I’m as shuttered down as the dark Daytona Beach pier.
* * *
The sun is a yellow scoop of sherbet rising over the morning waves. I wake up with it. Below, towels lay out on lounge chairs around the pool, saving places for people who probably went back to bed after sticking their towels out there.
A family swims in the pool, but the water for the twirly slide isn’t on yet. Going down would be a butt scraper. Plus, I’d be afraid of a security guard coming out if I even tried. Joggers, just a few of them, lope across the beach, but it’s otherwise more or less empty.
I turn from the windows and sigh.
Do I dare get my phone from Mom and Dad’s room? Libby won’t wake up, and Dad—he’s snoring like a bear. His low, deep snorting and gurgling rumbles through the walls and into the living room. If Mom can sleep through that, she can sleep through anything.
Padding up to their door, I roll my feet, cracking any bone that needs it because I sure don’t want anything cracking in their room. Grabbing the door handle, I turn it s-l-o-w-l-y, then creep in. My phone sits on Dad’s nightstand.
I tiptoe around the bed, trying hard not to giggle at Dad’s thunderous rumbles, then pick up my phone.
Nikki Simms: Then we had a little “visit” with Novey this morning. They talked about my grades, my absences, and my “attitude.” Your little friend Emily has a big mouth.
No, she doesn’t! She didn’t even say anything.
The rest of Nikki’s texts are more of the same, each one more bitterly blaming Emily, calling her words I would never use, and cursing her own parents.
I have no idea how to respond. Just then, Dad snorts, startling himself and waking up Mom, who narrows her eyes at me. I’m standing right there with the phone in my hand.
Mom is fully awake, pointing her hands and jerking her head as she lectures me about obedience and manners. Libby wakes up and thinks Everyone’s here! and shouts her Libby Language while prancing around in the crib. I begin to argue with Mom, and the room fills with a mishmash of accusations and interruptions until Dad slams his hands down on the bed and says, “Enough! Gimme that.” Never have I seen Dad’s mouth so angry. “I’m sick of this phone. You obviously can’t discipline yourself with it, so I will—you’re grounded from your phone for two weeks.”
My face morphs with horror. I open my mouth but he cuts me off.
“And your laptop is just for schoolwork.”
I stew on the couch while they stir in the room. Bathing suits are snapped on, breakfast is made, lotion is applied. Mom and Dad are in good moods, holding hands and laughing at Libby and her moonwalk on the sand.
Nobody but me notices that the castle walls we erected yesterday have been eroded by the tides and all that’s left is a shapeless glob of wet sand.
Chapter 26
I am miserable with my own company and my sunburnt shoulders when we get home Sunday night. Daytona Beach gave Dad and Libby caramel-colored skin. Mom is as white as ever, having spent most of her time under the umbrella or SPF 70 sunblock. If she had climbed to the roof of the hotel, moonlight would’ve reflected off her and guided ships and boats to safety.
Before I go to bed, Mom rubs aloe vera onto my back, soothing the burn I feel on the outside but not the botheration roiling on the inside. (And if you don’t think botheration is a real word, go ahead and look it up.) My pajamas sandpaper against my skin and I’m in a foul mood when I wake up for school Monday morning. Did Nikki send me more texts? Did Emily practice her flute? Did that one girl whose name I can’t remember study for the algebra test she was so worried about? I don’t know the answer to any of these questions because I’m grounded from my phone.
When I swish into my seat first period, Emily smiles her little smile. Well, sure, of course she would. Everything is normal for her; her phone didn’t bubble over with molten trouble this weekend. She’s so lucky. I sprinted across campus clutching my backpack as if it were a blankie or a shield, but Emily DeCamp is walking around without a care in this world.
“Do you even know what happened after you showed Mrs. Weston my phone last week?” I blurt, interrupting her good mood talk about writing photo captions for the yearbook.
For once, her hair isn’t blocking her face, but something seems to shut down around her and divide us. She says, “I didn’t show her your phone—that was an accident. You know; you were there.”
“Whatever.” A slice of hurt cuts through Emily’s gaze, but I dismiss it. “Nikki got in big trouble and it wouldn’t have happened if Mrs. Weston didn’t see my e-mail.”
“It wouldn’t have happened if Nikki hadn’t skipped.”
“It’s not like she hurt anyone or committed a crime.”
“Truancy is a crime, punishable by juvenile court.” Emily speaks like a brainwashed citizen.
“Juvie! If you knew that, why did you leave my messages open? Why didn’t you give my phone back? I had the rottenest weekend and now I’m grounded from my phone for two weeks and I’m only allowed to do schoolwork on my laptop.”
“Girls.” Ms. Reilly appears between us. I’d been so focused on getting across the seriousness of what happened to Nikki, I didn’t notice what was happening right around me. “I’m teaching. You’re talking. Since I’m not going to stop, you’re going to have to. Jacob?” She waggles her fingers at him. “Trade places with Hailee.”
Stunned, I don’t move.
Ms. Reilly raps my desk. “Now.”
Emily and I sit in separate hemispheres.
At lunch, Emily focuses on her food. Cyndi sits next to her. Yeah, that’s right—I called her Cyndi. Emily does a pretty good job of pretending I’m invisible. I think she’s mad at me for being mad at her. I gobble down my peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich and tell them I have to go; I can’t think of a good excuse, so I just hurry up, get out of there, and go to the library. Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs describes my mood exactly.
People all the time browse through the books, pull one out, then decide they’re not interested in it. You’d think they’d put the book back where they got it, right? I mean, the empty space is right there like a missing baby tooth. But no, they just stick the book anywhere, or they leave it sitting, unfiled. It’s a good thing I stopped by.
I’m putting books into their proper places when Nikki meanders into the library, spots me, and makes a beeline for my location.
“I’ve been looking for you all day,” she says.
Usually, people wait until after school to beat other people up.
“Did you get my texts?” she asks. Before I can answer, she melts like butter onto a seat. “Did you read my last one?” I shake my head. She goes, “I asked you to delete all the texts I sent you about Emily. I don’t want anyone else reading them, okay?”
The stress of the whole weekend drains from me like dirty bathwater. My bones go as soft as the taffy I saw being pulled in a storefront on Daytona Beach. Nikki Simms is still talking to me and she wants to forget the whole thing. If Dad hadn’t taken away my phone, I would’ve read Nikki’s last message. I would’ve been able to enjoy Daytona Beach.
Relief pulls out a chair for me, and I drop into it beside Nikki. “You wouldn’t believe what my dad did,” I say and then tell her the whole story of him staging a cell-phone intervention and grounding me from the phone and my laptop (because being able to do schoolwork on it doesn’t count as being able to actually use it).
“So Emily got us both in trouble. That sucks.” Blue eyes glitter under narrowed lids. “That really sucks. Anyway, forget about her. Alexis and I were talking about having a sleepover, but she can’t do it at her house because her parents are going out, and I can’t do it at my house because Jordan’s having friends over, so I thought we could do it at your house. Do you want to?”
Does the library have books? Is the ocean salty? Does Mickey Mouse have two big ears? “Yes!” I say. Then I think of Nikki’s white pillared house with its marble floors and whispering garden fountain. My house is a sh
ack compared to hers. Shame and embarrassment tumble out of my mouth. “My house isn’t very nice.” I feel disloyal, but it’s true. “We need new furniture—some of it’s kind of old.” Because it’s from garage sales. “My mom hasn’t really had time to decorate because of Libby.” Blame it on Libby.
“Don’t worry about it,” Nikki says. She means it. “Will your mom say yes?”
I adopt her cool demeanor. “Definitely.”
“Excellent.” She eyes the nearby bookcase that houses Staff Selections. Her eyes flick to the display; then she reaches over and touches The Outsiders—my pick. “Cool. I’ve read this book.”
Sleepover and The Outsiders—can this day get any better? I don’t think so. I wish I could post about this on Facebook.
Later, when I see Nikki in history class, she says hi first. As I wade through the desks to my seat, it dawns on me that other girls pull their feet in as I pass. They’ve been doing that in other classes, too, and in the hallway. One girl picks up her messenger bag and glances at me like a dog wanting to be petted.
Rainbows radiate in the classroom and I swear I hear angels sing. I have reached the inner circle. I am a sidekick—Nikki’s sidekick. That means I get some of the benefits of being popular, like people moving for me, smiling at me, and probably even talking about me, like, Hey, you should read The Outsiders—Hailee Richardson picked it out.
Remember when I said this day couldn’t get any better? Boy, I was wrong!
After she calls roll, Mrs. Fuller talks about the upcoming field trip to St. Augustine. I try to concentrate, but my mind races with sleepover anticipation. Mrs. Fuller tells us to write down what she’s saying because paper and pencil never forget.
Good point. Clicking my mechanical pencil, I start my notes.
SLEEPOVER!
Food: Root beer, potato chips, popcorn, nachos, chocolate ice cream. For breakfast, doughnuts.
Games: Light as a Feather, scavenger hunt, penny pitch, Bloody Mary.
Movies:
Mom and Dad only let me watch PG movies. Too embarrassing. I cross out movies. I’m not sure about the games, either, but I leave them for now.
* * *
Mom and Dad say yes to the sleepover and all the stuff on my list. I thought they’d say no way, but Dad said it’s about time I started hanging around with people instead of my phone.
The school week drags along with a ball and chain attached to each day. Emily has civics instead of history, so she doesn’t get to go on the field trip. I don’t mention the sleepover to her, which makes me feel bad because I had a good time at hers, but Emily wouldn’t mix well with Nikki or Alexis. Especially not now.
Neither would Amanda. Nikki is smooth and cool like an outlaw, and Amanda’s completing good deeds for the Compass Club. It’s kind of embarrassing.
Tuesday afternoon, Amanda calls on the house phone. I take it into my room and sit on the floor. She asks, “What’s wrong with your cell?”
“Nothing,” I say, then explain the hard, long story of my chastisement.
“Oh.” She’s probably pouting on my behalf. “Well, you are kind of always on your phone.”
What? She’s supposed to be on my side. “Amanda, you don’t have a smart phone and you’re not on Facebook. If you were, you’d understand.”
“Well, I don’t need a smart phone to understand when someone’s being rude.”
“Neither do I, Miss I-Can’t-Take-My-Eyes-Off-Tanner-Law. Were you even going to tell me he was your boyfriend?” I cross my arms. She can’t see me, but I send indignant waves through the phone line.
“It just happened! I swear, that was the first time he’d been to my house.”
“What about Compass Club? I was supposed to help you with that.”
“Like you helped me before? You abandoned me.” Icicles hang from each of her words. “Tanner wants to help. He’s not going to take off just because someone pulls up in a convertible.”
Well! “You said you wished you’d come!” I’m like an elephant—I remember everything.
“That doesn’t matter. You dumped me!”
“I was gone only a few minutes!”
“You would’ve done whatever Nikki asked, just like giving her the quiz answers. She’s got you wrapped around her finger.”
My mouth opens in silent protest. “That’s not true. You don’t like her because she’s cool and pretty.”
Pause.
Amanda says, “You know what? You think you’re all that now. You act like you’re so important with your phone and your Facebook. No one cares that you won the lottery; no one even talks about it anymore. You’re just the same old Hailee—or, no, no—I wish you were the same old Hailee because then you wouldn’t be so stuck-up.”
“Well, just so you know, I don’t care what happens at Palm Middle. I love Magnolia. And I’m glad I’m not the old Hailee because the old Hailee would care about what you just said and I don’t.”
I go on. “Oh, and guess what? I’m having a sleepover and you’re not invited because you’re not a Magnolia girl.”
“I wouldn’t come anyway.”
Then I say the meanest thing I can think of. “You’re just a witch with a B.”
Air rushes over the earpiece as Amanda gasps on her end. All my steam escapes, and I shrink against my bed.
“Amanda?” My voice is tiny.
My ear is still pressed against the handset when I hear the click, then the dial tone. I am disconnected.
Chapter 27
I feel heavy as a rock and stiff as a board alone in my own backyard after the call with Amanda. I pace over our scribble-scrabble grass, then lean against my maple. The trunk rises tall and straight and explodes all the way up in green pointy leaves.
I ramble around in the garage. It’s hard to remember what I used to do before we won the lottery. The old boy bike is keeping company with the garbage cans. I shove the trash aside and pull the bike through. The thin rubber tires flub over the ground. Neglect has let the air out. It pangs my heart to see this hardworking bike in such condition. Furthermore, no one should’ve put it with the garbage without asking me. It’s my bike.
Sticky cobwebs trail from its handlebars like streamers. I grab one of Dad’s shop rags and brush the debris from the bike. I straighten the front wheel. I pump the tires so they go from floppy as an old man’s gut to fat as fresh-baked doughnuts. The seat fits my butt like it’s been saving my place.
My new bike will understand.
I rasp down the driveway and around the neighborhood in the direction opposite of Emily’s, which is also opposite of Amanda’s. Little kids shriek and play in a front-yard sprinkler while their mom weeds. A calico cat watches me go by, only his eyes moving. An old man shuffles down the sidewalk, waves, and smiles. He waves and smiles three more times because that’s how many laps I do around the block before I turn back to my own garage.
Up in my room, I flop onto my bed and cover my eyes with my arm.
* * *
“Getting excited for your party?” Mom asks Friday when she picks me up from school. She smiles into the rearview mirror. She likes the idea of me having a bunch of Magnolia friends.
“Yeah,” I say. It’s the best I can do. I mean, I am excited about my party, but whenever I get too happy about it, thoughts of Amanda pinprick my brain. She hasn’t answered my calls. At first, it bothered me; then I checked my mental notes and decided she said some pretty mean things herself.
So I showed her.
I stopped calling.
As Mom and I unload the groceries, I picture Nikki, Alexis, and me eating them. Laughing at the TV with popcorn. Whispering secrets in hot-chocolate breaths. Giggling over breakfast in the morning because we stayed up all night long.
When the doorbell rings after supper, I race from the kitchen to be the one who answers the door. “Hi, Nikki!” I bark. If I had a tail, it would be wagging. I grab her sleeping bag, then my eyes fall on her mother. She’s beautiful. I know I’m staring, but
I can’t stop myself.
Mom comes up behind me, introduces herself, and shakes Mrs. Simms’s hand.
“Please, just call me Mimi,” Mrs. Simms tells Mom. Somehow, I’d imagined her voice would sound as thin and tight as a wire hanger, but it’s sunny, like those tennis outfits she wears. She does that chitchat thing grownups do, and though I can tell Mom is a little nervous, she does okay.
Nikki Simms is in my house!
“Let’s go upstairs,” I say, but before we turn around, Nikki’s mother makes a throat-clearing sound. So here it is. I ready myself to see the dragon lady in action.
“C’mere,” Mrs. Simms says, gesturing with her hand.
Nikki lowers her head. She trudges toward her mom as if being dragged by heavy chains. Mrs. Simms gives her a quick hug, then says, “Have a good time!” She chucks Nikki under the chin. “Don’t stay up too late.”
“We will!” I say and she laughs, which makes me feel good. When the door closes, I wonder what I missed—Nikki makes her mom sound evil, but Mrs. Simms is nice.
We’ve just gotten up the stairs when the doorbell rings with Alexis’s arrival. I shout like Nikki does and we run down the stairs, but secretly, I was hoping to have Nikki to myself for a while.
After we put Alexis’s stuff up, we hang around the house. Neither of them have baby sisters, so they play with Libby like Libby plays with Hannah, and it’s all fun and games until Libby’s diaper lets out a powerful stink.
Alexis recoils. “That’s disgusting!”
“She’s just a baby,” I shoot back. Everyone poops.
Alexis makes a gagging motion, moves to the other side of the living room, and flounces onto the couch. Thinking this is a game, Libby starts to toddle her way.
“No!” Alexis draws her legs up. “Oh, my God. Please take her away.”
Nikki laughs. “Hey, you wore a diaper once.”
I cast a grateful glance to Nikki. Swooping up Libby and her squishy diaper, I whisk her into the kitchen, where Mom and Dad are drinking coffee and talking. “Please, Mom, could you change her? I have to get back to my party.”
A Whole Lot of Lucky Page 16
