Ivy Aberdeen's Letter to the World

by Ashley Herring Blake

  Ivy yanked it out of Taryn’s fingers so fast, Taryn gasped.

  “Sorry,” Ivy said as she placed her note inside the locker and shut the door. “Just trash.”

  Taryn flicked her eyes to the locker and back to Ivy. “Are you okay?”

  Ivy pushed her hair out of her face and smiled. “Yeah. Of course. Just cleaning out some things from my locker. What about Drew? Is he being nosy?”

  Taryn made a face. “Nosy? What? No, he’s wearing that Star Wars shirt I gave him for his birthday.”

  “He wears that shirt all the time.”

  “Yeah, but the roof on his house is pretty much gone, which means that when he went back and got stuff out of his room to have while he stays with his grandma, he got my shirt.”

  Ivy thought about all her T-shirts buried under a pile of rubble. If she could have just one back, it would be the kelly-green V-neck with Lonely Hearts Club written across it in curly script, after an old Beatles song. Layla gave it to Ivy for her tenth birthday and said the color looked good with Ivy’s pale red hair.

  Ivy swallowed hard. “So now it’s the things-Drew-can’t-live-without Star Wars T-shirt?”

  “Exactly.” Taryn beamed.

  Ivy cracked open her locker again just enough to grab her math book, then looked around for June. She wanted June to come around the corner and smile and tell Ivy that she got the picture and that she loved it. And she was terrified June would come around the corner and not even look at her or, worse, tell Ivy she hated the picture.

  All these thoughts made Ivy’s insides go wobbly. Maybe that was normal. Maybe Ivy felt all wobbly when she and Taryn first became friends, and she just didn’t remember. Maybe it was a different kind of wobbly because they were five years old. Maybe Ivy and June’s friendship was just a different kind of friendship, stormier and wilder, just like she’d thought last night.

  “… just the first shirt he saw, you know?”

  Ivy yanked her attention back to Taryn, who apparently had been talking this entire time. “Sorry, what?”

  Taryn sighed. “I said, maybe his mom or dad grabbed the shirt. Or maybe it was just the first one he saw. Or maybe he really wanted the one I gave him. What do you think?”

  Ivy blinked at Taryn. That was a lot of maybes. And Taryn was pressing her hands to her stomach like it felt all twisty or something. And her eyes were darting around while she bit her bottom lip, like she was hoping for a glimpse of Drew.

  Was Ivy biting her bottom lip? She touched her mouth and felt her teeth. Then she took a deep breath because her stomach was definitely twitchy. And she knew her eyes were just darting around, hoping for a glimpse.

  Of a girl.

  June.

  A girl. June was a girl. Ivy was a girl. Ivy was biting her lip and her stomach was twisty over a girl. She opened her locker again, but all she saw was that little heart-shaped arrow on her drawing, pointing at the two girls like an accusing finger.

  She slammed the locker shut, her belly full of lightning. But not just her belly—her fingertips and toes, eyes and ears—lightning and thunder and bone-soaking rain and darkening clouds.

  “Ivy?”

  Ivy sucked in a sharp breath. “Hmm?”

  Taryn frowned at her. “Are you okay?”

  Ivy nodded, but the storm clouds just kept building and building. “Yeah… I’m sure… I’m sure we can figure things out with Drew,” she said. “During lunch or something.”

  “I should ask him to the dance, shouldn’t I?” Taryn asked. “It’s only two weeks away, and he’s so bummed about his arm and his house; maybe it’ll cheer him up! Who do you want to ask?”

  “What? Me?”

  Taryn nodded and nudged her shoulder. “Come on, you have to go with someone.”

  “I do?”

  Ivy had never cared about the Spring Dance before. Their teachers had announced it back in January, and everyone squealed and started whispering, and Ivy had just sat there in homeroom, feeling weird because she had no desire to squeal or whisper.

  Taryn opened her mouth to say something else, but Ivy turned away, telling Taryn that she’d see her in science. Ivy walked down the hall as fast as she could without grabbing anyone’s attention. Taryn called after her, but she kept going.

  Boys ask girls to dances.

  Girls ask boys to dances.

  Ivy tried to remember a time when that didn’t happen at their school—when it was a boy and a boy or a girl and a girl—but she couldn’t.

  She barely made it to the bathroom before the first tears started leaking out.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Too Much

  Ivy didn’t see June for the rest of the day. Part of her was glad. She couldn’t stop thinking about that word. It started with a C and rhymed with brush, and whenever it popped into her head, June’s face was right there next to it. This wasn’t like her stormy drawings. The girls in those pictures didn’t have names. They didn’t have journals full of sad poems, and they didn’t smile from ear to ear when Ivy taught them how to draw cute animals and glass girls.

  The girls in those pictures were just dreams… questions. June was so very real.

  When the last bell rang, Ivy hurried down the main hall and out of the school before she could run into Taryn. She needed to focus on something other than dances and June and words that rhymed with brush.

  She needed to get her notebook back.

  Which is why, when she saw Drew heading down the sidewalk toward downtown, Ivy decided right then and there to follow him.

  Once they were clear of the school, she stopped, ducking behind a giant brick mailbox to dig out her yellow notebook and a pencil.

  Drew Dunaway, Suspect #2

  She tucked everything back into her bag and continued her mission.

  Drew walked slowly, his good hand stuffed into his pocket. More than once, Ivy had to come to a full stop to avoid getting too close. She skulked around bushes and hid behind the skinny trunk of a birch tree, which wouldn’t have actually disguised anything if Drew happened to turn around as he crossed the street.

  She had no clue what she was doing. It wasn’t like she could follow Drew into his house or somehow rummage through his backpack when he wasn’t looking. Still, at least this was doing something.

  In her mind, Ivy ran through a plan that involved running up to Drew in a panic, saying that she saw a potentially lethal bee fly into his backpack.

  Drew! Aren’t you allergic to bees? she would exclaim.

  Yes, I am, Ivy! You saved my life! he’d say.

  And then he’d fling off his backpack, and she’d dump it onto the sidewalk, find her drawings, give Drew a good tongue-lashing, and then never speak to him again.

  She was reveling in the brilliance of this plan when Drew stopped walking. Ivy stopped too, freezing with her arms in a funny position like someone had taken a picture of her running. She braced herself for him to turn around, to blow her cover, but he just stood with his back to her, his head tilted like he was listening to something.

  Then Ivy heard a sound coming from a house down the street. Squinting, she could tell it was Rachel Denning’s house—Drew’s grandmother. She was famous for her gardens, flowers spilling over the front and backyard, more petals than grass.

  It took Ivy a few seconds to realize what the sound was—yelling. Two people, maybe more, arguing.

  In front of her, Drew shrank. His shoulders curled around his neck. When he finally started walking again, his pace was so slow that Ivy simply stood still and watched him until he disappeared around the corner of the house, bright pink azaleas clouding the porch.

  She knew she shouldn’t follow him, but she was on a mission, and she had to see it through.

  The yelling got louder as Ivy got closer. The house looked peaceful enough, lots of happy pink, the sweet smell of spring in the air. But as Ivy skulked toward the porch, she started to make out words.

  “… think this is easy for me?” a woman shouted. The front do
or was open, so the voices floated out the screen door like water through a sieve. “This is the first day you’ve taken off work since the storm, and you watched baseball all day. I’m the one dealing with the roofers and insurance. Not to mention you still haven’t found an apartment of your own! I have work to do too, you know.”

  “I know that, Kate,” a man’s voice boomed back. “And lower your voice. Drew will be home from school any second!”

  The voices became muffled then, but Ivy could still hear tense mumbling. Her stomach pinched as she peered around the side of the house. There, huddled under a window brimming with bright red geraniums, was Drew. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, and he was wiping at his face with his good hand. It took Ivy a few seconds to realize he was crying.

  Inside, the yelling crescendoed again. “You really think this is the time to separate?” the man boomed.

  Ivy realized the owners of those voices were Drew’s parents. Her stomach tightened even more, and she wanted to go over to Drew and see if was okay. Maybe he hadn’t been just asking to see her drawings the other day. Maybe he needed someone to talk to, and Ivy knew what it was like to have a tornado mess up her house and even her family. Ivy shook her head, full of too many thoughts and secrets and worries.

  She inched forward a bit, still wondering whether or not she should call out to him, when she stepped on a branch. A crunch echoed through the momentary quiet, and Drew’s red-rimmed eyes met hers. His mouth fell open, and he wiped one last tear away before he scrambled to his feet. Then he grabbed his backpack and ran, disappearing around the back of the house.

  Ivy’s face burned with shame. She knew she’d just seen something Drew didn’t want her to see.

  The yelling came to an abrupt stop, and all Ivy wanted was her mother. She wanted her dad too, and maybe even Layla, and she wanted them all piled on her parents’ big bed with the TV playing their favorite Pixar movie, a giant bowl of buttered popcorn among them. She didn’t want her family to fall apart like Drew’s. What if his parents were separating because of the storm? What if the stress was just too much?

  Drew’s house was eerily silent now.

  Ivy turned and ran all the way back to the inn.

  Ivy threw open the door to her family’s hotel room. For once, she happily anticipated the chaos, the noise, the mess.

  But it was silent as a tomb.

  The mess was still there—baby toys and clothes, towels, Layla’s lacrosse stuff, a bag of bread, and a jar of peanut butter on top of the minifridge—but her family was nowhere in sight.

  Ivy checked the bathroom, but it was cluttered yet empty too.

  She slumped down on the bed she shared with Layla, crumpling something underneath her. Ivy pulled it out and saw that it was a note with her name on it.

  Ivy~

  Dad and I had to take care of some things at the house. The boys are with me, and Layla decided to meet us there after school. We’ll be home for dinner. Robin said she’d keep an eye out for you.

  Love you bunches,

  Mom

  Ivy balled up the note in her hand. She wanted to see her house. She wanted to go home. She wanted to do whatever her family was doing without her, even if it was just looking at all they had lost. At least they’d be doing it together. Instead, she was stuck in this overstuffed hotel room, alone.

  A knock sounded. Ivy glanced up to find she’d forgotten to close the door and Robin was standing there, her hand on the wooden frame.

  “Hey there,” Robin said.

  “Hi,” Ivy managed.

  “You want to come downstairs for a snack? I’ve got some lemonade and fresh oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.”

  Ivy didn’t answer right away. She was glad Robin didn’t mention the tears or the pathetic sound of Ivy’s voice, but she couldn’t imagine eating anything right now, even Robin’s famous cookies.

  Slowly, Ivy slid off the bed. “Thanks, but… I think I’ll go to my friend Taryn’s house, if that’s okay.”

  She didn’t want to stay at the inn, waiting for her family to return, like some forgotten piece of luggage. She wanted something familiar, and Taryn was almost as familiar as her old room. Taryn wanted her more than her family did anyway. She looked around the room, wondering if she should just pack a bag right now, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. If she stayed with Taryn, her family might really be happy. They might be less stressed and more relaxed. And that would be worse than any missing notebook.

  Robin’s eyes softened. “Of course. I’ll let your mom know.”

  Ivy nodded and met Robin at the door.

  “It’ll get easier,” Robin said, squeezing her arm.

  Ivy wiped her face. This was just something adults said to make a kid feel better in the moment. They didn’t really mean it. Plus, Robin had never had her house destroyed before. Robin probably didn’t even remember what it was like to be twelve.

  “How do you know?” Ivy asked.

  Robin pursed her lips, as if she was really considering the question. Then she wrapped her arm around Ivy’s shoulder and walked with her down the stairs.

  “Because you’re loved,” Robin said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Pondering Mysteries

  When Ivy got to Taryn’s, her best friend squealed and rushed her into the house, which smelled warm and yeasty, like baking bread. Ivy couldn’t help but smile, just to be with someone who was excited to see her.

  Taryn’s mom, Mrs. Bishop, ended up calling Ivy’s mom, asking if Ivy could stay the night, and of course Ivy’s mom said yes. Then Ivy and Taryn spent the evening eating thick broccoli and cheddar soup out of Mr. Bishop’s homemade sourdough bread bowls and trying on dresses for the Spring Dance in Taryn’s huge room. Ivy let herself have fun with it, the idea of dressing up for someone she liked. She didn’t let her thoughts stray to June. Instead, she pictured some nameless, generic boy with floppy brown hair and a cute smile. The thought never made that pretty ballet-slipper-pink feeling flutter in her stomach, but Ivy still had fun, and all Taryn’s dresses were pretty, if a bit small for her.

  Taryn talked a blue streak and brought out her tarot deck, as usual. Ivy drew a Two of Cups, and Taryn clapped happily, claiming it meant the beginning of a new relationship. Ivy just shrugged and smiled so she wouldn’t blush, but she ended up blushing anyway. If Taryn noticed, she didn’t mention it, but Ivy felt just as uncomfortable when Taryn started mooning over Drew. Ivy wanted to ask if Taryn knew about Drew’s parents, but Drew had been crying and then he’d run away—Ivy was almost positive he didn’t want anyone to know.

  Ivy was tired of secrets. More than once, she opened her mouth to tell Taryn about June and how Ivy might, sort of, maybe have a crush on her. But every time she got close, she thought about Layla and Gigi crying in Layla’s room and how Gigi left and never came back.

  And Ivy didn’t want to cry in Taryn’s room right now. She didn’t want to leave her best friend’s house and never come back.

  “Ugh, no, boo,” Taryn mumbled into her pillow when her alarm clock cock-a-doodle-doo’d Friday morning. It crowed like a rooster from across the room and was so annoying that Ivy wanted to smash it against the wall.

  “Can’t you get a normal alarm clock?” Ivy asked. She threw the covers off and slipped out of bed, stomping over to Taryn’s dresser, where the rooster was screeching. “You know, one that just beeps or something?”

  “This one makes me get out of bed,” Taryn said, her face still pressed to her pillow. “I never hear the other kind, so Mom got me that devil disguised as a clock.”

  “It’s the worst,” Ivy mumbled, slapping the OFF button.

  She climbed back into the bed and burrowed into the pillow-top mattress. Taryn’s breathing grew deep again, and Ivy knew she should wake her up, but her thoughts drifted to June.

  Ivy had loved drawing that picture of June and giving it to her. It felt so good to draw exactly what she wanted and actually show someone. But now, a day later, as the mo
rning light streamed through the windows and made everything bright, Ivy worried about how she still hadn’t talked to June since that night in the treehouse. What did June see when she looked at the picture, all the lines and colors Ivy meticulously chose? Did June just see a pretty drawing of herself? Or did she see something else—something that started with a C and rhymed with brush? Is that why June still hadn’t talked to her?

  Ivy groaned and rolled over, only to find Taryn watching her with a funny expression on her face.

  “What?” Ivy asked.

  “Pondering mysteries?” Taryn asked.

  Ivy let herself smile. A couple of years ago, Taryn started calling those times when they’d be hanging out and then got really quiet “pondering mysteries.” It was never an awkward quiet, but the kind that Ivy liked best. Friendly quiet, like the times they would jump on the big trampoline in Taryn’s backyard until their sides hurt from laughing, and then they’d collapse onto the stretchy surface and stare up at the trees in silence. They’d ponder mysteries.

  “Pondering a lot,” Ivy said.

  Taryn smiled, and they got quiet and pondered some more.

  “Jellyfish,” Ivy said after a few minutes. “Jellyfish are really mysterious to me. The most poisonous one in the world is the size of a gnat or something.”

  “Black holes,” Taryn said.

  “How do people get a tiny little ship into an itty bitty bottle?”

  “Wind. You can’t see it, but you can feel it.”

  “Tattoos. An ink drawing under your skin. Weird.”

  “Boys,” Taryn said with a sigh, and Ivy sighed too.

  Every single time they pondered, Taryn eventually said this. It was as sure as the sun setting in the west. And every single time, it stumped Ivy. She never knew what to say next. She thought she knew what she wanted to say, though.

  Girls.

  Girls, girls, girls.