I shrugged and looked down at the giftwrap scattered across the table. “Just wanted to, I guess.”
“Well, it’s really nice to have a family album.” Mom squeezed my hand. “I will always treasure it.”
“Scott will love it, too,” Autumn said, and then she opened his card again. “And listen!” She giggled. “Now it’s like he’s right here celebrating with us.”
I listened as his voice filled the room, making me feel empty inside. I’d worked on my special gift for weeks and it didn’t matter anymore. Scott was singing “You’ve Got a Friend” to Mom from miles away, and Mom seemed perfectly happy about the situation.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Snowstorm!
It started snowing on Halloween, but we went trick-or-treating anyway! This year I took a pillowcase instead of my pumpkin bag, and I filled it all the way up to the top!
Here’s a picture of me and Emma dressed as witches.
Hope you had fun, too!
***
I should have written back to Madeline right away. Instead, I hit DELETE without responding. It was the first year I’d gone trick-or-treating without her. From the picture she’d sent, it didn’t seem like she’d noticed. I tagged along with Autumn and her new friend, Hallie. Nothing had felt right about the evening except that I ended up with a bag full of candy.
Jessie had gone trick-or-treating with Chloe, Meghan, and Cassie. They talked about it at lunch, right in front of me. Jessie wasn’t being mean or anything. She just didn’t think about including me since she’d already made plans with her other friends. After all, they’d been trick-or-treating together for years.
Besides, she probably guessed that I didn’t feel that comfortable hanging out with the other girls. She knew I didn’t fit in with her crowd, and wouldn’t fit in with her new cheerleading friends either, now that she’d made the team.
I let that miserable “I don’t fit in anywhere” feeling settle over me for a few minutes. By the time it made its way to the pit of my stomach, I’d pulled out the notebook that once had held “Sunny’s Super-Stupendous Plan to Get Mom and Dad Back Together” and turned to a clean page.
It was time to come up with a new plan.
I tapped my pen against the paper. Nothing. I starting drawing: pictures of Stellaluna, the tire swing in the backyard, the front of Book Buyers with its striped green and white awnings. Still nothing.
Not a single creative thought had popped into my mind.
Glancing out the window, I spotted Ripple in the corner of the yard. I dropped my pen and headed outside, looking for inspiration. Or, at least, a break from thinking.
Ripple came right out from the bushes. I ran my hands over her as she rubbed against me. She pushed her head under my hand so I wouldn’t stop petting her. As much as I liked Ripple, taking care of a stray cat would never take the place of Stellaluna, who used to jump up on my lap when I came home from school every day, and who slept curled up beside me on my bed every night.
I closed my eyes and imagined I was petting Stellaluna’s soft fur …
Soft fur, like the fur on the coats hanging up in Grandma Grace’s store.
Eureka! That was it! I jumped up, pumping my arms in the air. The solution to my problems had been right there, staring me in the face the whole time. Thanks to Lydia and her fur protest, the perfect opportunity to get back home was waiting for me. And I could finally speak up for the animals at the same time.
You’ll have to lie some more and do some more sneaking around, that little voice started whispering again. And what about your grandmother?
I shut my eyes tight, blocking out the voice. Somehow, it would all work out. People would understand that I didn’t have a choice. It was going to take courage to make this plan work, and I couldn’t let anything get in my way.
After I fed Ripple, I ran back up the steps to my room and pulled out my notebook. It was time to get started on “Sunny’s Super-Stupendous Plan … to Get Back Home.”
***
“Listen carefully,” Coach Baker said at the OM meeting later that week. “‘Unlike Shakespeare’s Hamlet, the team’s character will take the easy way out, only to discover it was the wrong choice. Teams will incorporate a character to portray Hamlet’s conscience, a creative scene change, and the use of a trapdoor.’” Coach Baker looked up at us. “What’s your main character’s dilemma?”
“Annalise Alien flunked her telekinesis test because she didn’t practice,” Lydia said. “She doesn’t want to get into the School for Paranormal Education. She wants to be a pastry chef.”
“She was too busy baking chocolate moon pies instead of studying,” I said.
“Okay,” Coach Baker said, pacing in front of us. “And how did Annalise take the easy way out?”
“She didn’t want to tell her mother the truth, so she ran away from home,” Jamie, an eighth-grade boy, said.
“That’s when she falls through the trapdoor,” Carson explained.
“Good! How does the easy way out turn out to be the wrong choice?”
“She gets whisked to Earth, and ends up in the middle of a spooky dark forest,” Jalia said.
“Battling ghosts,” Avi added.
“Ooo!” Some of the kids made ghost sounds.
“Excellent,” Coach Baker said. “It would have been better for her to face her mother and be true to herself. Instead, she took the easy way out. All right, so how do you plan to build the trapdoor and incorporate a creative scene change?”
Everyone started talking at once about how Annalise Alien would get whisked to Earth, but I tuned them out while the words easy way out echoed in my head. If I used the fur protest to let my grandmother know how I felt about her store and to get back home, I wasn’t confronting my problems head on. It sure seemed I was a lot like Annalise Alien, running away from the truth.
Lydia nudged me. “Come on,” she said as she grabbed her notebook. She motioned me to a table in the back where Jalia was already seated. “Coach Baker said to start drawing sketches.”
“Okay, sure.” Something had shifted between Lydia and me in the last few weeks, and it felt good to be included. As I picked up my notebook to follow her, I tried to push away all thoughts about choices that could lead me to battle my own ghosts, just like Annalise.
***
On the Monday before Thanksgiving break, I turned to Jessie in art class. “I’m not going to be able to sit with you at lunch today,” I told her. “I hope that’s okay, but there’s someone I need to talk to.”
Jessie squinted at me. “Who?”
“Oh, just someone from English class.” I wasn’t trying to keep my friendship with Lydia a secret, but I knew how Jessie felt about her.
Jessie shrugged. “Catch you tomorrow then,” she said as she headed out of the classroom. I watched her walk down the hall, shoulders squared and head held high, as if she hadn’t even given me a second thought. Didn’t it matter to her at all if I sat with her at lunch? Would she miss me if I sat somewhere else every day?
I picked up my backpack from the art table and started toward the cafeteria, trying not to think about Jessie. I had important details of a plan to work out, and worrying about who liked me in Bennetsville was not on my list of things to do.
Catching a glimpse of red, curly hair at the back of the cafeteria, I found Lydia sitting at a table with Jalia from OM, Sierra from history class, and a couple of other girls I didn’t know.
“Hi,” I said, walking up to the table. For a moment, I hesitated. What if Lydia said I couldn’t sit with them just to get back at me for what I did to her at the beginning of the year? I took a deep breath. “Mind if I sit here?”
Lydia looked around at the rest of the girls. “If it’s okay with everyone else …”
The others nodded and Jalia said, “Sure, Sunny. The more the merrier.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying t
o hide my relief as I put my lunch box down and pulled up a chair next to Lydia.
We talked about OM for a while before Lydia said, “Have you decided about the protest? It’s next Friday, you know.”
I nodded, and my heart rate sped up. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I think I can come … as long as I can wear the costume.”
Lydia’s eyes opened wide and she grabbed my arm. “You’ll be perfect! I’ll have to ask Mom, but I’m sure she’ll say it’s okay.”
“Really?” So far, things were turning out easier than I had expected.
“Really.” Lydia turned to the rest of the table. “Ladies, meet our official bunny for Fur-Free Friday!” The other girls clapped, and I felt my cheeks flush with pride. Lydia turned back to me. “No one else is brave enough to join us at the protest—”
“I told you Lydia, we’re going out of town, or else I’d be there,” Jalia said.
Some of the other girls echoed Jalia’s words, though I wondered if they meant it. Being around Lydia could make you feel guilty for not doing more to help.
“Is someone coming out from the newspaper to take pictures?” I asked.
“Yup. All three TV stations are coming, too.”
“Do you think they’d take pictures … of me? Since not that many kids protest?”
“I’m sure they will. I’ve been on TV tons of times. Maybe they’ll even interview you.”
I tried to keep from jumping up and down. “I’ll talk to them,” I said, my voice as matter-of-fact as I could manage.
“This is going to be great,” Lydia said. “I’ll tell Mom and she’ll set something up. She’ll be so excited to hear you’re joining the protest!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Happy Turkey Day!
Did you get my last email? I sent you a picture of me dressed up for Halloween. I missed you this year. We could have been three witches instead of two! Plus, Emma wouldn’t trade any of her candy—not even the ones with coconut!
I’ve scanned a special Thanksgiving card I made for you. I can’t draw like you, but it’s supposed to be a turkey. I would have mailed it, but thought this would be quicker. Hope you have a happy Thanksgiving!
Love,
Maddy
P.S. Write back soon.
***
Thanksgiving was one of my favorite holidays. Usually, Scott would bring in an extra table and we’d set it up in the living room for all the guests: Aunt Louisa and Uncle Alan; my cousins, Ellie and Max; the Bumgardners, the old neighbors who lived across the street; and always one or two people from Book Buyers who didn’t have anywhere to go for the holiday.
Mom and Scott would cook all day and the house would fill up with delicious smells. They’d turn on the stereo and sing along while Autumn and I watched the Thanksgiving Parade on TV. It was the one day when kids weren’t allowed in the kitchen until it was time to eat.
Finally, everyone would arrive and we’d sit down for dinner and watch from the living room window as the sun began to set behind the mostly bare trees. Our small living room would fill up with voices and laughter. After dessert, we’d hang out with our cousins until it got late, then Mom would pull out the sleeping bags and let us watch a movie in her bedroom until the grown-ups decided it was time to go home.
This year, everything was different. Scott had already told us he’d rather come for a longer visit over Christmas, which of course was a sign of things to come. First Scott makes an excuse why he can’t be with us for Thanksgiving, next he’ll say he can’t make a trip for our birthdays, and before you know it … we’re down to one visit each year. Maybe none.
Grandma Grace planned Thanksgiving dinner for 5:00 p.m. and she put us to work.
“Make sure you polish until it shines.” She handed Autumn and me her good silver, a tub of polish, and a rag. “Be careful not to leave any streaks.”
Autumn glanced over at me. I knew what she was thinking: Why are we using the good silver anyway, when it’s just us for dinner? Grandma Grace had already told us that she was skipping her usual visit to Raleigh with her sister, Great Aunt Elizabeth, so she could have Thanksgiving at home with her grandchildren this year.
I wish she had gone to Raleigh. I would have had more fun sleeping late and eating macaroni and cheese from a box than going through all this fuss. The only good thing about cooking turkey was that Ripple would get a lot of delicious leftovers.
After we finished polishing, it was time to set the table with Grandma Grace’s extra special china. Then came the crystal goblets.
“Be careful,” Grandma Grace warned when I clanked two together before setting them down next to the plates.
After the table looked like something out of her favorite magazine, Southern Living, she put us to work washing and drying dishes, and sweeping the floor while the Macy’s parade played on TV in the living room, unwatched.
I didn’t want to think about how everything felt so wrong on Thanksgiving, so I focused on my plan for Fur-Free Friday instead. So far, I’d dodged all the potholes: Mom wasn’t suspicious because I had convinced her I’d gone to an OM meeting. Lydia hadn’t asked any questions about why I had to wear the suit. Grandma Grace wouldn’t see me outside protesting because I’d be dressed like a bunny.
I had written out a plan in my notebook:
1. Convince Mom we have to go shopping for winter clothes on Friday after lunch.
2. Wake up Friday morning with a terrible stomachache, but feel better by noon so you can convince Mom to still go shopping and pick up a little something for you.
3. As soon as Mom and Autumn leave, ride your bike to Evergreen Plaza.
4. Meet Lydia at Earthly Goods and change into your costume.
5. Make sure the newspaper reporter spells your name correctly.
6. Make sure the reporter knows you’re the granddaughter of the fur store owner.
Dinner was served promptly at five. When Autumn and I got up to help with the serving plates, Grandma Grace shooed us out of the kitchen. “You’ve done enough to help, girls,” she told us. “Go ahead and have a seat.”
We waited while Mom and Grandma Grace placed one dish after another on hot plates in the middle of the long table. Familiar dishes. Dishes that we’d had every year for Thanksgiving and loved. Mom’s famous sweet potato casserole with sticky walnuts on top. Scott’s French green beans with salted almonds. Aunt Louisa’s stuffing. Uncle Alan’s mashed potatoes, the kind with cheddar cheese swirled in. Mom’s pineapple casserole with cornflakes on top. Thick pieces of corn bread, the kind you make in a skillet.
“You made all of our favorite things!” Autumn said. “Just like at home!”
“It was your grandmother’s idea,” Mom said, looking over at Grandma Grace.
“I know how much you girls miss being home for Thanksgiving,” Grandma Grace said. She cleared her throat. “It’s a real treat to celebrate with all of you this year, so I wanted to do something special.”
Mom reached over and squeezed Grandma Grace’s hand. Maybe I was seeing things since the room was dim, lit only by candles. But for a minute, it looked like my grandmother’s eyes were shiny with tears.
My grandmother had done all of this … for us.
A pain shot through my side, and tears filled my eyes. For a moment, I wondered if maybe I really was going to be sick for Fur-Free Friday. But the pain went away as quickly as it had come, taking my appetite with it.
If all went according to my plan, tomorrow I would stand in front of the TV cameras and say hurtful things to my grandmother.
“So what are we waiting for?” Autumn asked, breaking the silence. “Let’s eat!”
***
The day after Thanksgiving, sunlight poured through my window, waking me. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, glancing at my alarm clock. Eleven minutes after seven. I pulled the covers back over my head and rolled over. But it did
n’t take long to figure out that it’s impossible to sleep when your mind is wide awake.
I turned my plan over and over in my mind, thinking of everything that could go wrong.
It would work perfectly, as long as Mom didn’t cancel her shopping trip or cut it short. But what if Grandma Grace spotted me in the parking lot before I changed into the costume? And what if the reporters didn’t want to interview a kid? I’d have to chase them down and beg them to print my photo and my full name, including that important little detail about who I was related to.
I counted a million ways the whole thing could fall apart.
One thing I wouldn’t let myself think about was what my grandmother would think of me when she saw me in the paper, or hopefully, on the news. If I worried about that, I knew I’d back out. And then where would I be?
Stuck in Bennetsville without a dad, that’s where.
I got up and slipped on jeans and a heavy sweater. I touched my hand against the window. Another cold November day, but the sky was clear and blue. The fur protest wouldn’t be cancelled because of rain.
My heart sped up as I thought about the next few hours. If my plan worked, we could be back in New Jersey with Scott and Stellaluna and Madeline … by next weekend.
And if it failed? I pushed the thought right out of my mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Grandma Grace left for the store early, “to keep an eye on those animal rights nutcases.” By the time I made it downstairs for breakfast, I didn’t have to fake a stomachache. Real pain was gnawing away at the pit of my stomach.
I sat down at the table and dropped my head onto my arms. “No pumpkin bread for me,” I said, even though Grandma Grace’s was the best on the planet.
“Sunny, what’s wrong?” Mom asked.
I moaned.
“What is it—your head?” Mom put her hand on my forehead.
I moaned again and clutched my stomach.
“Hmm … it doesn’t feel like you have a fever.” Mom touched my hands. “As a matter of fact, you’re ice-cold.”
Call Me Sunflower Page 12
