Down and Out in Bugtussle

by Stephanie McAfee

  She must’ve got them on sale, I think. I also find a foam strip that I assume is to kneel on, a roll of garbage bags, and all shapes and sizes of flowerpots. I need to revive and expand my herb garden, I think. It’ll be twice as nice with all these pots. I pick up a pair of gloves, pull off the tag, and slip them on. I select a few of the gardening tools, put them in the wheelbarrow, and head out into the yard.

  I’m amazed how much easier getting rid of weeds is with the proper tools. Who knew? I’d always pulled weeds by hand—the hard way. Come to think of it, I’ve always done everything the hard way. Work smarter, not harder, Gramma used to say. Indeed.

  Buster Loo comes up to sniff my pile of weeds, then returns to his spot in the sunshine. I fill up what turns out to be a really gigantic garbage bag and even though my back is screaming in pain, I get every last little weed out of every flower bed in the backyard. I stand up and stretch, then go around to the front yard, where I fill up another huge garbage bag. I walk around the side of the house to where the weeping willow is planted and wonder why Gramma Jones didn’t just write the person’s name on the Post-it note. Maybe I’m being too nosy. Maybe it’s none of my business. Maybe that’s why she didn’t write a name there. Maybe it’s her secret. Maybe she’d like for it to stay that way.

  While I’m standing there, something occurs to me that I hadn’t thought of before. I need to plant a tree for Gramma Jones. I decide to go to the nursery after school one day next week and get her the perfect tree. I don’t know what kind that will be, but I’m sure I’ll figure something out when I get there. I pick the weeds from the beds on the side of the house, tie up the overstuffed bag, and drag it to the curb where I flop it over next to the other one.

  I gather up the tools and wash them off and then I hose down the wheelbarrow. After putting everything back where I found it inside the garage, I’m surprised by an amazing feeling of accomplishment. I look around the garage and decide that next week, I’m cleaning this place out and transforming it into my own private garden workshop.

  With an aching back and a pounding head, I walk around the yard to inspect my work. I didn’t realize how bad it looked until I got all of those pesky weeds out. There’re a few gaps here and there, along with some overgrown clumps of monkey grass and jumbo bunches of daylilies. I think if I separate that stuff, I can fill in the gaps and probably have monkey grass left over. I decide to do some more research before digging stuff out of the ground and hacking it up. As I walk back around the house, I have another great idea. Everything I have left over, I’ll take to Lilly’s where I will begin Operation Get Lilly Lane out of the House and into That Atrocious Yard of Hers. I know she’ll never be a gardener, but she loves telling people what to do, so she can point and I can dig and that might solve all kinds of problems for both of us. I smile at the thought, then go inside and run myself a steaming-hot bubble bath. I’m proud of myself because today I found something I enjoy that requires nothing more than what I already have here at la casa de Jones.

  Later that night, I get a call from a strange number and answer it quickly, hoping it will be Tate Jackson. It’s not.

  “Hi, Ace,” comes the sweet-as-sugar voice on the other end of the line. “This is Cameron. Freddie gave me your number. Is it okay that I called?”

  “Of course, Cameron,” I say, surprised by an odd feeling of affection for this person who just a few short weeks ago I wanted to run out of town and, thereby, out of my former classroom. “What’s up?”

  “Do you think it’s too late to do an art fair this year?”

  My heart jumps for joy. “Almost, but not quite,” I tell her. “Since it’s the end of the year, the schedule is pretty lax, so we could have it a week later than usual.” We!? Who the hell is “we”?

  “So you wouldn’t mind helping?”

  “Not at all, Cameron,” I tell her. “As a matter of fact, I’d love to.” She thanks me about a hundred times and I hang up the phone, strangely happier than I have been in quite some time. Call me butter, because I’m on a roll, I think. A downright happy roll! I giggle because I love how corny I am.

  33

  Monday when I get to school, Stacey Dewberry is there in her usual outlandish garb with her hair styled the usual outlandish way. Her eyelids are thoroughly coated with blue shadow.

  “You didn’t like the new look?” I ask her.

  “Well, you know,” she says. “It was pretty and all, but incredibly boring. I mean, I’m used to getting up at five a.m. to fix my hair. What would I do with that time if I didn’t use it to fix my hair?”

  “You have a point,” I say.

  Chloe comes in, beaming like the morning sun, and gives us today’s assignments. I don’t know if this job is getting easier or if I’m just getting used to it, but I don’t have any suicidal thoughts when Chloe hands me the folder. Maybe it’s because I have another half-a-day schedule today. Either way, it’s good not to feel so bad.

  The bell rings, and Stacey and I get up to go. I’m thinking of heading to the library, when Chloe asks me to come to her office. I don’t have a class to cover until third period and since Chloe is back to her usual chipper self, I’m happy to do so. I sit down and she closes the door behind us.

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “Hardly,” she says, sitting down. “I had an interesting visitor in here first thing this morning. She was waiting for me when I got to work.”

  “And…”

  “And it was Cameron Becker, who wanted to get approval to do an art fair.”

  “And…”

  “And I told her that she had to speak with Principal Byer, but that I didn’t think it would be a problem.” Chloe is beaming at me now. “She said you agreed to help her with it?”

  “I did.”

  “What has happened to you, Ace Jones?”

  “I just feel sorry for the girl. Stacey and I went over to Freddie’s on Saturday and she was there.” I tell her about the makeover and she gets a kick out of that. “It was a setup—I figured that out right away—but she’s not so bad. I mean, she’s a little different, but we have a few things in common, believe it or not.” I pause. “I don’t know—I just feel like I should help her.” Chloe has a tear in her eye. A freakin’ tear. “Chloe, good word! You’re getting as bad as Lilly.”

  “I can’t help it,” she says with a sniff. “I’m so proud of you. My Ace Jones is all grown-up.”

  “Don’t jump to such drastic conclusions,” I say, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “Is that all you needed?”

  “No, well, there is one more thing.” Her expression changes to one of concern.

  “What’s that?”

  “Tate asked for your phone number. Like a hundred times. I told him I’d have to talk to you first.” My heart flips and flutters, and I feel like I’m right back in seventh grade.

  “Why didn’t you call or text me or just go on and give it to him?”

  “I wanted to look at you when I asked you,” she says. “You have a crush.”

  “Yes, I do,” I say. “A bad one. And it’s been a really, really long time since I’ve had a crush on someone. So long, in fact, that I don’t even remember who or when it was.” I stop to think. “I guess it was Logan Hatter, although crushing might not be the best way to describe our involvement with each other.” That makes her laugh out loud.

  “Are you still sleeping with him?”

  “No,” I say. “And I knew that wasn’t going anywhere. I just couldn’t help myself there for a week or two. Old Coach Hatter’s got it going on in the sack and that’s a fact.”

  “Stop it!” she wails. “Stop talking! Please!”

  I giggle. “So give Uncle Tater my phone number already!” I say. “Dang!”

  “Okay,” she says. “Have you talked to Lilly? She’s been kind of out of it since Dax left.”

  “I went over there Saturday night. She’s depressed, but who wouldn’t be? Dax called her while I was there and she managed to talk to him wit
hout squalling for the first time since he left. Poor thing.”

  “I expected him to give her a ring before he left.”

  “Yeah, I think she did, too. But I mean, everything happened so fast. It was like he got that letter and then he was gone.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “And speaking of her being depressed, she’s not much help planning a shower. Would it be okay with you if I talked to Jalena about it? She has a special-event room in the diner….” I can’t believe I’m suggesting to Chloe Stacks that we have her shower in a diner.

  “Of course that would be okay,” she says. “I want to keep it small and casual. J.J. and I don’t want anything about this wedding to turn into a big hoopla.”

  “I’m sorry, Chloe. I had it in mind to have it at Lilly’s, but she’s just so—”

  “Ace, the diner is fine. Stop worrying about it.”

  “Okay, then,” I say. “It’s a really cool place. I painted some flamingos on the wall and they’re pretty awesome if I do say so myself. I mean, there aren’t flamingos in the party room. They’re in the main part. And the tables and stuff are so cute and the dishes are really adorable.”

  “Ace, it’s fine.”

  “Maybe we should have it somewhere in Tupelo at one of those fancy restaurants, or I could rent the clubhouse at the golf course.” I wished now that I hadn’t even suggested the diner. I’m glad I haven’t mentioned it to Jalena. What was I thinking?

  “Are you listening?” she says, waving at me. “There’s nowhere I’d rather have a wedding shower than at Jalena’s diner. It’s perfect. And I was going to ask her to cater the reception.”

  “Really? Okay,” I say. I’m going to make that special-event room look like the freakin’ Taj Mahal of wedding showers. I don’t care if I have to take out a loan on my house. As soon as I get out of Chloe’s office, I text Jalena and ask her if I can come by this afternoon and talk about the shower. I’m relieved when she says that I can, and it’s all I can think about for the rest of the day.

  When I get to the diner, Jalena tells me she’s more than happy to help with the shower and delighted to be hosting it at the diner. She flops out a big old catalog, and we start looking for shower invitations.

  “So you weren’t kidding when you said you wanted to be a party planner?” I say, flipping through the pages.

  “Girl, I don’t joke too much about serious matters. Here, let me show you what I have in mind. It’ll take you all night to look through all of that.” She flips to the back of the catalog. “I’ve been thinking about this since you texted.” She finds the page she’s looking for and points to a very classy invitation that I think Chloe would love. On the opposite page is a picture of all the cool and fancy trimmings recommended for that particular theme. “What do you think?” Jalena asks. “When I saw this, I thought, ‘Now, this looks like Chloe.’”

  “It looks like it would cost a fortune.”

  “If you get it all from this place, it would. But we’re just going to order the invitations because I have most of the stuff in that picture already. As a matter of fact, before I even heard from you this morning, I had found a set of those columns for sale online. Ethan Allen just went and picked ’em up for me.”

  “How do you already have all this stuff?” I ask because I’m sensing a cover-up.

  “’Cause I’ve been shopping flea markets and clearance racks, and going to some estate sales! I’ve been on the ball. You want to see what I’ve got?”

  “Sure.”

  I follow her to the storage room where she shows me the props she’s collected so far. “I was self-appointed CEO of the prom committee in high school,” she says. “I love this kind of thing!”

  “This is great,” I tell her. “You sure are making this easy for me.”

  “And that is exactly what my business plan is based on. Easing the pain of hosting an event by eliminating the stress of planning.”

  “That sounds like a winner to me.”

  She tells me that she needs to show me something else, so I follow her to her office where she plops down in the hot pink desk chair. I take a cushy seat on the other side of the desk. She opens her laptop and starts pecking away. Her printer starts to hum, and then she hands me a sheet of paper and a pen.

  “Mark what you would like for the shower, my dear,” she says as I look over the menu. “Don’t forget to select what flavor mint you would like and if you’d like candied pecans or traditional peanuts.”

  “Oh, you’re too much,” I say.

  “I know how to throw a party. I’ve been telling you that since the first time I met you.”

  “You’ve made a believer out of me, my friend,” I say, marking boxes next to appetizers. I’m going to be broke as a convict when this is over. “Are you going to make all this?”

  “Of course,” she says, laughing. I hand her the list and she slips it into a polka-dot file folder. “Now let’s talk about a cake for the shower. That’s the only thing I can’t do. But lucky for you, I’ve been hanging out at the new cupcake place downtown, you know, doing research for the job.” She gives me a very serious look that cracks me up.

  “There’s a new cupcake place downtown?”

  “Don’t you read the paper? It was on the front page last week.”

  “No.”

  “You need to get out from that rock you’re living under.” She gets up and gets her purse. “C’mon. You’ve got to see this place.” And so I ride with Jalena to Miss Calico’s Cupcakery in downtown Bugtussle.

  “Cupcake mania!” I whisper as we stand in the long line.

  “You’ll see why in just a minute.”

  Sure enough, ten minutes later, I fall madly in love with a Guinness cupcake. Jalena slices off a sample of her red velvet cupcake and I fall in love all over again.

  “Look,” she says, unfolding a brochure while I finish off my cupcake. “Miss Calico can do petits fours in six different flavors.”

  “That would be perfect!” I say. And then, just to be on the safe side, we sample a few more cupcakes. I place my order and tell Jalena that we have to get out of there before I get on my hands and knees and beg Miss Calico for a job.

  “She’s hiring,” Jalena says, getting into her Jeep.

  “I could not work in there,” I tell her. “I’d wind up on one of those shows where they have to knock out a wall and haul you out with a forklift.”

  34

  Tuesday is another easy day at school, so during seventh period, I go down to Cameron Becker’s room. I give her a thumb stick with all of the files I’ve created over the years, and then we go over her plans for the art fair. Something seems to be bothering her and when I ask, she tells me that she didn’t get the response she was hoping for when she made the announcement to her students.

  “I don’t think they think I can do it,” she says.

  “Then you will show them that you can do it.”

  I give her a good pep talk, but she doesn’t look convinced. I walk out of her classroom just before the bell and meet Logan Hatter in the hallway.

  “Well, hello, Ms. Jones,” he says with a smile. “Are you over here looking for me?”

  “No matter where I am or what I’m doing, I’m always looking for you, Coach Hatter,” I tell him. We chat for a minute and when I tell him that I’m helping Cameron with the art fair, he just shakes his head.

  “Where’s the old fireball that wouldn’t rest until she got her job back?” he asks quietly.

  “I don’t know, Hatter,” I tell him. “Burned-out a little maybe.”

  “Well, you gotta do what you gotta do.”

  “I guess.”

  “Hey, since you’re having so much free time these days, why don’t you come eat lunch with us? All Chloe talks about is getting married, and if Lilly says anything at all, it’s about Dax. And then I’ve got Wills crying on my shoulder all the time because he misses Miss Tits down there so much. I need some humor in my life.”

  “Maybe
I can join y’all tomorrow,” I tell him.

  “Good deal,” he says.

  When I leave school, I ride by the nursery where I have a much harder time picking out a tree for Gramma Jones than I thought I would because everything she loved is already out in the yard. The man who owns the place sees me struggling and comes to see if he can help me find something.

  “I’m looking for a tree,” I tell him. “A special tree to honor a special lady who loved to work in her yard.”

  “I have just the thing.” He walks over to a pretty little tree that I recognize. “This is a star magnolia,” he begins. “It’s a—”

  “I’ll take it,” I say, cutting him off. “It’s perfect.” If it’d been a snake, it would’ve bit me.

  He tells me how much it is, and I pull the cash out of my pocket and pay for it. He tells me to wait a minute and goes inside his office. He brings back some newspapers, which he spreads out on the back floorboard of my car.

  “To protect your carpet,” he explains. He carefully positions the shrub in the backseat.

  “Thank you,” I say, smiling at the kindly gentleman.

  “Thank you for stopping by,” he says.

  “What a sweetie,” I say to myself as I drive my new star magnolia home. I carefully unload the little shrub and take it to the backyard. Buster Loo greets me at the gate and follows me up onto the back porch. I know just where I’m going to plant this new tree, but it’s already dark, so I’ll have to do it tomorrow.

  Wednesday, I meet Cameron Becker in the library after school and help her get everything finalized for the art fair. It’s clear that this project means a lot to her and it makes me happy to see how happy she is, sitting there telling me where everything is going to go. Her layout is pretty much the opposite of how I always did it, but who cares? Her plans are pretty cool, so I don’t say a word. She tells me her students are starting to get more excited, and I tell her that they’re like a roomful of mirrors reflecting her own enthusiasm.

  “I forgot to tell you yesterday that you need to get an announcement in the school newsletter next week,” I tell her. “Send an e-mail to Mrs. Marshall and she’ll make sure it gets on there.”