I look at her, confused. “My feet in the—Why?”
She shakes her head, exasperated. “Annie, you don’t have to fight everything. Listen for once.”
I do. After a moment, I feel more settled.
Faith’s watching me. “Better?”
I nod.
She smiles. “My mom always says that water makes people feel better—whether it’s a bath, a lake, or an ocean.”
When she mentions her mom, my tears well up again. It’s like those balloons inside me are floating up to push them out. I wish I knew what Ma thought would make me feel better.
“I wish I knew my ma,” I say, my voice cracking. “You’re so lucky.”
Faith’s smile tightens. She looks out at the water for a long time, then looks back at me.
“I know you think you’re unlucky, Annie,” she says slowly. “But let me remind you that my mom is in the hospital with cancer. Do you really think I’m lucky?”
“No, I didn’t mean that,” I say quickly.
Faith looks down at her hands. That day when she painted my nails seems like a long time ago. There are just a few traces of Tahitian Breeze left on my nails, and hers are orange now.
I swirl my toes in the lake, but the water isn’t making me feel better anymore. This conversation isn’t making me feel better. I want to be done with it, want to stick my wet feet back into my shoes and get out of here as fast as I can. I’d rather be on a roof with my sketch pad than here.
That’s what I’ve always done when things got hard—that’s what I did with the ancient Greece project girls. I walked away and never went back. But maybe that’s not what I should do now.
“I need to learn to think before I speak,” I say. “I know that. I’m sorry. Okay?” My words sound sharp, but it’s just because I’m hurting inside.
Faith shakes her head. “Honestly, Annie? Not really.”
I scrunch up my forehead, thinking. This isn’t easy. But if I want to be Faith’s friend, I have to try.
“The fact of me missing Ma feels really big inside me,” I say. “Sometimes that feeling is so big, it pushes everything else out of the way. I think that’s what happened at dinner. It was like I couldn’t think of anything else.”
She nods, like she’s turning over my words in her mind. “I understand that—and I’m sorry about your ma. It’s sad.”
I’m glad she understands. I take another bite.
Faith draws in another breath, like she has something to say—but then she shakes her head. “Never mind.”
I wipe my mouth. “Tell me. I can take it.”
Faith looks at the water. “Sometimes it seems like you are making your ma the main point of your life, when it’s something that happened a long time ago. What happened back then is part of who you are, sure. But does everything always have to go back to the fact that she left?”
That hurts, no lie. It pains me like a wasp sting on top of cactus needles on top of a flaming case of poison ivy. Tears pop into my eyes and threaten to fall again. Again, I think about running.
But I stay. I swish my feet in the water. I swish them and swish them until the words settle a bit. And then I realize something. Those words—even though they hurt, they might be a little bit true.
“Maybe,” I say finally.
She sighs. “Can you explain why you acted so weird at dinner the other night?”
Faith’s aunt Louise and Dad. The way he jumped out of his seat to wave them over. The way he looked happier than I’ve ever seen him. Happier than he is around Ray and me.
“Are they dating or something?” I ask.
Faith shrugs. “Would it be so bad if they were?”
I want to shout: “Yes!” It would be bad. It would be terrible. But I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to hurt Faith’s feelings. It isn’t anything personal about her aunt. Of course I know Dad deserves to be happy. I’m just afraid that I might lose him, too.
Looking out at the water, I’m so deep in my thoughts that I almost forget Faith is there.
Then something bounces gently off my cheek.
I frown, confused. Next to me, on the rock, is a piece of muffin.
But when I turn toward Faith, she just grins. She tears off another piece and launches it at me. This one plinks against my forehead.
“I’m tired of muffins,” she says. “I’ve eaten about a thousand of each since living with Louise.”
“But they’re delicious. How can you be sick of them?”
She throws another crumb at me. “Yeah, yeah. The best in Oak Branch.” But Faith is shaking her head. “Trust me. You’d get sick of them, too.”
No one has ever thrown a muffin at me. It’s so absurd. I scoop up the piece and toss it back at her.
Her eyebrows pop up, and her eyes go round. “Hey!”
I start cracking up. “You can dish it out, but you can’t take it, huh?”
She flips another piece at me, and this means war. We hurl muffin bits at each other until they’re tiny crumbs. We’re laughing so hard, I can barely catch my breath.
Eventually, the pieces are too tiny to pick up anymore. I lie down on the boulder, which is warm against my back.
My cheeks ache from smiling. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard.
Once I catch my breath, I turn sideways toward Faith. “What exactly brought that on?”
“You looked so serious! I had to do something,” she says. “This summer has been serious enough. Too many what-ifs. Too many worries.”
The corners of her mouth turn down. She’s thinking about her mom—about her cancer. About all the question marks hanging over her family, like the balloon of questions I have about Ma.
“Faith?” I say.
She picks a crumb off her shirt before looking over at me.
“What?” she asks.
There’s so much I want to say. Ma leaving is unlucky. Cancer is unlucky, too. Faith and I understand each other in that way. Nothing will ever change it.
But I can’t say all that. Not without making things more serious than I want or need. Instead, I let my happiness fill me up.
I give her a big grin. “Thanks,” I say. “I needed that.”
She smiles wide. “Sometimes we all need a muffin thrown at us.”
“You better believe it,” I say.
One thing’s for sure—being friends with Faith is the very best kind of luck.
CHAPTER
29
“But why not, Gloria?” I ask.
The festival is a few days away. Ray and I still aren’t talking. The floats are all close to finished, except Logan & Son’s, which I work on every day. I’ve been telling Gloria about the festival for weeks. She sounded interested before but today says she has no interest in going.
I lean across my open cardboard box to give Otto a few ear scratches. He’s sprawled out on my green sweatshirt again.
“Don’t forget,” I mutter. “I’m going to want that one back. It’s my favorite.”
Otto rolls onto his back and winks at me. It’s hard to resist that face.
I shake my head. “Back to the festival,” I say. “Why don’t you want to go?”
“Hmph,” Gloria says. “Don’t like noise, don’t like people. And I sure don’t like crowds of noisy people.”
Otto sighs like he can read my mind. I think about the many Gloria Crumbs. The disco queen didn’t mind crowds and the flight attendant probably didn’t, either. There has to be something I can say to convince her.
“It won’t be all that noisy,” I argue. “The parade is going to loop around downtown and then finish up right here at the park across the street from your house. There will be music at the band shell, too.”
Gloria’s eyebrows press together. “And food?”
“Really good food,” I answer. “Barbecue and hot dogs, kettle corn and lemonade and cookies.”
“And dancing?” Gloria asks.
I nod. “Dancing, too.”
“Pish,
” she says, like she’s going to make another list of things she doesn’t like. But instead she’s quiet, looking down at her lap. Finally, she nods at her arm.
“Can’t dance much with this thing,” she says quietly.
My insides twist with guilt. I can’t stand the idea of her missing out on something because of her broken arm. That would mean it was all my fault. Besides, I really want her to come.
“Maybe your cast will be off by then.”
She sighs. “Not very likely. Besides, no one wants a crabby old lady there.”
“Wait a minute—” I start.
“Don’t argue!” she says crossly. “I know I’m a crabby old lady.”
“Oh,” I say. “I’m not arguing about that.”
She raises her eyebrows. “You’re not?”
I shake my head. “Are you kidding? I’m no mealymouthed sycophant kiss-up. And you are most definitely crabby and old.”
Gloria’s mouth presses into a line.
“No offense,” I add.
“None taken,” she says primly.
“But you aren’t just anything. You’re also a disco queen,” I say. “Not to mention a world-traveling adventurer. I saw the pictures. Those Gloria Crumbs would say yes to a festival without thinking twice.”
The corners of her mouth turn up. “Hmm. Well. Well!”
I can’t believe I’ve turned Gloria Crumb speechless. It is one of my greatest accomplishments.
I bite my lip. “If I can figure out a way, will you come?”
“Fine,” she says. “Fine.”
My mind starts working in overdrive. I’ve got to get her there, even though it won’t be easy. She deserves to be the Gloria doing her moves in the middle of a cheering crowd. The Gloria who grins as bright as the sun. If only there was a way to make it so her broken arm didn’t matter one bit.
Then I start to get an idea.
CHAPTER
30
The barn bustles with activity.
It’s the day before the parade. The radio volume is turned all the way up. Mostly, people are putting on finishing touches—a fabric flower here, a spray of glitter there. JoJo and The Earl occasionally take a dance break and twirl around like it’s their own personal dance floor. H. Diggity set up an entire spread of hot dogs, toppings, and big containers of lemonade.
Two of the floats need a lot of work—the one for Logan & Son and the one for the town council. I think their float might be in slightly worse shape than ours. Grant and Tyler have a grand plan to construct some kind of waterfall, which they started building approximately five minutes ago.
I look at the Logan & Son float and sigh. I’ve done my best, but I’m not sure it’s enough. I built the words like Ray’s plan except I scaled them smaller. My maple trees are lopsided but pretty. My moths are fat and furry—thanks to JoJo—but I wish I’d had the chance to make more.
But I try to look on the bright side. Overall, the effect is good. Hanging from the branches are keys, bolts, rakes, and snow shovels I’ve made. I have not been shy about using glitter, so they’ll sparkle in the sun. And as soon as I wrap the trees in twinkle lights, they’ll glow when the sun goes down, too. All I need is a ladder.
I look around the barn and spot the ladder lying on the ground near where Grant and Tyler are working. I sigh. Tyler’s the last person I want to see, but I know that I need it to wrap the lights. I head over to them.
“Can I use that?” I ask.
Grant shrugs. “We’re done with it.”
I pick it up and start to walk away, hauling it behind me. But Tyler follows. He lifts the end of the ladder so it isn’t dragging anymore.
I wheel around. “I don’t need your help.”
Tyler raises his eyebrows. “What did I ever do to you?”
“Like you really don’t know,” I say.
But he looks at me blankly. This only makes me more annoyed. Here I am, spending my whole summer with Gloria and Otto, and Tyler doesn’t know he was at least partly responsible.
“You dared me to Ding-Dong Ditch Gloria,” I say in a low voice.
“Oh.” He nods. “That.”
“Yes, that. And that’s what made her fall. I thought you knew.”
He squints at me. “I did wonder why you never came back. And I guess I thought it was strange that we were helping at that house.”
“Well, now you know. Don’t tell anyone, though,” I say. “I’ve spent this whole summer trying to make up for it.”
I expect him to drop his end of the ladder, but he doesn’t. He helps me carry it to the other side of the barn and then sets it up.
“Where do you want this?”
“That’s fine,” I say. “You can go now.”
Tyler sighs. “I really don’t know what your problem is. But I’m not going to let you get up on this ladder without someone holding the bottom.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he stops me.
“For safety,” he says. “Weren’t you just talking about Gloria falling and how much it messed her up?”
He has me there. But still—I don’t know if I can trust him. I look at him warily.
He sticks out his hand like he wants me to shake it.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I never would have dared you to ring her bell if I thought she might get hurt. Okay?”
I take a moment to think, and then I nod. “Okay.”
We shake hands, which feels embarrassing—too formal somehow. But it also feels like it settles something important.
He grins. “Where should I stand?”
I point at the first tree. Once the ladder is stable, I climb it.
I would never admit it, but I work faster with Tyler’s help. Surprisingly, he is very particular about the best way to wrap the lights—I guess he helps his mom do the holiday decorations at their house. He makes me come down from the ladder so he can run for a roll of tape. He shows me how to anchor them and how to wrap them to get the effect I want.
This is the thing about Tyler, though. He talks the entire time. First he tells me he’s in summer school because his grades were so bad last year, they almost kept him back. I didn’t know that. Then he tells me about how his older brothers are superstars at football and lacrosse, but the thing he really wants to do is music.
He scrunches his forehead. “Do you want me to take a turn wrapping the tree? You can hold the ladder for a while.”
My arms are starting to ache from the wrapping, so I agree. He climbs up the ladder, still chattering away about his plans to DJ for the dance party after the parade.
He wraps a branch as he talks. “I have my whole playlist organized except the very first song.”
I frown. “If you already have a playlist, don’t you have the first song, then?”
He shakes his head. “The first song is special. It has to be something people will remember.”
I think about music—how much it’s been a part of these nights in the barn. How even though I’m tired right now, the doo-wop of voices makes me feel happy. I think about Gloria grooving to her roller disco. And suddenly, I know what to do.
“Tyler,” I say. “I have an idea for that first song.”
He listens to me, and as he does, his smile spreads wide across his face—from one freckly ear to the other.
CHAPTER
31
Even though Dad’s stressed about the festival, he understood when I explained the special errand I needed help with.
We load the back of his truck and drive the short distance to Gloria’s. When we pull up, Albert comes over to help. After a few moments, a man wanders over. He’s holding Fabian on his shoulders.
“I’m Paul,” says the man.
“Hi, Paul,” I say. “Hi, Fabian.”
Fabian frowns at me the whole time Dad and Albert are unloading the truck.
“Careful,” I say. “Don’t mash the flowers. Don’t scrape the glitter. Don’t squash anything.”
They do their best, but a few adjus
tments are required anyway—the de-mashing, un-scraping, de-squashing kinds of adjustments.
Together, the five of us go up to Gloria’s front door. A lot has changed since the first time I was here. The whole yard has been raked. The flower beds have been weeded and are full of pink petunias. The shutters and mailbox have been rehung. And the front door is a sunny yellow, with no layers of paint peeking through.
I hear a scrabbling of nails on the floor. But instead of an angry bark, Otto announces our arrival with a happy woof.
“Good morning,” Albert calls through the screen door.
“I don’t see what’s so good about it,” Gloria says.
I shake my head, but I’m grinning. Otto’s grinning, too.
“Come on, Gloria,” Albert wheedles. “We have to show you something. I brought some of your friends.”
“Pish. I don’t have any friends,” Gloria mutters. But I can hear her getting out of her chair and shuffling toward the door.
Albert steps to the side so she can see.
She blinks like she doesn’t believe her eyes.
“Look what Annie made for you,” Albert says.
“What have you done?” she asks.
I point at my creation. “So you can come to the parade. What do you think?”
Her fierce eyes glint. I can’t tell if it’s a good kind of glinting or not.
I grasp the handles of the wheelchair and whirl it around so she can get a 360-degree view. It looks amazing—a whole lot better than it did when Dad used it last year for his broken leg.
There’s no hint of industrial gray on Gloria’s wheelchair. Now every inch is covered in layers of fringe, streamers, and glitter. I even attached rows of pink and yellow pom-poms, in honor of the rosy maple moth. And I added her rainbow socks on the back with a mini-disco-ball ornament.
Gloria is silent.
“Oh!” I say. “I almost forgot.”
I reach under the chair and push a button. Strands of twinkle lights glow.
“So it will be pretty after dark, too,” I explain. “In my humble opinion, it’s impossible to go wrong with twinkle lights.”
But the longer she is quiet, the more I think that I did go wrong. Maybe it’s too much glitter. Maybe it’s too much sparkle. Maybe it’s too much, period. I shift from one foot to the other.
These Unlucky Stars Page 13