Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes.
“Not sure if you’re meditating,” said Angel, “but at least move your arms so the pigeons don’t come to roost.”
“I’m not meditating. I’m remembering.”
I reached into my purse and pulled out my cell phone.
“You’re not calling your mom, are you?” Angel shifted from foot to foot. “Because she’s going to find out I told, and—”
“No, I’m not calling my mom,” I said, dialing. “I’m calling Great-Aunt Muriel’s lawyer.”
If Mom wasn’t going to look out for our little family, it was up to me.
Chapter Two
Hudson and Associates,” a woman’s bored voice drawled into the phone.
Since this was a serious, adult manner, I decided to handle it in a serious, adult voice. Which, for some reason, also happened to be British.
“ ’Ello, love, might I chat up Mister ’udson?” I heard myself say. “It’s quite urgent.”
Angel turned to me, wide-eyed, and opened her mouth. Scared of what she might say, I pushed her into a pile of garbage bags.
“Ow!” she shouted. “I think I fell on a pineapple!”
“You’re calling for Mr. Hudson?” asked the receptionist. “May I ask who this is?”
“Victoria Grace Porter,” I said in my most regal voice. “The . . . uh . . . First.”
I could’ve sworn the woman snorted. “Thank you. Please hold.”
Classical music assaulted my ear and Angel’s fist assaulted my arm.
“Hey!” I dropped my phone and twisted away from her to retrieve it.
“Victoria the First?” she asked. “Planning more heirs to the throne are we?”
The classical music cut out, and the woman’s voice returned.
“He’s tied up at the moment. Can I ask what this is regarding . . . your Highness?”
I dropped the accent. “It’s about Muriel Archibald’s video will,” I said. “I’m calling to tell him that we want to enter the contest. My mom and I.”
There was a clacking of fingernails on a keyboard, and then the receptionist said, “You said your name was Victoria Porter? According to the late Mrs. Archibald’s notes, you’re the overly responsible child prodigy?”
I frowned. “How did you . . . how did she know?”
“Mrs. Archibald was in the business of knowing other people’s business.” I could hear the smile in the receptionist’s voice.
“Meaning . . . ?”
“And so your parents are Hank and Jill,” she said, evading my question. “The deceased hero and overly irresponsible seamstress. Correct?”
I bristled. “My parents are named Hank and Jill, yes. But that part about—”
“It appears your mother has already entered the contest.”
I forgot to be offended. “She has? When did she enter us?”
“Herself, actually,” said the receptionist. “She only entered herself.”
I almost dropped the phone a second time. “What?”
Mom was competing without me? But we did everything together! We grocery shopped together. We took painting classes together. We went to the gym planning to work out but ended up reading magazines together.
“Why wouldn’t she want me to come?” I asked in a small voice.
Angel gasped. “What?”
I shushed her with a wave of my hand.
“Doesn’t say,” said the receptionist. “Sorry, hon,” she added with genuine sympathy. “My guess would be it has to do with your age.”
“My age?” I repeated in a high, squeaky voice that didn’t help. “That’s the reason she needs me! She’s old and falling apart.”
“Your mother’s thirty-four. I’m forty-four,” said the receptionist flatly. “If she’s old, then I’m about to crumble to dust. We should probably wrap this up.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, heat surging to my cheeks. “Listen, my mom can’t win on her own.”
“Not if she’s an irresponsible seamstress, no,” said the receptionist.
I bit back a nasty comment. “Can you please ask Mr. Hudson to extend the entry deadline just until this afternoon when I can talk to my mom? We really need the money.”
I crossed my fingers until the receptionist said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure you get a fair shot.”
I hung up and clutched my phone to my chest. Angel squeezed my shoulder.
“You okay?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t get why my mom wouldn’t want me there. Do you think it’s because of school?”
“No,” said Angel. “The contest is in a few weeks. That’s what the lawyer said, anyway.”
We both grew quiet until Angel snapped her fingers.
“She probably thinks you’ll want to enjoy your summer and it’ll feel too much like school,” she said with a triumphant smile.
“You think?” My spirits lifted a little. “That’s an easy enough fix. I mean, I’m going to the museum right now for fun, and that’s as educational a place as it gets!”
“I’m positive that’s it,” said Angel. She tugged my arm. “Now come on. I want to go to the mall later.”
We sped up our pace.
“Do you think I’m overly responsible?” I asked.
Angel laughed until it echoed off the buildings. “Not at all. Lots of girls carry a first-aid kit in their purse.”
“Hey, accidents can happen anywhere,” I said. “Although most usually happen within a two-foot radius of my mother.”
“Well, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being overly responsible . . . if you are,” she added with a grin. “It’s the perfect contrast to your mom.”
I frowned, thinking of Great-Aunt Muriel’s description of Mom: overly irresponsible. Part of the reason it bothered me so much was that it was right.
That afternoon, I sprinted home . . . or did my best attempt at it. After the museum, I’d convinced Angel to go to the library with me instead of the mall. My arms were weighed down with books on the colonial period so I could prove to Mom just what an asset it would be to have me along.
“Good luck!” Angel called when we parted ways at her place. “Text me later!”
When I burst through the shop door, gasping for air, Mom glanced up in alarm from a mannequin she was dressing.
“Tori!” She rushed over. “Is everything okay?”
I shook my head. “I . . . need . . .”
“What, darling?” Mom clasped my face between her hands. “Air? Water? For us to really exercise at the gym?”
I held up a hand to silence her. “I’m fine. I just need to talk to you.”
Mom breathed a sigh of relief. “Give me a minute to finish what I’m doing. And let me take that.” She reached for my stack of books, staggering under the weight. “Geez, are you an amateur bodybuilder?”
“No, don’t—” I started to say as a copy of Colonial Times tumbled to the floor.
She sidestepped it and studied the cover.
“What’s this about?” she asked.
“Weird, the librarian must have accidentally stacked it with my other stuff,” I said. “So, how was your day? Anything interesting happen?”
“Not really.” Mom shoved her hands into the back pockets of her slacks. “Just a couple of fittings. Boy, it’s a crazy coincidence you’d accidentally be given this book today of all days!”
I shrugged. “What can I say? The librarian must be psychic. So—”
“Oh, come off it!” exclaimed Mom. “You’re lying. You keep doing that head tilt you always do.”
“And you’re doing that thing where you put your hands in your back pockets!” I shot back.
“What are the colonial books really for?” asked Mom.
“Research! How come you don’t want me entering the contest with you?” I volleyed.
Mom froze with a stunned expression on her face. “How do you know about that?” Then her astonishment changed to suspi
cion, and she crossed her arms. “How do you know about that?”
Whoops. Busted.
“Because . . . I’m good at deducing things,” I said, keeping my head as still as possible. “Like Sherlock Holmes.”
“Oh yeah? What did I have for lunch, Sherlock?”
I scrutinized her. “Nothing. There’re no food stains on your shirt.”
Mom frowned. “Go to your room.”
“Was I wrong?” I asked as she pushed me up the stairs.
“Yes, you were. I ate a forkful of salad and half a cockroach.” She opened our apartment door. “We’re not ordering from Dominic’s anymore.”
“Gross.” I wrinkled my nose.
Mom pointed down the hall. “Room. Now.”
I stepped inside and said, “For the record, you lied too. And you left me out of a major life decision. And you hurt my feelings by deciding to compete without me.” I let my lower lip pout to astronomical proportions.
Mom sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “Tori, I was going to tell you, okay? My decision to compete without you is for your own safety and sanity. You wouldn’t survive a day of colonial life, let alone two weeks.”
I flinched at the verbal sting. “And you think you could do better?”
Mom pressed her lips into a tight line. “Wait here.”
She thundered down the stairs and returned a moment later with my stack of books.
“Here, pack mule,” she said, holding them out to me. “Read these and write down all the colonial activities you come across and your lengthy experience dealing with them. We’ll talk at dinner, and I’ll decide your punishment then.”
The instant the shop door closed, I stomped toward my bedroom as loudly as possible. My phone chimed with a text message, and I stopped to check it.
It was from Mom.
You’re going to make an excellent ballerina. So light on your feet!
I stuck my tongue out at the phone and put it back in my pocket, walking normally the rest of the way. When I reached my room, I dropped the books, relishing the heavy thuds they made. Then I arranged them in alphabetical order, settling down with the first one.
“Salem witch trials, smallpox . . .” I paused. If Great-Aunt Muriel really had disliked us, we could be in trouble.
A lot of colonial life was spent farming and hunting and cleaning and weaving, from sunrise to sunset, and in the evenings people would read or play chess until the candles burned low. Then, the next day, they’d make more candles and do laundry and other household chores.
I jotted down a list of colonial activities on one half of a sheet of paper and Mom’s and my experience levels on the other.
The results did not look good. For either of us.
Where farming was concerned, I’d once grown a lima bean in a Styrofoam cup for a science project, but we wouldn’t have access to Styrofoam, and lima beans were nasty anyway. Mom had some mushroom-looking things sprouting in her closet, but I was pretty sure that was by accident.
Hunting? Neither of us had hunted for anything but bargains at the mall. Although Mom could be ferocious if an argyle sweater was up for grabs. All we needed to find were some fashionably dressed deer.
I already did the household chores, so that wouldn’t be too bad, except I’d be doing the laundry by hand and, according to my research, I’d have to make my own soap from animal fat.
In the middle of all the reading, exhaustion caught up with me and I dozed off. I woke with a blanket thrown over me and the scent of Chinese takeout luring from the kitchen. Wrapping the blanket around my shoulders, I padded down the hall to see Mom scooping food from takeout boxes onto plates.
“I see you got a lot of research done,” she said with a wry smile. “You’ll be happy to hear that the blanket you’re wearing isn’t riddled with smallpox.”
“How do you know about that?” I asked, sitting at the table.
It was something I’d just learned in the colonial books, how settlers gave Native Americans “peace offerings” of blankets covered in smallpox.
Mom handed my plate over. “I know many things. Do you have your list?”
I held it up for her inspection while she ate an egg roll. Her eyes scanned the page and crinkled with amusement.
“Tori, if all this was true and we were as incompetent as you think,” she said, “we wouldn’t stand a chance.”
I turned the list so I could read it. “Am I missing something?”
Mom nodded and pointed at the paper, smearing grease on it. “I can do everything on that list except carpentry.”
I shot her a withering look and wiped the page clean. “Yeah, right. You’re that old.”
She smirked. “No, but I did spend two summers in college working at a wilderness camp, and when I was your age I helped on my grandpa’s farm.”
My mouth dropped open. “You? Doing manual labor?”
“How do you think I got started making dresses?” she said with a smile. “You shouldn’t underestimate your mama, little girl. If it came down to it, I could even weave us some blankets.”
I pushed my food around on my plate. “Will it come down to that?”
Mom stopped with a fork raised to her mouth. “Huh?”
“Angel told me we have money problems,” I explained. “And that’s why I was calling Mr. Hudson. To enter us in the contest.”
Mom put down the fork and reached over to stroke my hair. “That’s my concern, not yours.”
“No, it affects me, so it’s my concern too,” I said, pulling away from her. “Especially if I can help you win.”
Mom sighed.
“You know I’m supersmart, so I learn quickly,” I continued. “And I don’t eat much and I don’t take up much space and I won’t get in the way, and Angel’s parents are letting her go.” I batted my eyelashes. “And you love me, right?”
“Of course I do,” said Mom. “But—”
“It’ll be like camping for two weeks!” I said. “And you know we won’t be in any real danger.”
“Well, that’s true, but—”
“And we’d have sooo much fun together,” I said.
Mom paused and smiled. “We really would.”
I smiled hopefully back. “So . . . I’m in?”
Instead of answering, Mom speared a piece of sesame chicken and chewed it thoughtfully. I didn’t want to pressure her out of the decision, so I started eating too.
She finished all her chicken and the other half of her egg roll before she finally leaned forward and said, “You can compete with me on one condition.”
I sat up straighter in my chair and assumed a serious expression.
“Promise me,” said Mom, “that you won’t worry about money anymore. That you’ll enjoy the experience . . . even if we don’t win.”
“Oh, we’ll win,” I told her.
Mom raised an eyebrow at me.
“But I promise.”
“Okay.” Mom nodded. “Let’s call Hudson and Associates and tell them we need two tickets to Boston.”
I grinned and held up my phone. “Already have them on speed dial.”
Chapter Three
A few weeks later, Mom and I were trudging through airport security behind a group of businessmen. I watched them hoist briefcases and duffel bags onto the X-ray conveyor belt. Then I watched Mom carrying the one backpack we’d brought.
“We should’ve packed more than magazines and bananas,” I told her. “We look suspicious.”
“Of what? Being monkeys in disguise?” Mom dropped the backpack and her shoes on the X-ray conveyor belt.
“We could’ve at least brought spare underwear,” I whispered, placing my shoes next to hers. “What if our plane crashes and we’re stranded?”
Mom blinked at me. “Unless your spare underwear has a map in it, I don’t think it would be very helpful.”
The security guard gave us a strange look but signaled Mom to step through the metal detector.
“Besides,” she said,
“you know the rules of the competition. Everything that isn’t medically necessary is going to be taken from us when we get there. Why weigh ourselves down with extra bags to keep track of?”
“You never plan for emergencies,” I told her, passing through the metal detector. “That’s your problem.”
“And you worry too much,” said Mom. “That’s your problem.”
She collected our belongings off the conveyor belt and pointed at a burger joint inside the terminal. “Let’s have one last filling meal before we’re forced to eat squirrel-on-a-stick.”
“Okay,” I said. “But hurry, so Angel and Aunt Zoe and Uncle Deke don’t see.”
Mom made a face. “Good call. I don’t want to hear about their run-in with the crying cow again.”
“Like it could even read the Burger King bag,” I added, slipping my shoes back on.
We wolfed down our food in record time and were browsing a candy store when my cousin and her parents joined us.
“Hey!” Angel and I greeted each other with big grins.
Aunt Zoe hugged me and then Mom. When she pulled away, her nostrils quivered.
“You’ve been eating beef.” Aunt Zoe reached into the pocket of her yoga jacket and pulled out a protein bar. “Nobody died to make my lunch.”
“Don’t sta-art,” Uncle Deke singsonged under his breath, leaning over to hug me.
“This is new.” I poked at his beard. “Are you carrying extra supplies in there?”
“My dad’s packing all kinds of crumbs from breakfast,” said Angel, smiling at him. “There’s a whole piece of toast nestled in there.”
“Are you sure it’s not in . . . here?” He grabbed Angel and tickled her armpit until she doubled over with laughter.
I always liked watching Angel and Uncle Deke playing together. Sometimes I wondered if my dad and I would have been like that. My mom says I take after him a lot, so we probably would have spent most of our time trading sarcastic barbs and learning at museums together. When Mom and I go to museums, she cracks jokes the whole way, but I just want to study fossils in peace.
“Save your energy, you two,” Aunt Zoe told Angel and Uncle Deke. “We don’t know how much vegan protein we’ll find during the contest.”
Colonial Madness Page 2
