Zoe in Wonderland

by Brenda Woods

  “Zoe?” Daddy said.

  “Huh?”

  “Daydreaming again?”

  I didn’t know he’d noticed. “Kinda,” I replied.

  He placed my hand around the small pruning clippers. “This requires precision, Zoe. Very carefully, clip right here.” He pointed to a spot. “But be careful.”

  I squeezed and clipped. A teeny piece of leaf fell off. My hands were a little shaky and beads of sweat broke out on my face.

  “Very good!” he said, and pointed to another spot. “Now here.”

  I was ready to clip again when my glasses slipped down and I missed, cutting off an entire tiny branch instead.

  “Zoe!” he fussed, then yanked the clippers from my hand.

  “Sorry. My glasses slipped—I couldn’t see. It’s not my fault, Daddy. Really.”

  Sometimes I can’t do anything right.

  “Sorry,” I repeated. “Don’t be mad.”

  Daddy patted my hand. “I’m not mad, Zoe. We all make mistakes.”

  It was feeling like one of those times when he was going to say “I love you,” but a woman customer walked through the door and grabbed his attention.

  “Okay if I go to Quincy’s?” I asked.

  Daddy glanced at the wall clock. “Yes, but be sure and be back by five. We’re having dinner at your nana’s.”

  “I will,” I replied. And while he waited on the lady, who was the first customer to discover we were now open on Sundays, Zoe G. Reindeer slipped outside.

  11

  The Movie

  As usual, our next-door neighbor Mrs. Warner was outside, rearranging her creatures, as she calls them—mostly small statues and gnomes and stuff. From what I’ve seen, nothing ever gets added or subtracted, just moved from place to place. Supposedly, she’s more than a hundred years old, and Daddy says the inside of her house has so many piled-up newspapers and magazines that he doesn’t understand how anyone can live in there. Daddy claims it’s like a maze. And because I like mazes, I’m curious to get inside, but she’s never invited me. The only thing that separates her house from ours is a low wooden fence, and because my bedroom is closest to that fence, some nights the flickering lights from her candles dance on my walls and her old-time jazz music helps puts me to sleep.

  Mrs. Warner, who has a very bad memory, said in her raspy voice, “How’re you, little Miss Jade?”

  “I’m not Jade, I’m Zoe,” I reminded her for what seemed like the thousandth time.

  “It’s so nice to see you on this beautiful day, little Miss Jade.” She smiled.

  Some days her memory was normal and she made sense. Other times it was useless, like today.

  She squatted, brushed a space in the dirt with her hand, and put down the statue. “You have a nice day now, little Miss Jade.”

  I reached for her hand and patted it gently. “You too, Mrs. Warner.”

  I felt sad as I walked away. No one ever came to her house except for the people from the senior-meals place or the van that takes people to the doctor. “Bye,” I told her, and headed to Quincy’s.

  On the way, I tried very hard to push baobab trees out of my head. Even if we did have the money, it’s a dumb idea, I convinced myself.

  I rang Quincy’s bell.

  “Who is it?” his mom, Kendra, hollered from inside.

  “Just Zoe!” I answered.

  “Door’s open!”

  I turned the knob and stepped inside.

  Normally on Sunday—Kendra’s only day off from work—you’d find her sprawled on the sofa with the TV remote glued to her hand. Instead, she was in the kitchen doing something I had hardly ever seen her do before—cooking. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He eyes were red and watery, like she’d been crying.

  “You okay, Miz Hill?” I asked.

  Kendra, short and curvy, gazed at me with her hazel eyes, pointed to the onions she was chopping, and smiled. “Onions,” she replied. Then, she stopped cooking, wiped her hands on a dish towel, stepped toward me, and stretched out her arms. “Gimme a hug, girl. You know my rule. You can’t come in this house and not give Kendra a hug. Give it here . . . and make it a good one.” Kendra cooking was unusual, but Kendra hugging was not. She swallowed me up in her arms and I hugged her back.

  Every now and then, I find myself wishing my mom were more like Kendra—the hugging stuff, anyway.

  She motioned toward their den. “He’s in there, on the computer probably.”

  Quincy and I bumped into each other in the hallway.

  “I found out a lot more stuff about baobab trees,” Quincy said as we settled in front of his computer. “The bark is even used for making ropes, but the reason they’re endangered is because people have been cutting them down because they want the land to grow other stuff or they need places for their herds to graze.” Quincy took a deep breath and rattled on, “But the most interesting thing is that the fruit isn’t pollinated by bees; it’s pollinated by fruit bats. Interesting, huh?”

  I wanted to tell him to BQ, be quiet, but instead I just shrugged.

  “Whatsamatter, Zoe?”

  “My daddy said no.” And instead of telling him about the bills and stuff, I added, “He’s heard of them, but he said he has enough plants for now.”

  “But I had this idea for an amazing movie.”

  Movie ideas were like vitamins to Quincy. He usually had one a day.

  “What kind of movie now?” I asked.

  “I thought we could buy some baobab seeds, which aren’t that expensive, maybe five dollars online, and I would make a movie from planting them and then videotaping them as they grow week by week, until you finally give them to your dad. I’m calling it Zoe and the Baobabs.”

  “Hmmm? I didn’t even think about seeds,” I told him.

  “We can buy them online.”

  I flicked his shoulder. “With what? We need a credit card, genius.”

  “We could ask my mom. She’s been nicer than ever lately, so I don’t think she’ll say no. It’s not that much money, anyway.” He bolted to the living room and returned in no time at all with Kendra. “See, told you.”

  “Is this for a school project?” she asked.

  “A movie,” he answered. “I’m going to make a video of everything from when we plant the seeds to when they start to grow, and turn it into a movie.”

  “My baby, the director.” Kendra smiled and kissed the top of Quincy’s head. “Are you two hungry?” she asked. “Because I’m going to have a four-course meal ready soon.”

  “I’ll just have a little because I’m having Sunday dinner at my nana’s.”

  Once she’d left, he said, “My mom’s been off from work all week on vacation and cooking every day. It’s weird. Except for dessert, it mostly doesn’t taste that good, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings, so I’ve been eating and eating. I’ll be glad when she goes back to work and starts bringing home takeout again.”

  Then he grabbed his video camera, pointed it at me, and began recording. “It’s October in Pasadena, California. We just bought the baobab seeds online, and this is Zoe G. Reindeer,” he said. “Smile, Zoe,” he directed.

  I smiled, but it must have looked fake.

  “Again, Zoe . . . like you mean it,” Quincy commanded.

  I grinned from ear to ear.

  “That’s more like it!”

  12

  Waiting

  I really hate waiting. I hate waiting every day for at least a gazillion minutes for Jade to get out of the bathroom. I hate waiting in any kind of line, especially in the cafeteria, especially when I finally get to the food and the very thing I got in line for in the first place—the mac and cheese—is gone.

  Now I had something else to wait for—baobab seeds. It’d been three days.

  The school-is-finally-over-for-th
e-day bell rang.

  “Do you think they came today?” I asked as I tagged along beside Quincy after school.

  “Dunno,” he replied. “Let’s go see.”

  “I’ve been thinking we should grow them at your house. That way, I can really surprise my daddy. Do you think your mom would let you . . . in the garage?”

  “I spoze. Not like she parks her car there or anything. But I thought you said they’d need a special light or something.”

  “I’m going to sneak one out of the greenhouse. He has some that he hardly ever uses. I have everything we need, including potting soil,” I informed him.

  “Plus it’d be easier to make the movie,” he agreed.

  “And the only way to keep the snox out of our business.”

  Another day passed, and another. It was just about dinnertime on Friday evening when our doorbell rang. “Zoe? Quincy’s here!” Mom called out.

  As usual, he had shown up unannounced. He was standing in the doorway, holding a small package, grinning.

  I joined him on the porch, closing the door behind me, and we huddled together.

  “Got ’em,” he whispered.

  We looked at the seeds, which sort of looked like black beans, and made a pact to meet at his house tomorrow to plant them and start the movie. Quincy was making a joke about Jack and the Beanstalk when the door creaked open and the snox peeked out. He was wearing a plaid fedora.

  “What’re you guys doing?” Harper asked, and put one foot outside.

  In a flash, Quincy stashed the seeds in his jacket pocket.

  “We’re doing nunya business, nosy,” I answered.

  Harper squinted at us, but Quincy stared him down with his best I-am-a-bigger-boy-man-than-you look, which made the snox slink back into the house and shut the door.

  Quincy laughed. “See you tomorrow, Zoe,” he said, and turned to walk away.

  “Tomorrow,” I echoed, and crept inside.

  13

  A Super-Sad Saturday

  After I finished up in the greenhouse the next day, I gathered the light, potting soil, and some old coffee cans (which Nana used to collect and are kind of cool to grow things in), put everything in a wheelbarrow, and rolled it to Quincy’s house.

  To my surprise, his dad opened the door. Even though his body is slim, his cheeks are fat and he always reminds me of a teddy bear. I hadn’t seen him since Quincy’s birthday party in the summer. He gave me an arm hug and squealed my name just like always: “Zo-eeee, long time no see.” He smiled, but his eyes looked sad, and I supposed he didn’t like being divorced.

  “Hi, Wes,” I said.

  Noticing the wheelbarrow, he asked, “What you got there?”

  “We’re going to plant some seeds and make a movie out of it,” I informed him as I came inside.

  “An Academy Award winner, I bet.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t think so. We’re just kids.”

  “Yeah, just kids,” he repeated, then settled on the sofa in front of the television the way he used to when he lived there. But instead of turning on the TV, Wes rested his head in his hands and stared at the floor. I looked around for Kendra but didn’t see her. Two big suitcases sat on the floor near the front door.

  I figured Quincy would be happy—the way he usually is when his dad’s around—but when he came into the room, he had a strange look, as if someone had stolen every bit of his happiness, even the crumbs. His eyes were red like he’d been crying. He butted the front screen door open with his hand in a mad way and headed outside.

  I followed. “Whatsamatter?”

  He shrugged.

  “Why’s your dad here?” I asked.

  “Because,” he replied.

  “Is he staying?”

  “Definitely not. He finally got a new job a couple of months ago, a real good one in San Francisco.”

  I didn’t know what was wrong, but I figured he’d tell me sooner or later. I pointed toward the wheelbarrow. “I brought all the stuff to plant the baobab seeds.”

  Quincy got a worse-than-not-happy look. “You’re going to have to plant them at your house,” he told me.

  “We can’t because my dad will find them and it’s supposed to be a secret,” I reminded him.

  “But I’m leaving,” Quincy said sadly.

  “Leaving where?”

  “Here . . . to go live with my dad . . . for now, anyway.”

  “What!” I screeched. “All the way in San Francisco? . . . No way . . . You can’t leave me!” I tugged on his shirt.

  “I have to. My mom is sick.”

  “But I just saw her and she didn’t look sick to me.”

  “She is. She has cancer. She had surgery early this morning.”

  I had to sit down. “How come you didn’t tell me?” I asked.

  “My dad just told me a little while ago. She has to have some treatments to kill the rest of the cancer. She’ll be at a special hospital for at least six weeks. So they decided that I should go live with my dad until she’s all better.”

  “How long will it take for her to get better?”

  “Who knows?”

  Quincy pulled the packet of baobab seeds from his pocket and dropped it in my hand. “I have to go to the hospital now,” he said. I’d never seen him cry. I can’t even remember ever seeing his eyes water, but right then his eyes filled up with tears.

  Some tears, like some diseases, are very contagious. A bunch of them got in my eyes too. “Sorry about your mom,” I told him.

  “Yeah, me too. Now I know why she was doing all that fancy cooking and being extra-special nice.”

  For a while, there was a lot of not-talking and looking at each other, and then I glanced away and then we stared at each other again, both of us fighting more tears. I rubbed his arm gently and he took my hand and—for the first time ever—held it, but only for a few seconds.

  Quincy’s dad lugged the suitcases outside, locked the front door, and gave me another shoulder hug. “You two can lose the worried looks. Kendra’s got too much fight in her to lose any battle. Heck, Kendra could win a war against aliens from outer space.”

  Finally, Quincy smiled.

  Mr. Hill loaded the suitcases, slammed the trunk closed, got in, and started the car. “Time to go, buddy. Later now, Zoe.”

  Quincy climbed in the car and stared at the seed pack in my hand. “Swear you’ll plant them and e-mail me pictures.”

  “I swear,” I told him.

  “Okay. Bye, Zoe.”

  “Bye.” I waved.

  Quincy twisted around in his seat, and I could see him through the car’s rear window waving back. I stood there as motionless as a mannequin, watching until their car vanished from sight and then watching some more—part of me thinking maybe I was dreaming, but the majority of me knowing I wasn’t.

  Slowly, I rolled the wheelbarrow toward home, trying my best to keep the tears from trickling, but they won by finding another way out through my nose. I wiped at it with my sleeve.

  14

  The Worst Zoe Mood Ever

  Mrs. Warner was outside in her yard, fiddling around with her statues. I didn’t want to talk to anyone and hoped she would ignore me. But, of course, she didn’t. “Having a nice day, little Miss Jade?”

  I pretended not to hear her. My sadness made it impossible to be polite, even to a forgetful old lady.

  “You hear me, Miss Jade?”

  Zoe G. Reindeer was in a stinking mood, possibly her worst mood ever. This was a day of extremely sad news. No one should bother anyone on a day of extremely sad news.

  “Little Miss Jade?” she repeated.

  Instantly, my sad stuff transformed itself into mad stuff. “I’m not little Miss Jade! I’m Zoe! Stop calling me Jade!” I snapped.

  Mrs. Warner stared at me like sh
e was seeing me for the first time ever and responded, “That’s right . . . You’re the one with those big feet you’re always tripping over.” She placed her hand over her mouth, trying to hold in the giggle, but it still came out.

  Trying desperately not to yell at her again, I clenched my jaw.

  But she kept on talking. “If you’re fortunate, you might grow into those big feet. Tall, I mean.”

  I didn’t want it to, but my bad temper won. “BQ!” I hollered.

  “BQ?” she asked. “Who’s BQ?”

  I huffed at her. Then, to keep something I’d really be sorry for from coming out of my mouth, I pursed my lips and continued guiding the wheelbarrow toward the Wonderland.

  The only thing I really wanted to do was go to my room, shut the door, and be very alone. But because I knew that if I didn’t plant them now, I probably never would, I headed to the greenhouse to plant the baobab seeds. I had to keep my promise to my best and only friend. And if Daddy asks what I’m growing, I decided, I’ll just tell him it’s a surprise.

  There were some directions, but I ignored them. I really wasn’t in the mood. After all, a seed is a seed. You give it dirt and water and it grows. I planted all four seeds, one in each of Nana’s old coffee cans. One label said Royal Kona Hawaiian Coffee, one said Hills Bros., another had a Chock full o’Nuts label, and the last one was in a Folgers can. I watered them and tucked them in a corner of the greenhouse.

  Leaning against one of the shelves, I started thinking. Why do adults think that it’s okay to keep humongous secrets from kids—secrets bigger than an eight-ton Tyrannosaurus rex? If my mom or daddy were very sick, I sure wouldn’t want to be the last to know.

  Slowly, I sank to the dirt floor and pulled my knees to my chest. I was feeling extremely miserable about Kendra, hoping she wouldn’t die, and now I was nervous about whether my mom and daddy were keeping sad secrets too. And what if Quincy never came back?