But not quite.
“Quiet down, everybody!” Roberta shouts, then tells us to grab some index cards and markers and make the kinds of cards Madison talked about. She says she’ll be right back, and then she runs out the door, looking like she’s tightening up a smile. After she’s gone for a few seconds, the class finally explodes with the laughter they’ve all been holding back.
When it calms down a little, Samantha pipes up, “That was the best presentation ever!” That makes everyone crack up again. People nod in agreement and start saying the same kinds of things to each other. For the tiniest second, it feels like we’re part of the crowd.
Samantha and I don’t have to talk; I know what we’re both thinking.
Is this the beginning of being popular?
When I get home from school, I run down the hallway to my room, sort of hearing Dad shout that I should take Toby on a walk around the lake. “I will!” I yell back, but first I get the voodoo box from under my bed. I open it and the voodoo doll is lying right where I left him, exactly the same, but it almost looks like he’s grinning bigger than usual. I pull him out and dance around my room, thanking him (inside my head, not out loud) for making the charm work on Madison today. Lying on the floor, I gently and carefully put him back and slide the box where it belongs—way under the bed, far from nosy people like Terri.
“Terri’s coming over for dinner tonight,” Dad says, his voice getting closer along with his footsteps. When I look up, he’s standing in my doorway.
“Okay,” I say. Even this news can’t upset me too much, not right now. I feel like I’m filled with helium and could float to the ceiling. I keep remembering the moment Samantha made her little comment and everyone cracked up. For one instant, it felt like popularity.
“Good, I’m glad you think so,” Dad says. “What are you doing down there? Chasing dust bunnies?”
“Ha ha, yeah.” I stand up and dust my jeans off. “No, I—um—thought Toby’s leash might be under there.”
“It’s in the front hallway, where it always is,” Dad says. “Come on, I’ll help you get it on him.” When he turns around, I follow him, almost skipping down the hall.
Dad puts the leash around Toby’s neck as I hold him in place. I pet his long red fur and let him lick my face and neck, telling him what a good boy he is.
When I head out the door, Dad tells me, “Get home way after dark, talk to lots of strangers, and don’t call if there’s an emergency.” That’s his way of being hilarious. He can actually see me from the kitchen window as long as I only walk two blocks and turn around. He even got me a phone when we moved to California. He says it’s for safety, but I’m glad because all the kids here have them. So far he and Samantha are the only people I’ve ever called or texted, but that’s definitely going to change when I’m popular.
Toby seems as happy as I am as he barks at the birds flying above us. We cross our street at the corner after I look both ways; then we’re on the sidewalk by the lake. It’s got little tiny waves because there’s a cool breeze, and the sun is making diamond-looking sparkles on top. Maybe these are the kinds of things Mom said are magical. And today, after seeing what I saw, hearing what I heard, and smelling what I smelled, it feels like magic might be possible. I definitely know voodoo is. I mean, Sam and I aren’t quite popular yet, but there’s only so much that a Positive Happy Voodoo Doll can do in a day.
Back at the house, I can hear Dad and Terri talking and laughing in the kitchen. I don’t want to see Terri yet, so I let go of Toby with his leash on and head straight back to my bedroom. Dad hears me and says loudly, “Wash your hands and get ready for a sumptuous repast!” I guess he means dinner. He’s showing off by using big words for Terri—and by asking me to wash my hands. I don’t usually do that; why would I today? I run my hands under some water in the bathroom sink so he’ll hear the water, but I don’t use any soap.
There aren’t any towels in the bathroom, so I go to my room and dry my hands on my comforter. As I’m walking out the door, I stop to check on Millie and Marty. But something is wrong.
Marty isn’t moving. I poke her a little with my finger and try to tempt her appetite with a piece of old apple, but I know what’s going on. Marty, as they say on TV shows, “is gone.”
I take an extra close look at Millie and he’s doing fine, squirming around in the grass acting like there’s nothing wrong. Maybe those two weren’t very close.
I close my eyes tightly and make my mouth hard so I won’t cry. I don’t know exactly why I’m feeling like this. Marty was just a millipede, a little wormlike creature. She wasn’t energetic and fun like Toby, or fluffy and adorable like a bunny or a guinea pig, but she was still my pet and I took care of her like I was supposed to. I walk to the kitchen, where Dad and Terri are in the middle of making dinner. He’s got garlic sizzling in a pan and she’s slicing celery as some kind of old-timey music from the eighties plays in the background.
“Dad,” I say real seriously. They don’t hear because they’re trying to figure out the lyrics from some song about balloons.
“Dad,” I say louder, and they both turn. “Marty died.”
Terri looks worried. “Who’s Marty? Someone you know?”
“My millipede,” I say.
“Well, it’s a good thing we bought two!” Dad makes it sound like a joke, but it’s not very funny. Terri must not think so either, because she says “Bradley!” in a kind of harsh way.
“Is the other one okay?” Dad asks, his voice softer now.
“Yes. But I’m sad. I don’t know why; I can’t help it.”
Terri puts down her knife and wipes her hands on a rag on the counter. “Cleo, do you want to get Marty and do something nice for him?” she asks. I blink my eyes hard and nod. I don’t bother to tell her that Marty is—or was—a girl. “Why don’t we give him a proper funeral and say a few things on his behalf?” she says. “You could wrap Marty up in a little piece of paper or material or something. Carry him really carefully to the backyard. I’ll get a shovel from your dad, and we can dig a hole and say goodbye.” Normally I’d be mad that she’s being so friendly, but I’m too sad to be mad. We agree to meet in a few minutes.
I look around in my underwear drawer and find a soft, silky scarf that my mom wore when I was a baby. It has little Eiffel Towers and French poodles on it, and Dad told me she thought it would be neat for me to wear when I grew up and traveled the world.
I pick up Marty gently and wrap her in the scarf. I walk past Dad in the kitchen. He’s still working on dinner. “You okay, Cleo?” he asks. I nod without saying anything. “Do you want me to come outside too?”
“No. Terri and I will do it.” I don’t want too many people around.
In the yard, I can’t believe what I see. There’s a candle flickering on the grass and Terri is finishing digging a hole. Marty won’t take up much room, so it didn’t have to be too deep.
I hold out the scarf that’s holding Marty.
“Is that him?” Terri asks.
“Her,” I say. “I found out she was a girl after I named her.”
“Well, Marty’s a good name for a girl too.” Terri looks down at the hole, with the light from the candle making patterns over it. “Why don’t you gently put her in the ground?”
I take a deep breath and get down on my knees. I gently slide Marty out of the scarf and into the hole. I look up at Terri. “Do you want to say anything?” she asks.
“Just that I loved her, I guess.” I can barely get the words out because I’m trying not to cry, but the tears are falling no matter what my brain is telling my eyes.
“It’s okay.” Terri holds out her hand and helps me stand up. I could have done it myself, but it’s still a nice gesture. “I’ll say something if that’s okay,” she says. I nod, and she looks down at the hole in the ground. “Marty, I’m a little scared of creepy-crawly animals, but I know that you were a great one because Cleo loved you. I’m sorry I screamed when I first met you….�
��
“That was Millie,” I tell her.
“I’m sorry I screamed when I first met your friend, but when I held you—or your friend—today, I realized there is nothing to be afraid of.”
At that moment, I feel a hotness in my feet that moves up through my whole body like a lightning bolt in a thunderstorm. “What are you talking about?” I ask. My face feels like it just caught on fire. “You held Marty? When?”
Terri suddenly has a worried look on her face. “Today,” she says. “When you were walking your dog.”
“His name’s Toby!” I say angrily. I know that’s not important right now, but it matters to me. “What did you do to her? What did you do to Marty?”
“Cleo, I didn’t do anything. Your dad brought me into your room….”
“Into my room?” What was Terri doing in my room? Why is she with my dad? Why is she forcing herself into our lives when we’re fine by ourselves?
“Well, in the doorway. He didn’t want me to be so scared of the millipedes, so he put one of them on my hand. It only crawled on my hand for a second; nothing happened. It was—”
“She was! Marty was a she!” I’m yelling now and I’m crying too, but now I don’t care because these tears are mean, angry ones, not sad ones that I don’t understand. I run into the house and through the kitchen. Dad obviously hasn’t heard anything; he’s still singing and slicing and cooking. “She killed my millipede!” I stomp through and keep going. “Your girlfriend killed Marty! I hope you’re happy!”
I run to my room, slam the door shut, and throw myself onto my bed, crying loud and hard and wiping my wet face on my bed. After a few minutes I tire myself out and just lie there breathing.
Finally I sit up. I’m sick to my stomach and scared to check on Millie. But I know I have to. My feet feel like there are ten-pound weights on them, but I pull them across the floor anyway. I look into Millie and Marty’s—now only Millie’s—terrarium.
Everything is fine.
I pull up my chair and watch him for a while. He slides through the dirt and bark and nibbles a little bit on a brown piece of banana. He looks lonely.
I have to listen hard to hear what’s happening down the hall in the kitchen. The music is off and I can hear Dad’s and Terri’s voices, but I can’t tell what they’re saying. Then I decide I don’t care and I lie back in bed, looking at the ceiling.
I must fall asleep for a little while, because the next thing I hear is a light knock at my door.
I sit right up. “What?” I ask angrily.
“Can I come in?” Dad asks.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes, Terri went home.”
“Good.”
“So can I come in?” he asks again.
“Yeah, I guess.” I’d like to make him wait, but he’s going to get in sooner or later.
Dad opens the door but doesn’t come in too far. “Listen. I’m really sorry about what happened to Marty.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s hers.”
Dad takes a step closer to me. “Cleo, I know how mad you are right now, but that is not true. Terri didn’t do anything. Marty crawled on her hand for a couple of seconds. No different from how you and I have played with her. It’s no one’s fault. Do you understand that?”
I start to cry. “But why? Why did Terri have to touch her? Why did Marty have to die?”
Dad comes closer and sits on the floor by my bed. “It happens, Cleo. Sometimes pets die when you least expect it. Maybe it was just her time.”
“But millipedes have a life span of five to seven or seven to ten years, depending on what website you look at,” I tell him, sniffling in between the words.
“That’s the problem, Cleo,” Dad says. “You don’t know when it’s going to happen, and lots of times there’s no reason at all.”
“But I hate it.” I pause. “I mean, I don’t like it.”
Dad smiles a little. “No, it’s okay to hate it, Cleo. It’s really hard. The only thing you can do is keep living your life the best you can, and make sure that when that person looks down at you from heaven, she’s proud.”
“You mean millipede,” I say.
“Yes. I mean millipede.” Dad has little tears in his eyes, just around the edges.
I didn’t know he liked Marty that much.
The first thing I do in the morning is go to the terrarium and make sure Millie is alive. When I see him crawling around like normal, I run to the kitchen to pick out the rottenest piece of banana we have so he can eat an awesome feast while I’m at school.
“You feel all right after last night?” Dad asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “At least Millie’s doing okay.”
I throw my clothes on—not even caring if my socks match—and I walk out back. I don’t see the gravesite at first because there are lots of patches of dirt in between the grassy spots of our yard. Then I notice a big rock that I’ve never seen before. I walk over to it, thinking about Marty—remembering the way she liked rotten apple better than banana, and how she felt cool and tickly when she crawled on my arm.
As I get closer I see that underneath the big rock are a bunch of smaller ones spelling out a word.
LOVE.
I don’t know who did it. Dad? Terri? Mom up in heaven? Magic?
I don’t know, but I like that it’s there.
—
When I see Sam at school, I don’t tell her about last night. She never even met Marty, and I don’t want to ruin the good feeling she has from Madison’s awesome embarrassment. Pretty soon my sadness goes away a little bit, because everywhere I go, I’m hearing stories of Madison’s presentation and its spectacular, stinky twist.
“Were you really there?” a seventh-grade girl asks me in the bathroom. I nod. “That must’ve been so funny.”
“It was,” I say, but I can’t think of anything to add because I’m so surprised a stranger is talking to me.
“Excellent. Well, see you around,” she says, and heads out.
Wow. I stand there, staring at the bathroom door. Could this be it? Is the second part of our hex coming “to fruition” already?
Is this what being popular feels like? People you don’t know talk to you and say “see you around” like they actually want to see you around? During our outdoor break, I almost feel like a celebrity as I stroll proudly across the courtyard to the jungle gym. Sam’s already there and she says the same kind of thing happened to her, except it was a boy who’s not in Focus! but wished he was. That’s definitely the first time I’ve heard of anyone wanting to be in Focus! I think we actually might be popular!
Out of nowhere, Scabby Larry comes up and sits down next to us. “How cool was Focus! class yesterday?” he says.
“Totally cool!” I reply. It’s hard not to be happy, and even though it’s only Scabby Larry, I can’t remember another time when anyone has joined me and Samantha during outdoor break, unless it’s Madison and her friends making fun of us.
“Could it have been something she ate?” Scabby Larry wonders out loud. “I can’t imagine Madison eating a lot of beans. What else makes you fart?”
“What makes you think Cleo and I want to sit here and talk to you about farts?” Samantha asks.
“Just making conversation.”
“Well, maybe you should converse with other Focus! kids,” Samantha suggests. “We’re busy.”
“Okay,” Scabby Larry says, standing up. “Just thought it’d be fun to talk about.” Then he walks away.
“Why’d you do that?” I ask.
Samantha leans in, looking up at me through her curly bangs. “Remember what I told you about Scabby Larry before? If we’re going to be popular, we have to be careful about who we talk to.”
“But other kids in Focus! talk to him.”
“Other kids in Focus! are not cool,” Samantha tells me.
“Well, we’re not that cool either,” I say. She’s my best friend; I have to be honest.
“We’re cool in
our own way, and people are starting to realize it,” Samantha says. “In our way, we’re the coolest people in school.”
“In our way, we’re the coolest people in Los Angeles!” I say. I’m stretching the truth a bit, because LA has movie actors and rock stars and people who are famous for no reason, but even they’re not cool in our way.
“In our way, we’re the coolest people on Earth!” Sam says.
We both laugh; then the bell rings and we head to science class, where Kevin announces it’s time for two students to do their presentations. I can breathe easy because mine’s not until next week, but Kylie Mae has bad luck, probably for the first time in her life, and has to go first. Hers is about photosynthesis, which is how plants turn carbon dioxide into oxygen. That’s all I learn, though, because she talks real quietly and doesn’t have any fun stuff to show—no drawings or pictures or real plants or anything. I look for some kind of energy or enthusiasm in those empty eyes of hers, but I don’t see anything. So I snooze and daydream. But I perk up when I hear who’s going next.
Madison Paddington!
If I had farted like her in front of people (even Focus! people), I would have asked Kevin if I could go last—or do my presentation for him after school, without anyone watching. But as Madison gets out of her chair and walks to the front, I don’t see any fear on her face. If I didn’t not like her so much, I might even be impressed.
She stands next to our classroom’s TV and turns to us. “As many of you know,” she begins, “my father is a movie producer, and twelve years ago one of his movies even won a People’s Choice Award.”
I start to get excited—not because her dad won an award, big whoop—but because it sounds like we’ll be watching a movie. I’m going to be well rested after this science class for sure!
“He’s currently producing a science fiction movie that’s going to be released next summer, and he’s letting me show you some clips so I can tell you what’s realistic scientifically and what’s not.”
The Popularity Spell Page 7
