their classrooms to gawk at the three of us. I make sure to take a little extra time in front of Charity’s classroom, giving her my best red carpet smile.
chapter fourteen
I can’t believe I have been re duced to this. Sifting through garbage. Although to be honest, bakery garbage is probably pretty low on the disgust-o-meter. I
mean, a butcher shop would be worse. I volunteered to close up partly just to have something to do.
Tally and Blake are at the movies in Lancaster.
Picking tomatoes with them is one thing. Going with them on, as they call it, “a nondate” is another. A movie on a Friday night? That’s a date. The other
reason I decided to stay late is because I am tired of always being the last to know everything. After my mom gave Gram another one of her I’ll talk to you
later looks, I decided I wasn’t going to wait. I push past carrot peelings and dozens of strawberry tops.
The envelope I’m looking for is blue. I saw my
mother throw it away before she left. The fact that my mother, the Queen of Recycling, threw something in the trash was the big clue she was hiding it. I dig farther into the garbage, feeling old coffee grounds work their way up under my fingernails. Gram and Mom had this hushed discussion out on the back
porch, and when they came back inside, they kept giving each other these looks across the kitchen. The longer we’re here, the more my mom has been
treating me like I’m four. She actually spelled something to Gram the other day, like I couldn’t manage to figure that one out.
I keep digging, tipping the big trash can slightly so I can reach deeper. I push past eggshells and wads of plastic wrap. Finally I see it, way down at the
bottom, resting on a pile of lemon rinds. I pull it out, scraping a blob of buttercream o ff the top. I open the envelope. Empty. I start to tip the can back up to
standing, but another scrap of paper catches my eye. Unfortunately, that’s all it is, a scrap, but the scrap has words on it, and among them are separation
agreement and assets and visitation. I tip the can farther and look for the other pieces of the torn-up letter. I have to dump almost all of the garbage onto
the floor, but I finally find them all. I sit on the rubber mat in front of the sink and piece them together.
It’s a cover letter from someone named Thomas J.
Hall, Esq. It’s written to my mother, but it says my father has a copy, too. You always think you’re going to feel at least a little better when you find out the
truth. I start scooping the trash back into the can, shoving the pieces of the letter in along with all the scraps and empty cartons. I think about saving it, but
I’m not sure what I’d do with it. It’s not like I’m going to keep it in my scrapbook at home. Look, kids, this is when Mommy took a trip to Disney World, and
here’s when we visited the World’s Biggest Ball of String. Oh, the coffee stains? That’s a funny story. I had to dig it out of the trash. Yep, that’s when I found
out my mom and dad weren’t just taking a break. That’s when I found out that things were a lot worse than I thought.
It’s dark by the time I lock the back door of the bakery behind me. I tried to call my dad, tried to make someone talk to me, but all I got was his voice mail.
Some electronic voice telling me to leave a message or push five if I wanted to page him. I left a Call me, I need to talk to you message.
I start heading down Main Street. It’s only a little after seven, but the whole town looks deserted. Add a few tumbleweeds and a hitching post or two and
you’d have the perfect set for an Old West ghost town. The moon is just coming up over the trees. It’s full and yellow, so round it looks like it could just roll
across the sky. A harvest moon, my dad once taught me. I remember walking through Central Park with him when I was little, playing hide-and-seek with
the moon as it appeared and disappeared among the skyscrapers. It’s like the moon is the only thing connecting then to now.
I turn down the road to the beach, leaving asphalt for packed dirt and rock. I keep tripping on the rocks, because I’m watching the moon instead of my
feet. I hear footsteps coming toward me, and I move to the side of the road to give whoever it is room. I can see the silhouette of someone running. Before
my brain can even process it, my heart starts beating faster. Marcus. I tuck my hair behind my ear, a nervous habit I wasn’t aware of until Tally pointed it
out. Of course now I notice it all the time. Thank you, Tally. If I had to come up with a list of things I wouldn’t want Marcus to see me covered in, trash is
pretty high up there. I tried to wash it off in the sink before I left, but I was in a hurry to get out of there, and I figured I’d just shower when I got home. So far
he’s seen me covered in paint, sand, tears, and now garbage.
“Hi,” he says, when he spots me. I’m at a disadvantage (besides being covered in old coffee grounds and bits of eggshell). With the moon behind him,
it’s hard to see his face.
“Hi,” I say. I try to think of something else, something funny maybe? Something smart about the moon.
If I were talking to Tally, I’d have ten things to say,
but all I can come up with is “hi,” and I’ve already said that.
Marcus runs his hand over his hair. “I was hoping I’d see you,” he says. Even though he just ran up the steep hill from the sand, he isn’t even out of
breath.
Wait. Did he just say he was hoping to see me? I do the hair tuck thing again, unsure of what to say. I want to ask why he talks to Charity at school and
me only when no one’s around. I want to ask him what makes him think I want to see him? Then it hits me. “Your sweatshirt. I keep meaning to get it back
to you. I just wanted to wash it first.” I know I’m talking too fast, my words coming out like they’re tacked together. Even in the dark, I can see Marcus
starting to smile. This only makes me talk faster. “I should have brought it up to school. I just . . .” I stop.
What can I possibly say I was doing? Crying?
Pulling dead fish out of my locker? Trash can diving?
“Penny,” Marcus says. I exhale softly, realizing I’ve been holding my breath. “I wasn’t thinking about my sweatshirt.” I feel my cheeks heating up. I hear
more footsteps coming up the road, but this time there’s also the distinctive click of toenails on the rocks. “Brace yourself,” Marcus says. Sam runs past
him and slams into my legs. This time I’m ready for him. He’s panting hard and trying to lick my fingers and do his chuffing thing, all at the same time. I
laugh as Sam keeps licking me. “He can smell the bakery on you.” I feel my cheeks heating up again. I probably smell like sour milk and banana peels.
“Even in school, I can smell the vanilla and sugar when you walk by.” I look over at Marcus. It’s his turn to blush. He combs his fingers through his hair. I wonder if Tally would tell him about his nervous habit. I want to believe
that this Marcus, the one that’s maybe flirting with me, is the real one. That the other one is just the school Marcus. But I’m me no matter where I am. I have
enough half people in my life right now, I don’t need any more.
“I guess I should head home,” I say. Sam chuffs again and starts to head back down the hill toward the beach. Then he runs back toward us. He pushes
his muzzle into my hands again, then turns and heads back down the hill.
“I think he wants us to follow him,” Marcus says. “Can you walk for a few minutes?” Sam chuffs again, making both of us laugh.
“It’s hard to say no to that.” We start down the hill, walking close enough that I can feel the heat coming off Marcus’s arm. I notice that the moon has
climbed halfway up the sky. It’s smaller now, regular moon siz
e, and it makes me a little sad to think it moved so far away while I wasn’t paying attention.
“See that ring around the moon?” Marcus says, surprising me that he, too, is looking at the moon. “That means there’s a storm on the way. I learned all
kinds of astronomy stuff as a kid,” he explains, almost apologetically.
“I used to have those glow-in-the-dark stars and planets stuck to my ceiling at home,” I say.
“Me, too,” Marcus says, his voice happy. We start walking away from the lights glowing in Gram’s house.
I wonder if Mom and Gram are worried. Then I
decide I don’t care. If they aren’t going to tell me things, I won’t bother either.
“I used to live here,” Marcus says when we draw even with his darkened house. Sam is already sitting on the bottom step leading to the porch, making
me think he’s probably been here with Marcus before. I look over at the Marcus, at the way wind is blowing his hair away from his forehead. “But then you
probably already know that,” he says.
I nod, making him laugh softly. “Small town.”
He walks over to the steps leading up to the porch. “Here,” he says, taking my hand. “Watch the third step. It’s rotted through.” We sit on the top step,
watching the water. Sam hops over the broken step and sits in front of me, his tail making soft brushing sounds against the wood. He puts his head in my
lap, leaning his weight against me. The wind whips through the dunes, pushing at us. Despite Sam’s warmth on my lap, I shiver. “Cold?” Marcus asks. I
shrug, but end up shivering again. “I can walk you home,” he says. I shake my head. No amount of weather is going to move me from this step. Marcus
slides closer until I can feel his leg against mine. He puts his hand behind me on the steps and leans toward me, so he almost, but not quite, has his arm
around me. “Better?” he asks. I can feel his warm breath on the side of my neck. I just nod, feeling my face flush. We sit like that for so long that Sam starts
snoring softly against my leg.
“Did you know that there are more than ten billion stars in the Milky Way alone?” Sam shifts against my leg and sighs deeply. “But that even on a really
good night, with a new moon and no clouds, you can only see a couple thousand of them?” He leans toward me again, but this time it’s to lift his hand
toward the sky. “There’s the Pleiades, and Ursa Major and Ursa Minor.” He goes on to list some of the other constellations hovering over us.
“It’s beautiful out here,” I say. “One time my family spent a week on a lake in Maine. My dad took me out in the canoe one night. It was really cold. I didn’t
want to go at first, but once we got out on the water, it was amazing.” I pause, suddenly shy, but I can feel Marcus beside me, listening. “The whole sky was
filled—thousands of stars. We could even see the cleft in the Milky Way,” I say.
“Not many people get to see that,” he says. He chuckles softly. “Not many people even know what that is.” Then he’s quiet again, thinking. “Listen,”
Marcus says finally. And I do, but before he can say anything more, Sam lets out a snort that makes us both laugh. Marcus turns toward me, then looks
back out over the water. “At the end of Hog Days . . .” He pauses again, making me smile. “I know, it’s lame. I guess really lame, considering where you
moved from.” He’s quiet again.
“The City wasn’t that great,” I say, and I mean it.
“Well then,” Marcus says, and he leans forward a bit so that I can only see the side of his face. “There’s this dance. . . .” He pauses for a moment and I
hold my breath. “I wonder if you might like to go.”
“I’d like that,” I say. A tiny part of me wonders why he’s not asking Charity, but I’m not about to ask him that.
He smiles at me—a real smile. “I’ll walk you home,” he says, standing up and reaching down for my hand. His bracelet slides down his wrist and rests
against my fingers. We both hop over the rotten step onto the sand. I loosen my fingers on his, just in case he wants to let go of my hand, but he doesn’t.
We walk toward Gram’s, Sam leading the way.
“How do you know where I live?” I ask, even though I already know what he’s going to say.
“Small town,” he says, squeezing my hand. He walks with me most of the way up the trail to Gram’s porch.
“Thanks,” I say.
“For what?” he asks.
I shrug a little. “Walking me home.” Even though what I want to say is asking me to the dance, hol ding my hand, making my night.
It’s only then that I hear her. My mother is standing on the porch, a blanket wrapped around herself.
“Penny,” my mother says, “you should come in now.” The strain in her voice makes her words clipped.
Marcus takes a step back and I put my hand on his arm. I don’t want him to feel guilty about anything.
“Coming.” I give Marcus an apologetic smile and say, “See you soon, okay?” before I turn to walk up toward the porch. I know the faster I get inside, the
less likely it is that my mother will ruin things completely.
chapter fifteen
I sit on the end of the sofa and pull my knees up into my chest. I was hoping Gram would be here.
Maybe to be on my side or maybe just to soften things a
little. As if reading my mind, my mother says simply, “She’s sleeping.” She sits in the straight-back chair near the fireplace, the one Oscar always sleeps
in. Oscar threads through her legs, wanting his spot back, then gives up and joins me on the couch.
“I stopped by the bakery tonight after the chamber of commerce meeting.” I stare at my feet, noticing that the ankle of one of my socks is gray and
speckled. Coffee grounds. “I thought you might like a ride.”
“Really,” I say, and it comes out nasty, but I don’t care.
She pauses for a moment. “I was worried when I couldn’t find you.” I just shake my head and look past her.
“Penny . . .” She sighs.
I keep looking past her, as if I’m looking out the window, but it’s so dark all I can see is my mother’s reflection.
“I know this is hard for you.”
“What exactly is hard for me?” I ask. My voice is sharp and too loud.
She sighs again. “Starting a new school . . . making new friends . . .” Say it! I think. Just tell me what I already know. I think about asking her, but I want her to say the words, not just nod in agreement.
Finally she says, “Penny, your father and I are separating.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, feeling even more anger rise in me. “Living three hundred miles away from each other already seems pretty separated to
me.”
She nods and looks at her hands. “Right. But now it’s more . . . official.” She takes a breath and I wait for more, but she’s quiet, maybe waiting for me.
“What now?” I ask.
“I don’t know, Penny,” she says flatly.
I grab a pillow from the couch and hug it when what I really want to do is punch it. The fact that she doesn’t know what now is worse than her
announcement that they’re separating. Without a plan it’s pretty obvious. Even though she hasn’t used the D word yet, unless somebody does something,
that’s what’s next.
When I came inside I thought I was in for a lecture about letting people know where I am or the dangers of being with strange boys in the dark. But
instead I get this. We sit for several minutes. I put down the pillow and pet Oscar, feeling him purr.
“Penny—”
I hold up my hand. “If you’re going to tell me that you and Dad both love me very much, just don’t.” She looks at me for long enough to let me know that was exactly
what she was going to say. Now she doesn’t know how to go on. Minutes of silence
click by on the clock over the mantel.
When she finally does speak again, it’s random and weird. “When did you do your hair?”
“A couple of days ago.” I reach up and tuck my hair behind my ear again. Tally helped me put highlights in it, so now instead of just plain brown, it looks
almost red in the light. I think red was a good choice, better than the green stripes Tally suggested.
“You don’t like it,” I say, judging by her frown.
“I don’t like that it took me a couple of days to see it.”
The sadness in her voice takes some of my anger away. There’s more I want to talk about, but I don’t because she looks too tired and stressed right
now.
She keeps starting to say something, but each time she gives up. I wonder if this awkwardness drove Dad as crazy as it drives me. I immediately shut
down the thought, feeling guilty.
When she finally does speak again, it’s just, “Guess I’ll head up.” She f olds her blanket over the back of the chair and walks toward the stairs. “Penny . .
.”
She waits for me to look at her, but I don’t.
“Don’t stay up too late,” she says finally.
“I won’t,” I say. But I’m lying. I know I’ll be up most of the night. Sleep see ms to be another one of those things I forgot to pack when we moved here.
I’m working the front at the bakery again. It’s become my after-school thing. Afternoons are usually pretty slow, so I can get some of my homework done.
And boxing up cupcakes and cleaning the glass cases help keep my mind off last night’s conversation with my mother.
In between customers, I’m trying to come up with a float design for the parade. I’m the last person who should be working on this. This year’s theme is
The Way Life Should Be. Right now my life is anything but the way it should be. All I can come up with are suggestions for changing things. I crumple up
The Cupcake Queen Page 11