Comfy. But strange.
“Never mind,” I said as I saw the bus slowly turning the corner, making its way onto our street. “I had another vision!” I whispered.
After we climbed onto the bus and slid into empty side-by-side seats in the third row, I told Elizabeth about the upside-down ostrich.
Elizabeth said, “That is a head-scratcher,” and then actually scratched her head in thought.
I agreed. Since we do not usually come across animals at our school, especially of the extremely-large-bird variety, I suggested that Elizabeth take out a pencil and paper so we could write down all the possible explanations.
Here’s what we came up with:
* * *
1. An ostrich has escaped from the zoo and is going to show up in our classroom.
2. We will be taking a surprise field trip to an ostrich farm.
3. Someone is bringing an ostrich for show-and-tell.
4. I am going to be attacked by an ostrich.
* * *
To be honest, none of these seemed likely possibilities, but by the time we pulled up to school, that’s what we had.
Now we just needed to see if any of our theories were right.
* * *
In class that morning, we were supposed to be doing a worksheet of multiplication problems, but I was using my colored pencils to draw a picture of an ostrich on a piece of scratch paper. I thought maybe if I could draw the picture from my vision, it might be easier to figure out what it meant. Besides, I already knew how to multiply.
“Time’s up, everyone!” Mrs. Agnes announced.
I snapped my head up. “What? For real live?”
“Yes, Hazel, for real live,” Mrs. Agnes said with a heavy sigh as dramatic as my mom’s.
“But that was so short!” I said.
“Well, we’re stopping a little early today because I have a special announcement,” she said in a singsongy voice. “Papers to the front, please.”
I scribbled down the answer to the last math problem as everyone else passed their work forward. Mrs. Agnes came to the back row and collected my paper.
She took one look and raised her eyebrows. “Twenty-eight times nine equals ‘toes’?”
“It says 205!” I protested.
She fixed her eyes on me. “Well, perhaps we need to work on our handwriting. And our math, because the answer is 252.”
Now it was my turn to sigh. Then I went back to my ostrich drawing.
Mrs. Agnes collected all the papers and put them on her desk next to a giant fabric apple that a student gave her as a gift, I’m guessing about five million years ago because there was a huge rip all the way across the top and the stem had fallen off. Then she turned to us, her expression suddenly sunny. “Okay, everyone. I didn’t want to say anything before I knew for certain…”
I kept drawing, half paying attention.
“But I’ve been trying to get these performers for the Spring Spectacular for years now. And finally, I did! I really, really did!” Mrs. Agnes sounded extremely pleased with herself, as if she just ended world hunger instead of finding a dumb act for the school carnival.
I looked down at my drawing. I guess the ostrich in my vision had a lot more feathers than ostriches usually have, because without thinking, I had drawn a bird with about a million colorful feathers arranged in a really cool pattern. I couldn’t imagine what kind of ostrich looked like that. Suddenly, I considered another possibility, one that Elizabeth and I hadn’t thought of on the bus: Maybe it wasn’t an ostrich at all. Because now that I was looking at it closely, the ostrich almost looked more like a person … or even … people?… yes, people. People dressed in colorful feathers … costumes! But why would they be hanging upside down?
“The special performers will be—” Mrs. Agnes was saying.
Performers? That’s when it hit me, like a trapeze artist falling out of the sky and onto my head.
“Acrobats!” I yelled, staring at my drawing. “It’s a troupe of acrobats! With purple and red feathers, and gold headpieces, and they flip and swing upside down, and behind them is a backdrop with a lightning bolt on it!”
I smiled triumphantly.
Then I noticed everyone was staring at me.
Lila tilted her head at me. “Don’t be silly, Hazy. Mrs. Agnes didn’t even tell us anything yet.”
But Mrs. Agnes was looking at me from the front of the classroom with squinty, suspicious eyes. “Actually, Lila, Hazel is right. About all of it.” She took a poster from her desk drawer and held it up:
Acrobats. Purple and red feathers. Gold headpieces. Swinging upside down. Backdrop with a lightning bolt. Just like my vision.
From her seat right next to me, Elizabeth was looking my way with the biggest grin I’ve ever seen.
9
“Do you know what you have? Tomorrow power.”
Elizabeth and I were walking home from the bus stop after school.
“Whatty what, now?” I said absently. I was very busy pretending that I had just arrived on Mars and had to watch my step or I would fall headfirst into Mariner Valley, which is this crazy thing four times as deep as the Grand Canyon.
“Pay attention, Hazy Bloom!” Elizabeth said.
I paid attention, even if it meant falling off the edge of the planet.
“Think about it. Every time you have a vision, it comes true the next day.”
I didn’t say anything.
“The day after you have it.”
I still didn’t say anything.
Elizabeth spoke very slowly. “And tomorrow is what we call the day after—”
“I know what tomorrow is!” I retorted. The truth is, I was thinking it over to see if she was right. I quickly recalled my visions. The food fight, the number on Lila’s shirt, the ostrich that was really an acrobatic troupe—all of those things happened for real live the day after I saw them in my head.
“Tomorrow power,” I said, testing out how the words sounded. I kind of liked it.
But I’m pretty sure Elizabeth liked it more, because she was now hopping up and down on the curb like nobody’s business. “My best friend has tomorrow power!” she chirped. “My best friend has tomorrow power!”
Our fourth-grade neighbor Jarrod passed by on his scooter and looked at us funny.
I lowered my voice even though Elizabeth was the one shouting. “Okay, let’s just calm down—”
But she kept right on going. “Do you think you have other powers, too? Maybe you can fly! Or breathe underwater!”
“I cannot breathe underwater.”
“You could be a superhero!”
“A superhero? Really?” I perked up, suddenly intrigued. Then I smacked into a mailbox.
Elizabeth stared at me. “Unlikely. But possible.”
Fine, I’m a little clumsy. I get it from my dad.
“But you definitely have tomorrow power,” Elizabeth said proudly, as if she had arranged the whole thing.
I smiled. “Maybe Milo will be nicer to me now, after I tell him.”
Elizabeth stopped and grabbed me by the wrists.
“Hazy Bloom, you can’t tell anyone about this.”
First I said, “Ouch!” Then I said, “Why not?”
“Because!”
If you ask me, that didn’t sound like a very convincing reason.
She went on. “Superheroes—and you might be a superhero—must keep their identities a secret!”
“Or what?”
“Or it could be a disaster! Remember what happened when everyone found out Mark Kent was Batman?”
I crossed my arms. “It’s Clark Kent and he was Superman,” I said. Obviously, I knew a little more about superheroes than Elizabeth did. It helped to have an older sibling with a giant comic book collection sometimes. Other times it didn’t help, like when that older sibling lets out a huge burp and then pretends it was you. The point is, Elizabeth should get an older brother or sister. And also, she had a lot to learn about superheroes.
“Fine, whatever,” she said. “Just remember. No one can know.”
“You know.”
“That’s because I’m your sidekick.”
“Says who?” I didn’t get to choose my own sidekick? I was offended. “I think I should be able to choose my own sidekick, Elizabeth.”
“Okay…” Elizabeth tapped her foot impatiently, like she was dealing with a small, uncooperative child. “Who do you choose for your sidekick?”
I paused. “You.”
“Good, it’s settled. Oh, do we need a secret signal? Yes, we do! To warn each other about stuff.”
I giggled. Elizabeth was really getting into it. Okay, this was kind of fun.
As I waved goodbye to Elizabeth and walked to my house, I let myself imagine for a moment that I had tomorrow power and was a possible superhero. Maybe I’d use my powers to fight evil and prevent a horrible tragedy like a fire, or getting mango in my fruit salad. Maybe I’d save one hundred people from doom and they’d give me a medal and a parade (I bet they would also donate money to my Mars mission!). I’d get to be on TV, and sign autographs, and probably not have to do my spelling homework. Who has time for spelling when you’re busy preventing doom?
That’s when I saw my mom standing on the porch. Arms crossed. Toe tapping.
She didn’t look happy to see a possibly real-live superhero.
10
“Hazel, we got a call this afternoon from Mrs. Agnes,” Mom said. She had ushered me into the living room and plopped me on the couch.
Dad was already home from work. He was standing across from me with a stern look on his face. Between you and me, I liked tripping-over-the-dog Dad a lot better than looking-at-me-sternly Dad.
“That’s weird,” I replied.
“She said there was an incident today about … acrobats?”
Uh-oh.
Dad spoke. “Mrs. Agnes seems to believe you were snooping in her desk.”
“What? I didn’t do that!”
From the other room, I heard “Oooooooooooooooooh!” It was Milo practicing his ghost noises for the haunted house. His impression really needed some work. He sounded like a wounded cow.
Mom continued, “Mrs. Agnes told me that she had a poster that no one could have seen because it was hidden in her desk, but that you described it perfectly before she had even showed it. Can you explain that?”
I couldn’t believe Mrs. Agnes thought I was snooping! Just because I was right about the acrobats and the color of their costumes and that they were swinging upside down, and that there was a backdrop of a lightning bolt, and …
Okay, I could maybe see why she thought I was snooping.
Mom’s expression turned softer. “Hazel, is there anything you want to talk to us about?”
Dad added, “You can tell us anything, sweetie.”
I considered telling them about my visions. What would be the big deal? They’d probably be excited for me. Maybe they’d even tell Milo I was now in charge, and would excuse me from all my chores due to my superhero duties.
Or … they’d get worried and take me to the doctor. Then maybe the doctor would think I had an overactive imagination and was just seeking attention due to poor self-esteem, and Mom would sign me up for kung fu because Jarrod the neighbor did it and it did wonders for his confidence, according to what his mom told my mom, except now Jarrod is super-irritating because he walks through the hallways doing all these ninja moves. The point is, I always used to enjoy the song “Kung Fu Fighting” but not anymore. Also, I wasn’t ready to talk to my parents about my visions. But … was there another way to tell them?
I thought of our unit in Language Arts last month on metaphors, which is when you’re talking about one thing but you really mean something else.
I’d try it.
“Mom, Dad,” I began slowly. “Do you know how sometimes people get warts, and then the warts go away, but sometimes they come back again? And it’s kind of interesting and exciting, but it can also cause problems like getting in trouble with your teacher?”
I think that’s how metaphors work.
My parents were quiet for a minute. Then Dad said, “Hazy, do you have a wart?”
“What? No!”
“If you do, we can make an appointment with Dr. Rogers.”
“Dad, I don’t have a wart!”
“They’re very easy to remove. Unless it’s in a tricky place like—”
“I DO NOT HAVE A WART.”
Maybe I hadn’t chosen the best metaphor.
Milo came in, being annoying just by walking into the room, which was pretty impressive, in a way. “What’s all the yelling for? Ooh, is Hazy in trouble?”
“No!” I said before Mom could shush him, and I stomped off down the hall. I wished Milo would get a wart.
Mom called after me: “Mrs. Agnes wants to talk to you on Monday and I expect you to explain yourself and apologize, young lady!”
Great. I didn’t want to talk to Mrs. Agnes. I didn’t need to apologize for anything! I hadn’t snooped. I’d had a vision!
I just wanted to go to my room and be alone. Mom was now yelling to me about something else, but by that point I was already down the hall and couldn’t hear her. I flung my door open.
“Hazel Hillary Bloom!” a chipper voice rang out. Sitting on my bed, grinning from ear to ear, was Aunt Jenna. I’d forgotten she was coming today. Just great.
11
Aunt Jenna stood up, and I suddenly remembered how tall she was. Tall and skinny, with a long neck and black wavy hair falling over her eyes. She looked like a giraffe with bangs. Her long purple skirt swished from side to side as she walked toward me.
“Look at you, you’re getting soooo big! Aw, come here. Give your aunt a hug.”
She grabbed me in a tight squeeze. I sort of gently patted her back like she was a dog. I didn’t know her too well.
But Aunt Jenna didn’t seem to mind. She pulled away and looked at me with smiling eyes. “Thank you so much for letting me sleep in your room, Hazy Bloom.”
I almost said, I didn’t let you, my mom made me, but instead I mumbled, “You’re welcome.” But I wanted to say the first thing. Even though she did call me by my preferred name. My mom must have told her I liked that.
Then she did an excited little bounce. “Oh! I brought you something.”
From her duffel bag, Aunt Jenna carefully produced a large, square cardboard box and held it out to me. I opened it and peered inside.
“Huh,” I said.
“They’re rain boots!” she exclaimed giddily, as if she’d invented the concept herself.
See what I mean? Kooky gift! It practically never rains in Denver, so it didn’t make any sense to get some very green, sort-of-ugly rain boots as a gift.
“Wow,” I said, trying to be enthusiastic. “Thanks, Aunt Jenna.”
To show her how much I appreciated the thought, I made a big deal of putting them on. Then I told Aunt Jenna I was going to take a nap before dinner, grabbed my favorite pillow from my bed, and slumped down the hall into Milo’s room. As I walked through the door, a spitball hit me in the forehead.
“Hi, dorkface,” Milo said.
I slammed out of the room and went to try to find a place where I could lie down and be angry for a little bit without anyone bothering me.
12
I had the worst Friday night in the history of ever. For one thing, Milo sleeps sideways and therefore kicked me in the legs all night long. I don’t know when he started sleeping sideways or why he sleeps sideways, or if he even knows he sleeps sideways. The point is, I woke up cranky and with sore shins. This weekend was off to a bad start.
Then it got worse. Mom insisted that we show Aunt Jenna around town, which was boring and wet because Saturday’s the day it finally decided to rain. Every time we crossed a street, I was the one who stepped in a puddle. Whenever a car drove past, I was the one who got splashed. At least I had my new rain boots to keep me from getting totally so
aked. But it didn’t make the day any better.
Things didn’t improve on Sunday. Milo was still sleeping sideways and had now added snoring to his obnoxious nighttime habits. Plus, Sunday meant it was one day closer to Monday, which meant apologizing to Mrs. Agnes about the snooping I did not do.
Then at dinner, The Baby bit me. What did I ever do to him?
By Sunday night, I was ready to declare this the WWEFRL (“worst weekend ever, for real live”). Dad, Milo, and I were watching a movie about a talking horse that Milo and Dad thought was hilarious but I thought was the dumbest thing on the planet (and I’m pretty sure Mr. Cheese agreed with me because he left the room as soon as it started). Then it happened.
Prickles and goose bumps. Hot and cold. Another vision.
A man in a checkered shirt,
sitting at a desk.
I focused as hard as I could on the vision before I knew it would flash away. On the desk was a giant, torn-up fabric apple. Mrs. Agnes’s desk! But the man wasn’t Mrs. Agnes. Obviously. So who was he?
“Ryan, do you have any sugar substitute for my tea?” Aunt Jenna poked her head out of the kitchen to ask my Dad.
Substitute?
Dad paused the movie and hopped up to get her some. Meanwhile, I had just figured out who the man in the checkered shirt was. He was a substitute teacher! In my classroom! Which meant, tomorrow—no Mrs. Agnes, no apologizing, and no getting in trouble. Woohoo! Best. Vision. Ever!
I leaped up from the couch and twirled around happily. I started jumping up and down, cracking up The Baby. Then I started jumping up and down with The Baby. Then I put him down and boogied across the family room carpet and onto the kitchen floor (very slippery, I do not recommend), and after picking myself up from my second or third fall I ended with a celebratory jump. As you might have guessed, I was pretty excited.
Hazy Bloom and the Tomorrow Power Page 3
