decision—and fast. Our time is running out.

  “The only way we can move is if we split up,” Charlotte says softly.

  “And that is not an option,” Siri finishes.

  Daisy shrugs. “Well, I’m hungry.” Then she breaks from the group and heads for our usual table.

  I sigh as the rest of us follow her.

  I sit between Siri and Charlotte. Jessica and Daisy sit on the other side. Will P and his food-fight friends are at the far end of the table, but at least they aren’t throwing food. Not yet, anyway. Mom has made me my usual today. I decide to eat the turkey sandwich now and leave the apple and pretzels for after.

  “We didn’t get to choose a book for next week,” I say as I sip from my water bottle. “Any ideas?”

  “If we have to read a book for class, I might not have time to read one for book club too,” Daisy tells me.

  “Maybe we can choose one, but give ourselves more time to finish,” Charlotte suggests.

  “That’s a good idea,” I agree.

  Jessica has a different idea. “Maybe we could talk about our book report books instead.”

  I think about this. It might be fun to share our different subjects.

  I am sitting at the lunch tables with the Unicorn Book Club, only instead of just talking about the books we are reading, we each have our subjects with us. Siri is sitting next to a lion wearing a bow tie, Jessica has a mustang in hair ribbons by her side, Daisy is paired with a wolf in sneakers, Charlotte is matched with a gorilla in a tutu, and I have invited a unicorn in a crown. All of the animal guests are holding the books about them. They are happy to talk about themselves until the food fight starts at the other end of the table.

  “Book club is about reading a book together as a group.” Siri’s eyes look sad again. I’m pretty sure she’s going to cry. Crying over book club has happened to me once (I even broke the Ruby Starr No Crying at School Rule). But it’s never happened to Siri before.

  Of all the Unicorns, Jessica and I are the ones who love reading the most. There was a time when Siri was even part of a vote to change the book club to a drama club. So Siri talking about how important it is to read a book together is just another thing that seems different. I know Gram said I needed to be patient and wait for Siri to talk to me, but patience is not my best skill. I take a big breath and try to figure out what to do. But before I can come up with any great ideas, Charlotte comes up with her own great idea.

  “Let’s vote,” she suggests. “Everyone who wants to talk about our book report books, raise your hand.”

  I raise my hand. So does Jessica. Then Daisy raises her hand, too. Now all of us except Charlotte and Siri have our hands in the air. Siri just looks down at her water bottle. She twists the cap back and forth. The vote is three to two.

  “It looks like we’re sharing book report reads,” I announce.

  “You don’t understand,” Siri begins, but then stops talking. Her eyes are super-shiny, and her bottom lip is pulled tight in a straight line like if she lets it loose, it will say things she doesn’t want to say.

  “It’s just for next week,” I tell her. “After that, we’ll be done with our book reports and we can read a new book together.”

  “It will be too late,” Siri blurts out.

  “Too late for what?” Jessica asks.

  But Siri just shakes her head. “Forget it.”

  When someone says to forget something, they are usually saying that they won’t forget it. It’s like a secret way of saying that they will be remembering. So you have to remember too. Only it’s kind of a problem when you have no idea what it is you’re supposed to be remembering.

  Chapter 5

  The Un-Wednesday Wednesday

  Mom has her book club meetings on Wednesday nights. Mom’s book club was the inspiration for my book club, so I am kind of an honorary member. Tonight, though, there is no meeting.

  “With the holidays coming, everyone was so busy. Only a few of us would have been able to make it, and we thought it was better to cancel the book club for the rest of the month,” Mom explains in the car on the way home from school.

  “We’re still getting pizza though, right?” I love our regular order from Charlie’s Pizza. Knowing that the three pizzas will arrive at exactly six o’clock is one of those things that’s always the same—exactly the way I like it.

  “We’re only getting two pizzas tonight, but yes, there will be pizza.” Mom is wearing her non-office clothes today. She’s in a blue-and-white floral shirt, jeans, and brown boots. Also, her hair is loose and curly just like mine, but hers behaves better. “Now, tell me all about your day.”

  I take a big breath and begin. I have a lot to tell, and Mom has time to listen. By the time we get to Connor’s school, Mom knows all about my unicorn book. “It’s truly inspiring to hear about a young woman in the early 1900s believing in her own theories and setting out to prove them true. I think my book club would like to read this book of yours.”

  I have never suggested a book to Mom’s group, mostly because I wouldn’t know what they like to read, but also because it’s a bit on the intimidating side. I mean, they’re my mom’s friends. To have Mom tell me that a book I’ve chosen is something her group would be interested in reading…well, let’s just say it makes me very proud. And happy.

  • • •

  My brothers take charge of the conversation the minute they get into the car. First, we pick up Connor, who tells my mom about all the good grades he received today. (Can you guess what letter is all over his report cards? I’ll give you one hint: it’s the first in the alphabet.) Then we pick up Sam at his school. He talks about the class he has to take before getting his driver’s permit.

  “I can’t wait until you can drive me to a movie and the bookstore,” I tell him. Sam is riding in the front seat. Connor and I are in the back. Riding in the front seat is a daily discussion between my brothers. Actually, calling it a “discussion” is a nice way of putting it.

  “I can’t wait until the front seat is mine,” Connor adds with a grin at me. He looks just like Dad when he smiles.

  “I’ll take you to the bookstore and the library every week,” Sam promises. He hands a peanut butter granola bar over the seat to me. Then he hands one to Connor.

  “Not so fast,” Mom cuts in. “You won’t be driving any
one but yourself for the first year.” Then she says to Connor, “And you will need to share the front seat with Ruby in the next couple of years.”

  He groans as though he’s not too happy about this news, but he winks at me to let me know he’s just teasing.

  “There’s no book club tonight,” I tell my brothers.

  “Are we still having Charlie’s?” Sam asks.

  “Is that all my family cares about?” Mom is joking. We can tell since she is laughing.

  “Yes!” my brothers and I call out at the same time. And then everyone starts laughing. It isn’t true, of course, but sometimes it feels good just to laugh, even if something is only a little bit funny. You laugh just because you want to.

  • • •

  The pizzas are on the kitchen counter, smelling delicious, and I’m helping Mom set the table. Abe is underneath the table, getting ready for dinnertime. Suddenly, he lets out a cry and dashes to the door, making a big commotion and knocking into Mom with his big, floppy paws. I always know someone from my family is about to walk in when Abe runs to the door like that. The amazing thing is that he knows before a car has even pulled into the garage, because we can all hear that. Maybe Abe is a one-of-a-kind dog-seer who can predict the future.

  I imagine Abe sitting in the kitchen, wagging his tail across the floor as he watches me at the kitchen counter. Abe’s thoughts appear in bubbles over his head. First, he sees a squirrel he wants to chase later. Then he sees himself sleeping on my bed. And last, he sees the bowl of kibble I am about to set down in front of him. I set the bowl down just as he predicted. Abe smiles to himself, proud of his talent and happy with his dinner.

  Dad walks through the door, just as Abe told us he would.

  “Bonsoir,” he says, greeting us with a French good evening. Dad isn’t really French. He’s learning the language to enrich himself. Dad says it’s important to always keep learning. Next, he wants to learn to play the cello.

  “Bonsoir, mon père,” I reply with a little of my own French. I know a few words from different languages. I think every writer should be able to sprinkle foreign languages into their work here and there.

  I run over and hug my dad. He’s a super-great hugger, especially when he picks me up off the ground. I know I’m ten, but even a ten-year-old likes to be picked up once in a while. “How was your day?” he asks me.

  “Really exciting. I can’t wait to tell you all about it.” He sets me back on the ground, and I hurry to put a napkin by each of the five place settings.

  “We are eating our pizzas together at the table tonight,” Mom says as he kisses her hello. Sam and Connor are just coming into the kitchen at that moment. Both of them groan.

  Mom pretends not to know why they are groaning, even though we all know what they mean. They want to eat pizza in front of the television.

  After that, we all sit down. Mom has put all the pizza slices on plates, so it looks much fancier than in the cardboard boxes. The pizza is gooey and cheesy and super-yummy.

  Everyone goes around the table sharing news from their day. I like the way my family really talks to each other. It doesn’t seem like a Wednesday though, because usually Mom would be in the living room having her book club meeting, and I would be in there with her, listening. It’s like a Wednesday that isn’t really a Wednesday but is more like a Tuesday or a Thursday. Or even a Monday.

  “I have an announcement,” Connor says, borrowing one of my signature phrases—I don’t mind sharing though. “My teacher really liked my essay about the praying mantis, so he submitted it to the school newspaper. It should be in by next week.”

  Everyone talks at once. See if you can guess who is saying what:

  “Bon travail.”

  “That is most excellent news” (said with a British accent).

  “Congrats!”

  “I am so proud of you.”

  “Arf, arf.”

  Then Sam has his own announcement. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot.” He looks to me for encouragement. I already know what he is going to say because I helped him practice last night. “There are a lot of opportunities for chefs on television, and I want to start my own baking show.”

  “What a wonderful idea!” Mom is the first one to speak.

  One glance at Dad tells me that he is thinking this over and isn’t ready to say anything yet. Connor’s mouth is filled with pizza. I have already told my brother that I think it’s a better-than-best idea, and that I will film him (if he wants), and help him prepare his ingredients. I am better at baking than I used to be. I make much less of a mess since the cupcake fiasco (which turned out to be the opposite of a fiasco, but that’s a whole other story).

  Connor finishes his bite. “Let me know how I can help.”

  Finally, Dad weighs in. He clears his throat, which is what he usually does before he tells you something he thinks you probably don’t want to hear. Uh-oh.

  “I spend my life reporting on people who start businesses or charities or help the community because they follow a dream. All it takes is a spark of an idea and commitment to make it happen. I know you have more than that because you have talent.”

  OK, maybe this is going to go better than I thought. So far, it’s super-positive.

  I shoot a smile toward my brother. He looks nervous.

  “I applaud your determination and your creativity.” Dad clears his throat again. I am guessing the part Sam doesn’t want to hear is coming now. “I just want to make sure you don’t get discouraged and give up on your dream. Sometimes it takes a while to grow an audience.”

  Sam shakes his head. “I’m not worried about an audience. I just want to get experience explaining what I am cooking.”

  Dad smiles then. “In that case, you have my full support.”

  Just like that, everything is easy-peasy lemon-squeezy again. It seems like the perfect time to tell everyone about my book discovery and the world of unicorn expeditions.

  “There’s only one problem though,” I sigh. “The book is shorter than it’s supposed to be, but I really wanted to read it. So I offered to read a second book to make up for it.”

  Mom pats me on the shoulder. “That was a very creative solution.”

  “I’m impressed,” Connor says with his mouth full of pizza. This is super-gross when someone at school, for example Will B, speaks with his mouth full of salami. But it’s different with my brother. It’s still gross. Just not gross-gross.

  I shrug. “I thought it was a great idea at the time, but now I’m not so sure. What if Lavender Lakewood didn’t write any other books?”

  Dad grins. “There’s only one way to find out.” He offers me another slice of pizza. “Did I ever tell you that I am an expert at researching?” I smile, because of course Dad is good at researching. He writes news stories for the local morning news. “I’ll help you right after dinner,” he promises.

  • • •

  Dad is true to his word, because while Mom and Connor clean up the kitchen, Dad and I head for the computer in the den. Dad has me sit in front of the computer while he takes the chair to the side. “I’m just here as a helper” is his reasoning.

  “Start with searching for ‘author Lavender Lakewood,’” Dad suggests.

  I type “author” and her name into the search engine. A lot of entries pop up. One of them is a whole site devoted to Lavender. It’s called Lavender Lakewood—The Official Site.

  “I always start with an official site first, if there is one.” Dad leans close. “I think of research as a treasure hunt. I’m searching through countless records to find the truth. Sometimes it takes patience, and sometimes it takes luck. But there is always treasure to be found.”

  I never thought of it that way before. Suddenly, looking for information about Lavender Lakewood is a whole lot more fun than it was a minute ago.

  The w
ebsite has a photo of her on the main page. It’s one of those brownish, old-fashioned photos. Her dark hair is short and wavy, and she’s wearing a white, buttoned shirt with a dark jacket over it. Even though she is looking right at the camera, she isn’t smiling.

  “She looks so sad in her picture,” I say softly. Maybe searching for unicorns was a disappointing job for her.

  “In those days, people didn’t smile into the camera like we do now,” Dad explains. “I wouldn’t read too much into it.”

  Below her name is a description of her work and her book The Search for the Missing Unicorn.

  Dad points to the computer screen. “Here, there is a mention of another published work.”

  I follow Dad’s point to the words on the screen. The site says:

  A second volume containing Miss Lakewood’s additional field notes was published in 1923, three years after her original work. Miss Lakewood found a unicorn in her search, and yet she declined to reveal its location for fear that the animal would be captured. Instead, she left it free where she found it in the hope that, with this act, the unicorn would never completely disappear.

  I jump out of the chair and turn to face my dad. “She found a unicorn! We have to get this book right away.” All I can think are the clues in this book. Maybe I can go and find the unicorn too.

  Dad hugs me. “I love your enthusiasm. Let’s do a library search.” I sit down again, and Dad shows me how to bring up our town’s library website. Then I click on the box for “Search by Author Name.” I put in Lavender Lakewood. And guess what—it’s there!

  “Click on the tab to reserve the book.” Dad wasn’t kidding when he said he was an expert at researching. “That way it will be there when you go to pick it up.”

  “I’ll ask Gram to take me tomorrow after school.” I will be counting down the minutes until tomorrow afternoon.