“You’re doing all the talking, right, Emma?” Carmen asked, sounding nervous.
“Did either of you come up with some totally convincing reasons the bookmobile should be allowed to stay without paying rent?” Emma asked.
“I tried,” I told her. “But it’s hard. It’s like trying to convince someone we should take care of hungry children. Why can’t everyone just think of others more than they think of themselves? It would make the world so much better.”
When we got to Emma’s house, we set our backpacks on the bench next to the front door and went into the kitchen. Her brother Thomas was already in there, making a peanut butter and banana sandwich.
“Thomas, this is Carmen,” Emma said as she went to the fridge.
“Hey,” Thomas said.
“Hi,” Carmen said quietly.
“You want to make us sandwiches, too?” Emma asked her brother.
“You want to wash my underwear?” he responded before he took a big bite of his PB&B.
Emma gave him a friendly slug in the arm as he left the kitchen. “So, what sounds good?” she asked us.
“Not your brother’s underwear,” I joked.
Emma grimaced. “Definitely not.”
She gave us some options and we ended up choosing cheese and crackers along with some apple slices. I helped cut up the apples while Emma sliced some cheese and Carmen put four different kinds of crackers on a plate.
“How does your mom feed so many people?” Carmen asked.
I smiled. “That’s what I wondered when I first met them.”
“My mom is the queen of menu planning and shopping lists,” Emma replied. “And then we all pitch in to help make meals. It’s not so bad.”
“I whine and complain when I have to make dinner for me and my brother,” Carmen said. “And it’s only two of us.”
“Do you have to do it very often?” Emma asked. “Does your mom work late a lot or something?”
I was glad Emma wasn’t afraid to ask her curious questions. All we really knew about Carmen’s family was that her brother went to after-school care until five thirty most days, and Carmen was responsible for picking him up and walking him home.
“I don’t know,” Carmen replied as she slowly and methodically closed up one of the cracker boxes. “It depends. Hey, Emma, can I fill up some glasses with water for us to drink?”
And she’d done it again. Changed the subject.
“Sure,” Emma said. She pointed to a corner cupboard. “The glasses are there. Do you guys want to eat at the table or in my room?”
“Your room sounds good,” Carmen said. “I want to see it.”
Emma checked the clock on the microwave. “Okay. But we don’t have a ton of time. I don’t want you to be late picking up your brother.”
“It’s fine, I don’t have to walk,” Carmen replied. “My mom gave me money to take the bus. So, don’t worry.”
But I was worried. I was worried Carmen was hiding something from us. And I would have been lying if I’d said I wasn’t dying to find out what, exactly, she didn’t want us to know about.
Reasons why a person keeps a secret
* She’s afraid of what people might think.
* She’s afraid of what people might say.
* She’s afraid of letting someone down.
* She’s afraid of hurting someone.
* She feels ashamed about something.
* It feels safer to keep it than to share it, even if that probably isn’t true.
* She’s hiding a gift.
* She wants to keep something wonderful and special all to herself.
(I’m thinking the last two reasons may be the only good reasons to keep a secret.)
When we walked into the grocery store, we kind of looked around like little lost children. Where should we go? Who should we ask? It felt like someone had me by the ankles and was swinging me side to side. I was kind of nauseous and dizzy. How were we going to get through this?
Emma turned and looked at us. It was a look that said, “We can do this.”
“Come on,” Emma said. She sounded very serious and very determined. She walked up to the first checker she saw. “Hello, can you please tell us where we can find the store manager?”
“I’m not sure where he is at the moment.” She turned and pointed to a door near the bakery that said AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. “The office is through those doors. Go in there and his administrative assistant can help you find him.”
“Thank you very much,” Emma said.
We followed Emma through the door and up to the desk that sat a little ways in. A woman with short brown hair, big brown eyes, and a friendly face sat there, working on a computer. “Hello,” Emma said. “What’s the store manager’s name?”
“His name is Mr. Strickland,” the woman said.
“Could we speak to him, please?” Emma asked.
“May I ask what this is regarding?” she asked.
“Well,” Emma said, “it’s kind of hard to explain. Can we just talk to him? Please?”
The woman seemed to think about it for a second before she said, “All right. Let me see if he’s available.”
We all watched as she walked toward a closed door at the back of the small room.
“You’re doing so well,” Carmen whispered to Emma.
“Yes,” I agreed. “You’re amazing, Emma.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You guys, we haven’t even gotten to the hard part yet.”
It was a minute before a tall man with a mustache, wearing a crisp white dress shirt, came out. He wasn’t young and he wasn’t old. Somewhere in between. In a gruff voice, he said, “Girls, what do you need?”
Both Carmen and I turned and stared at Emma. Her mouth was open slightly, like she was about to speak. But nothing came out.
“Come on,” he said as he came closer. “I’ve got work to do. What is it?”
“Emma?” I finally said.
Still she didn’t speak. Didn’t even blink. It was like she was in shock or something. I turned back to Mr. Strickland and told myself I should say something, but I couldn’t think of the right words. How was I supposed to begin? What points were we going to make? I realized we should have practiced this in Emma’s bedroom. Maybe she’d practiced in her head, but she should have practiced it with us, out loud.
Suddenly Emma muttered, “Sorry,” then turned around and flew out the door. Not knowing what else to do, I turned around and followed her, and Carmen did the same. Emma didn’t stop until she was almost to the bookmobile at the far end of the parking lot.
When she turned to face us, she had tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t … I couldn’t do it. He looked so mean and I just … I froze.”
“It’s okay,” Carmen said, pulling Emma into a hug.
I rubbed both my friends’ backs as I said, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Yeah,” Carmen said as she pulled away. “We tried. It was harder than we thought it’d be, that’s all. We’ll do something else.”
“But what?” Emma said. “I don’t know if I can ever walk into that store again.”
“How about if we write letters?” Carmen asked. She wiggled her eyebrows. “You two are especially good at that. But this time, instead of putting them into bottles, we’ll put them into an envelope and mail them.”
“Good idea,” I said. “We can do that. Right, Emma?”
“Maybe just the two of you should do it,” Emma said. “I might mess things up.”
“You know what you need to do?” I asked.
“What?”
I started singing. “Let it go, let it go …”
Emma and Carmen both burst out laughing. “Oh no, it’s contagious,” Emma said. “Now I have another thing to be sorry about because breaking out into song is not always a wonderful thing that everyone loves.”
“Especially when y
ou’re a terrible singer like me,” I said.
“You’re not terrible,” Carmen said. “Trust me. I’ve heard my dad—”
But she didn’t finish. Her hand flew to her mouth as if by mentioning her father, she’d just said a terrible, terrible thing.
“Carmen?” I asked. “It’s okay. What about your dad?”
She shook her head. “I’m not supposed to … I don’t want to talk about him.”
Emma and I looked at each other. I saw worry and confusion on her face, and I’m sure she saw the exact same thing on mine.
“Do you have a few more minutes before you have to head home?” Emma asked Carmen. “Because I think we need to have another meeting of the Starry Beach Club.”
“Another meeting?” Carmen asked. “But why? We just said we’d go home and write letters. What else is there to discuss?”
Emma put her arm around Carmen. “I think we need to discuss that our club is special and private and that you can trust us. Like, completely.”
“We’re here for you,” I added. “No matter what it is that’s going on. And if you need help, we want to help you.”
She shook her head. “You might change your mind. You could change your mind.” She shoved her hands into her pants pockets. “I should get going. I don’t want to be late. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?”
“Carmen,” Emma said. “Wait. Are you sure you’re all right?”
She didn’t answer, though. She only gave us a little nod and a wave as she walked away, down the sidewalk.
I hate that helpless feeling when someone you care about is hurting and there’s nothing you can do. And with Carmen, it was even more frustrating because she wouldn’t tell us anything. Sometimes my mom says, “You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.” I’d never quite understood what that meant until now. Unless Carmen opened up to us and let us know what was bothering her, there wasn’t much we could do.
“Any idea what’s going on?” I asked Emma.
“Nope,” she replied. “But can we stop in and see Mr. and Mrs. Button? I could use a little cheering up about now.”
“Excellent idea.”
When we walked into the bookmobile, Mr. Button was sitting in his chair reading a book with a moose on the cover while Mrs. Button was back in the shelves.
“Hello, girls,” she called out.
“Hi!” we said at the same time.
“It’s so nice to see you, Emma and Juliet,” Mr. Button said as he set the book down and took off his reading glasses. “Have you come to scour the shelves for a story to transport you to somewhere magical and far away?”
Emma smiled and said, “We mostly came to see you.”
“Well, I’m honored to hear that,” Mr. Button said. “We always enjoy visiting with you. Anything exciting to share about your weekend? I’d ask you about school, but I don’t suppose you really want to talk about that very much.”
“I made a banana cream pie,” Emma said, “and it was so good. There was barely a crumb left after I served it for dessert Saturday night.”
“Pie is one of the best things in the world, isn’t it?” Mrs. Button said as she came up to see us. “Maybe I should make one myself this week.”
“I second the motion!” Mr. Button said. “Especially if it’s cherry. Or blackberry. Or coconut cream. Or …”
We all laughed. Then Mrs. Button said, “I suppose I will have to make one. But just one. I’m not sure what we would do with three or four pies lying around.”
“You could have a pie party,” Emma said. “Wouldn’t that be fun? Maybe I’ll do that someday. Bake a bunch of pies and have a pie party.”
I stuck my finger in the air. “Or you could ask everyone to bring a pie so you don’t have to do all the baking yourself.”
“Oooh, I like that idea,” Emma said.
“Well, now that we’re all hungry for pie, it’s about time to close up for the day,” Mrs. Button said. “Are you sure you don’t want to look for a book, girls?”
“Actually,” I said, “do you have any books that teach you how to be convincing?”
“I think we have a book titled Persuasion,” Mrs. Button said, turning around. “Not the one by Jane Austen, however. It’s a nonfiction title. Let me see if I can find it.”
“Good idea,” Emma whispered.
I had to write a persuasive essay in school once. I wrote about the many reasons dogs should always be on leashes when they’re not in a fenced yard or in their home. I got an A on it, but we weren’t talking about a silly grade now. We were talking about something that would actually make a difference to a whole bunch of people. To me. To Emma. To the Buttons. To the neighborhood.
As we walked through the cozy bookmobile that Mr. and Mrs. Button had made their life’s work in their retirement when they could have been doing a hundred different things, I felt like crying. How could anyone think this amazing place filled with books wasn’t worth a few parking spots in a parking lot that was never full anyway?
We had to convince Mr. Strickland through our letters to let the bookmobile stay. We just had to.
Dear Mr. Strickland,
I recently moved to San Diego and one of the things I was most excited about was the bookmobile. My grandma told me it was really cute and I would love it, and she was exactly right about that.
Some people might say—but can’t you just go to the regular library or your school library? And maybe I can, sometimes. The regular library isn’t as easy to get to and the school library is only open during school hours. What if I want a book on Saturday? Or during summer vacation? The bookmobile is there for me, and Mr. and Mrs. Button, two of the sweetest people I’ve ever met, are there for me. And not just me, lots of other people, too, especially tourists.
I asked Mrs. Button yesterday how many people visited the bookmobile every week, and do you know what she said? On average, they get 225 visitors every week. They’re open six days a week, so that’s an average of 37.5 people a day. Maybe the .5 is a baby who can’t check out by herself, but she still needs books, right?
And what if most of those 37.5 people each day also stop in at your store to pick up some bread or milk or some of your delicious fudge cookies? Do you really want to lose over 200 customers each week who might go to a different store because it’s closer to the regular library?
Please let the beach bookmobile stay parked in your lot. Tourists love it. Kids love it. The community loves it. There are so many people who will be upset if it has to close. And if people hear it had to close because of you, they’ll be upset with you. And if they’re upset with you, they probably won’t shop at your store anymore.
Please do the right thing and let the bookmobile stay for free.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Juliet Kelley
The next day, when Emma and I got off the bus, we split up and went to our lockers, like always. Since I’d arrived as a new student midyear, I’d gotten stuck with one of the lockers at the far end of the red hall. There are three halls in our school and they each have a color assigned—red, blue, and green. Blue hall is in the middle one, and that’s where everyone wants to have a locker. That’s where Emma has hers. She shares with her friend Shelby. I share with a girl named Apple. Yes, Apple. Like the fruit. Apparently some celebrities I’ve never heard of named their daughter Apple and my locker partner’s parents loved the idea.
“It’s so unconventional, right?” she’d said to me when I told her I’d never heard that name. I’m not joking, she actually said that.
“Do you mean something different?” I’d asked.
“No,” she said with a hint of disgust. “Don’t you know anything? Unconventional means unique and cool.”
I wanted to ask her if she had a brother named Cucumber (as in cool as a cucumber), but I managed to keep my not-very-nice thoughts to myself.
After I grabbed the books I needed for language arts, I headed to blue
hall to find Emma and Carmen. I started to walk over to say hi to Carmen, but she seemed to be in a deep conversation with a couple of people, Mateo and Luciana, and I didn’t want to interrupt her.
I wriggled through the sea of people to Emma’s locker.
“How’s Apple today?” Emma asked.
“Rotten to her core?” I snipped back. She pinched her lips together, trying not to laugh. “I know, I know, I’m a terrible person. I shouldn’t say things like that. Forgive me?”
“Of course I forgive you. It’s not like we are built to love everyone we meet, right? Some we click with, some we don’t. You and Apple don’t click, that’s all.”
“That’s for sure,” I said. “Any way you slice it.” Now I laughed. “Are you tired of my apple puns yet?”
“Never! Funny puns forever and ever.”
“This is why we click,” I told her.
After Emma grabbed what she needed, we made our way slowly toward Carmen. We wanted to get our letters together, put them in the envelope Emma had brought, and take it to the office to mail. But when we got closer, both of us stopped and stared. Carmen was crying.
“Oh no,” I said.
“Um … what do we do?” Emma asked.
We watched as Luciana pulled Carmen into a hug. And then both Emma and I turned around and started walking the other way. To do anything else felt wrong, like we were spying on her or invading her privacy or something. Whatever had happened, she’d chosen to tell someone else about it.
When we first met Carmen, she’d mentioned that her best friend, Jovina, had moved away last year. That was one of the reasons she’d wanted to form the Starry Beach Club—to keep her mind off how much she missed her. It was a good plan, too, because I know for me, keeping busy looking for people with wishes had definitely helped me from missing Inca and my old school.
Carmen had told us later that she and Jovina had a bigger group of friends they were a part of, but once Jovina moved away, they’d sort of made Carmen feel like an outsider.
“Is that who Carmen hung around with before?” I asked.
“Yes,” Emma said.
“So she’s telling them what’s bothering her, but not us?”
Wish on All the Stars Page 4