Smart Cookie

by Elly Swartz

“I thought it was a normal thing to do. Get assigned to work with someone. Can’t reach that person. Stop by her house.”

  “Well, don’t do it again.”

  My sad feelings for her are officially dead and buried. “Is that why you called me three times?”

  “I called you three times to tell you that my life is none of your business. The fourth time I called to tell you to keep your mouth shut.”

  I glance at my phone and see another missed call from her. “Got it. I won’t come to your house, and I won’t say anything about it.”

  “I’m not talking about my house.”

  “Then what?”

  “My dad. I’m talking about my dad.”

  I look up from my phone and lock eyes with Jessica.

  “I saw you,” Jessica says.

  I feel heat rise from the bottoms of my feet, the ones Dad says are always dirty. My throat feels dry and sticky.

  She knows.

  “I’m really sorry,” is all I can think to say.

  She gives me a long, cold stare. “Don’t pity me. You’re the one following me around. Don’t you have friends?”

  The insult hangs in the air with my humiliation and embarrassment.

  Defenseless, I open my laptop to the blank Shakespeare document like my brain is working. Which it isn’t. I pray Mr. Bearson has some kind of English teacher emergency and lets us out early. Which he doesn’t.

  Then Jessica slips me a piece of torn paper with unicorn doodles down the right side. In the middle of the sheet are lyrics … a rap, I think. About Macbeth.

  Three witches tell the tale, turn courage to greed.

  Ascend, Cawdor, then King, oh thee.

  It’s yours, Macbeth. The crown, the castle with speed.

  The prophecy is meant to be.

  Hail Macbeth for his triumph, King Duncan cries.

  He shall be Thane of Cawdor now.

  Story realized, seeds of darkness and lies.

  Macbeth nor the Lady will bow.

  Witches prophecy fuels the greed. Feeds the crazy.

  Ends in red and daggers. All hail the king.

  King Duncan to Castle Inverness tonight.

  Dance, drink, and walk the greedy halls.

  The crowned celebrates, wholly blind to the fight.

  King’s dead. Murder stains the white walls.

  Witches prophecy fuels the greed. Feeds the crazy.

  Ends in red and daggers. All hail the king.

  Remove the sons, kill the guards, Macbeth is King.

  The witches’ prophecy comes true.

  Scorched the snake, Banquo must die, Macbeth will sing

  Witches assemble, plan anew.

  Help is too late. Macbeth’s crazy has grown.

  Lady Macbeth is dead.

  Woods move in cloak of branches, crown on loan.

  Witches prophecy fuels the greed. Feeds the crazy.

  Ends in red and daggers. All hail the king.

  Macbeth and his Lady now colored in red.

  Greed, scorn, and treachery, and hate.

  Crown returned and witches’ tale dead.

  Story ends, prophecy of fate.

  I read it over. Twice. It’s weird, but Reggie kind of reminds me of Macbeth. I bet if there was Halloween back then, Macbeth never gave out candy, either.

  Jessica’s gum snaps in her mouth.

  I look up from the rap. “This is really good,”

  “I know.” Pause. “I mean, thanks.” Her angry voice is slipping.

  We spend the rest of the period not talking about her dad or her mom or Gram or ghosts. We chew Bazooka gum, compliments of the tub the Rubin family donated to the B&B, talk about Macbeth, the verses, the chorus, and the beat. And slowly things begin to shift. Away from the ugliness to something else, something that reminds me of a long time ago.

  “I’m not rapping this out loud in front of the entire class,” Jessica says, tapping her newly polished blue fingernails on the desk.

  “We have to. Part of the project is presentation. And if our project is a rap, we have to rap.” I bang out a beat on the desk. A few eyes look our way. Heads bob. “It’s going to be great.”

  “You rap; I’ll make the posters,” she says as she clamps her hands down over mine to stifle the music.

  “We’ll rap and we’ll make the posters,” I say as Mr. Bearson tells us to finish up.

  The rest of the day, the rap sticks in my head. The count is almost perfect, but the beat’s off in the second verse. I play with the words between working on the beagle puzzle. After filling in the last piece of the second puppy, I look at the sheet and read the new verse aloud.

  Hail Macbeth for bravery, King Duncan cries.

  He shall be Thane of Cawdor now.

  Prophecy realized, seeds of darkness and lies

  Macbeth nor the Lady will bow.

  It works. I switch to the cookies. It’s Gram’s day, but she hasn’t come back from the senior center. I decide to make Mom’s cookies again. The smell of oatmeal mixed with peanut butter and chocolate snakes through the kitchen.

  Dad comes in with his serious eyebrows. “The Florences canceled. Said there was some kind of work emergency.”

  “Oh, sorry. You okay?”

  He nods.

  I offer him a gooey cookie or some of the leftover batter. He takes a spoonful of batter.

  “Well, I guess that means we’ll have extra cookies.” Gram always says, “Stay on the bright side of things, Frankie.” But, I’m not sure it’s really working.

  “True.” Dad gives his best fake smile. By now I know the difference. We eat the rest of the batter as silence fills the kitchen.

  Finally, I say, “Don’t be mad at Gram.”

  “I was just frustrated.”

  “But it’s her stuff. And she needs it,” I say, swiping my finger across the bottom of the bowl to grab the last batter bits.

  “It’s okay for us to disagree, Francine. I love you and I love Gram, but sometimes we’re going to think differently. That’s not a bad thing.”

  “When you’re threatening to throw out her stuff, important stuff, it feels like a bad thing.”

  “Well, we may have different definitions of important stuff.”

  He kisses my forehead, grabs two gooey cookies, and says he has to run to Annie’s to work on the roof for a while.

  Dear Mom,

  I know Dad thinks Gram’s stuff is all junk, but I don’t. She just likes to keep things close. Like the letter you kept by your bed. And this photograph of you in a yellow dress. I’d never seen it before. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. If there were teams, I’d be #TeamGram. Just saying.

  I also need to confess that I’m a terrible spy. Not sure why Elliot thinks I can pull off a sort-of break-in when I can’t even follow Jessica for two blocks without her knowing.

  Did you see me following her? Did you know her dad had a whole other family? I wonder about this a lot. Can you see me? Hear me? If you can, will you help me? Everything feels so complicated now. Like runny watercolors. Like I can almost see what’s going on but not really. Why can’t it be like when I was four and you were here and we were a family? That I understood.

  Wish my life was normal, but it isn’t and Dad needs my help. I’m his person. I promise, I’ll fix things.

  Love you,

  Francine

  P.S. Don’t tell Dad about #TeamGram. That’s just between us. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

  Before I can share the letter with Winston, my phone buzzes. It’s Possible #3. “I’ll read it to you later, buddy,” I tell Winston, then close my butterfly book, and pull up #3’s profile. Kind eyes, no kids, likes to draw and hike. Possibly promising. In my closet, I take out the countdown calendar and wrap myself in the afghan Mrs. Rudabaker crocheted me last winter to keep my no-shoes-colored-toenails feet warm. Only thirty-four days left until the parade. Possible #3, Naomi, can come by Wednesday after school. Perfect.

  Another message. I assume it�
��s Naomi, but it’s Jessica. She wants to meet. Not at her house or mine. We settle on the library and agree not to talk about anything but the project. Before I head out, I toss Winston some almonds and grab the trash from all the rooms. Fewer guests equals fewer trash bags. Sadly, this doesn’t make me happy. It does, however, make me smell less like leftover meat loaf.

  I pull my fleece hat over my ears as I walk down Main Street. The wind has picked up, and I’m convinced the cold air creeps into my body through my ears. The sky is dark blue, so everything is in silhouette. Even Rue and Toledo, the Lawrences’ dogs, look like cutouts. I pick up my pace, hoping to warm my insides. It’s not really working.

  Then I see her.

  Annie standing on the corner of Main and Woodside talking to someone I don’t recognize. I want to run over and tell her about the picture of Mom. I cough and hope she turns around. If she does, I’ll wave and walk over. But she doesn’t.

  When I get to the library, Elliot’s sitting at our table. I wedge into the seat next to him and hand him a crunchy cookie. We play Word Play while I wait for Jessica to arrive. “Possible number three comes tomorrow.” I pull up Naomi’s profile and show it to Elliot as he takes another cookie.

  A burst of cold air whips through the library as the door opens and Jessica walks in. I quickly close the profile.

  “What’s all that about?” she asks.

  “Word Play,” I say, getting up.

  Thankfully, she lets it go. We move to a room in the back. If we’re going to practice the rap, we need space. And a door. I show her the changes I’ve made to the lyrics. We practice the rap for a while. We talk about Macbeth and the witches and wonder what they’d say about us. When we can’t come up with anything that doesn’t end in death, we talk about what the costumes should look like. The only thing we decide on are the bloodstained hands. To choose who will play Lady and who will be Macbeth, we break a pencil in two and the one who picks the biggest half will be Macbeth.

  “Looks like I’ll be wearing the crown,” Jessica says post–pencil grab. “And I’ll rap.”

  Together.

  With me.

  For the next hour, we rap Macbeth and laugh like we used to when we were friends. Maybe the Ice Queen is melting.

  Then she asks me for a favor.

  I stare at her, wondering why she thinks I’m the person she should be asking for help.

  “It’s my mom’s birthday.” Long awkward pause. “I don’t usually do the whole present thing, but Leila really wants us to have a real celebration with a cake and a gift.” She stares at the radiator on the right side of the wall while she talks.

  “I’m pretty sure moms like everything. It can’t be that hard.” I start to get up. “Besides we agreed. No talking about anything except Shakespeare.”

  “I know, but this is different. We’re not really talking about that other stuff. I just need help. I’m not good at this kind of thing,” she says.

  “Yeah, but I have absolutely no experience,” I remind her. “Why me?”

  “Look, it’s not that I don’t have other friends. I’m not some pathetic loser.”

  Good to know.

  “But you and I … we have a past.”

  “Didn’t feel that way at your house on Saturday.”

  She ignores my comment. “You knew my mom when she made breakfast and helped with homework and acted like a real mom.”

  Okay, so we are talking about that other stuff.

  “Besides, you owe me,” she continues.

  “Owe you?”

  “For spying on me.” Her stare hits the floor.

  “I don’t owe you anything.” I check my watch. “But I’ll help you anyway.”

  I wait for her to say thanks, but she doesn’t.

  “There’s a cool store at the corner of Lake Drive and Hammond Way between the library and home. I got Gram crystal earrings there for Mother’s Day last year.”

  I text Dad that I’ll be a little late. On the way out, Elliot shoots me a why-are-you-leaving-with-the-Ice-Queen look. I motion that I’ll call him later.

  When we step outside, the midnight-blue sky has turned black. It takes us five minutes to get to Nina’s Collection. Jessica picks up a turquoise-blue scarf. “What do you think?”

  “That’s nice.”

  She shows me a frame that says FAMILY across the top. I give her a weak smile and hold up a charm bracelet. “Do you like this?”

  She turns it over in her hand. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s got a paintbrush, ballet slippers, and pencil.” I think it’s perfect. Jessica draws, Leila dances, and her mom’s an artist. Or at least she used to be.

  Jessica glances at the price tag and says, “I don’t think my mom would wear it.”

  The cashier looks up from her phone, fingers her huge silver hoops, and says, “It’s on sale. Fifteen percent off.”

  I smile. Then Hoops says, “I know you. You live at that B&B, right?”

  I nod.

  “Heard that place is haunted. You see anything weird over there?” she wants to know.

  My insides tumble as I shake my head. There’s a chance I’m going to throw up.

  I look over at Jessica, who, thankfully, put her earbuds in. I trail behind her as she touches almost every item in the store. Vase. Candlesticks. Pins. Perfume. Mittens. Tote. Finally, she says, “I don’t see anything in here. Let’s go.”

  “Sorry we didn’t find a gift,” I tell her as we walk outside. “You and Leila can always make your mom something.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” she says.

  We’re halfway down the block when Hoops runs after us. “Hey, hey! You have to pay for that!”

  I spin around. “For what?” I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “You girls took that charm bracelet. You can’t just walk out with it. You have to pay for it.”

  “We didn’t walk out with anything,” I say. There are so many reasons why I’m never going into that store again.

  Jessica says nothing.

  “I need you to empty your pockets,” Hoops says.

  Jessica takes everything out of her jeans. Two pieces of raspberry bubble gum and a house key.

  I turn out my jacket pockets.

  The charm bracelet falls onto the pavement.

  I stare at the bracelet. Shock pierces my body. Hoops marches over and picks it off the sidewalk. She points her newly manicured finger in my face. “I should call the police.” She grabs her cell phone out of the pocket of her too-tight jeans. It takes a slow minute.

  Jessica places her manicured hand on Hoops’s arm. “Oh, please don’t. My friend didn’t mean to take it. I swear.”

  “Let me guess. It was the ghost,” Hoops says, staring at me.

  I say nothing. My brain races. Mad flushes through my veins and stifles any coherent thought.

  Jessica whispers, “She’s got a problem and is getting help. This was her first shopping outing in a long time. I guess it was too soon. We’re truly sorry.”

  What? I can’t believe the story she’s weaving about me. I’m now apparently a recovering kleptomaniac.

  Hoops tucks her phone back into her pocket, so at least I won’t have to face the police. “I don’t want to see you girls in the store ever again.” She turns away, her black boots smacking the pavement as she goes.

  I storm down the street away from Jessica. My jaw throbs from clenching my teeth. Why did I believe her? I’m such an idiot. Every word out of her mouth is a lie.

  Jessica catches up to me. “Don’t be mad. The clerk was texting the whole time we were in the store. I never thought we’d get caught.”

  “Make a card for your mom and leave me alone.”

  “You have to believe me.”

  I stop and stare at her dripping with lies. “I don’t have to believe you. You used me. You said you wanted my help. You lied. You stole that jewelry and put it in my pocket! My pocket!”

  “Leila wants a birthday party like we used
to have when we were family. I panicked when I saw how expensive everything was.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not.”

  “If you really thought you wouldn’t get caught, then why didn’t you put the bracelet in your own pocket?”

  Silence.

  * * *

  At school, I avoid Jessica like the bubonic plague. They’re both painful and toxic. I tell her to practice. Alone. After school, I head to the senior center. The shades are closed in the reading room and Gram’s sleeping. I realize that Mills is the place for random nappers. On the way in, I passed JJ sound asleep in the hall. Gram’s snoring. I water the plants in the room, draw her another picture of a dragonfly, and then sit with her.

  “So, Gram, you’re never going to believe what’s going on.” I proceed to tell Sleeping Gram everything that’s happened with Jessica, the ghost, and Dad. “I’m a bit worried about him,” I tell her. “Business is slow. Don’t ask how I know that. It has to do with mini hot dogs, a toothpick, and burger grease. Plus, he’s doing that thing with his jaw again. I know you know what I’m talking about.”

  I take a breath to see if she’s still sleeping. If she’s not, I need to stop talking.

  Snore.

  “Okay, here’s the other thing. If I’m being completely-spill-the-beans honest, I’m kind of trying to get Dad a new wife. Now before you tell me I shouldn’t stick my nose in anyone else’s business, I really think he needs to do something other than fix toilets and repaint and cook.”

  Knock. Knock.

  Mabel pokes her head in. “Hey, want to play cards until Sleeping Beauty wakes up?”

  I grab Gram’s deck and follow Mabel to the room down the hall. Barney, Ida, Rachel, and José are playing bridge in the corner.

  Mabel leans into me real close. “That Ida’s a cheater.” I laugh as she takes off her red velour zip jacket and deals us each seven cards.

  I organize my cards and hope I can win at least one game. “So what’s going on with Gram?”

  Mabel looks at me and says nothing.

  “You can tell me this stuff. I mean, I’m her granddaughter. And even though I’m eleven, Dad says I’m mature for my age.” I discard the six of clubs and slide the two of hearts into my hand next to the three of hearts.