My stomach clenched as I slid back in my seat. I didn’t want to be rude like the rest of the girls, but Lydia’s sandwich did look disgusting, and smelled even worse. It reminded me of the eggplant parmigiana Grandma Grace served us on our first night in Bennetsville. That dinner almost made me puke.
Lydia turned toward me. “Would you like to try some?”
I shook my head. “No, thanks.”
Chloe plugged her nose. “I can’t stand the smell,” she said to the girl sitting next to her. “Scoot over!”
“It’s really not so bad,” Lydia said. “And you never know if you like something until you try it—”
“Forget it.” Cassie stood up and grabbed her tray. “I think it’s time to find a new place to sit.”
“Wait for me!” Chloe said, shooting Lydia a dirty look as she picked up her lunch bag.
Lydia shrugged. “It’s better than what you’re eating—dead chicken fried and battered? No, thanks.”
Jessie narrowed her eyes. “Who invited you to sit at our table anyway?” she shot at Lydia, as the other girls rose to leave the table so quickly it was like the fire alarm had gone off. She turned to me. “You coming, Sunny?”
I glanced over at Lydia. She met my gaze for a second, long enough for me to see hurt in her eyes. Her shoulders slumped as she turned back to her ratatouille sub and took another bite. Like she didn’t care if I left or not.
But I knew better.
I glanced back at Jessie. “Come on,” she said to me.
For a whole week, I’d been sitting at a table with a boy who didn’t even notice I existed. Now I was being asked to sit with one of the most popular girls in sixth grade.
I looked at Lydia a second longer, then, before I could think about it more, I picked up my lunch and took off after Jessie, without looking back.
My stomach hurt for the rest of the day.
SUNNY’S SUPER-STUPENDOUS PLAN TO GET MOM AND DAD BACK TOGETHER
1. Tell Scott that Mom has heavy bags under her eyes from crying so much, and to please send the Eezy Breezy Sleep Mask or a pound of cucumbers. Hasn’t sent anything yet.
2. Ask Mom to send Scott a pair of suspenders. Tell her that he has already lost four pounds because he’s too sad to eat, and his jeans keep falling down. Mom laughed when I told her this. She said, “Don’t you worry. Scott knows how to take care of himself. I bet he’s living it up, eating at a different restaurant every night. Gained four pounds is probably more like it!”
3. Put up photos of Scott all over the house: on the refrigerator, on Mom’s desk, on top of Mom’s dresser, and on the bathroom mirror. Mom is too busy to notice. I asked her if she saw the photo on the bathroom mirror. She didn’t even look up from her laptop. Just said, “Mmm-hmm,” and kept right on typing.
4. Find glamorous photos of Mom and send them to Scott. Haven’t found any yet. Mom is wearing old jeans with her hair pulled back in all the photos I’ve looked at. Will have to think about this one more.
5. Send flowers to Mom from “A Secret Admirer.” This will make Scott jealous enough to change his mind about letting Mom move so far away. It made Mom start talking about old boyfriends, which was totally disgusting. And Scott just laughed about the whole thing. UGH.
6. Make a playlist of Scott’s favorite love songs—the mushier, the better! Be sure to blast it in the house and in the car every time you get in. Make a playlist of Mom’s favorite love songs and send it to Scott. Time to get started on this one.
7. Ask Mom to make Scott’s Manicotti Special. At the table, take a bite, sigh, and say, “It just doesn’t taste the same without Scott here to share it.” Mom’s too busy with classes. Grandma Grace does most of the cooking. Maybe I should cook it?
8. Ask Mom about the old days, when she and Scott first became boyfriend and girlfriend. Ask Scott the same thing. Haven’t gotten around to it yet!
9. Bake Mom’s special mint Oreo pie and send it to Scott. Put a card inside the box that says “Made for you, with love from Rebecca.” How do you send ice cream pie through the mail?
10. Ask Grandma Grace for a chore list to earn some extra money. Buy a gift certificate for Mom and Scott to a fancy Italian restaurant. Make sure it has candlelight, wine, and spaghetti for two, just like in Lady and the Tramp. Give them the gift certificate when Scott comes to visit at Christmas time (or sooner). Haven’t asked Grandma Grace yet—she doesn’t seem like the type who will actually pay me for chores.
11. Enter one of those Perfect Family contests. When Mom and Scott see the winning entry, they’ll realize how much they belong together. Not only that, but the whole family wins a trip to Disney World! Looked in Grandma Grace’s magazines but I haven’t seen any contest listings.
12. Enter the “Perfect Husband” contest. Tell all about how Scott would make a perfect husband for Mom and wait for your entry to be published, then show it to Mom. Enter the “Perfect Wife” contest and send the winning published entry to Scott. I’ve been looking for this kind of contest and all I can find is one called “The Perfect Man” or “The Perfect Woman.” The winner gets to pick the eligible bachelor or bachelorette of his choice.
TIME FOR SOME NEW IDEAS!!!
CHAPTER SIX
On September tenth, I headed to the Media Center after school for the Odyssey of the Mind tryouts. Sunny’s Super-Stupendous Plan had completely stalled. My creative thinking skills were in desperate need of a boost.
I pulled open the door to the center. Kids were crowded around three big tables. My heart dropped to my toenails.
I hesitated in the doorway, thinking back to the conversation I’d had with Scott on the phone that weekend. “I wish you could be my coach,” I’d told him. “You’re the best coach in the whole world.”
There was a long silence on the other end. Scott finally cleared his throat. His voice was a little husky when he spoke. “I wish I could be your coach, too, Sunflower. I’m sure … that your new coach will be just as good.”
“Excuse me,” someone said behind me. I turned around to see Dragon Boy. He gave me a quick smile, then made his way past me. I looked around the room for an empty seat and spotted Lydia. She looked up at me, but didn’t wave or yell out, “Sunflower!”
Not that I expected her to.
Instead of giving Lydia a chance, for the last week and a half I’d been sitting with a bunch of girls who mostly ignored me. Cassie hadn’t said a word to me yet, and the girls talked about people and things I didn’t know anything about. But Jessie always smiled and said hi when I sat down at their table as if she wanted me to be there. So I stayed.
I’m not a horrible person, I told myself every time I remembered Lydia’s face as I walked away from her. I tried to think up reasons not to blame myself for what happened. Lydia should have asked if she could sit at the table. She didn’t have to bring something smelly and she shouldn’t have made rude comments about the other girls’ food.
No matter what I told myself, though, the gnawing feeling didn’t go away. I always tried to treat people the way I wanted to be treated, and making up excuses didn’t take away from the facts. Plain and simple, I’d been mean to Lydia Applebaum.
Every day after language arts, I tried to catch up to her and apologize, but by the time I made it to the other side of the room, she was out the door and we didn’t have any other classes together. And now, here we were at the media center, both of us attempting to get a spot on the Odyssey of the Mind team.
Well, this is certainly an awkward situation, I thought as I made my way to a seat at the end of the table. A few minutes later, the librarian introduced us to the two team coaches, Coach Baker and Coach Alanah. “Up to seven members will be chosen for each team,” Mrs. Rodriguez said. “OM members from last year will be given automatic spots if they can prove themselves at tryouts. How many of you were on the team last year?”
I glanced around the room. Great. Seven hands in the air, which meant only seven spots for new team members.
“Evergreen prides itself on presenting an impressive Odyssey of the Mind team,” Mrs. Rodriguez continued. “As some of you know, both of last year’s teams made it all the way to Worlds!”
Cheers, claps, and hoots filled the room.
“We have a reputation to live up to. Anyone who makes the team must be committed to after-school practices as well as meeting on the weekends. You must be dedicated to hard work, creative expression, thinking outside the box, and most importantly—” She paused and nodded at us.
“Teamwork!” some of the kids yelled.
“Okay, Coach Baker and Coach Alanah, take it away!” She smiled at us. “Evergreen’s expecting great things from you this year.”
The coaches started with a short explanation of how students needed to prepare for the OM competition in March: Two-thirds of the score would come from preparing an eight-minute skit with scenery, costumes, and sets. One-third of the score was based on responding to a spontaneous problem, which we wouldn’t know until the competition. For tryouts, the coaches split us into groups, and the next half hour flew by as we worked on spontaneous problems: Come up with a clever name for someone working in a specific occupation. That was an easy one: Ima Reader for a bookstore owner. And animal rhymes: an antelope ate my cantaloupe.
After we’d finished the rounds of verbal problems, Coach Baker announced it was time for a hands-on problem. “You’ll work in pairs to make the longest construction between two desks using toothpicks, paper, and clay.”
Before I knew it, Coach Baker was calling out my name with Lydia’s. I’d been handed the perfect opportunity to apologize for abandoning her at the lunch table, but when I looked over, she was glaring at me.
This wasn’t going to be easy.
When the coach finished giving instructions, Lydia and I walked over to the supply table together. I was about to tell her I was sorry when she said, “They’re snobs. S-N-O-B-S. I wouldn’t waste my time with them if I were you.”
My apology melted right into my tongue. No way was I admitting that maybe she was right about them. “Jessie’s nice,” I said as I picked up a box of toothpicks. “We’re in art class together. She’s the one who asked me to sit with her that day, and I told her I would.”
“Uh-huh,” Lydia said. I followed her to a back table and we began flattening out the clay.
“It’s true,” I said. “I don’t really know the other girls, but I like Jessie.”
“Yeah, she seemed real nice when she was making fun of my lunch.”
“Oh, come on. You’ve got to admit ratatouille looks a little different from what everyone else was eating—”
“What’s wrong with being different? That’s the problem with those girls. They dress and think and act alike. Boring. Besides, I’m not sure how you can call Jessie ‘nice.’ Leaving someone at a table by herself is not nice.” From the way Lydia was staring at me I knew she wasn’t just talking about Jessie and her crowd.
I bit my lip. I was a terrible, rotten person. “Look, Lydia, about what happened—”
“Forget it,” she said, brushing off my apology before I could get the words out. “All I’m saying is, who wants to be friends with people like that anyway? Who needs them?”
I shrugged and looked down at the clay.
“Four minutes!” Coach Baker announced.
“Come on,” Lydia said. “We have to hurry.”
“I’m not the one wasting time.”
Lydia glared at me, but then she got busy. We worked in silence, somehow finding a rhythm. Our clay chain ended up being the longest in the room.
“Awesome job, girls!” Coach Baker said, giving us both high fives. “Now you can high-five each other. It’s all about teamwork, you know.”
Lydia looked down at her hands, then wiped them on her skirt before walking back to her seat. I guess she had finally gotten her chance to walk away from me.
I dropped down into my chair, trying not to think about her as the coach showed us our last problem. He held up a photo of a wedding day: a bride in a long white gown and veil, a groom in a tuxedo, the cake between them. “You have two minutes to come up with a caption for this photo. And … go!”
Everyone around me began scribbling wildly. I sat there, paralyzed. As soon as I looked at the photo, it hit me: I’d never seen Mom and Scott gazing at each other the way the bride and groom were staring at each other in the picture. Had I forgotten because it had been such a long time and things had changed between them?
“Time!” Coach Baker called out. I looked down at my blank sheet of paper. I was doomed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Odyssey of the Mind Tryouts
I think I blew the Odyssey of the Mind tryouts. I wish I was home and we could be on the same team together, like always. What do you think of sixth grade so far? How’s your new teacher?
((Hugs)) Sunny
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Re: Odyssey of the Mind Tryouts
I’m sure you did fine at the tryouts! You always come up with the greatest ideas.
Sixth grade is going to be pretty good. Mr. S isn’t old and bald! He’s always saying, “All right? Cool.” And he likes to high-five people all the time. Carmen Santelli has a crush on him! She’s already told half the girls she thinks he’s cute!
((Hugs)) Madeline
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Cukes
We didn’t get any cucumbers yet. Mom could sure use them.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Re: Cukes
The cucumbers are on the way! I picked up your favorite Kirby cukes at the farmer’s market last week. I also sent a jar of that Green Goddess salad dressing that you love.
***
“You will never believe what happened to me today,” Grandma Grace said as we sat down for dinner that night.
“What, Grandma?” Autumn asked. “Did a famous person come to your shop?”
“Famous isn’t exactly the word I’d use.” Grandma Grace turned to me. “I believe your friend’s mother paid me a visit today.”
My eyes opened wide.
“You know, the one who owns the health food store. She marched right into my shop carrying a plate full of vegan cookies.”
“That was nice of her,” Mom said.
“Did you bring home the cookies?” Autumn asked.
Grandma Grace shook her head. “I threw them in the trash.”
“Oh, come on, Mom,” my mother said. “Just because they’re vegan doesn’t mean they taste bad.”
“It had nothing to do with that. It had to do with this.” Grandma Grace got up and pulled something out of her pocketbook, then slammed it down on the table.
I reached for the pamphlet and read the words to myself silently. These babies have lost their mama. Are you wearing her on your back?
“Awww,” Autumn said. “They’re so cute. Let me see!”
I stared at the photo of the raccoon and her babies, unable to look away.
“Wow.” Mom took the pamphlet and studied it. “Looks like someone doesn’t like the fact that you’re selling furs.”
“What gives her the right?” Grandma Grace snatched the pamphlet from Mom’s hands. “If she doesn’t want to wear a fur coat, she doesn’t have to. But she has a lot of nerve sneaking her inflammatory pamphlet under a plate of so-called cookies.”
“I think it’s a pretty creative way to get her message across,” Mom said. “Did you at least take a look at it?”
“Why would I want to read a bunch of propaganda?” Grandma Grace snapped, her cheeks turning pink. “I’ve heard of these animal rights fanatics. They’re nothing but trouble. And now I have one just a few doors down from my store!”
“But—but you’re not hurting animals, a
re you, Grandma Grace?” Autumn asked.
“Of course not,” Grandma Grace said. “All I’m doing is buying coats from a supplier, coats that make people feel warm and happy.”
I swallowed over the lump in my throat. I wanted to speak up, but I couldn’t get the words out.
“Well,” Mom said, glancing at me and then back at my grandmother, “not everyone would agree with your point of view.” She cleared her throat, like she was trying to keep herself from saying something that would start an argument.
“It’s one thing to come right out and oppose my business,” Grandma Grace said. “It’s another, Rebecca, to come in posing as a friendly neighbor, and to hide this”—she waved the pamphlet in the air—“under an innocent plate of cookies!”
Mom pursed her lips. I could tell she was trying hard to keep her words inside, same as I was. She’d told me how she’d argued with my grandmother when she first announced her plans to open the store ten years ago, but their relationship was already on “strained terms.” “She wasn’t about to listen to me,” Mom had said.
I watched my mom now, the way she concentrated hard on spearing a green bean on her plate, then wiped her mouth with a napkin. If Mom and Grandma Grace had been getting along better back then, could she have convinced her to open a different shop, one that didn’t sell fur coats?
“So,” Mom said, “you think this lady, the one who came into your store, is the mother of Sunny’s new friend?”
“She’s not my friend,” I said quickly. “I mean, she’s in my language arts class, that’s all.”
“It’s certainly a coincidence,” Grandma Grace said. “This girl says her parents just opened a health food store. How many health food stores have opened in Bennetsville recently?”
“You should ask her,” Autumn said, turning to me. “Ask her if her mom’s the one who made Grandma Grace upset.”
Silence fell over the table. Grandma Grace stomped over to the trash can and tossed in the pamphlet. Then she sat down and refilled her glass of tea. After a long sip, she said, “Well, enough about that.” She waved her hand like she was trying to push Lydia and her family’s health food store right off the map. “So, girls,” she said, looking from me to Autumn. “Tell me how things are going at school.”
Call Me Sunflower Page 4
