The Life and Crimes of Bernetta Wallflower

by Lisa Graff

  “How was camp?” Bernetta asked.

  “It was good,” Elsa replied. “Only . . .”

  “Only what?”

  “Only my feet are disgusting. Five weeks out in the forest, you know? I could really use a good toenail polish.” She glanced at Bernetta. “Too bad you’re so tired.”

  Ten minutes later they were stretched out on Elsa’s floor. Elsa had changed into her pajamas, and she was painting her toes Georgia Peach. Bernetta rummaged through the dresser drawer, searching for the perfect color. She wasn’t in the mood for Blueberry Bramble, it definitely wasn’t a Tangerine Delicious evening, and she’d chucked the Rustic Red in the garbage.

  “So?” Elsa asked. “What’s going on?”

  Bernetta took a deep breath and held it. She was practically bursting with all the things she wanted to tell her sister. Everything. All of it. All the lies and deceits and cons and Gabe and Ashley and every last detail. But she couldn’t. For a second she wished she were still Same Old Netta, so she’d know exactly how to tell Elsa what she was feeling. So she wouldn’t have any of these problems in the first place.

  But she was a very different Bernetta Wallflower now. She let out all the air in her lungs and took a bottle of polish out of Elsa’s drawer. Ruby Slipper. She examined it closely. Was the new Bernetta a Ruby Slipper kind of girl? She didn’t know. Maybe. She placed the bottle on the floor and picked up another one. Perfect Plum Purple? Was that what she was feeling? Or was she more of a Midnight Frost?

  “Netta?” Elsa asked, her voice soft. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

  Silver Bells? Easy Being Green? Twirly Girlie Grapefruit?

  Bernetta grabbed all the bottles from the dresser and dumped them on the floor.

  “Netta?”

  Then, all at once, Bernetta gulped and sputtered, and the tears flooded out.

  “I . . .” Bernetta said, her face in her hands. “I don’t know what color I want!” She couldn’t help the tears.

  Elsa rushed over to her and scooped her up in a hug. She held on tight for a long time. “Shh. Shh, Netta, it’s okay. It’s all right.”

  And Bernetta let her say those things, whisper them in her ear as if they were true. But really, were they?

  It was several minutes before Elsa let her go. She rubbed Bernetta’s arm softly. “Can you tell me what’s wrong, Netta?”

  Bernetta shook her head slowly, swallowing hard. How could she explain to Elsa that she’d spent the whole summer trying to be someone different, and now she didn’t much like the person she’d turned into?

  Elsa handed her a tissue, and Bernetta wiped her face. When she thought she had the sobbing under control, she attempted a smile, although it came out more as a sniffle than anything else. “Sorry,” she said.

  “That’s okay,” Elsa replied. “It’s been a tough summer, huh?”

  Bernetta rolled her wet tissue into a ball. “Yeah. I guess—I guess I missed you.” She tossed the tissue toward Elsa’s trash can, but she was short by two feet. “Sorry I’m such a mess. I should probably go to bed or something.” But she stayed on the floor, staring blankly at the wall.

  Elsa didn’t say anything. She just got up slowly and crossed the room to her desk. When she came back, she was holding three sheets of paper, stapled together and creased into fourths. “I was going to give this to you when I left for college, but here.” She handed the pages to Bernetta. “I think you need it now.”

  “What is this?”

  “My valedictorian speech,” Elsa said. “Go ahead. Read it. I’m going to paint your toenails. No peeking now.”

  Bernetta took the papers and read the first sentence while Elsa grabbed her left foot. Good afternoon, friends and family, teachers, and fellow graduates.

  “What color are you painting them?” Bernetta asked from behind the speech.

  “It’s a surprise. Keep reading.”

  Thank you for sharing this occasion with us.

  Bernetta skimmed ahead, doing her best not to look at Elsa or her own toes.

  People say that these are the best days of our lives, but I know we all have many exciting adventures in front of us. Who knows what our futures hold?

  Bernetta could feel the tears pinching at her eyes again. Why was her sister making her read this? So she’d know exactly how thrilled Elsa was about leaving for all her exciting adventures?

  “Are you reading?” Elsa asked.

  “Yes,” Bernetta grumbled.

  But as amazing as our futures will be, I think it’s important to remember the things that shaped our past. I know I wouldn’t be the person I am today—I wouldn’t be up here right now—if it weren’t for the people in my life who cared about me. The people who will stay with me no matter where life may take me.

  Bernetta continued reading for a few more lines but then stopped. “Elsa,” she said. “This is about me.”

  “Yeah, I know. I wrote it.”

  “Why would you write your valedictorian speech about me?”

  Elsa swatted at Bernetta’s leg. “No peeking, Netta! I told you! And I wrote the speech about you because you’re my sister, and I’m going to miss you. And I wanted you to know how much you mean to me.”

  “How much I mean to you?”

  “Yeah. Of course it would have been more dramatic and meaningful at graduation, if you’d heard me say it in front of everyone, but . . .”

  Bernetta smiled. “This way works too,” she said.

  When she finished reading, she waited until Elsa painted the last of her toes, and then she asked, “Are you really going to miss me, Elsa?”

  “Are you kidding? How many sisters do you think I have? You can look at your feet now, by the way.”

  Bernetta looked.

  Elsa had painted each of her toes a different color—baby blue, yellow, cranberry, violet—ten different colors, one for each toe.

  Elsa grinned at her. “I wanted to give you options,” she told Bernetta.

  Bernetta felt her tears melting away. “Thanks,” she said. And she meant it.

  Bernetta helped Elsa put the polish bottles back in the drawer, and when they were done, Elsa gave her another hug. But this one felt less squeezy big sistery and more comforting and understanding. “I don’t know what’s going on with you,” Elsa told her, “but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  Bernetta looked down at her rainbow toes. “Maybe,” she said.

  “You will,” Elsa replied. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

  Bernetta thought about that as she snuggled into bed.

  You’re the smartest person I know.

  Coming from Elsabelle Wallflower, school valedictorian, it was quite a compliment.

  Somehow Bernetta overslept the next morning. When she woke up and saw the red numbers on her clock glaring at her, she jumped out of bed and raced to her dresser, yanking a T-shirt and shorts out of her drawer without even bothering to check if they matched. She slid her feet into a pair of flip-flops and raced out the door as she hollered good-bye to her parents. Then she pedaled into town as quickly as she could, her braid whipping out a rhythm against her back.

  Ashley was already there, sitting on the stoop in front of the shoe store when Bernetta dumped her bike on the sidewalk. Gabe was nowhere in sight.

  Ashley leaped to her feet. “Look!” she shouted. She did not sound happy. “Look at that!”

  Bernetta looked to where Ashley was pointing. The sign in the window of the shoe store. THIS SPACE FOR SALE BY OWNER.

  All the windows were covered in thick white paper.

  Ashley’s face was red and seemed to be swelling like a balloon. Bernetta wiped her sweaty palms on her shorts and tried to think of something to say. “Um, I guess this means Mike—”

  “He left!” Ashley hollered at her. “He’s gone, and he’s stolen ou
r money!” She spat out the word “stolen” like it left a rotten taste in her mouth.

  “Yeah,” Bernetta said. She blinked. “Yeah, I guess he did.”

  Ashley threw her hands in the air. “Oh, what do you care anyway? You didn’t even put in any money. I put in everything I had! Everything!” Ashley was screaming now, pacing back and forth.

  “But you . . .” Bernetta said slowly. “That wasn’t everything you had. You still have ten thousand dollars. The other half of your deposit.”

  Ashley came up close to Bernetta and stopped right in front of her, her face just inches away. “There wasn’t any more money. I lied.”

  “Oh,” Bernetta said. “I—I didn’t know that.”

  Ashley began pacing again. “This is all your fault,” she said.

  “What?” Bernetta hollered. She could feel her face getting hot now. “How is this my fault?”

  “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you! I wouldn’t have lost all my money!”

  “Well, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you!” Bernetta screeched back.

  There was more she could have said, much more, about friendship, and school, and trust, and . . . everything, really. All the mean, terrible, awful things that had been boiling inside her head for weeks now. But she didn’t say it, not any of it.

  Because at that moment she glanced down at her feet and caught sight of her toes—ten different colors. I wanted to give you options, Elsa had said.

  And all of a sudden Bernetta realized that she did have options—dozens of them, maybe even hundreds. A whole rainbow of options. Maybe she couldn’t control if her sister moved away. Maybe she couldn’t control if someone stole from her or if the people she thought were her friends turned out to be con artists and backstabbers. But there were some things she could control. There were a million alternate Bernettas she could become, and she wasn’t going to get roped into becoming one she didn’t like.

  Bernetta climbed back on her bike slowly and took a good long look at the abandoned shoe store, chewing on her lip. Then she turned to Ashley.

  “Well?” Ashley cried, her hands on her hips. “Don’t you even care? I lost ten thousand dollars! Do you know how much money that is? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  Bernetta set her feet firmly on her bike pedals and thought about the one thing she should say to Ashley Johansson. Then, her mind made up, she said it.

  “Good-bye, Ashley,” she told her. And she pedaled away.

  21

  SWITCH : n: to exchange one object for another secretly

  Bernetta took a deep breath as she pulled her bike in front of 173 Fields Street, parked on the sidewalk, walked across the grass, and knocked on Gabe’s door. It opened almost immediately. But it wasn’t Gabe who opened it.

  “Why, hello there, Carlotta!”

  “Hey, Mike,” she said. Then she tilted her head to the side and grinned. Gabe’s uncle Kevin looked a whole lot different without his mustache.

  He ushered Bernetta inside. “How did it go with your friend?” he asked as they made their way into the living room.

  “Who, Ashley?” Bernetta shrugged a shoulder. “Well, she’s not exactly my friend anymore. But I guess it went okay.”

  Uncle Kevin nodded. “Do you know she called and left a message on the store machine last night, saying that she’d be there early to pick up the money for all three of you? You believe that? The two of you put in nothing compared with her, and she still tried to cheat you out of it.”

  Bernetta just shook her head.

  Gabe walked into the living room then. “Hey! Bernetta!” he cried. “I thought I heard you. Uncle Kevin, why didn’t you tell me Bernetta was here? So how did it go? Did she buy it? Are we in the clear?”

  “Don’t worry,” Bernetta said. “You probably won’t have to fake your own death or anything.”

  “Oh, good,” he said. And then he hugged her. He wrapped her right up. They stayed like that a moment, with Gabe’s arms tight around her and Bernetta’s out loosely to the side, not sure if she should hug him back or not, and then all of a sudden Gabe pulled away. He smiled at Bernetta but quickly glanced down at his sneakers, his cheeks turning red. “Uh, anyway . . .” He turned to Uncle Kevin. “So can we see it now?” he asked. “Please?”

  “The money?” Uncle Kevin laughed. “Yeah, it’s right there by the door.”

  Gabe located the purple shoe box and scooped it up off the rug. He motioned to the couch, and together the three of them sat down. They stared at the box for a moment in silence, until finally, slowly, Gabe removed the lid.

  “Wow,” Gabe whispered. “Ten thousand dollars.”

  “Ten thousand one hundred,” Uncle Kevin corrected.

  Gabe’s eyes were wide. “Either way,” he said, “it’s a lot of money.”

  Bernetta peered into the box. It was a lot of money all right. Somehow it looked like even more money than when Ashley had taken it out of her purse. Bills upon bills, green and yellow and tan, a few with folded edges and others nice and crisp.

  Gabe reached into the box and leafed through the bills. “Here,” he said, handing a stack to Uncle Kevin. “This is for you. Eleven hundred bucks. The hundred dollars you lent me for the deposit, plus the money for the trial twenties, and then a little something for your acting gig. Bernetta and I decided you should have it.”

  Uncle Kevin took the money and held it in his hand for a moment, as though weighing it. “Well,” he said at last, “normally I’d say thanks but no thanks, you two are kids and all that. But today I think I’m going to take it. I need it now that my store’s busted and I’m trying to reboot my life back in Hollywood.” He smiled at Bernetta. “You know,” he told her, “if you wanted to, I think you’d make a pretty good actress. You’ve got a lot of talent, if you ask me. Although”—he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and wedged the money inside—“it looks like you’re already doing pretty well for yourself.”

  “I know, right?” Gabe said. “Man, I can’t believe we made so much money. You were good, Bernetta. You’re like the next Al Capone.”

  Al Capone? Bernetta thought. Didn’t Al Capone kill people? She looked down at her rainbow toes and gave them a good wiggle.

  Gabe finished counting through the bills. “Yep, nine thousand dollars. It’s perfect.” He set the lid on the box and held it out to Bernetta. “Exactly what you need to go back to Mount Olive.”

  “But . . .” Bernetta stared at the box in Gabe’s outstretched hands. “I can’t take all—I mean, it was your idea. It was your uncle.”

  Uncle Kevin laughed at that, and Gabe set the box in Bernetta’s lap. “Let’s just say we’re even,” he told her. He turned back to Uncle Kevin. “So, are you really moving back to Hollywood this time?”

  “I really am,” Uncle Kevin replied, setting his hands firmly on his knees. “I’m shipping out in just a few days. Good thing you kids caught me when you did. Actually, I should probably get going. I still have a lot of loose ends to tie up before the big move.” He stood up. “Thanks for the acting gig, Gabe. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem.”

  “Bernetta, it was lovely meeting you.”

  “Yeah.” Bernetta was still staring at the purple shoe box in her lap. It was surprisingly heavy.

  When Uncle Kevin had gone, shutting the front door behind him, Gabe turned back to Bernetta on the couch and tucked both feet underneath him.

  “So what did Ashley say when she saw the store was closed?” he asked her, grinning. “Did she go all psycho-Gollum? Like when he bites off Frodo’s finger inside Mount Doom? Oh, man, and do you remember when we were looking at those twenties? And Ashley was like, ‘I can hardly tell they’re counterfeit myself.’ And that whole time Uncle Kevin had given us real twenties! And then when we were in the kitchen store and—”

  “Gabe?” Bernetta sa
id.

  “Yeah?”

  She tilted the purple shoe box in her lap, listening to the sound of the bills resettling themselves. “You think there’s any way we could figure out who all those kids were at Mount Olive, who Ashley stole the money from? Maybe we could try to give it back.”

  “Maybe,” Gabe said, shaking his head. “But wouldn’t it be really hard to track down all of the—” He stopped talking and squinted at her. “Wait, why would you give it back? You need the money for school.”

  Bernetta curled all her toes up under her feet and then relaxed them again. “I think—” Rainbow toes, no rainbow toes. “I don’t think I’m going back.”

  “What?” Gabe said. His chin was scrunched up in confusion. “What do you mean you’re not going back? I thought that’s what all this was about. That’s why we were working this whole summer. And now you don’t even want it?”

  Bernetta sighed. She didn’t know quite how to explain it. Five weeks ago she’d thought she’d give anything to go back to Mount Olive. But now that she knew exactly what that anything was . . . well, it just didn’t seem like the best option anymore.

  Gabe shook his head. “So you’re going to Harding instead then?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I guess so. Yeah.”

  “Oh,” Gabe replied. He was silent for a moment, staring off at his shelves full of movies. “Well, then does that mean—does that mean you’re retiring too?”

  “Retiring?” Bernetta asked.

  “From the con artist business. Are you done for good?”

  Bernetta curled her toes up again. “Yeah.” Saying the word felt surprisingly good, like letting out a breath of air she’d been holding so long that her chest ached. “Yeah, I’m retiring. You’re not mad at me, are you?”

  “Why would I be mad at you?”

  “ ’Cause, you know, you’re going to have to find a new partner now. Bonnie and Clyde and everything.”

  Gabe just laughed. “A new partner?” He flopped back onto the couch, like he’d just let out a huge breath himself. “Nah,” he said. “I think I’m going to retire too.”