by Laura Dower
Madison slid between Aimee and Drew. Hart was all the way down the other end of the table.
“They were making fun of volunteering,” Madison said.
“Gosh,” Aimee said sarcastically. “Making fun? Now, that’s a big surprise.”
“It was mostly the drones. Ivy didn’t say much,” Madison admitted, plowing her fork through watery macaroni and gulping chocolate milk. “But still …”
“What were you stopping to talk to Ivy about anyway?” Fiona asked. “I thought you didn’t speak to the enemy, especially at lunch.”
Madison groaned. “I was just asking Ivy about this assignment we have about The Estates.”
“Why not ask Egg?” Aimee asked.
Madison shrugged. “I don’t know. I was talking to Ivy about it on the bus the other day and—”
“You’re spending a lot of time at The Estates, aren’t you?” Fiona asked.
“How’s the lady you see there? What did you call her?” Aimee asked.
“Her name is Eleanor Romano. Some people call her the Bird Lady,” Madison explained.
“Bird lady?” Fiona said. “That sounds fun.”
“NO ONE is as much fun as Smokey!” Egg cried, eavesdropping and interrupting.
Madison laughed and explained to Aimee and Fiona. “Smokey is this man that Egg sees on his visits. He wears tie-dye shirts. Brags about his ten great-grandkids. Talks about World War II a lot, too.”
“Uh … is Smokey all covered with snow?” Drew yelled out, singing some more of the song.
Egg punched Drew in the shoulder. “Nice one, Drew boy,” he said. “Believe it or not, Smokey is ninety-one. He was just telling me that he climbed Mount Everest once and he skydived with his son until he was in his seventies. Plus, he’s a veteran of two wars.”
“Wow,” some other boys at the table said.
“Who does Ivy visit?” Fiona asked.
Madison rolled her eyes. “Someone perfect, just like her. Of course.”
“HA!” Aimee cackled. “Good one, Maddie.”
Madison put down her fork. “I wonder why Ivy even volunteers. Does she really care, deep down? I just heard her making fun of the people who live at The Estates.”
“What did she say?” Fiona asked.
“It’s more like what didn’t she say,” Madison said. “She let Rose and Joanie say the meanest things—and didn’t tell them to be quiet.”
“Maybe she agrees with them,” Aimee said with a mouthful of granola. “She’s a good actress, don’t forget. And she’s queen of the Fakers.”
“Yeah,” Madison said glumly, glancing back over at Ivy’s table. It was getting harder than hard to distinguish between her enemy’s many moods.
“Don’t kill me for saying this, but I don’t think Ivy is so evil all the time,” Fiona said, taking a bit of her salad. “She’s actually okay when she’s not around the drones.”
Madison nodded. “Yeah, I guess she is different when Rose and Joanie aren’t around.”
“What are you saying? Poison Ivy isn’t so bad? Maddie, you hate her!” Aimee said.
“I don’t really ‘hate’ anyone. Do I?” Madison asked. “Don’t worry, Aim. It’s not like I’m not starting an Ivy fan club or anything.”
A voice came over the loudspeaker. Kids participating in the holiday poinsettia sale were asked to meet up in the greenhouse.
“Aim, we have to go,” Fiona blurted. She looked across at Madison. “Sorry. Aimee and I have to go.”
“Where?” Madison asked. “You’re not selling plants, are you?”
“Um … no … we have to go to the … darkroom …” Fiona said.
Aimee elbowed Fiona in the ribs. “She meant we have to meet with a teacher,” Aimee recovered.
“Meet a teacher in the darkroom?” Madison asked, cracking a smile. “Who? Principal Bernard?”
Fiona and Aimee laughed. “Very funny, Maddie,” they said at practically the same time.
“No, seriously. You’re leaving me in the lunchroom alone?” Madison said, tapping her fork on the table.
“You’re not alone. There are like fifty other people here,” Aimee said.
“E me later?” Madison asked. She wouldn’t see either of her BFFs for the rest of the day. They didn’t have any afternoon classes together.
“I’ll be home from ballet late,” Aimee said. “I’ll try to e-mail or call when I get home.”
“Me, too,” Fiona said, picking up her books. “After soccer.”
Madison watched Aimee and Fiona rush off together. Since Drew and the rest of the boys at the table were engrossed in a boring conversation about race cars, Madison had no one left to talk to. She tried to eat more of her macaroni, but it had cooled. She hoped that dinner with Dad would be a better and happier meal.
Across the room, Ivy, Rose, and Joanie got up from their table and headed toward the exit doors located directly behind the orange table where Madison was sitting. Madison put down her head and pretended to be playing with her macaroni so she wouldn’t have to face any more of their snide remarks.
“See you later, Madison,” Ivy said as she walked by.
Rose and Joanie tittered.
“Later,” Madison said, nodding in Ivy’s direction.
Ivy nodded back and followed the drones out of the room. It looked odd to see them file away in reverse order. Usually, Ivy was the one leading follow-the-leader, but not today.
For a moment, everything about friendships at Far Hills seemed flipped around.
Madison wondered how long the weirdness could last.
French Toast, the restaurant Dad picked for Tuesday night’s dinner, was slower than slow. It took the waiter ten minutes to come over with any menus. When Dad asked for a second glass of water, he had to ask two people for refills before anyone even considered pouring one.
The decor was holiday tacky, too, Madison laughed to herself. They had a collection of stuffed Santas and bears in Santa caps all along one wall; and multicolored lights across the mantel of a stone fireplace. The air smelled like pine needle potpourri, sticky-sweet and burnt at the same time.
Somehow, in spite of the decorations (and smells) in the dining room, Madison was not feeling holiday spirited. Dad had canceled their dream ski vacation. How could she be feeling good about that—or anything else?
“I hear they have delicious food here,” Dad said, reading his menu. “I’m getting some calamari. Who wants to share?”
“Whatever,” Madison mumbled, reading hers. “I think I’m going to have a hamburger.”
“Here?” Dad said. “But this is fine food, Maddie. Don’t you want a pork chop or fish or a steak?”
“Dad …” Madison moaned.
“Fine, get whatever you want. I won’t tell you what to eat,” Dad said.
“Fine,” Madison said gruffly.
“Are you still mad at me about that ski trip?” Dad asked.
Madison looked over at him. “Not exactly mad, Dad. I love being stuck inside doing nothing for my whole winter vacation.”
“Maddie, don’t be that way. Besides, we can reschedule the ski trip for another time,” Dad urged.
“Like when?” Madison asked. “Next Christmas?”
“Well, I have a business trip next week,” Dad said. He pulled out his smartphone. “So that means we can get together when I finish my—”
“Work, work, work,” Madison chanted. “Blah, blah, blah.”
“We have had this conversation before,” Dad said. He put away his phone. “Okay, let’s switch gears. Let’s talk about you. Tell me about what’s going on at school.”
Madison told Dad about volunteering at The Estates. She described her visit with Eleanor Romano.
“Sounds like a nice woman,” Dad said. The waiter brought over a basket of bread, and he grabbed a piece.
“But she has Alzheimer’s disease,” Madison explained. “At least that’s what she said.”
“Wow. Really?” Dad said. “And she talks about that with you?
Did the doctors and nurses explain this to you?”
“Of course, Dad. They like to prepare us for anything that might happen during one of our visits, so we’ve talked honestly about stuff,” Madison said. “Some residents are handicapped and one lady is deaf. Hilary, the girl who visits with her, speaks sign language.”
“Alzheimer’s is serious stuff,” Dad said, taking a deep, deep breath. “You can’t let it upset you though. Okay?”
“What do you know about it?” Madison asked.
Dad pushed himself away from the table and got very quiet.
“Dad?” Madison asked. “What’s the matter?”
“I never told you this, Maddie, but my Dad, your Grampa Max, suffered from Alzheimer’s disease. At least that’s what the doctors suspected. He got sick very quickly.”
“Grampa Max?” Madison said. She hardly ever heard about Dad’s parents, because they had both died before Madison was born. Gramma Ruth had died years before Madison arrived, and Grampa Max had died only the week before. He just missed meeting his first—and only grandchild.
Dad’s voice quivered as he described the way his father used to talk about his own boyhood. “He was a real spitfire, your grandfather,” Dad said.
“Is it true that you named me after him?” Madison asked.
“Half true. Your mother was an assistant director at Budge Films at the time. She was working on a documentary about Dolly Madison. We both loved the name. And it seemed a good match, too—an M name, in memory of Grampa Max.”
“Wow,” Madison said, beaming. “I never heard that story before.”
“Really?” Dad said.
“I really wish you would talk about your parents more, Dad,” Madison said. “I wish I’d known them.”
By now, the waiter had brought the appetizers to the table. Madison sunk a spoon into her French onion soup while Dad dipped his calamari into a bowl of red sauce.
“Oh, brother!” he cried, dropping the food. Sauce had dribbled all over the tablecloth and his shirt.
“We don’t have to talk now if you don’t want,” Madison blurted, sensing that something was wrong.
“Yes we do,” Dad said, wiping off the sauce and placing his hand on Madison’s arm. “We have to talk. I don’t know why we haven’t talked before.”
He moved his chair closer to Madison and started to describe Grampa Max’s life.
Madison hung on Dad’s every word.
Chapter 8
What I Don’t Know
Dad told me all this stuff about Grampa Max last night. I can’t stop thinking about it. Grampa was in World War II, just like Smokey. I didn’t know that. I have to tell Egg. And he flew planes, too. Isn’t that amazing? Dad also told me that Gramma Ruth was a seamstress. How did I miss all that information? I need to keep a file on my family history.
Dad talked a lot about the past—even about loving Mom, which seems like forever ago. He gets all mushy when he talks about her, which is the opposite of how she talks. What am I supposed to say when he does that? And as soon as I asked him about their fighting (which is nonstop these days) he denied it flat out. He told me I shouldn’t worry so much. Is he joking?
That’s not the only joke. Poison Ivy is one, too. After everything that happened with the drones yesterday, I figured she would ignore me permanently. But today I saw her in the hall before second period and she said hello. Of course I saw her with Joanie later on this afternoon and she blew me off big time. Does Ivy have multiple personalities? Is she nicer when she’s droneless?
But the worst joke of all is the weather. “Snow, snow, snow,” says the weather lady with the big hair on the Weather Channel. Ha, ha, ha.
Rude Awakening: The only blizzard in Far Hills is inside my head. There is so much I don’t know—and so much more that I don’t get.
Madison hit SAVE and glanced at the clock in the school media lab. She had exactly ten minutes to pack up her stuff and get downstairs to the chorus room. Rehearsal for the Winter Jubilee was starting at three o’clock.
By the time Madison got to Mrs. Montefiore’s classroom, everyone had taken up all the good seats. The band was down in front with flutes and clarinets and two kids at the piano. Madison spied Dan Ginsburg seated near the front, flute in hand. He waved to her.
She played the flute, too. But Madison only went to lessons sometimes. Dan practiced almost every day. Seeing him sitting there made Madison wish she’d practiced more.
“Over here, Maddie!” Fiona yelled across the room.
“Over heeeeere!” her brother Chet said, imitating her. She promptly smacked him on the knee.
Madison laughed and made her way up the row toward Fiona, Aimee, Hart, Drew, and the rest of the gang. Thankfully, they’d saved Madison a seat. And it was in the middle of everyone, not such a bad place to be.
The band started its warm-up as more kids filed in. The teachers waited until the room was nearly packed before starting the vocal warm-ups.
Tap, tap, tap.
At three forty-five, Mrs. Montefiore tapped her music stand and asked the band to play some scales—finally.
Do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, ti, do.
It didn’t matter if some kids were off-pitch, like Madison. This was all about the experience and the act of trying to help, and not about being a supersinger, right? That was what Madison hoped.
When Egg sang, every ahhh sounded like quaaack—like a duck.
Hart rubbed his hands together when he was trying to remember words.
Aimee bounced when she sang.
Madison glanced around. Fiona was the most exciting. Her voice sounded like a flute, the way she jumped from high note to low note and back up again. And a few rows away, someone else was singing just as beautifully.
Madison listened close, straining her neck to see.
It was Ivy Daly. And she knew she was good. Ivy was flipping her hair before every chorus of “Sleigh Ride.” Madison watched her from behind.
“‘Oh, it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with yoooooo,’” Hart sang loudly and poked Madison in the back until she jumped.
“‘Giddyap, giddyap!’” Egg cracked.
“‘Giddyap, let’s go,’” Aimee trilled, bouncing her knees.
“‘We’re riding in a wonderland of snooooooow,’” Fiona sang.
Mrs. Montefiore stopped the class at least three or four times so the kids could get the lyrics and notes right. But Madison was more interested in the singers and not the song. She kept her eyes glued to the enemy.
“Beautiful job!” Mrs. Montefiore exclaimed as soon as the band played the final note. “We’ve got a wonderful concert or two ahead of us.”
The room buzzed with voices and energy—the holiday spirit Madison had in mind. Parents would love the concert at school. And the folks at The Estates would love theirs, too. Madison knew Mrs. Romano would be singing right along for sure.
Kids hushed up as Mrs. Montefiore blew a new note into her gold pitch pipe. She frantically waved her arm into the air to get everyone’s attention for the start of the next song, “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch.”
Madison snickered to herself. She remembered Fiona’s words from the very first meeting for the Winter Jubilee: “The Grinch song should be dedicated to Ivy and her drones.”
That was no joke.
“SNOW!” Madison screeched. “Look! Snow!” She held out her hand to catch a falling snowflake and watch crystals melt in her palm.
Aimee stuck out her tongue to taste it. “I wish this came in chocolate or butter crunch,” she said.
“Look, it’s the sticky kind,” Fiona said, leaning over to touch the sidewalk with her brown, knit mittens.
The three friends walked home slowly from singing practice, evaluating the weather—and their fellow classmates—every step of the way.
“Rose Thorn fell in dance class today,” Aimee said. “I started to laugh. We had visitors, and I didn’t want to act rude. But it was hysterical.”
; “How can you laugh at someone when she’s down?” Fiona asked.
“You sound like a self-help commercial!” Aimee said.
Madison grumbled. “Fiona, they laugh at us. Why can’t we make fun of them, too?”
“Karma,” Fiona explained. “You get what you give.”
Madison gasped. “What did you say, Fiona?” It was what Gramma Helen always said to Madison.
“You get what you give, Maddie,” Fiona repeated. “If you’re mean to someone, then you’ll get meanness in return. I totally believe that.”
“Wow-weeee,” Aimee joked.
“Quit making fun,” Fiona said. “I’m a hundred percent serious.”
“Soh-reeee,” Aimee said, smiling.
Madison knew Fiona was righter than right. The same was true for Poison Ivy Daly. If Madison kept being mean to the enemy, then she’d only get meanness in return.
As the trio walked along, snow continued falling, but lightly. There was no storm on the way, not as far as Madison could see. This was just a dusting, in spite of what the big-haired weather lady said.
“Now that your trip was canceled, what are you doing for Christmas break?” Fiona asked Madison.
Madison shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll spend some more time with Mrs. Romano at The Estates.”
“And you’re coming over to my house, too,” Aimee cried.
Fiona giggled. “And mine, too.”
Madison smiled. “Of course.”
“Do you know what you’re getting this year for presents?” Aimee asked, skipping down the sidewalk and leaving little snow footprints behind. “I asked for new toe shoes.”
“I know my mom got me some new cleats for soccer,” Fiona said. “And I asked for a Kindle, but I don’t know if I’ll get one.”
“What about you, Madison?” Aimee asked.
“Who knows,” Madison said. “I asked for some computer software. And some clothes, of course. But usually Mom takes me shopping after the holidays when all the sales happen.”
“What are you giving your parents?” Aimee asked. “My brothers and I got my mom a one-year membership at the yoga center.”
“I don’t know what to get,” Fiona said. “Chet and I can’t agree on the right gift. I wanted to make them dinner so we wouldn’t have to blow a lot of money. We don’t have that much allowance saved.”
