“You are an interesting bird, Elfie Oster,” Mom said, eyeing my snack choice. “So…here’s a little news: we got a response from the Hampshire honor code review board today. They say they’re going to start reviewing your case soon, and they want to know if we have anything to give them that supports your side of the story.”
My stomach started feeling strange. “What do they mean, ‘anything to give them’?” I asked. “Didn’t you and Dad already write down everything I told you and send it to them right after it happened?”
“We did.” Mom nodded. “But right now, it’s basically a ‘he said, she said’ situation between you and Colton. It would help if someone else could give an account of what happened.”
“Like a witness?” I asked.
Mom looked up from her phone. “Well, yes, I guess exactly like a witness. What about the other girl you mentioned at your table? What was her name?”
“Sierra,” I said. “Sierra Nichols. But I barely know her; I don’t know if she’d stick up for me.”
“I don’t know either,” Mom agreed. “But there’s one way to find out.”
* * *
• • •
Sierra’s house was in another town about twenty minutes away from ours. Even with the map app on Dad’s phone giving us directions, we accidentally drove past her driveway twice. That’s because her driveway was really just a narrow gravel road coming out of the woods alongside the local highway, and it was practically hidden.
When we finally made the turn, we still weren’t sure we were going the right way. “It seems like we’re just driving into the woods,” Dad said. There were no houses anywhere. This uncertainty wasn’t doing much for my nerves. When Mom had found Sierra’s mom’s email address in the Hampshire student directory that we’d been sent before school started, she sent her a message and asked if we could talk to Sierra about what happened on the first day of school. Sierra’s mom wrote back right away, and Mom let me read her message. It said:
Thank you for reaching out. Sierra told us all about Elfie, and we would be happy to meet you. Would you like to come to our home so we can all talk?
I had tried dissecting that email. What did it mean that Sierra had told them “all about” me? Did she say I was an interesting person? An intelligent kid? A phone thief? And did Sierra’s mom sound a little odd? Why did she invite us over instead of just offering to talk on the phone? And why did she say “our home” instead of “our house”? These were some of the questions I kept asking Mom, until finally she said, “Elf, you are making me bananas. She sounds like a nice lady. She said she’d be happy to meet us, and she invited us to their house.”
“Not their house. Their home,” I reminded her.
Mom sighed. “Okay, yes, their home. But I don’t think that’s strange. And I also think they wouldn’t be inviting us over—or saying they’d be happy to meet—if they really thought you were a thief. I think it’s possible that Sierra might actually like you!” Mom gasped, pretending this was shocking news.
“Maybe,” I said. “I guess we’ll find out Saturday.”
So here it was, Saturday morning, and the three of us were all on our way to meet Sierra and her family. Who, apparently, lived in a forest.
Just when I thought the gravel road would never end, Dad brought the car to a stop in front of a two-story white house with a big porch that went around the side. “Oh, I just love a wraparound porch,” Mom said. It’s weird sometimes, the things that grown-ups get excited about.
Mom and I got out on our side of the car, but Dad was still in the driver’s seat. He wasn’t getting out, although it looked like he was trying. “Eric, what are you doing?” Mom sounded a little annoyed. I think she was eager to get started on this potentially awkward meeting. I knew how she felt; the sooner it started, the sooner it could be over.
From the other side of the car, we could see Dad repeatedly opening and closing his door. He was yelling something, but we only caught bits of what he was saying. It sounded like “can’t,” “what the,” and “coat.”
“Is something wrong with your coat?” Mom yelled. Just as she started to walk around to the other side of the car to see what Dad’s problem was, I heard another strange sound interspersed with his bursts of words. It sounded like a croaky sort of animal. More like a bleat than a croak, really. It sounded like a…
“A goat!” Mom yelled as she got to Dad’s door. I raced around to where she was standing, and sure enough, there was a small but feisty brown goat trying to get into the car every time Dad opened his door.
“Yes, goat!” Dad yelled back. “Not coat! Although I think it wants to eat my coat.”
He had a point. The goat was definitely lunging toward his jacket every time he opened the door to try to get out.
“What do we do? I don’t know anything about goats!” Mom looked at me.
I threw my hands into the air. “Neither do I!”
I was beginning to feel panicked. I was afraid I was going to have to knock on the door of this girl I barely knew—the person who might be my ticket to get back into Hampshire Academy—and say, “I’m sorry, but there’s a bit of a problem. Your goat won’t let my father out of the car.”
But then we were met by a sound that was even louder than the goat’s bleating and Dad’s muffled shouts. Ready or not, it was time to meet Sierra’s family.
“RODNEY!” yelled a woman on the porch who I assumed must be Sierra’s mom. She ran down the porch steps and over to the goat, carrying a dish towel.
“Shoo! Shoo, Rodney,” she hollered, swatting at the goat with her dish towel. “Bad goat!”
Rodney didn’t seem very remorseful. He bleated at the woman and started nipping at her dish towel.
“Rodney!” she repeated in a very dismayed tone. “This is not for you. Now scat!” She pulled a handful of something that looked like granola out of her skirt pocket and flung it into the woods. Rodney bleated once more and trotted away to forage in the leaves for his snack.
“I am so very sorry,” she said, wiping crumbs off her hands with the dish towel and reaching out to open the car door for Dad. “He must have gotten out of his pen. I should have made sure he was in it before you arrived.”
“That’s okay,” Dad said, trying to stay composed and act as though goats run up to greet him everywhere he goes. But I could tell he was shaken up; Dad wasn’t even really a dog person, let alone a goat guy.
The woman reached out to shake hands with Dad, then Mom. “I’m Marla Nichols, Sierra’s mom,” she said. She reached out for my hand next. “And you must be Elfie.” I looked at her hand for a second, then reached out and let her shake mine. Shaking hands always made me feel awkward. It was something that only adults did, so when they expected a kid to do it, it seemed strange. Like they were trying to pretend we were both adults when obviously one of us was not. It felt formal, but in a fake way.
But in spite of the handshake, and the fact that she had said “our home” in her email, Ms. Nichols didn’t really seem formal or fake. She had a bit of a Southern accent. I wondered if maybe people where she was from just spoke a little differently? But there was something about her that made me feel comfortable around her right away, and that didn’t happen for me with most people.
“I’m so sorry again about Rodney,” she said. “When he’s not being a pest, he can be a real sweetheart. And he also helps our compost pile stay under control. We just have to keep the eggshells away from him or they’ll hurt his tummy.”
“Oh, that’s really…convenient,” Mom said. “We just have a cat.” I could tell she didn’t really know how to react to Rodney either.
“Oh yes.” Ms. Nichols nodded. “We have three of those. Well, come on in; maybe you’ll meet them.” She waved us toward the house. I could see Dad’s eyes widen at the thought of three cats plus a goat.
B
ut those weren’t the only pets Sierra’s family had. As we climbed the steps to the house, I saw an old yellow hound dog curled up in a sunny spot on the porch. It slowly opened one eye to check us out, then closed it again. Unlike Rodney, it clearly had no interest in our visit.
The next pet was another story, however. When Sierra’s mom opened the front door, a small Chihuahua came charging out at us. He seemed furious to discover that visitors were on the porch.
“Oh, Edgar, settle down,” Ms. Nichols said, scooping him up and carrying him into the living room, where Sierra was sitting at a corner table with a stack of books; she appeared to be doing homework. I guess students at Hampshire Academy got homework even on weekends. They were so lucky.
Two identical boys who I guessed were about eight years old were sitting on the floor playing Uno. If they noticed our arrival, they didn’t show it. Neither did Sierra; she was concentrating deeply on whatever she was writing.
“Sierra, Elfie’s here,” Ms. Nichols said. Sierra looked up from her paper.
“Oh, hi!” she said. She actually seemed happy to see me. Or at least surprised.
“Hi,” I said. I wasn’t sure what to do next. Should I go over to the table? Ask what she was working on? Shake hands like her mother had? I suppressed a nervous giggle at that thought. Even I knew not to shake hands with someone my own age.
I guess Sierra wasn’t sure what to do either, because after standing up, she just leaned against her worktable.
“Hey, watch it!” One of the boys on the floor bumped Sierra’s foot with his knuckles. “You almost kicked our cards.”
“I did not,” Sierra said. “Besides, if you don’t want anything to happen to your cards, you should play at a table, not on the floor.” She looked at me and rolled her eyes.
“You were sitting at the table doing your super-important homework!” the boy shot back.
“We have other tables!” This time Sierra did nudge the cards with her big toe.
“Mom! Did you see that?” The boy looked up and seemed as outraged as if he’d been slapped.
“Okay, okay,” Ms. Nichols said. “Let’s give each other some space. We need to use this room anyway. Lee, pick up the cards and take them into the kitchen.” The outraged boy huffed and started collecting the cards as the other boy started to slink by his mother to leave the room.
“Hang on, Curtis.” Ms. Nichols stopped him and handed him the Chihuahua. “Take Edgar with you. He’s being a menace today.”
When the boys had cleared the room, Ms. Nichols gave a big sigh. “Sorry again that it’s such chaos here. You know how Saturdays are, with everyone home.”
Mom and Dad nodded, but I knew what they were thinking: our Saturdays were nothing like this. Saturdays with the three of us and Goober were much, much different from this scene with Sierra, her twin brothers, two dogs, and a goat. We hadn’t even seen the three cats yet.
“Andy is just finishing some repairs on the chicken coop; he’ll join us in a minute. Can I get you some coffee, or some lemonade? Or something else?”
Sierra’s family had chickens too? And to think that the day I met her, I daydreamed about her having even an earthworm habitat.
After Sierra and her mom got coffee for the grown-ups and lemonade for Sierra and me, her dad came in and sat with us in the living room. Like Sierra’s mom, he shook my hand and apologized to us about Rodney.
“Sorry I couldn’t come to your rescue,” he said. “I heard hollering, but I was stuck on top of the coop; I’m glad Marla got to you before Rodney ate anyone’s shirt!”
Mom laughed. “So are we!” Dad looked less amused; he pulled the zipper on his jacket up just a smidge, as if he was still trying to keep it safe from Rodney.
“So…” Sierra’s mom sounded like she wasn’t sure how to bring up the reason we were there. But Sierra jumped in.
“My mom said you guys wanted to talk to me?” she said. “About what happened on the first day of school?”
“Yes.” Mom nodded. “We understand you saw what happened with Elfie and Colton, and you might be able to tell us about it?”
Dad chimed in. “We’re trying to help Elfie’s case with the honor code review board. They’ve heard her side of the story, and they’ve heard Colton’s, but we think it might be helpful if someone else could describe what they saw.” He paused. “To be honest, it seems like they believe Colton’s story more right now. And his dad is on the review board.”
Sierra’s dad snorted. “Of course he is.”
“Andy.” Ms. Nichols’s voice had a warning tone, like she didn’t want her husband to use sarcasm in front of guests. But it was already out there.
“Yes, well, we know they’re pretty well connected at Hampshire,” Dad said. “The library and all.”
“They’re very well connected,” Mr. Nichols said. “And Sierra tells us that kid has already missed a few days of school, and the year just started. Seems like he can get away with anything.”
“We don’t know what’s going on in their family,” Ms. Nichols said. “Maybe we should just talk about what we do know. That’s why the Osters are here.”
Mr. Nichols nodded. “Sorry. I know this school is great for Sierra, especially the science classes. That’s why she went out for the scholarship to go there. But I just hope all the kids are getting a fair shake, even if their grandfathers didn’t buy a building.”
So Sierra got financial aid to go to Hampshire, like I did. I was surprised her dad had admitted it so soon; my parents always told me money talk was private. But I could already tell the Nichols family was pretty straightforward. I started to feel like maybe they could be on our side.
“Sierra, why don’t you tell the Osters what you told us about the first day of school?” Her mom glanced at me and gave Sierra a nod.
“Well, it happened really fast. But Colton was about to cheat. Olivia, the science teacher, had told us we couldn’t use anything to help with the assignment. And he took out his phone to look up ideas online. It was obviously against the rules. And then Olivia started to come over to our table, and that’s when Elfie took his phone.”
“Did it seem like she was stealing it?” Mom asked.
Sierra shook her head. “No. I understood why she did what she did. I mean, I don’t know if I would have done the same thing, but Colton was making me nervous too. He was cheating. I thought we were about to get in big trouble.”
“But I got in big trouble anyway,” I said. It just came out without me realizing I was talking. My voice was croaky; it occurred to me that I’d barely spoken the whole time we were there.
“I know,” Sierra said. “I’m sorry. I felt terrible about that. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid that if I said I’d seen you take the phone, I’d get kicked out too, for not reporting it. But I hated that they did that to you. It was awful.” Now Sierra’s voice sounded croaky.
“We didn’t know your family, and we weren’t sure exactly what had happened,” Sierra’s mom said. “I’m sorry we didn’t speak up sooner. But when I got your email, we talked about it with Sierra, and it became clear to us that we should help however we could.”
I saw Mom scrunch up her nose the way she does when she’s trying not to cry. But she admitted her feelings anyway.
“Well, that almost makes me tearful,” she said. “Thank you all so much.” She put her hand on my knee, and I knew she wanted me to say something too.
“Right,” I said. “Thank you.” I wished it hadn’t come out sounding forced. But I didn’t know exactly what to say, or just how to tell Sierra how grateful I really was. I was starting to feel like someone at Hampshire knew I wasn’t a criminal after all.
* * *
• • •
I didn’t talk much on the way home. After a while, Mom looked at me in the back seat and asked what I was thinking about.
“I’m thinking about menagerie,” I said. “The word menagerie.”
“Oh, you mean because of all the animals at Sierra’s house? They definitely have a menagerie there.”
“Yes. And that’s what I said to Sierra. Before we left, I told her I was glad I got to meet her menagerie. And now I’m thinking about how she didn’t laugh, or tell me I was weird, or say that was a nerdy word for a kid to use.”
“What did she say?” Mom asked.
“She just nodded and said I could come back and visit the menagerie whenever I wanted.” I shifted my glance from the window to meet Mom’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Would that be okay? Can we do that?”
Mom reached back and squeezed my hand. “Yes, Elf. I think that’s a perfect idea.”
Ms. Rambutan was telling us a story about her lola in the Philippines (lola is how you say “grandma” in Tagalog, the language lots of people in the Philippines speak). She liked to tell us lola stories on days when we had extra time; she called it taking a brain break. “How about you take a little brain break while I tell you a story about my lola?” she’d say. I never really felt that brain breaks were necessary, but the rest of the class always cheered when she offered one, so there you had it. Majority rules.
Today’s brain break story was about how Ms. Rambutan’s lola used rambutans in all her cooking—rambutan salads, rambutan juice, rambutan pudding. She said that her lola made them so much that her father got sick of them.
“So even though my father’s name is Mr. Rambutan, he will tell you that rambutans are his least favorite fruit! That is a great example of irony. Does anyone know what irony is?”
“Yes!” Will practically shouted. “It’s what you have to do to get wrinkles out of your clothes!”
I rolled my eyes. There was no way Will didn’t know the actual definition of irony. He was just trying to get people to laugh, and of course it worked.
Even Ms. Rambutan smiled. “No, Will, that’s ironing. Can anyone help us with irony?” She wrote the word on the board.
Elfie Unperfect Page 10
