“I’ve already got two dozen orders!” he exclaimed. “Thank you, Star Bandit!”
21
ORANGE IS THE NEW AWESOME
“I can’t believe that woman,” Mom said a few evenings later as she put down her copy of the Dandelion Gazette. She had just finished reading Daisy’s article. “Kendra knows darn well your father is doing everything he can to catch the Star Bandit. She’s just trying to make our family look bad.”
“Mmmhmm,” I said, because it seemed the safest response. And also because my mouth was full of pancakes. We were having breakfast for dinner that night. Dad was still at the station, and Carolyn had a guitar lesson, so it was just me, Mom, Grandma Bertie, and Aunt Mildred.
“I think it’s exciting,” Grandma Bertie said. “Izzy, did you see anything at the dance? The Knatterers are meeting tonight, and they’re all dying to know.”
I swallowed my pancake and kept my eyes on my plate. “I think—”
“I think it’s unconscionable,” Aunt Mildred said.
“I agree,” Grandma Bertie said. “That Star Bandit—”
“Not the Star Bandit!” Aunt Mildred pounded her fist on the table. “The way you and your Knatterers are just out there begging for town gossip!”
While they bickered, I chewed my pancakes silently. Since my plan to beautify the school didn’t quite go over the way I hoped, Daisy decided it was too risky to interview me, so she’d written something more straightforward. The words “disarming,” “artistry,” and “monies” came from Violet, who helped Daisy write the article. Violet insisted on it after she read Daisy’s first draft, which featured a bunch of juicy bits about her dad dating Ms. Harmer. Violet made her take it all out. But gossip travels lightning fast in Dandelion Hollow, so everyone already knew anyway. Mom had been going on and on earlier about how scandalous it was, and how maybe if Ms. Harmer weren’t so busy cozying up to Violet’s dad, maybe the Star Bandit wouldn’t have slipped right under her nose.
“Kendra’s right about one thing, though,” Mom added.
I swallowed. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“That Star Bandit is a disgrace. What a ridiculous idea, painting that wall.”
“I think the wall looks nice.” I’d meant to keep my mouth shut, but, big surprise, I was finding it harder than I’d thought. “A lot of people were taking selfies in front of it today, before it gets covered up.”
That was the thing I just couldn’t believe. After all the trouble I went to, they were just going to cover it up again. Principal Chilton gave the school janitor the donated funds from the Eco Club to purchase new gray paint. Out with the orange, in with the dull gray.
“Novelty always attracts attention,” Mom said. “But it’s still vandalism.”
“Well, I think it’s awesome. Orange is the new awesome.”
“How can you think it looks good?” Mom demanded. “The Star Bandit did an absolutely terrible job. He got paint all over the floor.”
I bit into a buttery biscuit before I said something that gave me away. Everyone was still convinced the Star Bandit was some kind of vandal—a teenage boy, probably—which was helpful, and also really annoying.
But I did feel bad that the members of the Eco Club were going to miss their trip to the observatory, and I knew I was going to have to come clean—just as soon as I figured out how to make it up to everyone.
We ate for a few minutes in silence; but like usual, my mouth could only stay shut for so long. “Don’t you think orange is way better than gray. Gray is insipid.” I’d gotten the word “insipid” from Violet back when we were still speaking to each other.
“Gray is a perfectly respectable color,” Mom said. “Orange, on the other hand, is loud and out of place.”
“Just because something is respectable,” I said, “doesn’t mean it’s interesting.”
“And just because something is interesting,” Mom countered, “doesn’t mean it’s acceptable.”
Mom and I stared at each other, and all of a sudden, I could tell we weren’t fighting over colors anymore.
“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe gray could learn a thing or two from orange,” I said. “Like how to have some fun once in a while.”
Grandma Bertie and Aunt Mildred were glancing back and forth between us, both of them seemingly afraid to say anything.
“Maybe orange could learn how to fit in once in a while,” Mom said, her voice tightening. “Instead of making gray’s life so hard.”
“Or maybe gray could learn orange doesn’t want to fit in.”
“Maybe orange should clear the table and take out the trash, as it’s her turn tonight.”
“Fine.” I pushed back my chair and stood up. “I was finished anyway.”
After the dishes were done I took the trash and headed outside. The night was clear. Orion and Big D were shining. Ready, as always, to listen. “She’s never going to understand me,” I said.
I could swear the tip of Big D’s handle winked at me, like he was nodding in agreement.
22
BOBBLEHEADS
On Thursday, I decided I needed to track down Sophia Ramos. With everyone up in arms over the Star Bandit, I needed to make sure she was exercising her constitutional right to remain silent. That meant I needed to send myself on a sensitive diplomatic mission to find her. And that meant I was stuck visiting the cafeteria again.
On the way in, I ran into Daisy, who was balancing a tray of questionable-looking burritos.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“What do you mean, what am I doing here? It’s a cafeteria. People eat in cafeterias. Although most days I usually take my tray back to the Grapevine office.” Daisy made it sound like it was a suite or something, but the Grapevine office was just a small unused classroom in the English hall.
“So you don’t usually eat here either?”
“I almost did, once.” Daisy shrugged. “But I didn’t know where to sit. What are you doing here? Don’t you usually eat under that one tree?”
“I need to talk to Sophia about . . . you know.”
Daisy nodded. “Damage control, right.”
“You want to come?” I asked.
“Sure. You can share my burritos with me if you don’t want to wait in line. Do you think Violet should join us?”
“Violet and I aren’t speaking.” Ever since the dance, we’d been avoiding each other. Or I was avoiding her, at least.
“Here.” Daisy shoved her tray into my hands. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and began tapping at the screen. “I’m texting her.”
Pretty soon, Daisy’s screen lit up with Violet’s response. “She’s on her way.” Daisy put her phone away and took back her tray.
When Violet arrived, she wouldn’t look me in the eyes. “Hi, Izzy,” she said, staring at the floor.
“I’m surprised you came,” I said. “I thought I was too chronically weird for you to hang out with.”
“Izzy,” Daisy warned. “Play nice.”
“Why? She’s not playing nice, so why should I?”
“Izzy, I really am sorry—” Violet began.
“Whatever,” I said, turning away to look for Sophia. “It’s not like I care, anyway.”
Except . . . I did care. Every time someone called me “odd” or “weird,” I cared, even if I tried hard to act like I didn’t. Especially when I thought Violet and I were finally starting to become friends again. But maybe we weren’t. Maybe Violet just liked Mrs. Whippie’s bracelet and charms so much she was even willing to hang out with Toad Girl.
Daisy and Violet followed me silently as I threaded my way through the cafeteria. I found Sophia eating alone at that empty table behind the Paddlers.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi.” She smiled at us as we all took seats around her, which I took to be a good sign.
“Ribbit, ribbit,” Stella called from her table.
Sophia glanced their way and frowned, but said nothing.
&
nbsp; “How do you like Dandelion Hollow?” I asked.
“It’s okay.” Her voice was friendly, but her eyes were as watchful as a guard dog’s. I think she knew exactly why we were here.
“Just okay?” It occurred to me that in the crowded cafeteria, Sophia was eating alone. Again.
Sophia nodded. “It’s a beautiful town, and a lot less crowded than San Francisco—where I used to live.” She paused and raised her eyebrows, as if to say, Okay, let’s get on with it.
So I got down to business: “Here’s the thing: My dad is the chief of police, and my mom is running for mayor.”
“I know who your parents are.”
“Then you know I will get into an epic amount of trouble if I get caught.”
Violet nodded seriously. “I know Izzy’s parents. She may not live to see the seventh grade.” Violet smiled tentatively at me, but I ignored her and stared at Sophia.
“I told you I wouldn’t say anything, and I meant it,” Sophia said. “But why did you do it? I mean, do you want your mom to lose?”
“No, I definitely want her to win.” I may not have understood why Mom wanted to be mayor—most days, I didn’t understand anything at all about her—but that didn’t mean I wanted her to lose. “I’m going to come clean eventually—”
“You are?” Daisy interrupted, looking surprised.
“Yes—once I figure out a way to make things right. I just . . . It’s all just been a misunderstanding. I never meant to cause so much trouble.” I took a deep breath, getting ready to give Sophia all the reasons why I wasn’t an apprentice training to get my picture plastered over a WANTED sign.
“Okay,” Sophia said, “I believe you.”
“You believe me?” I repeated. “Just like that?”
“Yeah, why not? You don’t strike me as a mean person, Izzy.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. It wasn’t often that someone took me at my word.
“Well,” I said finally, “I guess it’s not so much that people think I’m mean, it’s that they think I’m weird.” I looked pointedly at Violet. “A lot of people think I’m weird.”
“But I don’t think that,” Violet burst out. “I feel terrible about the other night. What I said was mean and stupid—I was just afraid of getting in trouble. I promise, I don’t think you’re weird. Please, please, can we forget I said it?”
Violet’s eyes looked like shiny sea glass, and I guessed when I really thought about it, I couldn’t be too mad at her for saying something stupid. My own foot had been known to take long, extended vacations in my big mouth.
“I missed you,” Violet added, as Daisy and Sophia watched us. “While my mom was sick, and afterward. I guess I just didn’t know how to be a friend then. But I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” I said finally. “Friends?”
“Friends.”
Things still felt slightly awkward between us. I guess rebuilding a friendship took time, even if it was something both of us wanted. We weren’t the same girls who used to play in my treehouse. I was Toad Girl, Violet was the girl who’d lost her mother, and the last couple years had been hard for both of us.
“Ribbit, ribbit,” Stella said from the Paddlers’ table.
I turned around to look at her. Generally speaking, I have never wondered if a burrito would make a good football. But when I picked one up off Daisy’s plate, I couldn’t help thinking how nicely it fit in my hand—and how spectacular it would look plastered all over Stella the Terrible’s face. Unfortunately, self-control got the better of me, and I set it back down. I didn’t want another cafeteria incident, or another trip to Coco Martin’s office.
“I think you’re weird,” Daisy said, staring at me earnestly. “But that’s what I like about you. Unlike some people.” She glanced in the direction of the Paddlers and scowled. “Stella Franklin is the most normal person I’ve ever met. That’s her biggest problem. I mean, look at all of them, nodding at whatever Lauren says. They’re like a bunch of bobbleheads. I’m surprised they haven’t sprained their necks.”
“O-kay,” Sophia said, glancing between the three of us and looking thoroughly confused. “But, Izzy, I still don’t understand why you cleaned out the garden and painted the wall.”
I rolled up my sleeve to show her my charm bracelet. “Because of this.”
Sophia’s brow furrowed. “Because of your bracelet?”
I nodded. “Last week I was earning my charm.” I gave the paint palette charm a little flick. “I had to beautify something before I could put it on my bracelet, and I thought I’d paint the wall near the library.” I shrugged. “But I guess not everyone liked it.”
Sophia still looked confused, so I spent the next fifteen minutes explaining Mrs. Whippie’s charm school to her. After I finished, she said, “So you have to do something before you can put on the charms she sends you? That is so cool. Are Daisy and Violet members?”
“Sort of, yeah. Violet has a bracelet, and Daisy will probably get hers the next time Mrs. Whippie sends me a letter.”
“Do you think I could join?” Sophia asked.
“Um . . .” I glanced at Violet and Daisy, who both nodded. “Sure. Maybe you could help us with the next task, and then I could ask Mrs. Whippie if she’ll send you a bracelet?”
“That would be great.” Sofia smiled widely. “You know,” she added, “at first I thought you got your bracelets from my mother’s shop.”
“What shop?” I asked.
“My mom owns Charming Trinkets.” Sophia frowned. “You’ve heard of it, right? The jewelry store that opened a couple months ago? It’s just a bit down the street from the Kaleidoscope Café.”
“Oh, is that what that new store is?” Violet said. “I thought it was another antique shop.”
Sophia’s shoulders seemed to slump. “Yeah, business hasn’t been that great. I told my mom the window display was confusing.”
“I send my letters to San Francisco,” I said.
“Ribbit, ribbit,” someone said from the Paddlers’ table.
“That is so annoying,” Sophia said. “Why do they keep saying that?”
“It’s nothing,” I said, feeling my cheeks flushing. “Just forget about it.”
“It’s something people say to Izzy when her back is turned.” Violet shot me a tentative look. “They call her Toad Girl.”
As if on cue, Stella said, “Ribbit, ribbit!”
Sophia stared at her for a moment before wiping her hands on her napkin. Then she stood up, all graceful-like, and loudly addressed the Paddlers: “SHUT. UP!”
A few kids sitting nearby snickered. Violet and Daisy stared at her in disbelief. Lauren’s mouth dropped open.
“Geez,” Stella said. “I was just kidding. You don’t have to be so sensitive.”
Sophia sat back down like nothing at all had happened, and quietly resumed eating her lunch.
23
BOY-CRAZY ALIENS
Every time I saw Austin at school, I turned and walked the other way. Just catching a glimpse of him was enough to make my cheeks flush and my heart speed up, leading me to conclude that what I had suspected at the dance was true: I had fallen into my first crush.
I didn’t know whether to be excited or seriously annoyed.
One day a girl is all normal, and then—BOOM!—the next she’s turned into a boy-crazy alien and starts doing stupid stuff like constantly slipping her crush’s name into a conversation, or finding excuses to drop by his locker.
I had no intention of turning into an alien, and I was determined to not talk about Austin and to go on ignoring him, possibly for the rest of my life. But that didn’t work out so well, because the day after Sophia asked to join Mrs. Whippie’s charm school, I found myself only a few feet behind him as we walked home from school.
He had his basketball with him, and kept trying to twirl it on his index finger. The ball kept tipping off, though, and he’d have to go chasing after it. When we reached our street, the ball tipped bac
kward and rolled right in front of me. I picked it up and tossed it to him.
Austin grinned. “I came by last night to see if you wanted to play a game of half-court and your mom said you weren’t feeling well. Were you sick?”
“I had a cold,” I lied. After all, I couldn’t exactly tell Austin I was ignoring him because I liked him. Which, when you think about it, doesn’t make any sense.
“Are you feeling better now?” he asked as we reached his house.
“Sure,” I said, although maybe I was still lying, because my mouth was dry and my stomach was somersaulting. Why didn’t anyone ever tell me that having a crush was a little like having the flu?
“Great!” Austin dropped his backpack on the lawn and said, “Want to shoot some hoops?”
“Now?” I asked.
“Sure, why not? We could have a free throw contest.”
I looked up at Austin—I swore he’d grown even taller since the dance—and decided that the biggest difference between having the flu and having a crush is that with a crush, sometimes you don’t want to get better.
I set my backpack down next to Austin’s. We hadn’t had a free throw contest in a long time. I was the current reigning champ; last summer, I sank ten baskets in a row.
Austin let me go first, but the ball bounced off the rim.
“Better luck next time,” he said, and picked up the ball.
His first try swished right through the basket. So did his second. And his third, fourth, and fifth. “Oh, yeah!” he hollered as he sank his sixth. “Looks like someone’s got some skills!”
“Oh, yeah?” I said. “Who would that be?” Austin always got a little annoying when he was winning; and crush or not, I didn’t feel like putting up with his declarations of athletic superiority.
“Oh come on, you know I’m better at making free throws than you are—you just got lucky that one time. . . . Yes!” He pumped his fist in the air. “Lucky number seven! . . . So what happened to you at the dance?” he asked as he set up his next shot. “I thought we were supposed to walk home together.”
The Charming Life of Izzy Malone Page 10
