by Beth Vrabel
Before James and I left that morning, I circled six jobs.
“Good-bye,” James said with a little too much force on the “bye” part when I didn’t move quickly toward the library doors.
I knew he’d be furious if I went to the lake. Even worse, I knew Mr. Hamlin would be disappointed to see me. Not because he didn’t like me. I knew that he did. But he wanted me to patch things up with Kerica.
Mr. Hamlin listened to all my stories just like I listened to his, only lately his stories were all about times he avoided stuff and it knocked him “up the rear and back again.” Then he’d stop rocking in his chair, narrow his eyes at me, and ask about Kerica. I had told all about the fall-out with Eliza, and maybe he thought I should have at least one friend my age.
And maybe I had been avoiding Kerica. So what? She had been such a jerk to me. I turned back toward the lake. But then again, she had been my only friend for weeks. I shouldn’t just give up on her. I took a few more steps toward the library.
I was almost to the doors when two things happened at once: Tooter let out a scary long, low growl and someone called out, “Are you lost?” over the hedge. Like a groundhog popping out of a hole in the ground, Sandi’s head suddenly appeared.
“Ah, hi, Sandi,” I said. “No, I’m just letting Tooter go potty before we go inside.”
“Huh,” Sandi replied. “Looked to me like you were trying to decide whether to go inside.” I stepped closer to the hedge and saw that she had a blanket stretched out on the grass on the other side. A pile of books lay beside her, but none were open. Sandi lay back on the blanket, pulling up her shorts so they were more like bikini bottoms. She adjusted her tank top straps. Something about the way she wiggled her legs made me think of bacon browning in a pan.
“You know suntanning is really bad for you, right?”
“Being whiter than paper is bad for you, too. At least, it is socially,” she said back.
I sucked in my breath, too shocked to reply.
“I wouldn’t blame you, you know,” she said, “about not wanting to go inside. Kerica is being even more of a jerk than usual.” Sandi rose up on one elbow and lowered her oversized sunglasses so she could peek at me over the top. “Do you know she actually told me to shut up today? Seriously. All I did was ask her to type up some notes for me. I mean, she clearly has no social plans. She has the time.”
What a jerk! I thought, and mentally fist bumped Kerica for saying no to Sandi. But really I just pulled Tooter’s leash back. His fur bristled and he growled at Sandi again. “Notes about the Sinkville Success Stories contest?” I managed to squeak out.
“Yeah,” said Sandi. A cloud of coconut tanning oil slapped me in the face when she readjusted herself on the blanket. “My mom has made contact with the mayor, the state representative, and the senator that represents our area. We’re trying to reach the governor, too. And Mom has important contacts with the Bartel family. I’m going to showcase how the Mill has ‘churned out’ success for fifty years. Get it? Churned! It’s totally going to blow away all the other stupid essays, like Brian Thomas’s profile on M. H. Bartel. How original. So, um, what’s your angle?” she asked as she dropped her sunglasses down her nose and peered over them at me.
“I’m sort of going a different route. Talking to more residents, I guess.” Suddenly I saw how stupid my idea was. Of course, Sinkville’s success was the Mill, not someone who saw his house drown. Here I was interviewing a whittler while she was talking to senators. Lame.
“Hmm,” Sandi said, like she could read my thoughts. “Well, don’t go asking Kerica for help typing. I doubt Kerica would help you even if you played the blind card.”
Blind card? My mind snagged on the words but Sandi kept right on blabbing. “I guess I can’t expect more than that. She’s always had a problem with me. Jealousy.” Sandi flopped onto her side on the blanket.
“I don’t think that’s it,” I blurted without thinking.
Sandi didn’t seem to take offense, though.
“Of course that’s it,” she said. “She’s been bitter and mean ever since last year. To think, we were even partners in science class.”
Something about this tickled my mind. When Kerica had freaked out about the Sinkville Success Stories project, she had said something about partner work not being good for her.
“Did you work on some project together?” I swear, I had been struck with a sudden case of diarrhea of the mouth. There’s no other explanation for continuing this conversation with Sandi.
Sandi repositioned her sunglasses and directed her face toward the sun. “Did she tell you about that? I’m not surprised.” Sandi sighed. “It was just a simple science project. Could be on anything. The big brains in there decided it should be about DNA extraction. For reals! For a fifth-grade science project! And then Kerica totally lost it because our styles are different.” Sandi flipped over to her back. “I’m more of a wing-it type of personality. And I have a life. So I didn’t ‘pull my weight.’ Whatever. We didn’t fail.”
“But you didn’t get a good grade?” Again. Mouth diarrhea.
“It wasn’t a true partnership according to the teacher. It was too one-sided.”
I had a good guess which side did all of the work.
“We got a C. So what? C’s are passing.” Sandi flicked a fly away. “But Kerica freaked out. Tried to blame me for compromising her scholarship. Said if she had to go back to public school in Columbia, it’d be completely my fault. But, really, it’s like the teacher said. She should’ve been more of a leader.”
I felt my forehead crinkle as I worked through what Sandi was telling me. “Wait a sec—what scholarship?”
“Kerica only goes to school here because her mom tutors M. H. Bartel students. And, yeah, because of her stellar GPA.”
“M. H. Bartel? The paper mill?”
“No, silly,” Sandi giggled. “The school. M. H. Bartel School for Girls.”
“But I thought the school was called Sinkville Public?”
“Yes, the public school is Sinkville Public,” Sandi answered like Mrs. Dexter, slowly as if I might not understand her words. “But M. H. Bartel is a private school.”
“So, I wouldn’t be in the same school as you and Kerica even if I did go to the public school?” Tooter pulled on his leash, sniffling around for a spot to do his business. I dropped it, figuring he wouldn’t go far.
Sandi giggled again. “No. Kerica doesn’t even live in Sinkville, first of all. Secondly, M. H. Bartel is very exclusive. They won’t let just anyone in. My mom is an alumna. She says M. H. Bartel is world renowned. She’d know. In fact, maybe I’ll get her to score an interview with the director for the con—”
“Oh no!” I yelled, pushing through the hedge and cutting off Sandi’s sentence. “Stop, Tooter! Stop! Do not pee on Sandi’s—!”
“Oh my God!” Sandi screamed as a stream of Tooter pee hit her leg. She shoved him away, but the dumb dog just stood there, kicking grass on an already outraged Sandi.
Tooter actually scraped Sandi’s shin when he put his foot down. Sandi held her leg and howled, but I doubted it hurt that much. I snagged up his leash and tried to choke out an apology, but Tooter just pranced in the direction of the library. He looked back over his shoulder slowly, not at all bothered by Sandi’s screams, waiting for me to catch up.
“See you later, Sandi,” I said, matching Tooter’s casual stance.
I held it together until the glass doors closed behind me. “Ha!” I screeched as Tooter twirled in circles in front of me. “You wicked, wicked fur ball of awesomesauce!”
Tooter rolled onto his back, his tongue flapping out to the side, so, of course, I sunk down to my knees to rub his belly. “You little genius!”
“That is the most unusual service animal,” Mrs. Dexter called from behind her cloud of lavender-mill scent.
Ignoring her, I said to Tooter, “Okay, lead the way to Kerica.”
He dutifully hopped up, scooted his butt across
the floor a few inches, and pranced toward the children’s section.
“Most unusual,” I heard Mrs. Dexter murmur.
Kerica sat in front of the computer again, but her fingers weren’t flying across the keys. They lay in her lap while she stared toward the hand chairs. I had dropped the leash as soon as I had seen her, and Tooter scrambled toward Kerica. She squealed a little when Tooter leaped up onto her lap and licked at her chin. “Tooter! What are you doing here?”
I smiled, thinking of the contrast between Tooter’s reception for Sandi and this one for Kerica. “He’s with me,” I said and pulled out the chair next to Kerica’s.
She flashed me a quick smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, burying her face a little in Tooter’s side. “I wanted to tell you . . . the way I acted . . .”
Sorry didn’t seem to be something Kerica was used to saying, seeing as she had trouble getting out the words. “It’s okay,” I said. “I think it was probably a misunderstanding. I ran into Sandi outside . . .”
Then I told Kerica about what Sandi had said about the school project gone bad. “Sounds like you ended up having to do all the work. I’d be skittish about starting another group project after that, too,” I said.
“Thanks,” Kerica said, “but I shouldn’t have said all that stuff. And if you want—”
I interrupted. “I don’t want to work together. I mean, no offense or anything. I just really want to do it by myself. I already have a couple ideas.”
“It turns out that I can’t enter. You have to live in Sinkville, and I live in Columbia.” Kerica’s fingers twisted in Tooter’s fur. I swear, the mixed-up dog started to purr. “I’m not eligible.”
“I’m sorry. I bet that’s hard, spending all your time here and living somewhere else. Have you thought about moving?”
Kerica shook her head. “My grandma lives with us and she has all these friends in the city. She doesn’t like the idea of small towns like this. Thinks they’re filled with mean, close-minded people. She goes to the community center almost every day. Mom said it’d break Grandma’s heart to move. Plus it costs a lot more for an apartment here than there. Librarians don’t make a lot of money, you know.”
“Oh,” I said.
Her fingers kept twisting Tooter’s fur. “It’s tough. I mean, half my life is there in Columbia. Half here in this stupid library or, during the school year, Bartel School for Girls. But I’m never really at home anywhere.” Tooter stood on Kerica’s lap and twirled around once, probably to dislodge her fingers from pulling on his fur.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Kerica clenched her teeth and flexed her fingers. She reminded me, for some reason, of James. It looked like it actually hurt to open up a little. But I bet it hurt more to keep it all inside. I scooted my chair a little closer to her. “At home, I don’t fit in because I don’t go to that school. Here I don’t fit in because it’s not my home.”
“I felt like that when we moved here. My whole life was back in Seattle but I was here. I really wanted to move back.”
“Wanted to?” Kerica asked. “So you don’t anymore?”
I shrugged. “Well, I got into a big fight with my best friend there, Eliza. She’s sort of moved on, I guess. Made a bunch of new friends.”
Kerica nodded.
“But I made a new best friend, too.” I elbowed Kerica.
Her smile was slow, like it took a long time for my words to reach her ears. “I’m your best friend?”
I nodded.
“I don’t think I’ve had a best friend before,” she whispered.
“Well, you do now.”
“Even though I said those stupid, mean things to you?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Friends can get mad at each other and still make up.” I took a deep breath. Maybe it wasn’t so easy for me to say how I feel, either. “I know what it’s like to feel different. But you’re not alone. Okay? Want to do something different today?” I said to change the subject. “I got my allowance yesterday. We could go do anything!”
“I don’t know,” Kerica murmured. “I just started this book . . .”
“And let me guess, you’ve only read three so far this month?”
Kerica grinned. “Six.”
“Gah!” I said. “Let’s get out of here before you read the dictionaries! Are we close to that milkshake place?”
“The Williams Diner?” Kerica asked. “It’s only about four or five blocks from here.”
I nodded. “I’ll tell you about the shower Sandi got this morning while we walk.”
Chapter Eight
Kerica couldn’t stop laughing. She bent over and held her stomach, bellowing laughs like a dying donkey. “You have no idea how much I would’ve loved to have seen Tooter pee on her! Do you think he’d do it again? Like maybe it could be his trick. Someone makes you mad and Super Tooter to the rescue!”
I laughed and rubbed Tooter’s head. “I kind of feel bad about it. He sort of scratched her leg with his nails.”
I looked for a place to tie Tooter’s leash outside the diner, but Kerica grabbed the leash from me. “I’m buying this guy a hamburger.”
“Hang on!” I called to her as she and Tooter walked in. “I don’t think dogs can go in there!”
This time I was ready for Grandma’s voice to come out of Gretel’s mouth. But it made my knees wobbly. “Hey there, sweetheart,” she said. One of her electric blue fingernails pointed to an empty booth. “We’ll make an exception for the pup this one time, since the lunch crowd’s gone for the day. You ladies here for a treat?”
“Kerica and I’d like some milkshakes.”
“Be careful,” Gretel chuckled. “Milkshake addiction might run in your blood.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I said. I asked her to whip up whatever she had made for Dad that morning.
“Which time? His first order was a kale and berry smoothie. An hour later, he came back for a peanut butter shake.”
“Peanut butter!” I said.
Kerica ordered a strawberry shake with a plain hamburger on the side for Tooter.
As Gretel turned to walk away, I asked, “Any chance you can add a little coconut and maybe some jelly to mine?”
Gretel grinned. “That’s a combo I haven’t had before. Going to make one for myself, too.” The back of the menu had the Williams Diner history printed on it. Kerica read it out loud while I took notes in my reporter’s notebook.
When Gretel brought out our shakes a few minutes later, I saw she really had made one for herself, too. Gretel wiped her painted-pink lips with a napkin. “Golly, girl,” she said as she handed me my shake. “That’s delicious! Never would’ve thought to add coconut.”
“My mom used to make PB&J with coconut sandwiches,” I said around a gulp of creamy goodness.
“Well, your mom’s creation just got added to our menu.” She handed Kerica her shake and said, “Reading up on our history?”
Kerica slurped her milkshake, licked her lips, and nodded. “Yeah, I’m up to the nineteen sixties.”
“What’s with the notebook?” asked Gretel while I finished scribbling some notes.
“She’s entering the Sinkville Success Stories contest,” Kerica answered for me since my mouth was full of milkshake.
“This diner? A success story?” Gretel made a humpfing sound.
“No, really,” I said as soon as I could swallow without getting brain freeze. “This is good information!”
“How ’bout you, sweetie?” Gretel asked Kerica. “You putting this dinky diner in your essay?”
This time, I answered for Kerica. “She can’t enter. It’s only for Sinkville residents.”
“I didn’t realize,” Gretel said. “Sorry, Kerica.”
Kerica shrugged. “It’s no big deal.” She picked up an extra pencil I had left on the table and doodled on the paper placemat.
Gretel scanned the restaurant and tilted her head toward the counter. A person was talking loudly into
a cell phone. Once I heard the booming voice—“That’s right! The smell of success!”—I figured out who it was: Mayor Hank.
“Harold over there is the one to ask for Sinkville’s real history from the sixties on,” Gretel said as she sank into the booth beside me. “Might give you some insight into this contest, too. You ladies know all about the civil rights movement here in Sinkville, I’m sure.”
Kerica nodded, but I shook my head. “I’m from Seattle,” I reminded them.
They rolled their eyes at me in unison and I had to laugh. Gretel said, “In the early sixties, life was a lot different here in the South. Some places—railroad stations, doctors’ waiting rooms, lunch counters in the city—they didn’t serve anyone who was black.”
“Or they made us sit in a different room, come in through a different entrance, even drink from a different water fountain.” Kerica didn’t look up from her sketch while she talked. I leaned closer to see what she was drawing, but it just looked like blurs to me. “Grandma talks about it a lot.”
Gretel nodded. “It was a dark, cruel time. The sad thing is, I wasn’t even aware of it. It wasn’t until the civil rights movement—when people, mostly young people, protested the laws—that I even began to give it some thought.”
Kerica’s face was screwed up like she was fighting to keep something inside.
“It’s okay, honey, you go ahead and say what you need to say,” Gretel said softly.
“My grandma never stops thinking about it. Mom keeps telling her things are different now but she won’t move from our neighborhood. She never stopped thinking about it.”
