“Nah.” Austin grinned. “I’m just going to let you keep making me soup.”
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” I said, and we both laughed.
We got quiet after that, and stared at the fire—until we heard the bounce of a ball behind us, followed by Izzy’s voice saying, “What are you guys doing out here?”
“Roasting marshmallows,” Austin said. “Want one?”
“Sure,” Izzy plunked down next to me. “Want to play basketball afterward?”
“Nah,” Austin said. “I’m good.”
Austin went to get a new bag of marshmallows. While he was gone, Izzy said, “He’s still acting weird. He didn’t want to play basketball last night, either.”
I stared into the fire, watching the flames lick at the marshmallow I was roasting, and didn’t answer her. Last night Austin and I had been texting back and forth about a mystery we’d both been watching on TV. Between the two of us, we figured out who’d done it.
“So,” Izzy began, and even though I wasn’t looking at her, I could hear the frown in her voice. “You and Austin hang out sometimes?”
I figured now was the time to tell her about my crush, but just as I opened my mouth, Austin appeared, holding a big bag of marshmallows. “Here you go,” he said, handing one to Izzy.
“Geez, you think you have enough?” I asked, because it wasn’t like Izzy and I could talk about Austin right in front of his face.
“I don’t know, do I?” Austin tossed a marshmallow at me while Izzy toasted hers.
“Careful,” Izzy said. “You do that again, and Violet and I might come after you.” Her voice held a singsong quality. Was she trying to flirt with Austin?
If so, Austin didn’t seem to notice. “I’m not worried.” He tossed another marshmallow at me.
“You should be,” Izzy said. “I’m a great shot.”
“Maybe—but Violet’s a lousy shot.” He lobbed a third one at me, and it lodged in my hair.
That was it; I’d had enough.
I grabbed the bag from Austin; it split and a ton of marshmallows dropped to the ground. I threw one at him—it missed wildly—then I went running into the street as he started to chase me.
“Get him, Violet!” Izzy called. Like Austin, she’d picked up some marshmallows and was running after us.
“Incoming!” Austin shouted, a split second before a marshmallow struck me on the shoulder.
“You’re gonna pay for that!” I yelled, and tossed one at him. It missed completely.
Austin grinned and began to juggle a few marshmallows. “Sure, I am.”
Izzy was a much better shot than I was; I kept missing, but she lobbed a few marshmallows that hit Austin in the back. “What’s wrong with you?” she shouted at him after another couple hits went unanswered. “Why won’t you fight back? What are you, chicken?” she added, but Austin didn’t seem to notice. He kept coming at me, missing every time.
“You’re not such a great shot now, are you?” I taunted.
“Hey, Austin, eat this!” Izzy lobbed a marshmallow right in Austin’s face. It was a direct hit—but Austin still kept aiming for me, and missing. I may not be a good shot, but I’m an excellent dodger.
(Total side note: Dodgeball is the only game in PE that I’m ever any good at—because I know how to get out of people’s way.)
“It’s a good thing you don’t play baseball,” I called. “Because your aim stinks!”
“My aim is great,” Izzy said as she launched another assault at Austin.
“Violet!” I heard Olivia’s voice call from the sidewalk. “Your dad asked me to come get you. It’s time for dinner!” I glanced over at her, which gave Austin his chance. He threw another one, and it hit me right in the eyeball.
“Ouch!” I yelped.
“I’m sorry, Violet.” Austin hurried over. “I guess I’m a more excellent shot than I thought!”
“Excellent,” I repeated, blinking rapidly, “as long as your target isn’t moving.”
He grinned. “At least you can cross roasting marshmallows off your Mom’s list.”
“Whatever, Austin,” I said as I turned to leave with Olivia. To Izzy, I said, “I’ll try to call you on the walkie later, okay?”
“Okay,” Izzy replied. There was an unreadable expression on her face. And a forgotten marshmallow in her hand.
CHAPTER
29
CANDY CONTRABAND
Later that night after dinner, I was in the kitchen working on my Egyptian essay. Austin and I were pretty far behind, and I couldn’t keep waiting for him to finally decide he felt like helping. We still hadn’t talked at all about the pyramid model, either. I’d just started making a list of all the materials we needed to buy when Olivia came stomping into the room.
“Are M&M out in the living room?” she asked.
I blinked. “M&M?”
“Mom and Mitch.”
“Oh.” I thought it was weird she had a nickname for Dad. And not just Dad, but both him and Melanie together, like they were a unit. Which, I guessed, they were. I decided not to think about it. “No, they went upstairs a few minutes ago.”
“Awesome.” From the back of the pantry Olivia produced a crumpled brown bag. She plunked down next to me and dumped the contents onto the table: chocolate bars, packs of strawberry licorice, butterscotches, Christmas-ribbon candy, and a plastic baggie of cinnamon bears.
“What’s all this?” I asked.
“My secret stash from Harrison’s Hardware,” she said, biting the head off a cinnamon bear. “I need sugar. Want some? Candy is vegetarian, right?”
I glanced out to the hallway as I took a couple licorice whips, just to make sure no one was coming. Not only does Melanie not allow doughnuts and soda at breakfast, she hardly allows any junk food in the house—ever. For dinner, she’d made us this ultrahealthy stir-fry with kale. It was vegetarian and I appreciated it, but still, it was totally gross. Just because I’m a vegetarian doesn’t mean I want to spend my life eating yucky green plants.
While I chewed a licorice whip, Olivia angrily ripped open a chocolate bar and inhaled it in a couple bites. She went to eat another one, but when the package wouldn’t open, she threw it against the wall, where it split in two.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
In answer, she slid a Christmas card across the table. It was a picture of a family: a couple with a little boy—who looked about two—cuddled between them. They were all wearing the same thick red-and-green sweater and blue jeans in front of a Christmas tree. “That’s my dad, Charlie, and Big-Hair Barbie,” she said.
“Wow,” I said. “She really does have big hair.” Big lips, too, I thought, picking up the card and examining it. Those couldn’t be natural. Besides the matching sweaters and jeans, if you looked closely, you could see all three of them were wearing the same Christmas-tree pin. Mr. Vanderberg and Big-Hair Barbie each had an arm around Charlie, their heads tilted toward him, like he was the center of their gravity. There was no mistaking it: Charlie looked coddled and well cared for. Well loved. And Mr. Vanderberg looked like a happy, doting father—not at all like the man who rarely spoke to Joey and Olivia.
“Has Joey seen this?” I asked, giving the card back to Olivia.
“No—and he’s not going to.” She stared hard at me. “Okay?”
I held up my hands. “I won’t say anything, I promise.”
Olivia relaxed and shoved a licorice whip into her mouth. “It’s a stupid picture,” she said in between angry bites. “I mean, those sweaters are totally tacky.”
“They totally are,” I agreed.
We ate quietly for a few moments, and I added more items to my pyramid list until Olivia suddenly said, “You know, sometimes I wish he was dead.” I looked up, startled, as she made a sound that was a cross between a snort and a sob. “You think I’m evil for saying that, don’t you?”
“Umm . . .” I wasn’t sure what to say. Truthfully, I couldn’t imagine ever wishing someth
ing so terrible on anyone.
“It’s just that if he was dead,” she went on, “then he couldn’t help it, you know? It wouldn’t be his fault.”
I guessed I never thought about it like that. Mom never had a choice; cancer took her away from Dad and me, and in the end, there was nothing any of us could do to stop it. But Mr. Vanderberg had a choice. And he chose to leave. I thought maybe I was starting to understand why Olivia was always so willing to help Dad out all the time. Maybe she wasn’t trying to replace me, after all. Maybe she was just hoping he’d turn out to be a dad who’d choose to stay.
We were both quiet for a while, and it was nice, sitting in the kitchen, eating Olivia’s contraband candy. Sometimes, when I watch a movie and see brothers and sisters hanging out at home together, I get a funny feeling in my stomach—an empty one, like I’ve forgotten to eat dinner. I didn’t feel that way now. I felt full, and not just of licorice—but of something else. Something warm and good.
“What’s going on with you and Austin?” Olivia asked suddenly.
“What? Nothing’s going on,” I said, and she rolled her eyes.
“Um, hello? I have eyes—I was watching you for a bit during your marshmallow fight. You guys were totally flirting.”
I shrugged. “So what if we were? What’s the big deal?”
“It’s not—not to me, anyway. But Izzy was watching you two pretty closely.”
A knot formed in my stomach. “She was?”
Olivia nodded. “Yeah—and she didn’t look too happy. So do you like him?”
I stared at Olivia, wondering how much I could tell her. “Yeah, I like him,” I said finally.
“And Izzy likes him, too?” she guessed.
“Yeah, but she liked him first.”
“Oh,” Olivia said, nodding. “So you’re the bad guy.”
“Yeah, I’m the bad guy. I didn’t mean to start liking him. We’re doing a class project together, and he’s the first boy I’ve ever felt like I could really talk to.”
“Really?” She looked genuinely curious. “What do you talk about?”
“Family, school, deep stuff—the stuff I don’t talk about with anyone. Like I can’t wait to see him in history class, and sometimes during the day, something will happen to me and I’ll think to myself, I should tell Austin about that.”
“Wow—I don’t know that there’s ever been a guy I could talk to like that.” She made a face. “Most of the guys at school won’t come near me because of my mom.”
Now I was the one who was curious. “Is it really hard, having your mom be, well, the Hammer?”
“Yeah,” she said as she twisted a licorice whip around her finger. “I can barely walk down the halls without someone hassling me about it.” She glanced at me. “I’m sorry my mom keeps trying to make us hang out . . . I mean, I know she wants us to be friends, but I think she thinks she’s helping me out at school.”
“Has it been difficult making friends this year?” I asked.
Olivia nodded. “Yeah, but it’s getting easier.” She took a deep breath. “I actually talked to Aunt Mildred—I’m going to buy a charm bracelet and start collecting charms, too.”
“You’re joining the Charm Girls?” I asked, and I was surprised to realize the idea didn’t bother me the way it would have a month ago.
“No.” Olivia shook her head vigorously. “Sorry—that’s not what I meant. I’m going to start a charm-bracelet club with Emily and some girls from our math class.” She shrugged. “It seems like you, Izzy, Daisy, and Sophia have so much fun—I guess I just thought maybe it would be fun for us, too.”
“I think that’s a great idea, Olivia.”
We ate in silence, until Olivia suddenly said, “There is one huge upside to being related to the Hammer, though.”
“There is?” I said. “What is it?”
A huge smile spread across her face. “We’ll never have to be in her class!”
We both laughed, and I reached for another licorice whip. As I did, I looked at my bracelet and wondered—since Olivia would soon have her own—if someday we’d have matching charms.
And that gave me an idea.
CHAPTER
30
THE WRAP-A-THON
The Wrap-a-Thon was being held in Hollow Hall, a multipurpose building across from Dandelion Square. Aunt Mildred had signed Izzy, Sophia, Daisy, and me up to work the last shift on Friday night. After a dinner of pasta and garlic bread (and a quick dip into Olivia’s candy stash when Dad and Melanie weren’t looking), Melanie and Olivia dropped me off; they were going out for another round of Christmas shopping.
“Text me if you need anything,” Melanie said as she pulled her minivan up to the curb. “We’ll be nearby.”
“Will do,” I said.
I got out of the car and shivered. The night was cold, colder than it had been all year. That was okay, because it matched the icy pit in my stomach. Izzy had seemed distant at lunch today, and she barely looked at me. I couldn’t tell if it was because she was avoiding me or because we had spent most of lunch listening to Sophia talk about how nervous she was to be spending Christmas with both of her parents, who hadn’t seen each other in a few months.
Dandelion Square was packed and lively. Passersby clutching shopping bags went from shop to shop, and carolers dressed in Victorian clothing strolled the streets, while families posed for pictures in front of the town Christmas tree.
I ducked into Hollow Hall. Inside, tables were piled high with ribbons, wrapping paper, and bows. Grandma Bertie was heading up this year’s Wrap-a-Thon, and she greeted me at the front, and said, “Hello, dear! I’ve got you at a table in the back with Izzy. Wait for someone to come by—it’s ten dollars, no matter how many presents they have for you to wrap—and then let them pick the wrapping paper they want.”
I passed the table where Sophia and Daisy were already working and waved. They both waved back glumly. They’d gotten stuck wrapping Mayor Franklin’s presents—all twenty of them—while she chatted away on her cell phone.
“Where were you?” Izzy muttered when I sat down. She was finishing wrapping up what looked like a skateboard for Mike Harrison, the owner of Harrison’s Hardware.
“Melanie was running late,” I said.
After that, a line formed at our table and we couldn’t talk. But I could tell from the stiffness in Izzy’s shoulders that she was mad.
When there was a lull in the customers, I said, “Listen, I have something to tell you. I—”
“Have you been hanging out with Austin a lot?” She scraped the edge of her scissors against the ribbon she was holding so hard it curled into sparkly red spirals.
“Define ‘a lot,’ ” I said.
She gave the ribbon another good scrape. “Violet—come on.”
“Well, yeah. I guess we do sometimes, and we text a lot.”
“Is that why you’re never around when I call you on the walkie-talkie lately?”
“Um . . . maybe?”
“And you told him about your mom’s list?” she asked, not looking at me.
“I told him when we were studying one day, and he said he’d help.” All of which was true, but I knew that wasn’t exactly what she was asking me. “We have a class project together, and . . . I don’t know, we just talk and . . . tell each other stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just talk to him about things I can’t with anyone else.”
“What things? What is so important that you can’t talk to me about but you can talk to him about?”
“Just . . . things,” I said desperately. “I talk to him about my mom, and Melanie and Olivia, and . . .” I took a deep breath. “Look, Izzy. I know you like him. But the thing is—I think I like him, too. I’m sorry if that makes you mad.”
There, I said it.
Izzy had no shortage of people to talk to. Her dad took her kayaking all the time. Aunt Mildred and Grandma Bertie were always co
oking breakfast for her; her sister Carolyn was seriously cool and nice. But it felt like Austin was the one person I could really talk to right now. Why did I have to stop hanging out with him because Izzy decided she needed yet another person on the long list of People Who Love Izzy?
Izzy looked like she’d love to take the present she was wrapping and hit me over the head with it. “Seriously, Violet? You think I’m mad because you might have a crush on Austin Jackson?”
“Well . . . ,” I said, feeling suddenly unsure, “yeah. Aren’t you? You re-crush-dibbed him. You said you liked him.”
“Yeah, I did—for, like, four days, until I saw him in English class, and he and Tyler Jones were acting totally immature. Which you would have known, if you’d bothered to ask—or been around when I tried calling you on the walkie.”
“Okay,” I said. Now I was really confused. If Izzy didn’t like Austin, what exactly were we talking about right now? “I guess I just thought you’d be mad, and I really do like talking to him, and—”
“That’s the problem, Violet!” she burst out. “You never want to talk to me—or Daisy or Sophia—even though we all know something’s wrong. We ask you about your mom and Melanie, and you always say everything’s just fine. But then you go behind my back and talk to Austin Jackson, of all people?”
“Because I can talk to him!” I yelled. “Because you’re always too busy complaining about your mom. Because you think you have it so tough, having a mom who’s difficult to be around. You have no idea how lucky you are!”
Izzy put her scissors down. She looked stricken.
“Izzy, I’m so sorry—” I began, but it was too late.
She had already stood up and walked away.
CHAPTER
31
IRIDESCENT
“Izzy, wait!” I called.
Izzy sprinted forward and slipped out of the hall, and I wondered if she was taking our friendship with her. There’s a reason Mom always said if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all. Nasty words can be like a jackhammer, busting up everything in their path. I knew my ugly words would pound at our friendship until it shattered into pieces, unless I took them back.
The Wondrous World of Violet Barnaby Page 12
