Until a sputter of laughter escapes from her lips.
Deirdre, Kayte, and I all look at her, waiting for an explanation, but it takes Bree a few seconds to pull herself together enough to speak. “I mean, it’s just so ridiculous, right?” she says. “ ‘I’m sorry for telling everyone you peed yourself.’ It sounds so silly when you say it that way.” And seeing Bree laugh seems to trigger something in all of us—first me, then Deirdre, and finally even Kayte. Laughing over the same thing. Not at one another, for once, but with one another.
And for the first time in more than two years, it seems like we are right back where we should have been all along.
I arrive at Toby’s bus stop prepared with a five-dollar bill tucked into my pocket, plus extra money to buy Ms. Castleby’s accessory. As soon as he is off the bus, I hand Toby the bill with a flourish. “What do you say to buying yourself some ice cream in town?” I ask him.
“Yes!” Toby answers. “Let’s go.” He takes his scooter from me and wheels himself down the sidewalk in the direction of Twining Ridge Road, Mimi and me following behind.
“What was that for?” Mimi asks me.
“I promised him five dollars if he gave me back everything he took from my room,” I explain. “Sort of like a bribe, which probably wasn’t the best idea.” I leave out the part about the missing locket—I just can’t bring myself to confess that detail to Mimi yet. “When we get to town, do you want to take him for ice cream while I stop by Threads? I’m shopping for a client, but I shouldn’t be too long.”
“Listen to you, sounding so grown-up,” Mimi says. “Yes, I’ll take your brother. You take care of business.” We part ways in front of Threads’s window, and Mimi and Toby agree to meet me back here as soon as they are finished at the ice cream shop. I go inside, breathe in the ever-present smell of hickory, and head straight to the accessory section in the back. I begin combing through the items with my eyes, examining each one and trying to decide.
“Can I help you with anything, lovely?” the same salesgirl from last week asks.
“I don’t think so,” I tell her. “I’m still browsing, but thanks.”
“Just let me know if you need help,” she says, returning to the front counter.
“Thank you. I will,” I say, and then I go back to searching. I try to picture in my head the outfit Ms. Castleby described: a blue dress, the color of a summer sky, thin straps, to the knee, fit in the waist and flared at the bottom. What will make that outfit pop instantly? A hat? Too risky. A belt? Maybe, but it would have to be the right one. A hair piece? I forgot to ask how she’s planning to wear her hair. A piece of jewelry?
A bracelet won’t do much, especially if she wears a cardigan with the dress. Same with a ring. But a necklace—a necklace could work. I scan through each of Threads’s choices, many of which I’ve seen before, until I find it: a three-strand chain with tiny white seashells and other ocean items hanging across them. Starfish and conch shells and sea horses, all in a row. It’s beautiful. It’s special without being gaudy. It will match her summer sky–blue dress perfectly.
It also looks a lot more expensive than its $14.50 price tag.
I pick the necklace up off the display table and bring it to the front. I pay for it with some of my funds from yesterday, and I’m sure to collect the receipt so I can charge Ms. Castleby the correct amount. I walk out of Threads and look down at my watch. Mimi and Toby should be back soon. I lean against the front window and pull out my phone, hoping to see a text from someone—anyone—saying they found my locket. But no such luck.
I don’t want to confront Gianna or her friends about the locket. Not yet. I can’t get on the bad side of customers so soon, at least not without ruling out every other suspect.
Like Ava.
Ava has to be the one who took it. She’s the only other person who was on that side of my room for a significant amount of time, with no one watching her. Plus, she made such a big deal about the locket in the first place. She clearly wanted it. She was obviously jealous that Mimi had given it to me instead of to her.
She has it. The more I think about it, the more positive I become.
Quickly, before Mimi and Toby return, I tap out a text to Ava: I know you stole my locket. Who’s the spoiled brat now?
I send the text before I can think better of it, and then I place my phone back into my pocket, somehow both hoping for and dreading her reply.
Chapter 20
It turns out I had no reason to fear Ava’s response, since I didn’t receive one at all. To me, this only makes her seem guiltier, and by Friday morning I can barely concentrate on finding clothes that don’t clash, let alone choosing a bunch of appropriate accessories. I throw on whatever catches my eye first and dart up the stairs to the kitchen, ready to scarf down breakfast before going to school and trying to finish preparing my speech for Ms. Castleby’s class.
Ms. Castleby! I almost forgot her necklace. I run back down the stairs and retrieve it from my desk. I toss it, along with the receipt, into my bag. Then I return to the kitchen and pull a carton of yogurt out of the refrigerator. Toby is already at the table, slurping through a bowl of cereal, with Mimi seated beside him. I grab a spoon and join them, sliding onto my usual chair across from Mimi.
Which is when I see it. A vision that makes me want to laugh, cry, and gasp all at the same time. Which is kind of what I end up doing.
There, right in front of me, is the locket. Safe and perfect.
Hanging around Mimi’s neck.
Mimi and Toby both stare at me, waiting for me to explain the sputtering sounds coming from my mouth. “Mimi,” I finally begin. “That locket.”
“Oh yes.” Mimi reaches up and clasps the heart in her hand, just like I did every day when it hung around my neck. “Isn’t it lovely? My grandmother gave it to me when I was a little girl.”
“But—but,” I stammer, wishing Toby weren’t at the table, hearing all of this. “You gave that locket to me. Last Saturday. You gave it to me.”
Something happens in Mimi’s eyes then—not the blank look of forgetfulness, but another sad gaze. It seems to be the look of recognition.
“Oh dear,” Mimi says, reaching behind her head and trying to unclasp the chain. “I saw it in your room and just assumed . . .” Mimi trails off, struggling to remove the necklace.
“No, it’s okay,” I say. Why did I have to tell her she had given it to me? It was hers, after all. She can have it back if she wants. “You keep it on. Really. I just—I thought someone had stolen it. Because I left it on my desk when all of those girls came over for the open house, and it was gone once they left. But . . .” My mind flashes back to Mimi coming down to the basement to tell Bree that her mom had arrived. Only she forgot it was Bree—she called her Deirdre. She was having a bad memory moment, so when she saw the locket, she must have thought it had been misplaced, that she was simply retrieving it, because it was hers to begin with.
“No, Tessie, it’s yours,” Mimi says. “Oh, I just can’t . . .” She swoops the back of the chain around to the front, still working to undo the clasp.
“I’ll help you, Mimi.” Toby rises from his seat, and with a quick flick of his fingers, he opens the chain and tries to place the two ends of the necklace in Mimi’s hands.
“Go put it on your sister,” Mimi says. “Thank you, my boy.”
“Are you sure?” I ask her. “Really, it’s yours. We can share—”
“No, it’s yours,” Mimi says. “Forever. Something to remember me by.” Toby closes the chain around the back of my neck as Mimi rises from the table, heading for the sink. She kisses the top of my head on her way, missing the mist of tears that have gathered in the corners of my eyes.
“Problem,” I say in greeting to Deirdre and Bree as soon as I get to school.
“Your locket!” Bree exclaims. “Where was it?”
“Yeah, about that . . . ,” I begin. “So I haven’t really told you guys about this, but Mimi, well, she�
�s been having some memory issues. That’s why she moved in with us over the summer. She’s been a little . . . off. But just sometimes. Sometimes she’s completely fine, and other times, not so much.”
“Sorry, friend,” Deirdre says. “We kind of figured something was up, but you never seemed to want to talk about it, so we didn’t push.”
“Yeah, I didn’t,” I say. “I still don’t, a lot of the time, because it makes me sad to think about. But anyway, Mimi just gave me that locket on Saturday—it was a gift her own grandmother had given her. And when she saw it on my desk on the night of the open house, she must have assumed she had left it there. Then she was wearing it this morning, so when I saw it—I mean, it was a relief, but also a problem.”
“Why a problem?” Bree asks. “You have it back.”
“Because in the meantime I accused all of these other people of stealing it,” I answer. “Including one of my best friends. Including my cousin.”
“Egh, don’t worry about me,” Deirdre says. “Water under the bridge. Which cousin? Ava?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “I sent her a nasty text about it last night, which she hasn’t responded to yet. But she’s been annoyed with me anyway, for reasons I can’t even quite figure out, so this could be it between us. Accusing people of being thieves doesn’t tend to go over well, as you know.”
“Why don’t you just try apologizing?” Bree asks. “You seem to be pretty good at doing that lately. But I would call her to do it. No more texting.”
“She probably won’t even take my call,” I say.
“You can still try,” Deirdre says. “No harm in trying.”
I sigh. “Okay. I have to run this necklace over to Ms. Castleby. I got it for her to wear to her high school reunion tomorrow. I hope she likes it.”
“Ooh, is that your first ten-dollar sale?” Bree asks.
“Yep,” I answer proudly. “Nothing like your teacher being your best customer.”
“That’s because you’re her favorite,” Deirdre says. “Like I’ve always told you.”
I give her one of my best glirks in response, grateful that I’m able to do so with her again.
“By the way,” Deirdre says, “since we decided no more secrets, I’m telling you two now that Rocco and I are going to the movies this weekend. But it’s not a date—it’s more of a thank-you to him for helping me. I’m telling you this up front so you don’t accuse me of it being a date later!”
“That’s so cute,” I say. “Thanks for telling us.”
“Just make sure he doesn’t eat too much popcorn,” Bree teases her, nudging Deirdre’s elbow.
“Rude!” Deirdre exclaims, but she still laughs about it with us.
“So I have some news too,” Bree says with a sigh. “I didn’t make first chair.”
Deirdre and I both move in to hug her, repeating “Aww, I’m so sorry” over and over, but Bree pushes us away.
“But I did make second chair,” Bree announces. “Which means the only person better than me is Akika Watkins. Who’s pretty much the best middle school flute player in the entire state, so I don’t know why I ever thought I could beat her.”
“Then that’s awesome,” Deirdre tells her. “How’s Frida taking the news?”
“Very funny,” Bree says, and now it’s her turn to glirk.
“Plus, Akika’s an eighth grader, right?” I add. “Which means next year you’ll definitely be first chair.”
“Yes, unless one of your little sixth-grade minions comes nipping at my heels,” Bree teases me. “Isn’t their big dance tonight?”
“It is. Thanks for the reminder,” I say. “I’ll text them and tell them to have fun. Because, you know, I hear good business is all about the personal touch. I’ll see you guys in homeroom.”
I cross the hallway and head through Ms. Castleby’s door, where I present her with the necklace I chose. Just as Deirdre and Bree predicted, she loves it, and she examines each of the shells and sea items one by one as she oohs and aahs.
“I can’t tell you how perfect this is,” she says. “You really have a knack for this, Tess. I already know that your business plan is going to be a great one.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I think it’s fun. And what’s the expression people say—‘If you do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life’? I believe it.”
Ms. Castleby laughs. “I do too,” she says. “I’ll get the money in the mail for you today. Thank you again.”
“You’re very welcome,” I call, leaving the room. As I trot down the hallway toward homeroom, I feel my phone buzz. I pull it out of my pocket and look down to find the preview of a new e-mail from none other than Miscellaneous Moxie.
Thank you for your fantabulous contest entry! Unfortunately . . .
I don’t need to read any further to get the message. I lost. I try not to let myself feel mopey—or lemony, as Mimi would say—about it, but disappointment seeps in anyway. Which must be clear on my face, because as soon as I enter homeroom, Deirdre and Bree run up to me.
“What’s wrong?”
“She didn’t like the necklace?”
“Let us see it. I’m sure it’s gorgeous.”
“No, no, no,” I say, stopping them. “It’s not that. She loved the necklace. But I entered this contest on Miscellaneous Moxie’s website to design a new accessory for them, and mine wasn’t chosen. I just got the e-mail.”
“Sorry, friend,” Bree says as they both reach around to hug me. “But buck up. You’re the premiere business owner of Twining Ridge Middle School. That stupid site doesn’t know what they’re missing.” We all take our seats as the bell rings, and despite my disappointment, I have to smile. Having two best friends who will listen to your problems is one thing, but having two who will listen and then try to cheer you up is even better. And I don’t need to win an online contest to know that that alone makes me very, very lucky.
Chapter 21
I enter Dimmer Switch’s classroom that day with less dread than ever before. Not because I think Dimmer’s lesson on parabolas is going to be so stimulating, but because for once, I may not have to spend the whole period being glared at by my seat partner. I mean, Kayte and I are on good terms again, right? Did yesterday’s conversation cement that, or was that just in my head? What if things are just as hostile between us as ever before?
“You found it,” Kayte says in greeting, but her face shows no emotion, so I’m not sure if this is a friendly statement or not.
“What’s that?” I ask as I take my seat.
She points toward my chest. “Your locket,” she clarifies. “You found it.”
“Oh, yes,” I say. “It’s kind of a long story. Turns out it never actually left my house in the first place. I’m sorry again for accusing you.”
“So where—” Kayte begins, but she stops herself, looking over my head toward the classroom door. I turn and see Ms. Castleby crossing the room toward Mr. Dimmer, and she whispers something into his ear. He nods, and Ms. Castleby looks in Kayte’s and my direction, gesturing for us to follow her.
Both of us point to our chests and ask, “Me?” and for a moment, I have a flicker of a memory of when Kayte and I used to accidentally speak in unison frequently, like good friends often do. That all ended after that infamous fifth-grade fight, when I settled squarely on Deirdre’s side, whether or not it was a fair choice.
“Tess and Kayte, both of you,” Ms. Castleby says. “Can you come with me?”
Some of our classmates let out an “Ooooh,” and Kayte and I glance at each other with questions in our eyes. We follow Ms. Castleby out of Dimmer’s classroom and down the hall to her own. She doesn’t say a word until we are behind her closed door, which is when she finally turns to face us.
That’s when I become convinced that we really must be in trouble. Did she take a closer look at our journals? Does she now believe that we actually copied each other, or that, even worse, I copied Kayte? How can we prove that it was just a coincidence?
“I have some good news for you two,” Ms. Castleby announces, and I exhale loudly, so relieved by the word “good” that I almost don’t care what she says next.
Almost.
“Remember that I mentioned how closely your journal entries seemed to mimic Miscellaneous Moxie’s blogging style?” she asks. “Well, I took the liberty of photographing some of your pages and e-mailing them to the site, suggesting that you two be sort of ‘young roving fashion commentators’ for their TheBlingZone entries. Anyway, I just got an e-mail back from them, and guess what?”
She pauses, waiting for us to respond, but we both seem too stunned to say anything. At least that’s how I feel.
“They loved the idea,” Ms. Castleby continues. “They especially loved the fact that you two tend to agree on, well, very little when it comes to your fashion opinions. I sent them your entries on glitter, for instance, where, Tess, you talk about how great faux glitter accessories are, and, Kayte, you hate fake glitter products. Anyway, this really got their attention, and they said in their e-mail that they’d like to try to make you two like a ‘yin and yang’ pairing, proving how subjective fashion tastes and choices are.
“I know this is a lot to digest at once,” she continues. “But if you’re interested—”
“We’re interested!” I blurt out. “I mean, I’m interested. Kayte, are you interested?”
“I’m definitely interested,” she answers. “Not just interested—we should absolutely do it.”
“I agree,” I say. “Ms. Castleby, thank you! This is amazing!”
“Of course,” she answers. “I think it will be a great opportunity for both of you. If it’s okay with you, I’ll e-mail your parents this weekend and get their permission first, and if they approve, I’ll get back to Miscellaneous Moxie and tell them that you’re in.”
“Perfect,” Kayte says. “Is there anything we should do in the meantime?”
“You could brainstorm some ideas for your columns—especially things going on in the fashion world that you might have opposite opinions on,” she says. “And I think each of you should come up with a pen name. For security reasons, they probably won’t want seventh graders using their real names on the site. So think about what you’d like to go by.”
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