I shrugged. “I guess.”
We walked side by side, neither of us saying anything. Our arms accidentally bumped each other, and we both split apart fast, like our skin had been seared. I wished we could go back to last summer, when all either of us cared about was who made the most free throws. If I liked Austin and Violet was right and Austin liked me . . . then what was supposed to happen next?
Over by the Caulfields’ red barn, food stands had been set up, and Don, from Don’s Donuts, waved and called us over. “Izzy Malone! I owe you one huge thank-you! My star donuts are selling like hotcakes. Business has never been so great!”
“How much are they?” I asked. “My dad and Mr. Jackson want some coffee and donuts.”
“For the Star Bandit, they’re on the house! I’m competing in the regatta too. I was just about to let my wife take over.” He gestured to a slight woman in overalls. “I’ve got my pumpkin over at the staging area, waiting to be weighed. Named him the Death Star. You want me to bring them the coffee and donuts?”
“Sure,” I said. “I need to go help out at my mom’s booth anyways, so that would be great.”
After Don left I turned to Austin. “So . . . I guess I’ll see you later?”
“Sure.” He plunged his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath. “I was thinking . . . Do you want to eat lunch with me sometime?”
He was pink-cheeked, and I think we both knew he was asking more than if I just wanted to eat lunch with him. But if I said yes, did that mean we’d have to become one of those lame couples at school who stared into each other’s eyes and generally looked like they’d lost a piece of their brain?
“I mean,” Austin rushed on, when I didn’t answer, “we could get lunch today. Like a hamburger, maybe.”
The word “hamburger” made me think of something. “Do you have a cell phone?” I asked.
“Uh, yeah,” he said, sounding confused. “Why?”
“ ’Cause I need to borrow it.”
Austin still looked confused, but he dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
Sophia picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Sophia? It’s Izzy. Are you going to Pumpkin Palooza today? . . . Do you think you could bring me something?” Quickly, I told her what I needed.
“What was that all about?” Austin asked when I handed back his phone.
“Nothing.” I paused. “Look—I’m going to pass on lunch.”
“You mean lunch today?”
“No. I mean, lunch any day.”
“Oh. Right, cool. I get it.”
From the look on Austin’s face, it was clear he did get it. We may not have been able to go back to the way things were, but that didn’t mean I wanted to move forward, either. On Thursday when Daisy, Violet, Sophia, and I ate lunch together, Sophia said maybe we should start eating together every day, and we all said yes. I wasn’t about to mess that up for a boy, no matter how good he was at basketball.
“I just don’t think I’m ready for lunch,” I said.
“Well, then . . . maybe we could still shoot hoops every now and then?” Austin asked hopefully.
“Sure,” I said. “As long as you don’t mind losing to my superior skills,” I added.
“Superior, nothing. The next time we play, prepare to be crushed.” Austin grinned and turned to head back to the staging area. “Good luck at the regatta!”
Maybe one day I’d be ready for lunch, and holding hands, and all that weird stuff. But for today, I was happy to shoot free throws with my friend.
32
SLEDGEHAMMERS AND OPEN DOORS
The festival was starting to get busier as I made my way to Mom’s campaign booth. Near the Caulfields’ farmhouse, bored-looking teenagers were manning the game stations while kids tossed footballs through tire swings or pennies onto glass plates. A bunch of boys dressed in their Halloween costumes were running around playing tag in the Caulfields’ pumpkin patch.
Over at Mom’s booth, Aunt Mildred and Grandma Bertie were busy passing out star donuts and MALONE FOR MAYOR stickers.
“I said, only take one,” Aunt Mildred snapped at a lanky teenage boy who was trying to shove a handful of donuts into his backpack.
“Where have you been?” Mom demanded. “You should have been here an hour ago.”
“I went to get Dad coffee,” I answered, but she wasn’t really listening.
“Look over there,” she said. Across the way, Mayor Franklin’s booth was giving away free sodas and candy. “Of all the places Kendra could set up her booth, she had to choose directly across from me. It’s insulting.”
“It’s politics,” Grandma Bertie said cheerfully. “And take it as a compliment, dear. It means she’s starting to see you as competition.”
“It’s about time,” Mom grumbled. “The election is in a week and a half.” She frowned. “We should have given out soda and candy too.”
“Janine, no one is going to vote for Kendra just because she gave out better snacks,” Aunt Mildred said.
“Milly’s right,” Grandma Bertie agreed. “I personally always vote for the candidate with the best hair, and Kendra Franklin could really use some help in that department, so I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
Aunt Mildred looked thoroughly disgusted, but she kept quiet. The sun came out, and the day started warming up. The booth had a steady stream of visitors, and for a while Aunt Mildred, Grandma Bertie, and I were busy passing out stickers and donuts while Mom answered questions about her campaign. A couple people marched up to tell her exactly what they thought about me being the Star Bandit. But each time, Aunt Mildred accidentally spilled her coffee on them, so they didn’t get too far with their complaining.
Sophia came by with her family. Her mom reached over and pulled me into a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered in my ear.
“For what?” I asked, surprised.
“Sophia is much happier about living in Dandelion Hollow since you two became friends. She had a great time making cupcakes with you girls.”
“Oh, no problem,” I said. I was just glad Mrs. Ramos didn’t seem to be mad.
Over at the other end of the booth, Sophia was introducing her brothers, David and Diego, to Aunt Mildred and Grandma Bertie. “See,” she said, “Izzy has twins in her family too.”
“Wow,” said David (or maybe it was Diego). “You’re really old!”
Grandma Bertie threw back her head and laughed, but Aunt Mildred just scowled. Mrs. Ramos and her brothers moved on to the next booth. I pulled Sophia aside and whispered, “Do you have it?”
“Yes.” Sophia produced a tiny silver box. “I hope she likes it.”
“Me too.” I shoved the box into my pocket before anyone noticed it, and Sophia left to catch up with her family, saying she’d meet me at the pond before the regatta started later that afternoon.
Things picked up, and Mom was constantly shaking hands or answering questions, although the line over at Mayor Franklin’s booth was always much longer. Violet and her dad came by. They were with Ms. Harmer; her daughter, Olivia; and a little boy who looked about the same age as Sophia’s brothers.
“Dad and Ms. Harmer wanted our families to spend time together,” Violet said as they passed by. “After the regatta, we’re all going out to eat. And I am grounded for a month because of all the Star Bandit stuff. It would have been only two weeks, but Ms. Harmer said it should be four, just like you. Do you believe that?” she whispered furiously. “He let her help decide my punishment.”
Violet and her family moved on, and when things slowed down Grandma Bertie and Aunt Mildred left to take a break. Once Mom and I were alone, she said, “The picture was a mistake.”
“What?” I turned toward her, but Mom wasn’t looking at me. She kept her gaze forward, smiling at passersby.
“The fliers you saw on Ms. Zubov’s porch, with the picture of me and Dad and Carolyn? It was a mistake. Carolyn needed to send in a couple pictures for a summer music camp she’s trying to get into, so we t
ook it while we were waiting for you to change your clothes. There must have been a mistake at the printer—the flier was always supposed to have been of the four of us.” Mom turned and faced me. “Do you believe me, Isabella?”
“Izzy,” I said before I could stop myself. Now that I thought about it, I did remember Carolyn saying something about music camp and needing photos. “I believe you,” I said. “And I really didn’t mean to damage your campaign stuff,” I added. “I’m not gonna lie, I was flaming mad angry when I saw the mailer, but my temper stops short of intentional delinquency.”
“That’s a relief,” Mom said, but she was smiling. Then she sighed. “I know what I said last night was out of line, and I’m sorry for that. . . . You know, your sister is the kind of person who doors will open for. She was born naturally talented—it happens once in a million—and I guess I get too caught up in it sometimes.” She glanced over at Mayor Franklin’s booth, where there was still a line waiting. “I’m not a one-in-a-million kind of person—at least, not in that way. I always wanted to be, but I’m not. Doors don’t open by themselves for me. And sometimes, when doors won’t open for you, you have to try opening them yourself—even if that means taking a sledgehammer to them. I guess that’s what I’m trying to do with this election. I know I probably won’t win, but I think I have some ideas that would really help this town, and I’m giving it my best shot.”
I thought about how I’d seen Mom talk to herself in the mirror and how she kept trying to convince people to support her for mayor—even when most everyone figured she didn’t stand a chance. I thought maybe we weren’t so different, after all.
“I can understand that,” I said. “That’s what I’m trying to do with the regatta—I just want to open some doors.”
“And if I know you,” Mom said, “you’re not afraid to pick up that sledgehammer.”
We smiled at each other, and in that moment it felt like time inched forward a bit to the day when we would wake up and no longer be strangers.
Mom glanced over by the pond. “You’ve been really helpful today—if you want to join your father, you’re welcome to leave here a little early.”
“No, I’m good,” I said, picking up a few more MALONE FOR MAYOR stickers. “We’ve still got work to do.”
And, I thought, checking to make sure I still had the box from Sophia tucked into my pocket, I had a little unfinished business to attend to.
33
HAMBURGERS AND HOT DATES
I went to change into my gear for the regatta: a tank top, cutoffs, and flip-flops. When I returned to the booth, Grandma Bertie and Aunt Mildred were just coming back from their break, bringing with them a few teenage boys who were dragging wagons filled with crates of water bottles and boxes of granola bars. We’d run out of donuts by then, so they’d figured they should stock up on more supplies.
“It’s much healthier than soda and candy and—Look!” Grandma Bertie cried. “Scooter McGee is on his way, and he’s got flowers!”
“I don’t need to look,” Aunt Mildred said, opening up a box of granola bars. “I’m not going to lunch with him. I changed my mind.”
“Changed your mind?” Grandma Bertie repeated. “You can’t change your mind. You already said yes.”
“I can do whatever I darn well please, Bertha. Just because you’re six minutes older than me doesn’t mean—”
“Hello, Mildred!” Scooter said, holding out a bundle of orange tulips. “Are you ready for our hot date?”
“Actually—”
“Aunt Mildred, can I talk to you for a sec?” I pulled her toward the back of the booth and showed her the tiny silver box Sophia gave me. “This is for you. It’s a present. It’s from—”
“I know where it’s from, Isabella—I’m not an imbecile.” With a grunt, Aunt Mildred took the box and lifted the lid. Inside was the hamburger charm I’d seen at Charming Trinkets. “What’s this for?” she asked.
“I bought this for you for your date today,” I said. She started to argue, but I rushed on, “Your story isn’t done yet, Aunt Mildred. You still have memories you can make. Go have lunch with Scooter. Go out there and earn your charm.”
“Yes, Mildred, throw the poor man a bone,” Grandma Bertie said, coming up behind us. “He’s liked you ever since we were sophomores in high school.” Her voice softened. “Jack would have wanted you to go, Milly. You know he would’ve.”
The lines on Aunt Mildred’s face seemed to fall away, and all of a sudden she looked younger and . . . softer, somehow. “Yes, I suppose he would have,” she said.
“Great.” I took back the silver box. “You can have this once you’ve earned it.”
“Well, you don’t have to be so bossy about it.” She squared her shoulders and yelled, “Scooter! I’m thoroughly hungry—I require a hamburger!”
“Your wish is my command,” Scooter replied, offering her his arm.
“That was very nice of you, dear,” Grandma Bertie said as we watched them walk away. “That hamburger is decades overdue.”
34
THE GREAT PUMPKIN REGATTA
A giant pumpkin decorated like a pirate ship and sporting a skull-and-crossbones flag was being lifted by a crane as I walked up to Caulfield Pond. Spectators were taking their places around the edges of the shore, and Scooter was fiddling with the microphone. “Turn it up!” he hollered to Mr. Barnaby, who was working the sound system.
The crane settled the pirate pumpkin into the water, next to four other pumpkin boats. One of them—Don’s Death Star—was covered in Star Wars stickers and was much smaller than the others. “I told you it was too small! How am I supposed to sit in that?” he complained to his wife.
Mike Harrison stood on Don’s other side, armed with his paddle, as the crane, making a warning beep-beep sound, started lifting his pumpkin. On his head, Mr. Harrison wore a crown shaped like a pumpkin. “Three-peat, three-peat, three-peat,” chanted his family. All of them were wearing pumpkin crowns too.
“I hope Harrison’s pumpkin sinks,” Dave Miller, owner of Miller’s General Store and of the pirate ship pumpkin, grumbled to his wife. He was dressed as a pirate, complete with an eye patch and a stuffed parrot on his shoulder.
“I’m sure you’ll win this year,” his wife answered.
Dad and Mr. Jackson were to the right of Mr. Harrison, and they had done a great job hollowing out Bozo and turning him into a boat. A number four was stuck to Bozo’s back, and Dad waved when he saw me. “We’re all ready for you,” he called.
My flip-flops sank into the mud and icy water closed over my toes as I stepped into the pond. I sucked in a breath and waded out to Dad and Mr. Jackson.
I started to climb into Bozo, but Violet’s voice rang out, “Izzy, wait!”
Violet, Daisy, and Sophia came wading out into the pond. Sophia was carrying a large plastic bag.
“We are your designated pit crew,” Daisy said. “Sophia had a great idea for team T-shirts. Show her.”
Sophia flashed a bashful smile. “It was nothing, really. I just figured by now most people would know you’re the Star Bandit, and if they didn’t, well, what better way to tell them than at the race?” She pulled an orange T-shirt from the bag. It had the words TEAM STAR BANDIT in black block letters across the front and back.
“We also figured Bozo could use some decorative flourishes.” Violet held up a pack of glittery star stickers. “What do you say?”
I laughed. “Sounds good to me.”
I pulled a T-shirt on over my tank top while Violet, Daisy, and Sophia started decorating Bozo. After they were finished, Dad and Mr. Jackson held Bozo steady while I clambered in. The fit was a little tight, and the inside of the pumpkin felt cold and slimy, and I was pretty sure my legs would be asleep by the time the race was over.
“Can I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen?” Scooter said into the microphone. “The regatta will begin in two minutes! Racers, make your final adjustments!”
“Ready?” Dad
asked, handing me my paddle.
“Ready,” I said.
“Okay—go out there and give it all you’ve got! Girls—would you like to push Izzy to the starting line?”
Dad and Mr. Jackson changed places with Daisy, Violet, and Sophia, and they pushed me up to the red ribbon stretched between two trees over the pond.
“What’s she doing here?” Daisy asked suddenly.
Decked out in her own pumpkin boat and wearing one of her mother’s campaign shirts was Stella. A couple of the Paddlers, including Lauren, pushed Stella into position, right next to me.
“Good luck,” Lauren said, with a meaningful glance at me. “May the best woman win,” she added.
“At this time,” Scooter called, “I’d like to ask all crew assistants to leave the pond.”
“We’ll be cheering for you!” Sophia said, and Daisy and Violet waved as they all waded back to shore.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered to Stella.
“The same thing you’re doing here,” she said. “Trying to win this stupid race.”
“It’s not stupid.”
“Sure it is,” Stella said, sounding furious. “But try telling that to my mom and Lauren.”
She turned away, and I looked out at the spectators. Aunt Mildred was standing next to Scooter—I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like she was actually laughing at something he was saying. Grandma Bertie was standing next to Ms. Zubov; they both waved when they saw me looking at them. Dad, Mr. Jackson, and Austin were on the other side of the pond. As I watched, Carolyn came running up to them, her guitar case strapped around her chest. The only person I didn’t see from my family was Mom.
The Paddlers were standing next to Mayor Franklin, and Lauren nodded at me when our eyes locked. This is it, I told myself. Win this, and you can be one of them. Quick, elegant strokes. I closed my eyes and visualized myself sailing past the finish line.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Scooter’s voice boomed out across the pond. “Welcome to Dandelion Hollow’s annual Great Pumpkin Regatta! We have a slew of worthy competitors, so today’s race promises to be a gourd show! Get it? Gourd show?” The audience groaned, and he continued, “Pumpkin number one, hailing from the distinguished Harrison family—our two-time defending champions—and weighing in at eight hundred and fifty-three pounds . . . I give you . . . the Pumpkin King!”
The Charming Life of Izzy Malone Page 15
