The Stepmom Shake-Up

by Niki Lenz

  “You know, Alice got herself in trouble a lot. Probably to get her dad’s attention, since he’d gotten a new wife.”

  Dad laughed and turned to look at me. “Does this mean you plan to do a lot of bad stuff to get my attention?”

  Oh, if he only knew all the bad stuff I’d done lately.

  But I just smiled. “Does this mean you plan to get a new wife?”

  He shrugged and went back to painting. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  Of course, this entire chat was making me think of Miss O’Connor and the spark I’d seen between her and my dad. I tried to steer the conversation in that direction.

  “What if the person you like is right in front of you and you’re just too chicken to ask her out?”

  Dad turned to look at me. “Do you mean Gretchen?”

  I groaned. “No, Dad, Miss O’Connor.”

  “Grace, I told you, Olivia just doesn’t see me that way. I’m her pastor. And she’s your teacher. And we’re good friends. It would be weird.”

  “Stay right there.” In a flash of inspiration, I dashed down the attic ladder and retrieved a book from my room.

  I flipped to the page I was looking for and read the passage to my dad while he continued to paint: “You would be hard pressed to find a more courageous president than Theodore Roosevelt. During his 1912 campaign against Taft, he was shot in the chest moments before he was scheduled to deliver a speech. The bullet was significantly slowed by the folded-up speech notes that were in his breast pocket; however, it was still lodged in his chest when he stood onstage and delivered his eighty-four-minute speech.”

  Dad stared at me. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to be getting from this story. What does this have to do with my dating life?”

  “Dad. If Teddy Roosevelt, your alter ego, can deliver a whole speech with a bullet in his chest, you can do hard things too.”

  Dad scrunched up his nose. “You want me to give a speech?”

  “What? No. I want you to be brave, like the president was. Sometimes being brave means staring adversity in the face. Sometimes it means being willing to look at people differently.”

  Dad rolled his eyes. He actually rolled his eyes teenager-style.

  “How about we just finish in here and then you can help me paint my new office.”

  I flicked my brush in Dad’s direction, sending a shower of paint across his shirt.

  “Oh, you are gonna regret that, Giblet!” Dad said, flinging his arm around me and putting me in a headlock.

  “P.U.! It stinks down here!” I squealed. Potus lifted his head and, in a burst of doggy energy, got up and tried to join our squabble, licking my face as I squirmed away from Dad.

  It was all fun and games until Dad accidentally stepped in the paint tray and fell over, leaving one streaky footprint on the canvas drop cloth.

  “Truce! Truce!” Dad called as I collapsed next to him, laughing.

  I looked over at my dad’s happy, paint-streaked face and smiled back. “Truce,” I said. But I was talking about paint wars and not about the Miss O’Connor debate.

  * * *

  Bea and I met up at the library on Wednesday night to work on our famous-Americans projects. Bea came in, flushed and happy, and shook the rain off her jacket. “Sorry I’m late. Julian and I were stuck in this endless game of peekaboo.”

  “You aren’t even late,” I said, laughing. “You think if you aren’t early, you’re late.”

  “True,” Bea said, smiling. “How’s your project coming?”

  “Great,” I said. “But that is totally not what I want to talk about right now.”

  “Okay.” Bea hesitantly sank into a chair without taking her eyes off me.

  I shoved my pile of books aside. “I have a pretty good idea of who my dad should be dating. There’s only one lady out there who makes him light up like a…like a…Hula-Hoop.”

  Bea raised her eyebrows. “Huh?”

  “I have a Hula-Hoop that lights up when you spin it. It was the only thing I could think of that lights up.” I shook my head. “Anyway, that’s not the point.”

  “A Christmas tree. A lightbulb. A candle. A firework.”

  I gave Bea a pitying look. “Those are all kind of cliché. Anyway, back to the subject…I think we need to set my dad up with Miss O’Connor!”

  “You want your dad to date our history teacher?” Bea asked, her voice going all high and squeaky.

  I started ticking things off on my fingers. “She goes to our church, I’ve known her practically my whole life, she likes history and Jungle Survivor, and…” I lowered my voice to a whisper, even though the librarians weren’t even around. “I think my dad really likes her, he just won’t admit it.”

  Bea flipped through her book, but I could tell she wasn’t even reading the words on the page. She looked at me, fist on her chin. “So, tell your dad to ask her out.”

  I sighed. “I tried that. He’s in total denial.”

  “Well, I guess that’s that. You promised yourself, and me, that you would stay out of his love life. No more scheming. No more breaking rules.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You promised.”

  I held up one finger. “I believe what I promised was that I would stop making my dad miserable with my schemes. This is completely different. I want to help him find happiness. What could be wrong with that?”

  Bea groaned. “It’s not going to make him happy when you keep messing with his dates.”

  I thought about that for a second. Bea was a little bit right. I had said I would stay out of things. But Miss O’Connor made my dad downright joyful. There had to be a nice, easy way we could give them a little push.

  I held up one of my research books. Bea let out a breath that was like Oh boy, here we go.

  “Did you know, Alice Roosevelt was always getting in the newspapers. She was super famous and popular.”

  Bea smirked. “And?”

  “And her dad didn’t love seeing her in the limelight. When he noticed an advertisement for a hospital charity event where you could pay five dollars to have Alice serve you tea, he freaked out. He sent her a letter that day demanding that she not show up for this charity event.”

  Bea looked confused but interested, so I went on. “Do you know what Alice did?”

  Bea shook her head and muttered, “Why would I know that?”

  “Alice poured tea at the event anyway. She ripped her father’s letter up and told him it hadn’t gotten to her in time.”

  “But your dad isn’t going to write you a letter to tell you to stay out of his love life,” Bea said.

  “The point, my friend, is that it is better to ask for forgiveness than for permission.”

  Bea breathed out, a look of resignation crossing her face. “You know, you and rebel Alice have a lot in common.”

  I slammed the book shut. “A certain disregard for the rules? Yes.”

  Bea still looked worried. “And you want to help your dad and Miss O’Connor get together?”

  “We will be secret Cupid rebels. We’ll help my dad and Miss O’Connor go on some dates so he’ll cheer up and everything will be fine.”

  I jumped up and started pacing. “When’s the next time we know for sure they’ll be in the same room?” I went to my planner and started scanning the calendar and poked my finger at next weekend, my eyes bulging at Bea.

  “What? What is it?” she asked, leaning toward the event scribbled on the very next weekend.

  “The Seniors and Seniors banquet. I can work with that.”

  Bea pulled a bag of Skittles out of her backpack and dumped them on the table, trying to be quiet about it. “Fine,” she said, pushing the reds and greens toward me. “Let’s play Cupid. A nice, helpful, non-rule-breaking version of Cupid.”

  I laughed. “That is
so not my style.”

  The Seniors and Seniors Spring Banquet is a fundraiser the high school youth group holds to raise money for their senior trip. They cater and serve all the senior citizens and other church members a banquet in the church fellowship hall. The high school kids are not known for their amazing cooking skills, or their choice of old-people-friendly music. It’s pretty much a recipe for a headache and food poisoning. But this year the menu included a taco bar, and it’s hard to mess up tacos. Plus, Bea and I had come up with a brilliant plan to help Dad and Miss O’Connor spend some quality time together. It was going to be amazing.

  Bea didn’t ride with Dad and me to the church, because I wanted her to get there ahead of time and set things up. It took some convincing, because she was worried that people would ask her what she was doing, but I told her to just say it was a surprise. She said I owed her about a million bags of Skittles.

  When Dad and I walked up to the fellowship hall, there was a table right outside with two glass bowls on top, and a big poster that said ENTER TO WIN!

  “What’s this?” I asked Dad, even though I knew perfectly well what it was.

  Dad leaned closer to the sign and read the fine print. “This year’s Seniors and Seniors banquet will feature one lucky couple as the Queen and King of the evening. They will get preferential seating (right by the taco bar!) and a delicious bonus dessert! Sign up here!”

  “Wow!” I said, enthusiastically writing my name on a slip of paper and dropping it into the bowl marked QUEEN. “I sure hope I win! This sounds awesome!”

  Dad jabbed at the poster. “I don’t think you’re qualified. You probably have to be an actual senior.”

  I whispered conspiratorially, “It doesn’t say that. Not specifically. It’s a glaring loophole.”

  Dad laughed. “Well then, I hope you win, Giblet. You are royalty to me.” He started to head into the banquet, but I grabbed his arm.

  “Dad! You have to enter to be king!”

  Dad pulled at his collar. “Uh, no thanks. Bad things happen to pastors who fancy themselves kings.”

  I groaned. “It’s just for fun! And you get a bonus dessert! And if they make me queen, I would really want you to be the king.”

  Dad laughed. “Fine. But I’m only entering because I’m the unluckiest person I know. They’d have a better chance of pulling Grover Cleveland’s name out of there than mine.”

  “You never know, Dad. Today might be your lucky day.”

  He signed his name with a flourish and added it to the king bowl.

  Phase one of our plan was complete.

  When we walked into the crowded fellowship hall, I spotted Bea right away and gave her a thumbs-up. She looked equal parts relieved and nervous. She really had no stomach for scheming. Luckily, her part of the plan was done.

  Dad and I walked through the crowds of white-haired old ladies and bald-headed gentlemen. Dad shook hands and spoke extra loud so the old guys could hear him. I smiled at everyone, even the grannies who squeezed my cheeks and patted my hair. My eyes scanned the crowd for Miss O’Connor, but I didn’t see her until we almost ran into each other at the taco bar.

  “Hello, Grace!” Miss O’Connor said brightly. I had to blink a few times, because she looked amazing! She wore a sparkly red dress and black flats. Her hair was tamed in a low twisty kind of bun. She was glowing.

  “Hi, Miss O’Connor,” I said.

  “Hey, isn’t it supposed to be embarrassing when two ladies show up wearing the same dress?” she asked in a loudish whisper. I looked down at my own sparkly red dress and then cracked up. We looked like twins.

  “Great minds think alike, I guess,” I said.

  We picked up our plates and faced the table full of taco fixings. But then her face crumpled and her shoulders started to shake.

  My heart dropped. She was crying! I reached over and patted her shoulder. “What’s wrong, Miss O’Connor?”

  She sniffled loudly and then said, “I don’t wanna taco ’bout it.” Then she gave me that same wide-mouth smile my dad does when he’s waiting for a laugh.

  I cracked up, and quick as a whip added, “Sorry I was jalapeño business.”

  “It’s nacho problem!” Miss O’Connor said, grinning. Then, giggling, we both started loading our plates. I crunched up two shells, because I like them salad-style so I can do my damage with a fork. Then I added meat and cheese. I skipped the lettuce because it was wilty and brown. Last, I added a big blob of salsa and a pile of jalapeño peppers. When I glanced over at Miss O’Connor’s plate I nodded in appreciation. Her taco mountain was identical to mine.

  “Is your dad here?” she asked, in a voice that sounded like it was trying to be casual.

  “Yup, I left him right over there—” I stopped so abruptly, Miss O’Connor immediately looked up to see what had interrupted me. Dad was right where I’d left him. But Gretchen stood next to him, with her arm through his. What’s she doing here? She didn’t even go to our church. Dad must have invited her. I let out a frustrated breath but then shook my head. We still had our plan. It would be okay.

  “Who’s that talking to him?” Miss O’Connor asked. “She seems familiar.”

  “She was over the night you brought our fabric. Her name is Gretchen. I guess her and my dad are dating now.”

  She tilted her head and took a longer, more skeptical look at Gretchen. “Wait. I thought your dad was dating Rachel Watson? Isn’t that what Miss Marge said in the bookstore a while back?”

  I chuckled nervously. “He’s been on a few dates lately.”

  She grabbed a big pile of napkins. “Pastor Davy is dating, huh? That’s kind of weird.”

  I sighed. “You’re telling me!”

  She turned away from my dad and Gretchen and studied my face. “How are you doing with that? I know you two are super close.”

  I set my taco plate down at an empty table and Miss O’Connor sat opposite me. “I…I just want him to be happy, I guess. But I do think there’s someone he might like better. If he gave her a chance.”

  I stared at my teacher’s face, looking for the slightest flicker of emotion, but she kept it as smooth as a fresh jar of Skippy. “Grown-ups have to make their own decisions about these things, Grace” was all she said. I nodded, like I accepted this adult nonsense. But inside I was shaking my head. Some grown-ups, like my dad, needed a little push.

  Bea came by and ate her tacos with Miss O’Connor and me and we both kept shooting nervous glances at my dad and Gretchen. She still hung off his arm, even while he tried to eat his tacos. And he wasn’t smiling. She chattered away and looked perfect and everything, but he barely glanced at her. I had the feeling he wasn’t all that happy that he’d invited her, and that gave me a little hope that phase two of our plan would be a success.

  Bea nudged me when most everyone had finished their tacos and people were starting to mill around the fellowship hall. This was it. Phase two. Bea raised one eyebrow at me, and I gave her a quick nod. She disappeared into the kitchen, and I stood on a chair. Miss O’Connor stared at me with her mouth open, and after I clanged my glass with a spoon a few times everyone else stared at me too.

  My knees felt like jelly as I waited for everyone to quiet down. “Hello, seniors! Thank you for coming out this evening and supporting our youth group. Let’s give the seniors in high school a nice round of applause for putting this event on.” The room erupted in polite applause and a few boys took rowdy bows. Pastor Steve looked completely puzzled. He was probably wondering why I was giving a speech at his event. But being the pastor’s daughter does come with some perks.

  “And now, I’d like to announce the queen and the king of the banquet. They will be enjoying a special dessert together as a lovely end to this evening.”

  I cleared my throat and looked everywhere but at Dad. I pulled a blank slip of paper out of
my pocket, which I hoped everyone would assume I’d pulled out of the bowls by the door.

  “The queen of the banquet is…” I pretended to read the name. “Miss Olivia O’Connor!” She stood up and did a perfect impression of a Disney princess, smiling and waving and bowing to her adoring fans.

  I took a second slip of paper out of my pocket. “And the king of the banquet is…Davy Martin, our very own pastor, and my dad!” More clapping and my dad stood and nodded, a tightish smile on his face.

  Bea emerged from the kitchen carrying a giant chocolate milkshake topped with whipped cream and a bright red cherry. She set it down in front of my dad and Miss O’Connor and added two straws with a flourish.

  This was it. All they had to do was drink that milkshake together, their heads all close, and sparks were sure to fly. I patted myself on the back for my genius. I was even better at creating dates than I was at sabotaging them.

  And then Gretchen joined the royal table. Just like that. She pulled up a chair and took a drink off my dad’s straw. Eeww. I had to get her out of there.

  I walked up to the table and smiled a big cheesy smile at my dad. “See? Aren’t you glad you entered? You totally won.”

  Dad raised an eyebrow at me, and I quickly tapped Gretchen on the shoulder. “Actually, Gretchen, you won something too.” I pulled one of the slips of paper out of my pocket and pretended to read. “Gretchen is the winner of the Servant’s Heart Award. This is a very special award that goes to the person with the most generous spirit and attitude of service. You get to help with the dishes.”

  Gretchen’s mouth fell open, and Dad sprang to his feet. He snatched the paper out of my hand before I had time to react. He looked confused and then questioning.

  “This is blank,” he said. “Did you make up the Servant’s Heart Award?” Then recognition dawned on his face. “Did you make up this whole king and queen business?” he asked in a panicked whisper.