by Natasha Lowe
“I have important news,” Lucy informed her parents, buttering a piece of bread. “I have just decided that three is my favorite number in the whole world. It’s a prime number, you see, and I’m extremely fond of it. So if you’d ever like to buy me an unbirthday present, I’d love a T-shirt with the number three on the front.” Glancing down at her purple shirt Lucy said sadly, “This one doesn’t fit anymore.”
“We can definitely buy you a new shirt,” Mr. Castor replied, spooning up soup. “But I, um, I’ve always thought that four was a rather nice number myself. It’s balanced. Two on this side, two on that side.”
“Two is not a good number,” Lucy said sadly, thinking about her un–best friend, Ella.
“Oh, I agree with your dad. Four is marvelous,” Mrs. Castor said, stirring her soup around but not actually trying any. “Lots of things come in fours,” she added. “Fancy cupcakes, bottles of cream soda, packs of socks.”
“There is nothing special about four.” Lucy shuddered. “It is ugly and common and completely unmagical. I much prefer three.”
Mrs. Castor glanced at her husband, and he gave a little nod. “We have important news too, Lucy,” Mrs. Castor said, pushing her bowl of soup away. She paused for a moment and pressed a handkerchief against her mouth as if she might be sick again.
“Oh, you are dying,” Lucy wailed. “I guessed it earlier, and you didn’t know how to tell me. You knew I was sad about Ella, and you didn’t want to add to my worries. You’ve got some terrible illness, haven’t you? That’s why you keep being sick and you look all gray and old.”
“Lucy, this is good news,” Mrs. Castor said, glancing at her husband again. Her voice was soft and quivery. “We’re going to have a baby.”
Lucy sat quite still, listening to the station clock ticking away as she tried to absorb her mother’s words. She should be happy. She knew she should. Wasn’t that how you were meant to feel when your parents announced you were going to be a big sister? Summer had danced around the classroom in second grade, saying she couldn’t wait to babysit her new little brother, talking about all the things they would do together. But Lucy was nine years old. She had been an only child her whole life, and why on earth would her parents want another baby now?
These are the things Lucy knew she should say: I’m so happy, Mom and Dad. This is the best news ever. Having a baby will make our family complete. I can’t wait to be a big sister.
These are the things Lucy wanted to say: This will ruin my whole, entire life. How could you do this to me? Aren’t I enough? You’re far too old to have a baby. Babies cry and scream and smell, and why would anybody want one? We’ll turn into a loud family like the O’Briens, and our baby will look like a toad. I can’t even talk to my best friend about this, because she’s not my best friend anymore. I hate, hate, hate the number four.
The station clock struck six, and Lucy’s parents were still waiting for her to say something. They had moved close together and were holding hands, and for the first time in her life Lucy felt completely left out.
She tried to say How wonderful, but her mouth refused to cooperate.
“This is not a petunia moment,” Lucy finally whispered, wishing she could turn the clocks back and start a different weekend all over again.
AFTER DINNER LUCY RAN STRAIGHT to her room, too upset to play crazy eights or watch a movie, both of which Mr. Castor had suggested. If only she could call Ella to talk about the baby. Ella would understand how she felt. But Ella hadn’t understood about the gnome, and she was probably having a sleepover at Summer’s house, which made Lucy feel even more alone.
She could hear loud bursts of laughter coming from outside, and peering through the window Lucy saw Chloe standing on the sidewalk, talking to her two weird friends, a boy with hedgehog spiked hair and a girl dressed all in black, long dark hair hanging almost to her waist. They looked just as intimidating as Chloe, and Lucy quickly stepped back so they wouldn’t see her.
Turning away she picked up her new robin’s nest from one of the long shelves that Mr. Castor had built especially for her collection. Nests were strangely comforting, Lucy thought, like little homes that could protect you from the world, and this was definitely one of her fanciest additions. The lime green glittery things turned out to be little bits of ribbon, green shimmery ribbon with a thin silver stripe running through them, woven right into the nest. And lining the middle of the nest were soft strands of green and orange hair that looked remarkably like some of Chloe’s. She had gone through an orange phase early in the spring before dyeing her hair forest green. Brushing a stray twig off the shelf, Lucy put the nest back down and walked over to her bureau mirror.
Sometimes when she studied her face, Lucy saw a pretty elf princess with sticky out elfin ears poking through her long brown hair, or, depending on her mood, a small frightened mouse with enormous mouse ears and huge brown worried mouse eyes. This was definitely a mouse evening. In fact it was such a mouse evening Lucy wouldn’t have been at all surprised if she’d gone and sprouted a tail.
Of course her parents wanted another baby, Lucy thought. One that didn’t look like a rodent. Opening the top drawer of her bureau, she took out the enormous roll of extra-wide sticky tape she kept in there. Pulling off a long sticky strip, Lucy taped her ears close to her head. That’s how she went to sleep on bad ear days, hoping they would be lying flat when she woke up. This hadn’t happened yet though. It just made a terrible tangle of her hair.
But, luckily, if Lucy went to bed as a mouse, she would usually wake up as an elf princess. Her mouse moods never lasted long. Although Lucy had a horrible feeling that she might not feel like an elf princess again for a long, long time. And not just because of the baby news either. Pretending to be an elf princess in fourth grade suddenly seemed babyish and silly. Just like believing in magic.
Jumping into bed, she buried herself under the covers, making a cozy mouse nest big enough for precisely one. One was also a prime number. It didn’t need anybody else. It was all by itself, and as Lucy lay curled up in a ball, she decided that one was now, without question, her new favorite number.
“Lucy, can we come in?” Mrs. Castor called out, knocking on the door.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Lucy called back. “I’m not in a talking sort of mood right now.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t need to talk. You can just listen,” Mrs. Castor said, and Lucy heard her bedroom door creak open. Then she felt two hippopotamuses settle on her bed, squashing half her mouse nest.
Mr. Castor cleared his throat. “I know this is going to be a big change,” he began.
“And we know how you feel about change,” Mrs. Castor added, patting Lucy’s bottom.
“But it won’t alter how much we love you,” they both said together.
Lucy poked her head out of the covers. “I thought we made big decisions together,” she said, her mouse fur bristling. “And nobody asked me how I felt about having another baby.”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly planned,” Mrs. Castor confessed. “We were told we wouldn’t be able to have any more children, or that it wasn’t very likely.”
“So this,” Mr. Castor said, “was something of a surprise. For all of us.”
“A nice surprise,” Mrs. Castor added.
“Mmm,” Lucy murmured, taking great interest in the opposite corner of the room.
“Lucy, both your dad and I are only children,” Mrs. Castor said. “We grew up without brothers or sisters, and it was lonely.”
“It was,” Mr. Castor agreed.
“But I’m not lonely at all. I’m quite fine,” Lucy reassured them. “That is not something you need to worry about.”
“We always hoped we’d be able to give you a sibling,” Mrs. Castor went on. “You’ll make a wonderful big sister, Lucy. This baby is going to be so lucky.”
“And where is it going to sleep?” Lucy asked. “Has anybody thought of that? There’s no room in this house for a baby.”
“In the beginning it will sleep in our room,” Mrs. Castor said. “And then when he or she is older, well, we thought it might be nice if you both shared a room.”
“Did you?” Lucy said, tipping her head to one side as she pondered this idea. “How about the attic?” she suggested. “We could put it in there.”
“Lucy, it’s going to be all right, I promise,” Mrs. Castor said, leaning toward her daughter for a good-night kiss.
Before the kiss made contact, Lucy scuttled away. “I’m sorry,” she announced rather sadly, “but I really don’t feel in a kissing sort of mood right now either. This is not turning out to be a good weekend.”
“Get some sleep, Lucy,” Mr. Castor suggested. “Things will seem brighter in the morning.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday, and you will still be having a baby. And the day after that I have to start fourth grade without a best friend,” Lucy said. “I see no brightness on the horizon.” She gave a sad little sniff. “I wish I was still back at Gran’s house.”
“Night, night, Lucy Lopkins,” her dad said, giving her his crooked smile. “All will be well.”
All would not be well, Lucy worried, staring at her mother’s stomach. And who would she eat lunch with at school now and play with at recess and partner up with for science projects?
“Sleep tight, Lucy Lopkins,” her mother added.
Lucy dived back under the covers. “Please don’t call me that anymore,” she snapped in a muffled voice. “My name is Lucy.”
“Good night, Lucy,” Mr. and Mrs. Castor said together, getting up off the bed. Lucy heard them walk across the room and the door creak open. She wanted to call them back, to tell them it was okay, that they could call her Lucy Lopkins if they wanted to, just not in public or when she had friends over. But her throat was all choked up with angry feelings and she couldn’t get any words out.
After they had left, even though she was about to go into fourth grade, Lucy rooted around under her bed for her stuffed blue mouse and gave his furry nose a kiss. He smelled deliciously unwashed and familiar and thankfully hadn’t changed one bit.
LUCY WOKE EARLY TO THE sound of banging. It was coming from the direction of Mrs. Minor’s property, and with a dramatic sigh Lucy got out of bed and pulled open the curtains. There was a truck parked in front of Mrs. Minor’s house, but the noise clearly seemed to be coming from around the back. Hurrying across the landing and into the bathroom Lucy peered through the window overlooking the yard. And it was worse than she could possibly have imagined, far worse than a lawn mower shed. “How dare she!” Lucy cried out, spinning on her heels and marching straight down to the kitchen.
“Emergency!” Lucy exploded. “Have you seen what Mrs. Minor is doing?” Lucy’s mother, still in her dressing gown, was slumped across the round oak table, while her father stood at the stove making French toast. “My whole life is falling apart,” Lucy wailed. “What else can go wrong?”
“You mean the new fence?” Mr. Castor said, far too calmly for Lucy’s liking.
“That is not a fence,” Lucy declared, pointing at the kitchen window. “It’s going to be a prison wall, a zoo enclosure, a, a sun blocker-outer.” Between the Castors’ yard and Mrs. Minor’s, three workmen were hammering the tall boards together. They had pulled up the little split rail fence that used to divide the properties, and hefty new support posts now stood in place.
“It will block out all our sun,” Lucy fumed, marching right over to the window and giving the builders her maddest stare, even though they weren’t looking. “We’ll have to live in shadow for the rest of our lives. I’ll get rickets and stop growing. That’s what happens when you don’t get enough sunlight, you know. Your body can’t absorb vitamin D and your bones go all bendy.” Lucy had been reading up on rickets at the doctor’s office. They had a lovely illustrated book in the waiting room, all about growing up in the nineteenth century when children worked in mines and factories and suffered from things like scarlet fever, smallpox, and rickets.
“That’s a touch dramatic, Lucy,” Mrs. Castor murmured, looking slightly green. “Although I do have to agree. I’m not sure what was wrong with the old fence.”
“She obviously wants more privacy,” Mr. Castor pointed out. “Something you can’t see over.”
“So let’s go and talk to her about it,” Lucy said. “Ask her to take it down. Maybe she could give it to the O’Briens. They’re the ones that need a fence to stop all those boys from escaping.”
“She’s not the easiest person to talk to,” Mr. Castor remarked. “Don’t forget we have tried. She’s never come to one of our picnics.”
“She’s mean,” Lucy added. “She probably wants that wall there so we can’t see her making all her evil spells.”
“Eat some breakfast, Lucy, and then we’ll deal with the fence,” Mr. Castor said, flipping over French toast.
“I can’t.” Lucy shook her head violently. “I feel extremely sick and I think I might die from the shock. So if that happens, please bury me next to Ginger.”
Mr. Castor ate a great deal of French toast slathered in local maple syrup, because he didn’t want to waste it, while Lucy stared out of the window with an agonized expression on her face, and Mrs. Castor nibbled on a cracker.
By the time they walked outside, a quarter of the fence was already up, and Lucy groaned in dismay. Chloe was watching the progress from her yard. She had her arms folded across a denim jacket studded with rhinestones and looked about as mad as Lucy felt. Her eyes were outlined with heavy black makeup, and she reminded Lucy of an angry panda. “I really hoped she was going to build a nice deck or something,” Chloe exclaimed. “I honestly never thought she’d do that.”
“I know,” Lucy agreed, walking over. “It’s going to be so ugly.”
“And tall,” Chloe added.
“She didn’t even ask,” Lucy said, surprised that she was having a proper conversation with Chloe. Although it wasn’t really that surprising, Lucy realized. Disasters were meant to bring people together, and this was definitely a disaster. Like the time everyone on Lucy’s street lost power except for the Schniders, who invited the whole street over for a potluck supper until the electricity came back on again.
“She’s stealing all our sun,” Lucy fumed. “You would think she would have asked us first.”
“My friend Jack says she’s a recluse.”
“What’s a recluse?”
“Someone who doesn’t like being around people.”
“Just yelling at them,” Lucy said. “She likes that.”
“I don’t think she wants to be able to see your house,” Chloe commented.
“Why? Our house is lovely.” Lucy turned to look at the rose bushes blooming in one corner of their yard, the straggly apple tree, and the overflowing tubs of petunias. Okay, so the window frames needed painting and some of the shingles had fallen off the roof, the grass could do with a trim and a couple of the paving stones around the house were cracked, but it was absolutely, without question, the most beautiful home in the world, and Mrs. Minor not wanting to look at it sent a sharp pain through Lucy’s heart.
“I’m going inside,” Chloe said. “I can’t bear to watch.” Jamming her hands in her pockets, she took a few steps toward her house and then spun back around to face Lucy. “Hey, you know I wasn’t making fun of your nest collection yesterday,” Chloe called out.
“Well, why did you laugh then and call it insane?” Lucy asked in a slightly wounded voice.
“Because it’s quirky,” Chloe replied. “Quirky but kind of cool. And I like that!”
“You do?”
“I do.” Chloe nodded, walking back off.
“I’m going to get her to take that fence down,” Lucy shouted after Chloe, suddenly feeling brave. Chloe didn’t turn around. She just raised her arm in salute and kept on walking.
Lucy raced over to her parents, who were standing beside the new fence. “I’ve just been talking to Chloe, and I think you’re right,
Mom,” Lucy panted. “She isn’t nearly as scary as I thought. And she hates this horrible fence as much as we do.” Turning to the builders, Lucy pressed her hands together and said, “Could we speak to Mrs. Minor about this, please? I just can’t bear it. I’m sure she’ll change her mind when I explain how sad this is making me, and Chloe.”
“We’re not to interrupt her unless it’s an emergency,” one of the workmen said, holding up a board.
“This is an emergency,” Lucy insisted.
“Come on, Lucy, it’s not that bad,” Mrs. Castor said, putting an arm around her daughter.
“Let’s just take it down ourselves,” Lucy said fiercely. “It’s as much our fence as it is hers.”
“No, I’m afraid it’s not.” Mr. Castor sighed. “She put it up on her land, so there’s nothing we can do.”
“Except make the best of it,” Mrs. Castor said, looking as if she might be about to throw up in the petunias. “Oh, Lucy, it could be worse. It could be twice as tall and block all the sun from the bedrooms, too.”
The Castors were excellent at “making the best of it,” and they all stood in silence for a while, trying to come up with some “making the best of it” suggestions.
“We won’t get too hot out here on sunny afternoons,” Mr. Castor eventually said. “It will be nice to have a shady side to the yard, and we won’t need the sun umbrella when we have cookouts now.”
“Yes, and we can plant some different kinds of flowers,” Mrs. Castor added. “Ones that like lots of shade.”
They both looked at Lucy, waiting for her suggestion. What Lucy wanted to say was, I hate it. It’s like being in jail when you stand on that side of the yard. I’m going to get rickets. All our flowers near the fence will die, and I wish Mrs. Minor would move to Africa and get eaten by a lion. I also wish you weren’t having a baby and Ella hadn’t become a sparkle girl, and I really, really wish I could see my gnome again. Instead, what she did say was, “I guess I can practice handstands against the fence. That should be quite fun.”
