* * *
On our walk home, I filled Charlie in on what had happened with Mr. Stephens.
“That guy is such a drama llama,” he said, just as annoyed as I was.
“I know, right?”
“I remember Betsy saying that one time she walked in on him giving an Oscar acceptance speech to the empty auditorium,” he told me.
“Oh, that’s so sad,” I laughed. “When did she tell you that?”
“I dunno. Last week maybe?”
“You were talking over the summer?”
“She doesn’t have a cell phone, but after camp we’d message when she was allowed to use her mom’s boyfriend’s computer,” Charlie explained. “Didn’t you message with her at all?”
“Uh, no, I guess I didn’t really.”
“She’s a riot.”
“I know, you may have mentioned that before. Like eighteen times,” I reminded him.
“That’s only because you don’t listen,” he teased.
“What did you say?” I joked as we got to the intersection where we each head home.
“Text me later?” Charlie asked.
“If I survive the pre-wedded bliss.”
* * *
Part of my post-school routine had become heading to my dad’s dental practice to meet him and Ms. Watson to get wedding stuff done. Since we were in the homestretch now, I had expected nerves to be less frayed. I was wrong.
“It’s just a few flowers,” I heard my dad plead as I swung open the glass door. Its little bell let out a jingle, interrupting the bickering that had been going on.
“Kiddo!” Dad met me with a bear hug. “How was the first day?” He had already changed out of his white dentist smock and was clad in his usual uniform: black everything.
“Same old dumb stuff,” I answered. “And some new dumb stuff.”
“That’s the spirit,” he teased, and gave me an extra squeeze.
“Hey, Ms. Watson,” I wheezed from my dad’s enthusiastic embrace.
Ms. Watson had beat me there from school.
“McGowan, please tell your father that we don’t need so many flowers. Unless we’re entering the Rose Parade float contest afterward.”
I giggled. Then I realized she wasn’t joking.
“Flowers are nice, I think,” I said with a shrug. Dad gave me a wink.
The office phone rang.
“That’s the florist,” Dad said excitedly as he reached for the phone. Ms. Watson smacked his hand before he could pick up the receiver.
“Hello, Melinda? Yes, he was expecting your call,” Ms. Watson said. “I know, it is a lot more flowers than we had on our original order…”
Dad and I cringed. She was about to throw the brake on the Flower Train. “… But we would still like them.”
I gasped and looked at Dad. He had a cool smile on his face, but I could tell he was excited.
“Yes, it is very short notice. But if I could dismantle a bomb blindfolded, using only my elbows, in less than ten seconds, I think you can do this, Melinda. Thank you!”
“Wait, what?” I asked as she hung up the phone.
“Let’s go get dinner, shall we?” she asked, ignoring me.
“Dinner?”
“Rik thought we could use a break from planning.”
“Oh, really?” I smirked. “Or did he just know he’d be bombarding you with flowers today and would need to suck up?”
“Hmm…,” Watson considered as she looked at Dad. “I think it’s probably wise to not think about that too much.”
“Agreed,” Dad added. “Sushi?”
“Yes!” I said.
* * *
The walk to Dragon Roll was short, but I couldn’t help noticing how crisp the air was. Summer was definitely on its way out.
“Smells like snow,” I mused as I scanned the trees for any leaves that were changing color.
“It does,” Dad agreed. Then he gave me a questioning look.
“It’s not me,” I laughed.
“Good. ’Cause if you made it snow in September, I’d have to disown you,” he kidded.
My powers. Oof. Occasionally they did do some major things, but nothing that big in the past few weeks for sure. Many little bursts, but certainly not any that caused weather alerts to pop up on your phone.
When we arrived at the restaurant, I directed Ms. Watson toward the booth Dad and I usually sat in.
“Where’s your father going?”
“To say hi to Sam, the owner and sushi chef. He and Dad have been friends since high school.”
“That’s lovely,” she said, sliding into the booth seat across from me.
“And probably to tell him to make it dinner for three.”
“Excuse me?”
“We just eat whatever Sam wants to make us,” I explained.
“Oh, boy.” Ms. Watson gulped. “I’m not sure that will work for me.”
“How do you feel about sharing food? ’Cause we do that a lot. Like, a lot.”
Ms. Watson let out three short breaths very quickly.
“You don’t have to share with us,” I offered.
“Thank you,” she said genuinely.
“Happy to do a favor anytime.”
“Actually, McGowan, I was going to ask you a favor.”
“Do it!”
Ms. Watson smoothed out the paper place mat in front of her with her palms. She hesitated for a minute before she said, “I’m just going to come out and say it.”
“That’s probably a good plan,” I encouraged her. It wasn’t like Ms. Watson to be at a loss for words, which made me kinda nervous.
“It has come to my attention that I don’t really have so many … what you might call ‘girlfriends.’”
“You want to hang out with me and Betsy?” I gulped.
“No. No. Nothing like that.” She shook her head. “Would you like to be my maid of honor?”
“Oh! Whoa.” That was not at all what I expected to hear.
“I completely understand if your other activities would keep you from—”
“I’d love to!”
“Really?”
“Plan a bachelorette party?! Hold the big bouquet at the ceremony?! I’m down!”
“Well, I don’t think we need to have a bach—”
“I’m gonna blow your mind.”
“Why are we blowing minds?” Dad asked as he joined us at the booth.
“Well, Ms. Watson asked me—” I started to say, but then I saw the look on her face and felt like maybe I shouldn’t say anything to Dad. She looked terrified.
“Yes?” Dad pushed.
“Oh, she asked me what my favorite type of sushi is.”
“That will definitely blow your mind. This girl only eats veggie sushi.”
“Say ‘no’ to roe, Dad.”
“Ha!” Ms. Watson let out a sharp laugh that surprised us both. Luckily, we were interrupted by Sam bringing out our first course.
“Edamame and tempura for the table,” Sam said as he set them down.
“Thanks, Sam!” I said. Dad dove in, but I couldn’t help registering how uncomfortable Ms. Watson looked. How had I never noticed she doesn’t like to share food? “Oh, Ms. Watson, do you want a separate order?”
I swear her cheeks flushed when she said, “No!” and started frantically eating the communal edamame.
“Rolls will be out soon,” Sam called over his shoulder on his way back to the kitchen.
“So, what’s the ‘new dumb stuff’ at school?” Dad asked when we were elbow deep in rice and wasabi.
“Oh, get this. Charlie and I don’t have any classes together this semester! None! Zip!”
“What? That’s ridiculous,” Dad commiserated.
“Even worse, he has, like, all of his classes with Betsy.”
“I thought you and she were pals now?” Dad asked.
“I think ‘pals’ is too strong of a word,” I corrected him, “but she’s okay.”
“So, you’re w
orried they’re having all the fun without you?”
“Something like that,” I said, then jammed the last piece of my gobo-and-avocado roll into my mouth. “I gwuess its gwood to know dat pweople can change, wight?”
“Veri, chew, then speak,” Dad instructed.
I had had something else brewing in the old cabeza for a while now, and I knew I had to ease into it.
I swallowed, then continued. “I’m just saying that we used to be really afraid of Betsy, and for good reason. She was mean to me. Like, really mean to me. But we worked through it and now we’re friends.”
“I thought she was just ‘okay,’” Dad said.
“Let’s not get bogged down in little details, okay? The point is that we thought Betsy was really evil and it turns out that she isn’t. She just needed to be forgiven and brought into the pack with us.”
Ms. Watson looked at Dad, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Well, I’m glad you are having deep thoughts and making analogies, kiddo,” he said, smiling at me.
I couldn’t help but notice Ms. Watson’s expression. She was deep in thought and looked pretty concerned.
“What brought this on?” she asked.
“Um, was just thinking about stuff,” I answered, and looked down at my empty plate.
* * *
After dinner, we walked Ms. Watson back to her car at the office. Through some mix of magic and ninja-like avoidance, I had managed not to see my dad and Ms. Watson kiss. Yet. I knew that eventually I would, but my brain just wasn’t ready for it. Considering the delicate nature of my stupidpowers, I found it was best to listen to my intuition about what I could handle or, you know, I might turn into a blueberry or something.
“Question,” I began as Dad and I walked home. “Is Ms. Watson ever going to move in with us?”
Dad chuckled. “Of course she is. Things have just been busy, ya know? Moving is a lot of work.”
“What? Does she live in a mansion or something? If she does, we should move in there.”
“She doesn’t.”
“Hmm. Then I’m picturing, like, a studio apartment. She doesn’t seem like a person with a lot of knickknacks. Is it tiny? Why have I never been there before?”
Dad slowed down. He was searching for an answer.
I gasped, realizing why he couldn’t answer me. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’ve never been to her place? You’re marrying someone and you don’t even know if their bathroom is disgusting?!” This was madness. “Dad!”
“I know. I know!” He put his hand to his forehead. “She’s just a very private person.”
“What if her pantry shelves are lined with human skulls or something?”
Dad gave me his patented “Stop being ridiculous” look.
“Okay, maybe not skulls, but what if she squeezes her toothpaste out from the middle of the tube? You hate that. Possibly even more than skulls next to your canned beans.”
“Well, that’s what annulments are for, Veri,” he joked as he unlocked the front door.
Our dog, Einstein, bounded toward us. His little white tail wagged a zillion times a minute.
“Hey, bud!” I exclaimed, picking him up. “Did you know that Ms. Watson probably has eighteen roommates?” I asked the tiny terrier. “All of them are named Steve.”
“Veri, I do need to talk to you about something.”
I felt my eyes go wide.
“Nothing bad,” Dad reassured me. He sat on the couch and motioned for me to do the same.
“Okay…”
“Since we are on the topic of non-traditional marriage traditions,” he began, “I was thinking you could be my best man.”
I must have made a face.
“Not if you don’t want to,” he quickly added.
“Oh, no! I’d love to!” I told him. “It’s a bit unexpected—Ms. Watson just asked me to be her maid of honor, too.”
“Really? I had no idea she was going to … It doesn’t matter. That’s too much, Veri. You shouldn’t do both.”
“Are you kidding? There’s so much fun stuff to do: I get to hold the rings and give a speech and—wait, where do I stand during the ceremony? In the middle?” My mind was racing.
“We’ll figure it out. It isn’t going to be a traditional wedding, kiddo. Don’t go overboard.”
I wasn’t listening. “Oh! I get to plan the bachelor and bachelorette parties! I’m totally in!” I was so excited that my powers literally sparked and a small shower of twinkly sparkles burst from a fingertip and shimmered down onto my lap. I dusted them off and sat up straight. “I’m calm,” I assured Dad.
He laughed, then said, “Let’s make a list of what we actually want you to do, okay? We don’t need a million things going on.”
“Okay, but we have to do the parties.”
He thought about it for a few seconds. “Well, mine better be cooler than hers,” Dad said with a wink.
“Le duh.”
“Let me know if it gets to be too much.”
“It won’t. But I will let you know if by some nightmare situation, it becomes too much,” I promised him.
* * *
I spent the rest of the evening contemplating what ideal parties for both Dad and Ms. Watson would be. Dad would want something macho and fun, but classy. Ms. Watson would want … what would Ms. Watson want? I was going to have to do a little digging. Maybe I should invite the other school staff? The other FBI agents who showed up when my powers destroyed the gym? Might be going too far with that last one. I needed my yearbook so I could write down the names of her school coworkers, but I was so cozy in bed, and the yearbook was all the way over on the bookshelf. I wiggled under the covers toward the end of the bed until my legs dangled off. Stretching out as far as my legs would go, I could just about hook the edge of the yearbook with my toe. “Come on,” I encouraged my little piggy. With one big exhale, I caught my toe on the book’s spine and flicked it out of the bookshelf!… Along with twenty-ish other books and a shoebox.
“Bah!” I complained as I crawled out of my comforter cocoon and slid onto the floor. I grabbed the yearbook and assessed the mess I definitely wasn’t cleaning up until the next day. The toppled shoebox had a small river of pictures gushing out of it.
“I thought I got rid of you.” I picked up a yellowed three-by-five photo and angled my arm to send it flying into the trash can under my desk. Then I stopped. Turning the picture toward me but still keeping it at arm’s length, I couldn’t help but look. My mother and baby me. Me in a baby swing. I’m smiling like crazy, but my eyes look really dark and moody. It must be the lighting, but it reminds me of how Betsy’s eyes look when she’s mad. Again, I was relieved that her anger wasn’t directed at me anymore. Our relationship had totally changed. We were friends, which was something I never thought would happen. It made me wonder about my mom. She was afraid of me and rejected me because of my powers before, but maybe our relationship could change. Maybe there was a way she could be my mom again.
CHAPTER TWO
MESSAGE RECEIVED
“Charlie! I’m so sorry I forgot to text last night. My dad asked me to be his best man “and Ms. Watson asked me to be her maid of honor,” I explained as we walked to our lockers.
“That’s fantastic!” Charlie congratulated me. “Doesn’t that mean you have to do a ton of stuff?”
“Normally, yeah, but I agreed to a shorter list of responsibilities. Oh! I do get to plan some parties!”
“Your specialty!”
“Except I don’t know what to do about Ms. Watson. She doesn’t have … friends. Maybe you can help me think of something.”
“Sure. I’ll see what Betsy’s up to,” Charlie said with a smile.
“I guess. Yeah, okay.” I fumbled for words as he fished a notebook out of the mess in the bottom of his locker. “I mean, did she okay your outfit choice for today?”
“That was very sassy,” he answered. “I gotta roll. Lock up when you’re done.”
“Su
re,” I said, reaching to the top shelf of his locker to retrieve some gum.
“Just remember, Veri,” Charlie said as he walked backward down the hall, “no one tells Charles Weathers what to wear.” He went to spin himself forward but ended up tripping and landing directly in the arms of—guess who—Betsy.
“Let’s go,” she said, hoisting him back up. “What up, weirdo?” she called out to me.
I waved, then watched them walk down the hall. I didn’t like this feeling. It was like Dad said. I felt like I was missing out on the fun, but it wasn’t just that. Part of me wanted to end their fun. So they couldn’t have any fun unless I was there. No them having fun alone together. On top of that, I could sense my stupidpowers starting to tingle. Not now! Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a green bubble wafting past me and toward the ceiling. Instantly I knew that my stupidpowers had managed to eke out one little problem. A bubble? A green bubble? What did that even mean? I couldn’t reach it, but up close I could see that it was made of some kind of goo. It looked like slime. I used one of my binders to fan it out an open window. At least no one would be freaked out by seeing a bubble floating around, right?
Outside I heard a sharp POP! and then the surprised groan of a very irritated principal. I slammed Charlie’s locker shut and clicked the lock into place before I rushed to the window and looked out. There was Mr. Chomers, covered in green slime!
Oops.
* * *
Despite that little kerfuffle, the rest of the day was fairly uneventful. Shall I say boring? Because it was. Let’s just skim a few of the high and lowlights. In that order.
Art class! Oh, how I love thee.
“Hey!” I greeted Dean and Lizzie, who were already there and opening paint.
“Portrait is already looking great,” Lizzie commented as she nodded to my early sketching on the canvas.
“Oh, thanks! Wedding is in, like, a week and a half, so…”
“Eep!” Dean empathized.
“Event of the season!” Mrs. Brannon called from her desk.
“Guess we better invite her,” I whispered to Dean and Lizzie. “Actually, that reminds me of something. Would you two be interested in documenting the event? And also the bachelor and ette parties? I’m going to ask Betsy to record them, but I could totally use your pro help in getting candid stuff from guests.”
All the Feels Page 2