The War with Grandma

by Robert Kimmel Smith

  We learned the town song.

  We watched videos of past Strawberry Days.

  While Dad was working, I made Hattie walk to the Biddulph Insurance Office with me the week before the competition, to ask Frank Biddulph, who used to be on the town council, if he knew any details. Frank and my dad were friends. Frank always wore a suit and tie and red suspenders, even when he went fishing or to a dirt bike race or horseback riding.

  He used to be in charge of all the town events like Strawberry Days and the Trunk or Treat and the Holiday Village and the Dropping of the Jewel on New Year’s Eve. He was very strict about rule keeping, according to my dad, who said Frank got a kid disqualified from the Easter coloring contest for using markers instead of crayons. Now Frank was just a regular citizen.

  But a regular citizen who usually had good information.

  “I know nothing,” Frank said.

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “But you know everything,” I said, and he laughed.

  “Not anymore,” he said. “Haven’t you learned that yet?”

  I shifted in my chair.

  “But, like, if you were to guess, do you think the challenges would be more physical or mental?”

  Frank leaned back and folded his arms on his belly. His goatee looked itchy.

  “If I were to guess, and it would be a guess, I have nothing to do with this, you hear me?”

  “I hear you,” I said.

  He looked at Hattie.

  “I hear you,” Hattie said.

  He seemed satisfied with that. “If I were to guess, I’d say both.”

  “Both physical and mental?”

  “Yup.” He nodded. “And emotional and spiritual.”

  “Spiritual?”

  “Spiritual.”

  I flared my nostrils to let him know I knew he was toying with me.

  We were sitting in his office, which was a small room with no windows and lots of posters of cats and dogs. My thighs kept sticking together and Hattie was fanning herself with a life insurance pamphlet.

  “Is it going to be hard?” Hattie asked.

  “Oh, it’s going to be extremely difficult,” Frank said. “They’ve never done anything like this in the history of Jewel and you know Dawn Allerton is in charge.”

  I coughed to hide my alarm.

  Dawn Allerton was the president of the town council and she was an attorney with a huge brick building downtown. She had a reputation of being the toughest person in the county for a lot of different reasons—there were billboards of her face all over the highway that said hire dawn! she’s the one!, and she even used self-defense to catch a robber at the grocery store and held him there until the police showed up. She spoke at our elementary school last year. It was the first time in the history of Wasatch Elementary that no one, not one kid, made a sound. She’s that powerful.

  I looked up to her in a lot of ways.

  “Do you think that’s bad news?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t think it’s bad at all. She’s incredibly no-nonsense and she’ll run things like a ship.”

  “Like a ship?” Hattie said.

  Frank nodded. “You ever heard of shipshape, Hattie?”

  “Nope.”

  “It means everything will be in order. On a seafaring vessel, there can be nothing amiss. Everything has to be in its proper place, perfect, precise. I’m guessing this competition will be shipshape, not for the fainthearted.”

  I nodded. I was not fainthearted, and shipshape was my love language.

  7

  My Old Nemesis

  Afterward when Hattie and I were standing in front of Frank’s building trying to figure out if we should keep walking up the huge hill to the library to get one more reference for my essay from the town historical record, or if we should instead get an ice cream at Stan’s Burgers, Hattie said, “I don’t think you guys are going to win.”

  I looked at her. “What’re you talking about?”

  She shrugged. “You heard what he said.”

  “So.”

  “It just seems hard.”

  “Not for me and Dad.”

  “But what about all the shipshape stuff?” Hattie said.

  “I’m not worried,” I said, wiping the sweat off my forehead.

  Just then Diego and Leroy rode up on their bikes. They were wearing swimming suits and sunglasses and Diego had a baseball hat on that said DONE DEAL.

  “Hey, friends,” he said.

  “Hey,” Hattie said. I didn’t say hey because I am not his friend. Not when we’re both trying to go after the same prize.

  “You ready for the big competition?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said, narrowing my eyes, which I can do very well. I’ve practiced.

  “Have you turned in your essay?” Diego asked.

  The essay was due in one day. Less than twenty-four hours.

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “I turned mine in last Saturday,” Diego said.

  My jaw dropped! I couldn’t help it. Why would he do it that early?

  It was fine, I told myself. There were no advantages to getting his essay in early. I had more time to check mine for mistakes. To make it perfect. It was fine.

  “My brother, Dan, who’s training to be in the UFC, is coming in from Massachusetts tomorrow to be my partner,” Diego said.

  “His trip is already planned? What if you don’t get into the competition?”

  He shrugged. “I will.”

  I swallowed hard. How was he so sure about everything?

  “His brother is tough,” Leroy said. Leroy and Diego are pretty much inseparable.

  “What’s UFC?” Hattie asked, and I was glad she did because I had no idea. Universal Fencing Competition? Upset Feline Committee? Underwear Fashion Coalition?

  “Ultimate Fighting Championship. It’s MMA.”

  Hattie looked at me. Then she said, “What’s MMA?” I do love my sister.

  “Mixed martial arts,” Diego said. “He’s really fast and smart.”

  How would we compete with an ultimate martial artist? I could handle Diego, but this took it to the next level. I took a deep breath and tried to act natural.

  “Well, I don’t think there’s going to be karate or anything in the competition,” I said.

  He shrugged. “My brother does karate, but he also does Brazilian jujitsu and Muay Thai, and he was state champion in wrestling when he was in high school. Plus MMA is like ninety percent mental.”

  I didn’t know what Brazilian jujitsu and Muay Thai were, but I did know about wrestling because sometimes we watch it on TV.

  “How do you know it’s ninety percent mental? No one can prove that,” I said.

  “Well, I can’t prove it, but that’s what they say.”

  “That’s what who says?”

  “The national experts on MMA fighting.”

  “Oh really? What are the experts’ names?”

  We all looked at Diego, even Leroy, and he said, “The point is, my brother is a competitor. As in he can compete, C-O-M-P-E-T-E.” Diego liked to talk big, but this time it was working.

  “Who is your partner?” Leroy asked.

  “My dad,” I said, folding my arms and trying to look big. “Winner of the strawberry eating contest, if you’ll remember, against Billy Hogwater.”

  “Oh,” Diego said. He looked scared! He really did! He knew my dad was a tough competitor. He was at the strawberry eating competition. He saw my dad’s face, the juice covering his chin and shirt, the determination in his eyes. “He’s pretty good.”

  “He’s more than good. He’s the best. He has like four books published and he knows everything about Jewel and he ran a marathon once.” I thought maybe it
was a marathon, but it could have been a 10K. It was back in college, but I didn’t tell Diego that. “He’s very passionate about Jewel too. He knows everything.”

  Diego looked nervously at Leroy and I felt euphoric! That’s a really good word to describe it. I just looked it up. EUPHORIC!

  Diego’s brother Dan had nothing on my dad, even if he was a UFC fighter or whatever. I forgot to write that my dad wore the strawberry mascot costume once in the strawberry parade because the mayor asked him at the last minute because the regular strawberry had the flu. Dad did it, no questions asked, and he even did a few cartwheels. He was a hit!

  The more I talked to Diego, the better I felt about the whole thing. Who cared about Dawn Allerton?

  “Well, I guess we’ll have to see what happens.”

  “I guess so,” I said, pulling my T-shirt away from my skin.

  “Do you guys want to go swimming? I have free passes from my dad’s work,” Diego asked.

  “Yes!” Hattie squealed. A huge semi passed, blowing hot air on us.

  “We can’t,” I said, even though jumping in a cool blue pool right then would have felt so good and maybe would have cleared my head. Sometimes when I get overheated I have a hard time thinking and I still needed to find the perfect ending for my essay.

  “Why not?” Hattie pouted, bouncing on her toes. It was over ninety degrees outside according to the bank sign.

  “We don’t have our swimsuits,” I replied quickly.

  Hattie deflated like a balloon.

  “Go get them and meet us at the rec center,” Diego said.

  I swallowed hard. Diego didn’t know where we lived. He didn’t know that getting our swimsuits would take us about fifteen hours.

  “Actually, I think they’re in the wash, but thanks for inviting us.”

  “Just come,” Leroy said. “They put in a new slide this year.”

  “We can’t today, but thanks.”

  “You’re missing out,” Diego said.

  “Okay, thanks,” I said. These guys were relentless.

  Finally the two of them rode off. “See you at Strawberry Days!” he yelled.

  “See you!” I yelled back.

  And then they were gone.

  It was just me and Hattie and the blazing hot sidewalk.

  “I wish we could’ve gone,” Hattie said.

  I nodded. “I know. Just wait. In one week, we’ll be swimming every day.”

  8

  The Wait

  I turned in my essay at 8:55 Saturday morning, five minutes before it was due.

  I thought about Dawn Allerton sitting at her desk reading it. Would she like the introduction? Would she understand my reference to Georgia O’Keeffe? Did I lean too heavy on Strawberry Day folklore?

  Dad kept saying, “You okay, Meg?”

  And I kept saying, “I’m fine, thank you berry much.” I think it’s good to stay focused.

  I walked to the lake and back four times. This had nothing to do with getting more fit for the competition, though, and everything to do with me getting more and more nervous. I walked until my head hurt and I needed to drink some water. Then me and Hattie dug a hole in the backyard for her My Little Ponies to have a belowground stable. I did five laps around the house on my stilts. I went to bed early because I was tired from the walking and the digging and the stilting and I wanted to get the night over with and get closer to finding out if I was in the competition or not.

  I had to be.

  I dreamed of strawberries and Diego and Dawn Allerton all night long.

  The next day was Sunday.

  I walked to the lake and back six times.

  I tried to read Anne of Green Gables again but kept getting distracted.

  I burned a cheese sandwich in the microwave.

  I walked around the house ten times on my stilts.

  I threw a tennis ball we found in the woods at the shed.

  I made Hattie cry because I can’t remember why and then I said sorry and she said sorry.

  I ate dinner.

  Then I went to sleep.

  * * *

  —

  At 11:06 on Monday morning I got an email!

  Dear Megan Amelia Stokes,

  We are pleased to inform you that you have qualified to participate in the Strawberry Ambassador Competition! The field was large; however, the judges were impressed with your essay—particularly your discussion of the history of Strawberry Days and the Strawberry Debacle of 1978. Many citizens don’t know about that episode in our town’s history.

  We look forward to being further enlightened by your energy throughout the course of the competition. Please remember that the goal of the Strawberry Ambassador Competition is to find a representative who shares the values our town has been known for throughout the region: hard work, resilience, and charity. We trust you will take this opportunity seriously.

  Our opening event will be at the annual Strawberry Pancake Breakfast and Hot-Air Balloon Launch, sponsored by Soelberg Grocery, on Wednesday, June 11, at 7:30 a.m. You and your partner will be introduced by our chairperson for the competition, Dawn Allerton. She will read an excerpt from your essay. You will then have three minutes to let the good citizens of Jewel know who you are, what charity you will be competing for, and why you should be the Strawberry Ambassador.

  Please prepare and be at Kiwanis Park no later than 7:15 a.m. Wednesday morning. Major fundraising events will be held Thursday and Friday, with a finale on Saturday morning. Details will be forthcoming.

  Thank you and good luck,

  Keoni Uluave

  Assistant Event Coordinator

  I screamed!

  I screamed and Hattie screamed and I ran around the house and Mom and Dad weren’t home so I called them both at work. “We got in! We got in!”

  “Of course we got in,” Dad said.

  “Oh, good,” Mom said.

  And that’s how it all went down and everything was smooth and perfect and shipshape. The end. End of story. Done.

  Or so I thought.

  9

  Unexpected News

  That afternoon, I went into my room and lay on my bed.

  Hattie and I share a tiny room. We have bunk beds—hers is a twin on top. Mine is a double on the bottom, which is just about big enough for me and my stuffed animals—I’m a collector. So that afternoon, I lay on my bed with all my animals.

  I had taped the words to the town song and all the trivia stuff along with pictures of strawberries and Leaf bikes under Hattie’s bunk bed. Kind of like my own dream board.

  I couldn’t believe it was starting in two days!!!

  And I was in!!!

  We were going to win, I could feel it in my bones!!!

  I closed my eyes and envisioned riding the Leaf bike to Lin’s, the sun in the sky, the birds chirping, Trudy Martin giving me an even bigger bag of taffy, which I put in the cargo compartment beside my tote with my swimsuit and towel. Lin would be waiting on her front porch and we’d go straight to the pool and then we’d go swimming all day, only taking breaks to eat taffy, and then I’d ride the bike home just in time for dinner.

  Oh, it was going to be amazing. I couldn’t wait. I could not.

  I basked in the excitement for at least ten minutes when suddenly I heard the screen door bang.

  I sat up.

  Who was that?

  Hattie was in Mom and Dad’s room reading. Did she go outside?

  “Hattie?” I called.

  No answer.

  I heard a cough.

  “Dad?”

  “Hey,” he said. His voice was quiet and it was only three in the afternoon.

  “Why’re you home?” I got up and walked to the front room. Dad was sitting on the couch, his face red, his
baseball cap in his hands.

  He didn’t look right.

  “Are you okay?”

  He blew out a long breath of air. “Sit down, bug.”

  I quickly sat on the chair across from him.

  He looked at me like someone was sick.

  “I have something to tell you.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  I thought maybe he was the one who was sick.

  But it was worse. It was way, way worse.

  “Meg. I can’t do the competition with you.”

  I froze like a Popsicle.

  Like my organs turned to ice.

  “I found out town employees can’t compete…I didn’t know…Got in a big argument…”

  The words were jumbled.

  His face was blurry.

  Sounds bounced off the walls and ricocheted around the room.

  “Do you understand?”

  I couldn’t talk.

  I could barely breathe.

  “Meg. I asked Mom, but she can’t get off work. I don’t know what to say.”

  “You have to,” I whispered.

  “Meg. I’m so sorry.”

  I shook my head.

  I couldn’t think.

  I tried to think.

  I tried to organize my thoughts but I felt like throwing up and I’d just eaten fish sticks, not good.

  “Meg,” Dad said. “It’s not the end of the world. Maybe they’ll do the competition again next year.”

  No.

  No.

  No.

  I stood up.

  “Megan,” Dad said.

  I turned and walked to my room. “Meg.”

  I closed the door.

  I locked the door.

  I crawled into my bed.

  And I cried.

  10

  A Deadly Arrival

  That night I didn’t sleep.

  I tossed and turned and every now and then I moaned.

  “Are you okay?” Hattie whispered.

  I said nothing.

  “Meg,” she said, hanging over the bunk to look at me, so I rolled over and faced the wall.