Worse Than Weird

by Jody J. Little

  Both Willa and Brie jump up too. We pump our palms together up in the air.

  Joey gets up too, but he doesn’t dance with us. He puts his arms around me and hugs me tight, but this time he’s not crying like before. This time I feel the broken pieces in him mending, and when he lets go, I see something in his face that I’m not sure I’ve ever seen in Joey Marino.

  I see color, a warm pinkness. Maybe it’s from joy.

  And maybe it’s from hope too.

  “We better tell them the rest, Willa.”

  Brie motions for Joey and me to sit back down.

  “Well,” Willa begins, “I did say that there was good news and then less-than-good news. The good news is that we turned in the clues first.”

  “Tell us the less than good,” Joey says.

  “The less than good is that there are two winners. They split up the prize money between us and your boxer shorts friends,” Willa explains.

  “Shaggy and Scarface?” I say. “But you turned them in first.”

  Brie shrugs. “I know. I was going to ask about that, but then the cops started charging toward the bridge, so Willa and I did too.”

  “So, it’s not two thousand?” I ask.

  Willa shakes her head. “Half. One thousand.”

  Brie reaches into her purse and pulls out an envelope. She hands it to me. On the front in green ink is written: Food Cart Association Treasure Hunt, First Prize.

  I open it and count ten bills. I pull one out and feel the crispness of it in my fingertips. For the first time ever, I’m holding a one hundred dollar bill with the face of Benjamin Franklin.

  I imagined there would be twice this many bills. I imagined that holding a piece of money this large would whisk me away from the weirdness of Hank and Coral, and lead me down a different path, toward becoming a supercoder, the path I was so sure I wanted just a few days ago.

  But it doesn’t.

  I tuck the Franklin back into the envelope. “We’ll have to break some of these bills so we can evenly split the money.”

  Brie takes the envelope out of my hand. “No. Willa and I aren’t taking any. We already agreed on that. You and Joey did all the work and deserve all the money. It’ll be easy to split.”

  She pulls out five bills and hands them to Joey, then gives the envelope back to me.

  Joey shoves the money into his backpack. “Thanks.”

  I wonder what he’s thinking.

  I wonder if he’s disappointed.

  Because I am, even though it’s exactly the amount I need for the coding camp.

  I fold the envelope and slide it into my back pocket. “Thanks, Brie. Thanks, Willa.”

  “And . . .” Willa holds up a paper bag. “We have tamales!”

  They both smile.

  Willa and Brie.

  My best friends.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Parents

  Willa’s mom drops me off at home just after eleven p.m. I enter the front door, and Hank and Coral are waiting for me, both sitting on the futon couch. Hank softly taps on his drum, but he sets it aside when he sees me.

  Coral pats the futon between her and Hank. I sit down and let her wrap her arms around me and nestle her plastic-filled dreadlocks in my face. “Oh, honey, this was an eventful evening.”

  I pull away from Coral just a tad, so I can see her face. “Yeah.”

  “I had no idea about Joey and his mom. I ache for them.” Coral presses her palm to her heart.

  “Joey has another mom too. Her name’s Aggie and she works at Patsy’s Diner.”

  Coral sighs. “We’ll think of some way to help them.”

  I nod and let out a long exhale. “I should probably tell you about my research.”

  I fess up about the whole hunt, starting with how I stumbled upon the first clue at Lorenzo’s, which led me to the double-decker bus cart. I tell them about the delicious tagine I ate downtown at Oasis, which led to the smoothie cart. I thank Coral for her help with that clue.

  Hank and Coral listen patiently and don’t interrupt, like the alternative Earth therapists they strive to be. I have their full attention.

  Then I tell them about Willa’s parents and their divorce, and how Willa’s mom is selling the house, and they’re moving.

  Coral reaches out and grabs one of Hank’s hands and one of mine. “Sometimes relationships fall out of sync, MacKenna, but Hank and I are forever. We want you to know that.”

  “You’re not even married.”

  “We don’t need to be.” Hank smiles at Coral. “Willa and Becca will be okay.”

  I believe him. Willa’s world of song and dance won’t end with her parents’ divorce.

  Then I tell them about Brie, and how she sprained her shoulder and how that led to her admitting to her parents that she didn’t want to swim anymore and how angry her parents got.

  “Brie will find her path on our Earth. Just like you will.” Coral squeezes my hand. “We can feel how hard you’re looking.”

  “You can?”

  Have they really always known that? It’s never felt like it to me. But they are smiling at me and listening to me, so I keep sharing, and I tell them about teaming up with Joey and learning about Isabel. I even mention all the clues that Joey got by talking to his homeless connections. Hank and Coral hang on to every word of my story, attuned, as Hank would say.

  Hank and Coral love a good story.

  Hank and Coral love a lot of things.

  Finally, I tell them about finding out that the clues had to be turned in at a cart called Peppers, which was going to be at Cathedral Park.

  “The start of the naked bike ride,” Coral says.

  “Yeah. I didn’t figure that out until today.”

  “Were your friends embarrassed?” Coral asks.

  My friends? I can’t help but laugh.

  “Mac.” Hank holds both my wrists. His eyes are serious. “You were brave tonight.”

  I’m not sure about that. I acted out of pure fear. I thought Isabel was going to hurt Joey. I thought she had something in her hand, but she didn’t, and I plowed her over with a bicycle.

  That doesn’t seem like bravery.

  “So,” Hank asks, releasing my wrists, “did you win the hunt?”

  I smile, relieved by the change of subject. “We did, and we got a prize, one thousand dollars.”

  Coral gasps.

  Hank pats me on the back. “What will you do with the money?”

  I know exactly what I’m doing with the money, and I’m ready to confess everything, that I wanted the money for a computer coding camp, that I was planning to ask Coho to help me, that I even stole some money from him, but none of those words come out of my mouth because . . .

  “Hey. Where’s Coho?”

  Hank and Coral look at one another. “Coho had to veer from us tonight. He’s dealing with some unfinished business.”

  “He is?” I wonder if it has to do with his old job. Maybe he’s going to return to it. Whatever it is, I owe him money, and I’m going to pay him back. That’s the first thing I’m doing with my prize money.

  Coral yawns. “How about we talk more in the morning? It’s been a long night. We should all retire.”

  And I like that idea because it’s almost midnight, and tomorrow’s an important day.

  Chapter Forty

  Coho’s Gift

  I wake up at eight thirty the next morning, two hours later than usual. I lie on my futon island staring at my poster, Girls Are Supercoders. When this poster hung in Mrs. Naberhaus’s classroom, I would look at it every day and whisper the words to myself, certain that the more I said them, the better chance they would become true for me. Someday.

  But today when I whisper the words, they feel different on my tongue. Maybe it’s because Joey Marino and I completed the treasure hunt. Maybe it’s because I have five hundred dollars in the pocket of the jeans I wore yesterday. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel like the same MacKenna MacKensie MacLeod after l
ast night.

  Coral is still asleep, snoring her half of the morning duet, but Hank isn’t there. I don’t want to wake her. There’s something I have to do first thing, right after I dress and braid my hair.

  I slip out the front door and walk briskly to the little convenience store down our street. At the store, I break one of my Franklins into smaller bills.

  When I return home, I go straight to the garage to feed the chickens and collect the morning eggs. I tiptoe through the straw bedding toward the chickens. I’m going to try a new approach this morning. “Sweet Poppy,” I call.

  The diva hen perches in her new nesting box. I grab the eggs laid by Livie, Divie, and Bolivie.

  “Remember our truce, Poppy?”

  I stretch my arm out to nudge her aside, and this time, she actually gets up and moves. Poppy, the former meanest hen in the world, moves off her nest without stabbing or skewering me.

  She doesn’t squawk at me either.

  And . . .

  She left two eggs.

  I take them both at the same time, not quite believing what I’m holding. They’re two perfect Poppy eggs. I gently place them in Coral’s basket.

  Poppy is a changed fowl. I almost want to pet her.

  Heading back to the house, I sense something weird. The backyard is quiet, almost peaceful. It’s a sensation I’m not used to.

  Hank is beside himself when he sees the five eggs. “Will you look at that. I’ve heard about hens laying more than one egg in a day, but I’ve never seen it!” Hank lifts them all and inspects them closely. “This one has a slightly soft shell.”

  “Poppy laid two,” I say. “I think she’s done brooding.”

  “I knew she would come around.”

  “Yeah. She kind of did,” I admit.

  “I still think it was the goats,” Hank says.

  That’s when it hits me. The stillness of the backyard. “Hank! The goats are gone. They must have got out.”

  “No.” Coral enters the kitchen, yawning. “The goats went back.”

  “It’s true,” Hank adds. “Coho and I actually returned them yesterday. You were away most of the day, so you didn’t know, and last night you were dealing with some unusual energy, so we didn’t tell you.”

  “What about your goat yoga for the Earth Festival?” I ask.

  “It will just be meditative yoga without goats,” Hank explains. “I never sensed those goats were attuned to our frequencies.”

  I clear my throat and remind them, “They weren’t legal either.”

  “Mmmm.” Hank nods and sits at the table.

  “The festival will still be colossal, Hank.” Coral pats his hand.

  Goat yoga is weird. The Earth Festival is weird, and so are my parents. And they aren’t likely to change. If I’ve realized anything over the last few days, it’s that I can deal with weirdness. I always have. There are some situations that are far worse, and I don’t have to deal with those.

  “I have to tell you both something.” I reach into my pocket and pull out some bills, placing them on the table. “I owe Coho some money. I . . . um . . . I took thirteen dollars from him to help me with the hunt.”

  “You took money from Coho?” Hank asks.

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I—”

  “Coho left early this morning,” Hank says.

  “What do you mean he left? I thought he was staying for your festival.”

  “He said his path was pulling him, guiding him elsewhere.” Hank exhales deeply, then he grabs the bills on the table. “I don’t know where Coho’s going, so I’m not sure how to get this back to him.” Hank presses the bills into my hand. “I don’t like what you’ve done, Mac, but I’ll trust you to make a good choice with this.”

  I stare at the money in my hand.

  “Coho left you something,” Coral says.

  “He did?”

  “It’s on our bed. You should go check it out.”

  After bringing us a chicken and some goats, it’s a little frightening to think about what he might have left me.

  But when I enter Hank and Coral’s room, there’s something silver and rectangular on their mattress.

  It’s a . . . laptop computer.

  I gently pick it up, and I smooth my palm over the front, the sides, the back. I open it and touch every key. The screen has some smudges. I’ll clean those right away.

  “He left this too.” Hank hands me a large envelope.

  I pull a note out of the envelope first and read Coho’s words:

  Mac,

  Our Earth often chooses our path, but then later guides us to a fork. I’ve hit a fork, and I’m trusting a new path. You’re young. Stay on your path, but never be afraid of the forks.

  Coho

  Also, inside the envelope is a paperback booklet, Learning Python: A Beginner’s Manual.

  “Python?” Coral looks over my shoulder. “Hank and I knew you would love the computer, but I don’t understand why he would leave you a manual on snakes.”

  I laugh so hard I flop over on the mattress, hugging the book to my chest. I’ll try to explain what this means to Coral later.

  I sit up. “You guys are really okay with me having my own computer and screen time? Because I do love this. So much.” I touch the laptop again, gazing at its beauty.

  Hank nods. “All in moderation so your energies remain level, Mac.”

  “Of course!” Even ten minutes a day on this computer learning a new coding language would be . . . colossal!

  Coho still understood me. He may have changed into the Earth brother that Coral always longed for, but he still saw me.

  Hank and Coral smile at me.

  They see me too.

  “So, Mac, I have a drumming circle starting in thirty minutes—want to join us?”

  “Um . . .” My eyes bulge.

  Hank slaps me on the back. “I’m kidding! I love you, Mac.”

  “I love you too, MacKenna,” Coral adds.

  I hold the laptop in my hands and feel my entire body deflate, as I exhale twelve years of self-inflicted parental mortification—the sopping-wet bicycle rides to school when I arrived drenched and my pants didn’t dry until lunch—the Career Day where they both came to school and tried to do laughter therapy with my classmates—the naked bike rides—the chickens—the goat yoga—the bongo drumming.

  Hank and Coral.

  The weirdest parents in the world.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I love you both too.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Joey Marino

  Sometime after breakfast, I get a text from Joey: Meet me at Sunnyville School.

  I brush my teeth and redo my braid, making sure it’s tight with no loose hairs.

  Just before heading out the door, I remember something about the last time I met Joey at Sunnyville—a certain promise I’d made. I open the coat closet in the living room and dig deep into the back rack where I find my too-big winter coat. I shove it into my shoulder bag along with my new laptop and Python manual.

  Joey’s sitting on the same bench as before when I get to the playground. I wave at him, then look to the big oak in the center of the playground where the familiar figure I’m hoping to see is propped against the trunk, her grocery cart close by.

  “Hannah?” I approach her. “It’s Mac. We met a couple of days ago.”

  She looks up, her expression somewhat empty.

  “I brought you a coat, like I said I would.” I hold it out, and Hannah’s eyes connect with mine.

  She smiles, her lips curving in slow motion, and in her bluesy voice says, “Aren’t you a kind old soul.”

  “The pockets are really warm.” I wink at her. I don’t mention that I’ve tucked the thirteen dollars that was supposed to be for Coho inside one pocket. Hannah can probably use a decent meal.

  I think Coho would agree with me.

  “Aren’t you a kind old soul,” Joey mocks when I sit down next to him, but he’s grinning and his gray eyes sp
arkle. They almost look blue.

  “I saw Isabel this morning,” he says. “They took her to a shelter on Grand Avenue last night. Ma and I went to help with breakfast. I served her some pancakes and coffee.”

  “Really? Did she say anything to you? Anything about the light people? About getting hit by a bicycle?”

  Joey laughs a little. “No, she was pretty quiet and hungry.”

  “I’m sorry we didn’t get all the money from the hunt, Joey.”

  He shrugs. “I gave my prize money to Ma and told her what it was for,” Joey says. “She told me that maybe we could save all her tips during the summer and then we might have enough for the Laurie’s House deposit by fall.”

  “Don’t you need her tips for other things?”

  “I have lots of ideas for getting things without money.”

  That’s true. I’ve been part of his ideas over the last few days.

  There’s no one I know who’s quite as resourceful as Joey Marino.

  “What about you? Did you sign up for the camp?”

  I don’t answer him. I pull out the prize money envelope from my pocket, where I’ve had it since early this morning. I hand it to Joey. “There’s four hundred and eighty-seven dollars in here. I took out some money I owed,” I say. “Will that be enough for the deposit?”

  Joey stares at the envelope and then right into my eyes. “You’re giving this to me?”

  “Well, I suppose it’s really for Isabel.”

  He opens the envelope and thumbs through the bills. “The deposit is eight hundred dollars.”

  “Then the rest can be for her medicine or something.”

  Joey closes the envelope. “But this is almost enough for your camp. I’m sure Mrs. Naberhaus would let you pay the rest later.”

  “It’s probably full now. There were only two slots left anyway, and . . . I really want you to have it.”

  Joey’s eyes fill with tears, and his cheeks lighten. It’s like the gray ghostliness of Joey Marino has completely vanished.

  “You said that Laurie’s House might be her best chance. Isabel deserves a chance,” I say, and I mean it, but I also think Joey deserves a chance.