“Stir over low heat for twenty minutes,” Aunt Sunny said as she stood in front of the fan, reading the directions aloud. “You’d better pour us some ice water, Zinnia. We’re going to have to stay hydrated.”
As Zinnie filled tumblers with ice, Marigold peered over Aunt Sunny’s shoulder to read the recipe.
“Uh-oh. Do you have masa harina? Piloncillo? Or a tablet of Mexican chocolate?” Marigold asked. “Do they even sell that stuff here? I think you can only get it at the Mexican markets.”
“You don’t have the right stuff?” Lily asked. Her lower lip was trembling. Marigold regretted opening her mouth, because she could feel her sister approaching the edge of a meltdown. “I wish Berta were here. She always has the ingredients for everything.”
“Now, now. You never know what I have,” Aunt Sunny said, disappearing into the pantry. “A little of this, yes, this will do. . . . We don’t have that, but maybe I can use some of this . . . ,” she said to herself. Then Aunt Sunny emerged with her arms full. She set a sack of corn flour, a package of chocolate, a bag of brown sugar, and a few cinnamon sticks on the counter.
“We can do it,” Aunt Sunny said. “But I’m going to need your help, Lily. You’re the expert here.” Lily nodded.
First they simmered the milk with the cinnamon, sugar, and chocolate. Lily stood on a stool and stirred the mixture over the stove. Now that she was focused on an activity, her homesickness appeared to be fading. “It’s kind of hot in here,” Lily said, as if noticing the heat wave for the first time. Then she stripped down to her undies right there in the kitchen. “Much better.” Zinnie mixed the corn flour with water, then added it to the pot on the stove. Lily kept stirring for another ten minutes until it was ready.
“Not sweet enough,” Lily declared upon tasting the final product. Aunt Sunny added some maple syrup, which Berta never would have done, and when Lily took another sip, she grinned and declared it “¡Delicioso!”
For Lily’s sake, they each took a mug of the thick, warm champurrado. It smelled good, but it was just about the last thing Marigold wanted to drink on a hot summer night. Even with the fans on and tumblers full of ice water, she could feel beads of sweat on her upper lip.
“Let’s go outside,” Zinnie said.
“Great idea,” Sunny said. “Looks like we finally have a breeze.”
They walked barefoot into the pear orchard, and all but Lily abandoned their mugs of champurrado on the little wooden bench by the back door. The temperature had dropped a few degrees, or maybe it only seemed cooler because they were coming from the warm kitchen. But as Marigold’s feet sank into the cool grass, the crickets sang a green and summery song, and a gentle breeze lifted her ponytail, the night felt like the perfect temperature.
Aunt Sunny spread a thin cotton blanket on the ground, and they all sat down. Aunt Sunny began to tell them about what exactly caused a heat wave, but Marigold tuned out. She lay on her back and gazed up at the stars. She nearly lost her breath as her eyes traveled across the sky. She had never seen so many stars in all her life. They were faded and swirled together in some places and were shining bright and solitary in others. A plane pulsed toward the crescent moon. A purple-gray cloud sailed through the scene like a faraway ship. A shooting star dashed across the sky, quick as a blink.
Another breeze swept over her, and Marigold’s eyelids grew heavy. Maybe it was all the time she spent in the salt water, or all the exercise she got walking back and forth from town all day, or the way Zinnie made her run around in rehearsals. Or maybe it was something in Aunt Sunny’s food. But here in Pruet, Marigold had discovered a new kind of tired. At night her limbs were loose and happy, tingling with a memory of sun. And when her head hit the pillow on her boat bed, sleep became as sweet and irresistible as a bowl of peppermint stick ice cream.
She was drifting off now when Lily shook her back to consciousness. “Wake up, Marigold! Mommy is on the phone. She got our message, and she called us back!” Lily’s hot little hands were gripping Marigold’s shoulders. But it was too late. Even though Marigold wanted to tell Mom more about her plans and how it finally felt like destiny was on her side, she had already tasted a delicious spoonful of sleep, and all she wanted was another.
44. The Search for Gus
The next day Zinnie decided that she couldn’t put off finding Gus any longer. It was getting clearer with each rehearsal in the dance studio how much she needed him. After breakfast she asked Marigold, who they’d practically had to carry to bed last night after she’d fallen asleep in the pear orchard, if she would ask Peter to be Gus. If she’d convinced him to do the talent show by sailing a boat, maybe she could sail a bigger boat to get him to play Gus. But Marigold said “no way.” Not only had she barely survived the first bet, she said, but she had lines to memorize. Zinnie was on her own for this one.
As Zinnie headed to the yacht club, she reminded herself that at least she wasn’t going to have to give up her life’s savings anymore. Last night, on the phone, Mom had said that she had talked about it with Dad, and they didn’t think it was right that Zinnie should have to give up her entire envelope of cash for a talent show prize. They’d decided they would make a hundred-dollar donation to cover the cost of the prize. After all, Zinnie had shown great initiative and imagination in getting this talent show off the ground. She certainly didn’t deserve to be punished for it.
Zinnie found Peter in the yacht club dining room, folding napkins for the lunch crowd. Zinnie begged him to play Gus, even offering to take over his napkin-folding duties until she left for California, but he said he was already going to embarrass himself enough by singing “Rocky Raccoon” in front of the whole town. The last thing he needed was to humiliate himself completely by portraying a chicken. “Some of us actually go to school here,” he said.
“Do you know anyone who would do it?” Zinnie asked.
“Hey, Victor,” Peter called to a teenager setting the tables. Then he leaned closer to Zinnie and whispered, “Victor’s kind of crazy.”
“Yeah?” Victor asked, looking up. “What’s up?”
“My friend here wants to know if you’d dance around in a chicken suit in front of the whole town at the casino,” Peter said.
“Is this a bet?” Victor asked, his eyes lighting up. “How much are you going to pay me if I do it?”
“It’s for that talent show,” Peter said.
“There’s no payment,” Zinnie said. “But if our play wins first place, there’s a hundred-dollar prize. Only thing is that you’d have to split it with my sisters and Miss Melody’s modern dance class.”
“That’s a lot of splitting,” Victor said.
“You could have my share, too,” Zinnie said.
Victor considered this. “I’ll do it for five hundred,” he said. “No, make it a thousand.”
“I can’t pay a thousand dollars!” Zinnie said.
“If you want me to dance in front of the town in a chicken suit, that’s what it’s going to cost you,” Victor said.
Zinnie slumped in her chair and rubbed her eyes as Victor went back to his table-setting duties.
“You’re not crying, are you?” Peter asked.
“No,” Zinnie said. “I’m just frustrated.”
“Hold on,” Peter said. He went into the kitchen to get her a ginger ale, uncapped the small bottle, and placed it in front of her. He continued folding his napkins and asked her a lot of questions about Marigold, like if she ever read comic books and whether or not she liked the Beatles.
That afternoon, after another Gus-less rehearsal, Zinnie and Marigold went to the town beach. It was more crowded than usual. The heat wave hadn’t broken yet, so they made a beeline for the water, where they stayed for most of the afternoon, playing Marco Polo with Kara and Tara. Zinnie asked the twins if either one of them would play Gus, but no luck. Then she stopped by the snack bar to ask Ashley if she would consider the role. “You want me to play a dancing chicken?” Ashley asked, nearly choking on
her Hot ’n’ Zesty Cheez Chips.
Zinnie nodded. “No one believes me, but it’s the best role in the play. Trust me, you’re going to get a lot of laughs.”
“Do I have a sign across my head that says ‘raving lunatic’?” Ashley asked, pointing to her forehead with a finger that was orange with artificial cheese dust.
“Uh . . . no,” Zinnie said.
“Hello, that’s your answer,” Ashley said in a way that left no room for argument. “Didn’t I tell you on like the first day I met you that I was looking for a boyfriend?”
As she bought an ice pop and walked back to her towel, Zinnie began to wonder: Should she make Gus not a chicken? Should she make him a brave lion instead? A surfer dude? A handsome prince? Should she cross out the lines about hip-hop and belly dancing so no one had to embarrass themselves? But no, she thought. She didn’t want to do that. Gus was a chicken and he loved to dance and that was that!
That evening she decided to ask the tree. In fact, she decided to ask all the trees around Aunt Sunny’s. She started with the big beech tree, moved on to the pear orchard, and finished with the maple at the end of the driveway, but not one of them had an answer.
45. Guess Who’s Gus
It wasn’t until three days before the show, on the afternoon that the heat wave broke in a downpour, that it was finally decided who would play Gus. Zinnie, Marigold, Lily, and Aunt Sunny were at the church thrift store, searching for costumes. Aunt Sunny’s attic hadn’t turned up anything in the way of costumes except for the scarves.
The clothes section at the church thrift store was arranged by color. Zinnie was looking in the black section, where she’d found a pair of pants and a T-shirt that would work for her costume as the narrator. Zinnie had discovered in rehearsals at Miss Melody’s studio that she was a good narrator because she was a natural at what Mr. Herrera called reading with expression. And her all-black narrator costume was the easiest one to find. It had taken her a total of five minutes to locate her wardrobe. Her sisters’ costumes would be more challenging. Right now Lily was wearing a pink-sequined tutu she’d found, which was two sizes too big. Marigold had just plucked a dress from a crowded clothes rack. It was light blue with a knee-length skirt made from layers of soft fabric.
“This should be my costume,” Marigold said, holding it up against her body and staring at herself in the full-length mirror. “It’s blue, and it looks like a fairy dress.”
“It is elegant,” Aunt Sunny said, examining the cornflower confection. “It must be from the nineteen fifties. And it’s handmade, too. Someone put a lot of work into this little number.” She ran her hands along the sides. “Such craftsmanship on this bodice. And this chiffon is just lovely for twirling.”
Marigold twirled and gasped at how perfectly the dress floated around her. “Zinnie, it’s perfect. It’s like something a movie star would wear on Oscar night if she wanted to go retro! I mean, if she had the right jewelry. It’s missing a certain bling.”
“We can fix that,” Aunt Sunny said, and checked the price. “And it’s only ten bucks.” Aunt Sunny pinched the waist of the dress. “I can take it in a bit here. Maybe lift up the straps. Oh, it will be charming!”
“You look like a princess!” Lily said, and clapped her hands. Lily had unearthed a bright yellow sweater that had shoulder pads and was covered with sequins and feathers. It was truly the ugliest thing that Zinnie had ever seen.
“But that’s the problem,” Zinnie said, feeling very plain with her black pants. “No one will believe that Forget-Me-Not is forgettable if you’re clearly the most beautiful flower onstage. The whole point is that she’s ordinary!”
“Well, that sucks,” Marigold said, taking another long look in the mirror.
“Don’t say ‘sucks,’” Aunt Sunny said. “It’s unbecoming.”
“Hey, how about this?” Zinnie said, pulling out a denim blue dress that looked about Marigold’s size.
“Ugh. That’s nasty,” Marigold said, and curled her lip in disgust.
“Come on, Marigold. Try it on,” Zinnie said.
Marigold reluctantly handed the vintage fairy dress to Aunt Sunny and slipped behind the old shower curtain that hid the thrift store’s dressing room.
A minute later she stepped out, looking pale and grumpy, not even having bothered to zip up the side.
“I like the other one better,” Lily said. “It was much prettier.”
“It’s perfect,” Zinnie said. “You look like Forget-Me-Not.”
“I look ugly,” Marigold said.
Zinnie rolled her eyes. She hated when her sister said things like this. The words were a fork in her average-looking heart. “Marigold, it’s impossible for you to look ugly, and you know it.”
“I’m afraid your sister is right,” Aunt Sunny said. “You could wear a potato sack and still be the queen of the castle, the belle of the ball, the darling of the dance.”
“Hey!” Marigold said, the color returning to her cheeks. “Maybe I could wear the other dress to the dance!”
“Wonderful idea,” Aunt Sunny said. “I’ll get out my sewing machine tonight.”
“Can I wear this tutu in the play,” Lily asked, “if Aunt Sunny makes it smaller?”
“Sure,” Zinnie said. “But you need to lose the yellow sweater.”
“Okay,” Lily said. “You wear it instead.” She tossed the sweater to Zinnie, who sneezed from its big, dusty feathers. “Now you’re Gus.”
“Hey, she’s right,” Marigold said, laughing. “It’s perfect for Gus! You can just take a break from being the narrator, throw on the sweater, and be the chicken. Besides, you’ve played animals before. Remember when you were Wilbur in Charlotte’s Web?”
“Or the Frog in The Frog Prince?” Lily added.
They were right. Zinnie had played her share of animals, both at Miss Hadley’s and at the Ronald P. Harp studio.
“You do keep saying it’s the funniest part,” Aunt Sunny said, “and you have a terrific sense of humor.”
Zinnie looked at herself in the mirror. She had to admit that the sweater was very chickenish and that with only a few days left before the play, she had no other option.
46. Making Waves
On the afternoon of the dance, after a morning of rehearsal and a lunch of tuna sandwiches (which Lily loved because Aunt Sunny didn’t use too much mustard or too much mayonnaise), Aunt Sunny was about to send the girls to the general store. She was making her famous brownies for the dance that night, and she was out of a few essential ingredients. She was just jotting down a list of items for them to pick up when Tony appeared in the doorway, with a nervous smile on his face and a National Geographic magazine curled in his hands.
“Well, if it isn’t the four prettiest girls in Pruet,” he said. Aunt Sunny looked up from her list and smiled. Zinnie looked around. It took her a minute to figure out that he was counting Aunt Sunny as a girl, even though she was sixty years old.
“Hello, Tony,” Aunt Sunny said. “What a nice surprise.”
“I just stopped by to return this article you loaned me about tsunamis,” he said, and placed the National Geographic on the little table in the entryway.
“What’s a tsunami?” Lily asked.
“It’s a really big—” Zinnie began, but Marigold slammed a hand over her mouth.
“It’s a kind of dance,” Marigold answered. Zinnie nodded, realizing that the last thing a little girl who was scared of the ocean needed to know about was enormous, deadly waves.
“My goodness, I’d forgotten all about this,” Aunt Sunny said. “Thank you.”
“Well, I was in the neighborhood, so I figured . . .” Tony paused for a moment. He shifted his feet. “Are you coming to the dance this year, Sunny?”
“I have to,” she said. “I have three young ladies to chaperone.”
Tony smiled. “Well, that’s mighty good to hear. My band is playing, so let me know if you have any special requests. See you later!” Then he hopped in
his truck and drove away.
Aunt Sunny studied the magazine. “He borrowed this a year ago,” she said to herself. “Whatever made him return it today?”
“Duh,” Marigold said. “He wanted to make sure that you were coming to the dance tonight.”
Aunt Sunny’s face turned pink.
“He likes you,” Zinnie said, and when Aunt Sunny’s expression didn’t change, she added, “He thinks you’re a hot tamale.”
“He does?” Aunt Sunny asked.
“It’s so obvious,” Marigold said. “He wants to date you.”
“And kiss you,” Lily added. “And hug you, too!”
“Oh, well, I don’t know about that,” Aunt Sunny said, and waved them away. All three of them giggled. She handed them her list and some money. “Go on now, you’re driving me batty.”
“Is a tsunami really a dance?” Lily asked as they headed up the driveway.
“Yes,” Marigold and Zinnie said at the same time.
“What’s it look like?” Lily asked.
“Like this,” Zinnie said, and shook her behind and waved her arms as Lily and Marigold laughed and laughed.
47. The Hat Poem
Zinnie was out of breath and sweaty by the time she reached the end of the long driveway (the tsunami dance was quite a workout). That was when she saw the faded, grimy Red Sox hat perched on the mailbox with a note stuck through the hole in the back. She snatched it before her sisters could and pulled out the scrolled-up note that was tucked inside. Scrawled in boy’s handwriting across the top were the words “To Marigold from Peter.”
“Ooh-la-la,” Zinnie said. “A love letter . . . from Peter’s hat. Love is in the air!”
“Hey,” Marigold said, grabbing the note from Zinnie’s hand.
“Hats can’t write letters,” Lily said.
The Forget-Me-Not Summer Page 15
