by Beth Ain
“No, I don’t think you can,” I say. I think of cute little Ella crawling all around and wish I was still friends with Charlotte just so I could play with her. Charlotte probably started out cute, too.
I’m not sure what to say next, but I don’t even have to think too much about it because Teddy comes running over and says, “You guys are not going to believe this. Look!”
We all look over to the big relay race everyone is cheering at, and we see that Elinor is way ahead of everyone, even the boys. She is running so fast and gets so far ahead that one of the boys just stops running and watches. When Elinor crosses the finish line, I am so excited for her, I start running. Teddy and Charlotte run over, too. We all jump up and down together, shouting, and even Elinor is hooting and hollering!
“I did NOT know you could run like that,” I say. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You never asked,” she says.
“You beat everyone,” Teddy says.
“I know,” Elinor says. “Running is kind of my thing.”
I am so happy that Elinor has a thing.
Everyone starts to walk toward the watermelon table, but I grab on to Elinor’s shirt so she stays behind with me.
“What is it?” she asks.
“Are you happy now?” I ask.
“Sure,” she says.
“Sometimes you don’t look happy, and I was thinking that maybe you’re homesick or something.”
Elinor looks down at her sneakers.“Maybe a little,” she says.
“Well, I was thinking that maybe if we make a whole bunch of new memories together, the homesickness might go away a little,” I say.
“Maybe it will,” she says. “It went away a little just now, when I was running.”
“That was my top secret project,” I say. “That’s why I forced you to be in the entertainers — to make you hoot and holler, so you would be happier.”
Elinor looks at me funny. “And you thought being Maria von Trapp would do that?” she asks.
“Sorry about that,” I say.
“It’s okay,” she says. “Besides, being in the show together will be a good memory. Even being in the show with Charlotte — she does make things memorable!”
We hold hands and walk over to the table with the giant watermelon slices on it, and I am happy Elinor is happy, but now I HAVE to make it to the show on time, or else this new memory will be one between Charlotte and Elinor, and I want it to be an all-of-us new memory. I try not to worry too much, since Teddy has started a seedspitting contest and watermelon juice is flying everywhere as seeds soar through the hot air and land one by one in the dirt where our worm swimming pool used to be.
I smile at the memory of our worm swimming pool, and then I smile because even Charlotte is spitting her seeds with us now. But she never says one word to any of us, which isn’t so bad, since it means no one says anything mean the whole rest of the day.
On the way home, I feel so over-hot that even the bus air-conditioning doesn’t help. I feel like I can’t take it for one more minute, and neither can the city.
“Watch,” my mom says. “The heavens are going to open up the minute we get off of this bus.” We are on the way home and the sky is almost black.
“Is it nighttime already?” Big Henry asks.
“It isn’t nighttime,” I say. “There is going to be a big storm. Look. Here it comes!”And when we step off the bus, the rain comes down on us so hard we are soaked before we start running. My mom grabs our hands.
“Here we go!” she shouts, and we run as fast as we can to the corner and toward our building. There isn’t anything more reallife than running around New York City in the pouring rain.
We get into the lobby and look at each other as we catch our breath. “It’s a good thing I was wearing my boots,” my little brother says. I look down at my soaked turquoise-and-pink high-top sneakers and start laughing.
“You’ve been waiting awhile to say that, huh, Hank?” I ask.
“I’ll tell you who’s been waiting awhile,”a voice comes from behind us, and it makes me scream at the top of my lungs. The great Grandma Gilda is waiting for us and I forgot all about it.
“George!” I run over to her and give her a sopping-wet hug.
Big Henry screams, too, and almost knocks us all over with his running hug.
“I used a positive whatever-you-call-it yesterday!” I say.
“Affirmation!” George says. “Did it work?”
“Yep,” I say.
“Good, let’s do one now to see if it helps me get up out of this chair.”
Upstairs, we get into dry clothes and Big Henry tells her all about school and his scooter, which he rides better than he walks. And I tell her all about Look at Us Now! and my TV family, and Elinor and my side project. After dinner and a big-time scooter race around the kitchen island, it is time for me to read over my lines one more time.
I have to wake up very early to get to the set, since there will be makeup! And hairstyling! And wardrobe! Wardrobe means they give you outfits to wear that you would never really wear, but that are very, very cool. I. Can’t. Wait.
“Hey, Eddie,” George whispers at my door, and nods her head in the direction of my roommate. “Is he asleep?”
I nod. Big Henry fell asleep as soon as he pushed play on Paddington.
“You didn’t say anything about Charlotte,” George says.
“She’s just . . . Charlotte,” I say. “But I am trying to be a little bit nice to her since she is moving and then I won’t have to see her anymore.”
“I thought you were wishing you might be able to see her basement,” George says.
“I was. I am. I don’t know. Charlotte is confusing,” I say.
“Most people are,” George says. “If they weren’t, they’d be boring.”
I think about this after she gives me a giganto Grandma Gilda squeeze. I think about how my mom made that game show to show me how life isn’t boring. Now, I kind of wish it was boring.
lost-and-found voices,
two shows for the price of one,
and nowadays illnesses
My mom wakes me up with a kiss on the head.
“I just want one tiny moment of calm before we go,” she says.
“I have to make it to school in time,” I say.
“Listen, Jules. I am willing to do just about anything for you. I’ve taken off from work, I’ve let you miss some school, and Daddy and I have already put a lot into this because it seems like it’s important to you, and because we actually think you’re good at it.”
“You do?”
“We do,” she says. “When I saw you get up on that countertop, I realized that this might not be just a regular after-school activity.”
“Me, too,” I say, even though I hadn’t really thought about it that way until right this minute.
“But —” my mom says, and I know this but is going to be a big one. “But watching you put all this pressure on yourself to do everything makes me a little nervous.”
“You never get nervous,” I say.
“I’m nervous about this,” she says.
“Well, I can handle it,” I say. “Just like you. You do everything for everyone and you work and you make game shows and you make dinner,” I say.
“I don’t make dinner well. Not like Daddy,” she says.
“Well, that’s okay, because then you would be perfect, and nobody’s perfect.”
She smiles.
“I can do both things,” I say.
“Okay,” she says. “Let’s see what the day brings.”
And the morning race begins. The whole family is coming to the set — even Big Henry gets to miss school to come to the taping, and he is very excited.
We eat bagels and drink juice while a man does my hair, and Big Henry asks 350 questions about every thing.“Why is this camera here?” “What if this camera doesn’t work?” “How does Jules know what to say?” “Why is Jules named Sylvie now?�
� “Can my name be Han Solo now?” And on and on and on. The only good thing about all his questionasking is that he makes me laugh a lot.
“Ready?” my dad asks.
“Yep,” I say. I am proud that I do not shrug. And then all of a sudden, “ACTION!”
The rest of the morning goes by in a flash. I work really hard and I try not to think about missing the show, because it makes me feel horribly sad to think that I would miss my first memory with Elinor. This is what I am thinking when my dad comes over during a break.
“You know, I was thinking,” he says. “You’ve been making memories with Elinor since the day you met her. Digging for worms, handstand contests, the not-Swish-girl party . . . So I don’t think you have to worry so much about this one show.”
“Those are just small moments,” I explain to my dad. “What Elinor needs is a big, momentous memory that will make her want to stay forever and ever.”
“I see,” he says. “Big.”
“Momentous,” I say.
“Got it,” he says.
The break is over, and at last the final scene comes, and I am excited. I think I am probably going to have to hop up on that counter and sing at least five times, since it is the last scene and all the scenes need at least a few takes. But we do it in one take!One take! I think I am better at being Sylvie than I am at being myself.
“That’s a wrap!” the director yells, and butterflies feel like they are going to fly out of my mouth like a capful of orange Swish Mouthwash.
My dad and Grandma Gilda hoot and holler as I come over to them, and I feel shy about this. No one else on the show has a group of people hooting and hollering.
“Let’s go,” I say, and I am pulling on my mom’s arm like a two-year-old.
Our cab makes it almost all the way back uptown very quickly, and I am sure we will make it until we end up in the biggest traffic jam I have ever seen. I throw my head back against the seat.
“Jules!” my dad says. “Settle down.” Then he sticks his head way out the window to see what’s happening out there. He turns back to us. “Well, who’s up for making a run for it?”
“I am!” I say. Then my mom, my dad, and I agree to meet George and Hank there. Thank goodness all the rain cooled off the air a little because the three of us run the fastest I have ever run. I am laughing as I go, watching my dad dodge ladies with baby strollers and jump over dog leashes.
When we finally get to school, I am sweating, but I don’t stop. I walk-run right toward the multipurpose room, where my whole class is lined up in the hallway.
“Jules!” Elinor runs over to me and gives me a big hug. “You made it! Guess what — Charlotte had the great idea that I should wear running clothes and actually run while I sing ‘Fa — a long, long way to run! ’Isn’t that clever?”
“It is!” I say. It is.
“Julesium, your face is melting,” Teddy says.
I touch my sweaty face and look at my mom. “It is kind of melting, honey. We should have taken off that makeup.”
“Can we clean up in the bathroom?” I ask Ms. Leon.
“There really isn’t time.”
My mom dabs my face. “Aren’t you going to freak out about melting?” she asks.
“Nope,” I say.
“Are you going to throw up?” Teddy asks.
“Nope,” I say.
“Okay, see you inside,” my dad says, kissing me on the head.
We start to walk in and I tap Charlotte on the shoulder. “What?” she whisper-yells.
“I just wanted to say that I think basements are magical,” I say.
Charlotte smiles at this, and in we go! Even when I see the rows and rows of parents and grandparents, I don’t freak out. My legs don’t shake. I don’t even care that I probably look like a sweaty circus clown. Then, when I see Grandma Gilda and Big Henry sneak into the room, I feel even better. Each group talks about their small moments, and the entertainers group sings about their small moment, and I realize for the first time that Charlotte has a very pretty singing voice and that Elinor does not, but at least she looks happy. And I am happy and lost in my own head until I hear Teddy start talking.
“As scientists, we learned about plants, and we also learned that anything orange makes Jules throw up.”
I stare at Teddy so hard, and all he does is shrug at me. The whole class laughs at this, and I hear Big Henry say really loud, “Teddy said Jules frows up!”
I wait until the room calms down to say the final narrator line. “And I learned that we made a lot of small moments together in our classroom community,” I say. “And that we wouldn’t have learned anything without our mayor!” Ms. Leon laughs a little because I surprised her with this line.
Then we all start singing “So Long, Farewell,” and I look at my friends down the line and I can’t believe this day is about to be over. I also can’t believe that Charlotte’s face is sprouting giant red blotches as she goes, and I wonder for a second if she is nervous or something. We all bow and everyone claps very loudly, like they did at the taping this morning, except this feels even better.
My dad runs over with his camera and we pose for a class picture, and Teddy, Elinor, Charlotte, and I line up next to each other and smile.
“What’s wrong with Charlotte’s face?” Big Henry asks this so loud that the smiling picture turns into a laughing picture, which my dad shows us right away. There I am with my sweaty clown makeup, and there Charlotte is with her splotchy-strawberry face, and there is Teddy pretending to throw up all over the place, and there is Elinor throwing her head back laughing and looking really, really happy. Happy on the inside.
“I remember when you all posed for your nursery-school picture,” my mom says.
Something comes over me, and I start to sing. “That was then,” floats out of my mouth, and then I hop up on a chair and sing, “Look at us now!!!!”
“It’s scarlet fever,” my mom says. She has just hung up the phone and come into the bedroom, where Elinor and I are standing on our heads against my bed, since I’m still too tired from yesterday to stand on my hands.
I gasp and look at Elinor. She seems surprised, too.
The only other time in my life I have ever heard about scarlet fever was in the movie The Miracle Worker, and when little baby Helen Keller gets scarlet fever, she can’t see or hear ever again! I think of all the awful things I’ve said about Charlotte and all the times I’ve wished she weren’t even around. I feel terrible.
“I didn’t even know a nowadays person could get scarlet fever!” I say.
“Relax, Jules,” my mom says. “It’s not like it used to be, thanks to modern medicine. It’s just like strep. Only more . . .dramatic. Charlotte will be fine now that she’s on antibiotics.”
“Well, thank goodness,” Elinor says.
“Yes, thank goodness,” I say, since I forgot to say this right away. Then I think, Now I don’t have to feel bad that I was feeling a little bit happy about Charlotte moving to Long Island.
“And they aren’t moving,” my mom says. I gasp again.
“At least, not this year,” she says. “Good?”
“Great!” I say, thinking fast. I’m sure this is what I am supposed to say since just a minute ago I was worried Charlotte might not even live to see third grade. But what I am really thinking (sarcastically) is, Third grade with Stinkytown? Just what I always wanted.
“I think scarlet fever sounds glamorous,” Elinor says as the phone rings again and my mom rushes to pick it up.
“I think it sounds dangerous,” I say.
“Jules!” Big Henry crashes in on us again, and again we fall over on top of each other.
“Big Henry!” I say.
“Colby Kingston says Rick Hinkley’s leg isn’t as cracked up as it was in the first place,” he says.
Elinor and I run to the kitchen, and my mom’s finger is already in place, like it was waiting for us to interrupt.
She hangs up.
“Just
when I thought we were going to have a nice little break,” my mom says.
“What?” Elinor and I say at the same exact time.
“Jinx!” Big Henry says.
“Turns out being part hockey star really does help. He’s ready to go, starting in three weeks. What do you think?” she asks.
We only have a week left of school, I think. I am silent.
“Jules?” she says.
I say nothing.
“Elinor?” she says.
Elinor keeps her mouth closed, but shouts something behind her cheeks.
“Oh!” my mom says. “Big Henry, release the jinx!”
“Jules and Elinor, Jules and Elinor, Jules and Elinor!” Big Henry says.
Elinor and I explode with screams.
“Is it enough time?” my mom asks.
“It’s the perfect amount of time,” I say. Just enough time for me to turn back into a spy-girl, I think. I even get two weeks of vacation in between.
“Maybe I can think of a side project!” I say.
Then we all hoot and holler for a good long time.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
If I absolutely had to do second grade all over again, I would want the following people to be in my class: Rhonda Penn Seidman, because even though we actually could have been in the same second-grade class, no one would ever let us be, and because I would have been a much happier second grader with her than without her; Denise Goldman, because she would make me belly-laugh and feel confident all at once (and then she would make me do jumping jacks); Amy Flisser, because she would read even my worst lists and tell me they moved her; Chava Ortner, because she would help me check things off my list and tell me not to be so hard on my second-grade self; and Jon Ain, because I think we would have been good for each other even at seven.
So much love and gratitude to Gail Levine, Chuck Levine, Michael Levine, Meryl and Stewart Ain, and Richard Seidel (for letting a certain second grader write her first story on his newfangled computer); to Diana Berrent (for her magicmaking photography and for her friendship); to the teachers and administrators at Manorhaven Elementary School in Port Washington, NY; to the exceptional Jill Grinberg and everyone at Jill Grinberg Literary Management; to Jenne Abramowitz (for truly getting me and for reining me in — all at once!); and to Grace and Elijah — my kids, my muses, my absolute favorite people in the world.
