The Battle of Junk Mountain

by Lauren Abbey Greenberg

  I remove the KISS THE COOK apron she lent me and join her in front of the TV. Together we watch a man from Texas wait to find out if his Babe Ruth–autographed baseball is worth a gazillion dollars. Right when the expert in the spiffy blue suit is about to reveal the price, a shrill BRRRRINGGG steps on his words. Bea shoots the telephone a dirty look and makes no effort to answer it.

  I grab the phone, hoping to hear from Poppy. Mom lays into me without even a hello.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she says.

  The sharp edge in her voice makes me wince. “Tell you what?”

  “About what happened at the flea market. Or should I say what didn’t happen.”

  “Hold on.” I take the phone onto the deck and slide the door behind me. The curly cord stretches behind me like a tight leash. “I didn’t say anything because I knew you’d get upset, which you are. Who told you, anyway?”

  “Not that it matters, but Ray. He said she wouldn’t sell anything and you guys were the only ones who left with a full carload of stuff.”

  “Well, Ray is a total spying jerk!”

  “That’s not the point, Shayne,” Mom snaps. “I don’t think you realize how bad the situation has gotten.”

  “Of course I do. I’m living in it every single day!” My blood simmers like the chowder. Why does she have to stick her nose into everything? If that stupid flea market was so important to her, then she should have come up here and dealt with it herself.

  Mom’s silence makes my whole body tense with that feeling of dread you get when you know something horrible is coming.

  “Bea is in serious financial trouble,” she finally blurts.

  Through the glass, I steal a glance at my grandmother, her eyes glued to the TV.

  “After Grandpa died, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy,” Mom says. “He left her some life insurance money, but not a lot. About six months ago, Bea and I opened a joint bank account so I could deposit money to help her out. But after a while, I noticed she kept withdrawing cash but wasn’t paying her bills.”

  “What was she doing with the money?” I ask.

  “What do you think?” she says, her voice thick with sarcasm. “Thrift shops, yard sales, flea markets. She has an addiction and it’s getting out of hand. I know how she is, buying a trinket here and there. ‘It’s only fifty cents,’ she’ll say. But it adds up, trust me. Before you know it, the house is overstuffed with things you don’t need and there’s no food in the pantry.”

  I bite my tongue, determined not to blab what I saw earlier today.

  Mom continues. “Honestly, I was thrilled when she went back to work, and when she said she was cleaning out her house, I thought, finally she has come to her senses. But according to the bank, she hasn’t paid her mortgage in two months.”

  I press my hand to my forehead to rub out an oncoming headache. What would I know about mortgages? That’s grown-up stuff, not something to talk about with your twelve-year-old daughter.

  “She didn’t seem worried when we went to Quayle’s. She even let me buy chocolate and marshmallows to make s’mores later,” I say.

  My mom sighs. “I’m sorry. You don’t belong in the middle of this. It was a mistake to think you could handle this alone. Honey, I think I need to come up there.”

  I picture my mom stepping through the front door, her hand flying to her mouth in total disbelief. First, she’ll yell at Bea. Then at me. She’ll say I wasn’t honest with her and yank me out of here faster than one of her gray hairs. Even though I don’t like what’s going on, I’m not ready for that either. “If you come, you and Bea will only fight and everyone will be miserable. Besides, Bea and I have a new plan.”

  “What kind of plan?” she asks.

  I glance at the note I jotted on my hand. Everything must go!

  “The flea market was too overwhelming for Bea, so we were thinking about having our own private yard sale.” The lie comes out fast. I only hope I can turn it into a truth.

  “I appreciate it, Shayne, I really do, but at this point I doubt that’s going to be enough—”

  I cut in. “Wait, there’s more. I may have found something at the flea market that could be worth a lot of money.”

  “Good God, you sound just like her.”

  “Listen, they’re ancient bullets, one hundred and fifty years old. I have a reputable source who says they could be the real deal.”

  Her groan is long and tired. “Look. I don’t have time for fantasies right now. The bottom line is we don’t have the money to support her outright. If she can’t make some big changes then… I don’t know… she might have to sell her house and move in with us.”

  The thought is so ridiculous I have to snort. “She’ll never do that. You two wouldn’t survive the first week.”

  “She may not have a choice.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Sell Bea’s house? Move in with us?

  Is this my last summer in Maine?

  • CHAPTER 23 •

  I’M NOT BOSSY, I JUST HAVE GOOD IDEAS

  After that phone call, I knew I had to get to the Soldier & Saber stat. For two days straight, I nag Linc, who in turn nags Cranky, and between the two of us Cranky finally agrees to drive us there, probably just to shut us up.

  There’s a sticker on the door of the antique store that says TOP-RATED SELLER. I feel encouraged; this place is legit. We step inside. Military weapons, uniforms, flags, and other collectibles crowd the tiny space. I corner the shopkeeper, an old man with distractingly long eyebrow hairs, and ask him if he would appraise my five bullets.

  From the bunch, Mr. Eyebrows grasps a rounded pewter one between his stubby fingers and lifts it to the light. “This looks like it came from a .30 caliber handgun,” he says, “probably an officer’s weapon.”

  I stare at him with a straight face. Something tells me it’s best if you don’t show emotion. I try to catch Linc’s eye, but he’s too busy drooling over the display of pins and buttons in the case beneath us. Cranky examines the rifles stacked neatly against the wall. I drum my fingers on the counter.

  Mr. Eyebrows selects another bullet from my collection. “This one was dug up. You can still see the mud caked in the grooves. Most likely came from a Springfield rifle.”

  “So… are they worth anything?” I can barely breathe.

  He jiggles them in his hand. The entire room seems to pause for this very moment, almost like the earth has stopped spinning. I watch for his lips to form words. It doesn’t have to be the biggest number ever, just enough to cover Bea’s bills, to get her out of trouble, to allow me to keep coming back to Maine.

  The man flashes a kind, yellow-toothed smile. “I’ll tell you what. How about I give you one dollar for all of them.”

  One dollar? I feel dizzy. “Are you sure? That lady made it sound like they were worth a lot of money. They belonged to her dead husband’s collection.”

  He makes a clucking sound with his tongue. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, sweetheart, but people buy things from here all the time, hoping to turn a profit. The dead husband stuff makes for an interesting story, though.”

  “But… but…” I stammer. “What a liar!”

  Mr. Eyebrows shakes his head as he hands me back my bullets. “Truth is you can find these all over battlefields. I know people who spend their Sunday mornings searching for them with a metal detector and a plastic cup.” He reaches into a cabinet behind him and pulls out a silver bowl. “See?”

  I peer inside. Hundreds of Civil War bullets exactly like the ones I have.

  “Go ahead, take one,” he says like he’s offering me a mint.

  Linc and I loiter at the store’s exit while we wait for Cranky to decide which hunting knife he wants to buy. I feel like we’re never going to get out of here.

  “Look on the bright side,” Linc says. “You’re the proud owner of a piece of history. Cool, right?”

  My teeth sink into my lower lip as I glower at Linc. “Be quiet. Some
expert you are.”

  “Hey, don’t take it out on me. This was your big idea.” He lowers his voice. “Anyhow, you’re the lucky one. It’s not like you lost something precious, like the family heirloom that your grandfather risked his life to save. If anyone should be in a bad mood, it’s me.”

  Linc’s ranting doesn’t make me feel any better. In fact, I feel worse. Make that worthless, like those bullets. Serves me right for believing my own daydream, thinking I could put on a superhero cape and swoop into town to save the day.

  “Whoa,” Linc says as he hurries over to a nearby display case. “Shayne, look. It’s another Medal of Honor.”

  “It’s a replica,” Mr. Eyebrows says as he cleans his glasses with the end of his flannel shirt. “Twenty dollars if you want it. You’re not going to find the real thing in here. It’s illegal to sell them, even wear them, if you weren’t the recipient.”

  Linc’s eyes flutter and he sways ever so slightly. No way I can catch him if he faints.

  As soon as Mr. Eyebrows leaves us to help another customer, Linc unravels. “Did you hear what he said? I wasn’t supposed to wear it. Now I’m doubly doomed!”

  “You’re not doomed. You didn’t know, and I won’t tell anyone.”

  “It doesn’t matter, anyway, because it’s gone,” he says through his teeth. “It’s only a matter of time before Grandpa asks for the medal back. My best hope is that he’s forgotten about it. You know, out of sight, out of mind.”

  Out of sight, out of mind.

  Ideas pour into my brain faster than a raging river. While Linc paces and mutters to himself, my fingers curl around my bargain basement bullets. Maybe Bea can’t part with anything because it’s too painful to watch it go. But if she doesn’t see it go, maybe she won’t know it’s not there.

  I grip Linc’s arm. “I have an idea that may help us both. What if we had a secret yard sale while Bea’s at work? I’ll sell all the things she couldn’t part with at the Cedar Island Flea Market, plus I can sell my bracelets, too.” I stick my arm in his face to show him my handiwork. “I’ve already made a bunch of these, but I can crank out a ton more fast. What do you think?”

  Linc scrunches his face. “I think I’m totally confused. How is this supposed to help me?”

  “Twenty dollars,” I say.

  “Huh?”

  I crook a finger for him to lean in close. “That’s your cut if you help me pull this off. For twenty dollars, you could buy a certain something here at the Soldier & Saber to replace that other certain something you can’t find.”

  His eyes bug out. “Ohhhhh. Right. Count me in.”

  My body tingles with renewed energy. “There’s one last piece to this puzzle. We need to get the word out.”

  Linc looks doubtful. “How are we going to do that?”

  “I have connections.” I puff a flyaway curl out of my face. Whether she’ll say yes, though, is another story.

  • CHAPTER 24 •

  DREAM BIG OR GO HOME

  Poppy studies my homemade flyer: THOMAS COVE YARD SALE! THIS SATURDAY. EVERYTHING MUST GO! My heart jackhammers my rib cage while she scans it. Did I go overboard with the rainbow colors and bubble letters? She probably thinks it’s stupid.

  Poppy glances up. “What happened? No takers at the flea market?”

  “Not exactly. She had trouble letting go of her things, so I thought if I ran a yard sale for her while she’s at work, she wouldn’t have to watch other people take her stuff. Anyway, I was wondering if you could post my flyer on the bulletin board at Quayle’s.”

  Poppy crinkles her nose. “I don’t know if I’m allowed. Honestly, if we hung up every yard sale flyer around town, it would wallpaper our entire store.”

  “But you post them all the time!”

  “My dad does it as a favor for some of his friends.”

  “Then tell him you’re doing a favor for me. Please?” I clasp my hands together. “You don’t understand. I need to get the word out. My mom’s going crazy. She thinks Bea has an addiction, and she might, but that’s not the point. If I don’t get rid of at least some of the junk in her house, then Mom will blame Bea and won’t let me come back next summer.”

  “Seriously? That’s harsh.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “And Bea’s okay with all this?” she asks.

  I sip my water and shake my head. “She doesn’t know, but trust me, this is the only way it’s going to work.”

  Poppy rolls up the flyer and sticks it in her backpack. “I’ll ask Leanne if it’s okay.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “Awesome, thanks.”

  Katie approaches our table with a large tray balanced on her shoulder. My mouth salivates at the glorious sight of lobster chunks spilling out the top of toasted buns, crispy onion rings fried to perfection, and thick vanilla shakes.

  “Enjoy your lunch, ladies,” Katie sings, her perfect ponytail swishing behind her.

  Poppy cracks her gum and steals a peek at the swinging double doors that lead to the kitchen. I already told her that Bea said Gio wasn’t working today, but she keeps glancing anyway like he’ll magically appear.

  I dive into my lobster roll. Mmmmm. Heaven on a bun. Poppy pulls her hair back to keep it from falling in her food and reveals a shiny gold cuff at the top of her right ear.

  “When did you get that?” I say with my mouth full.

  Her hand floats up to touch it. “Do you like it? I pierced it last night—I mean, my friend did it for me. You don’t know her, she goes to my school.”

  A pang of jealously pricks my gut. “Last night? Why didn’t you call me?”

  Before she can answer, a hefty swig of milkshake rewards her with brain freeze. While she massages her forehead to make the icy pain go away, I make a snap decision not to bug her about not calling me. She already said she’d post my flyer; I don’t want anything to ruin our lunch together.

  “So, did you ask your dad yet about Little Moose Cove?”

  “Darn, I forgot,” she says.

  “C’mon, Poppy, ask him already. We don’t have much time left. I’m leaving next week.”

  “Quit pressuring me.”

  My head jerks back. “I’m not pressuring you.”

  “Yes, you are. You may be here on vacation, but if you haven’t noticed, I’m not. Leanne loads me up with hours at the market like I’m her personal slave. If I complain, she tells my parents, and they say if I don’t contribute to the family business then they’ll take away my phone. My life sucks rocks.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “It does.” She sulks at her sandwich. “They don’t care about me. I could be covered in flesh-eating insects and have blood coming out of my eyes, and they’d still insist that I sweep aisle four.”

  “Thanks for the tasty visual.”

  “I’m not kidding. It’s not like I have a choice about it. Look at Leanne. Dad made her manager this summer. It’s like he’s digging in his hooks so she can’t leave.” She pushes her plate away. Her shoulders slump as she stares off into space. “Face it. I’m stuck here forever.”

  The onion rings leave my lips slick with grease. “Stuck here?” I am dumbfounded. “Are you kidding me? You’re the lucky one. I beg my parents all the time to visit more often. I’d live here year-round if I could. To me, Thomas Cove is one of the best places on the planet, not somewhere you get stuck.”

  A hint of a smile appears on her face, making me feel encouraged.

  “That’s why you need to go to Little Moose,” I say. “You need a break. We can lie on the beach all day and do nothing. I’ll bring plenty of Bea’s gossip magazines.”

  “As long as they’re from the twenty-first century,” she says. We both crack up.

  I settle back in my seat, completely stuffed, satisfied, and happy that I brought Poppy back from spiraling into a wicked bad mood.

  After lunch, we browse the café’s gift shop. The air smells of vanilla and cinnamon from the scented candles for sale. />
  The cashier looks up from her crossword puzzle. “Poppy, tell your father his milk prices are too high. They’re fifty cents more than Straw’s.”

  “Not my problem,” Poppy says under her breath as we browse the made-in-Maine products like maple syrup, honey, and blueberry jam.

  I pick up a starfish magnet and gape at the price tag. “Ten dollars for this?”

  Poppy whispers. “You could totally walk out of here with that and she’d never know. She’s completely out of it.”

  I glance over my shoulder at the cashier bent over her puzzle. “I don’t want it that bad.” My heartbeat speeds up as I throw the magnet back into the bin. The blank look on Poppy’s face makes me unsure if she was joking.

  We walk to a wall of T-shirts and pick through the stacks. I pull out a bright red one with a #1 GRANDMA decal in pink and white on the front.

  “Hey, do you think I should get this for Bea? It’s so tacky, she’d love it.”

  Poppy’s eyebrows rise. “I don’t think you should be buying Bea anything.”

  My cheeks warm as I throw the shirt back on the shelf. “I’m kidding.”

  Poppy riffles through the earring racks. She holds different pairs up to her new piercing and admires the look in the warped mirror pasted onto the side. She shows me miniature dolphins dangling by a silver chain. “Cute or lame?” she asks.

  “Definitely cute.”

  I run my fingers through the necklaces that hang from wooden pegs. A double necklace with a pink BFF heart cut down the middle catches my eye. I could wear one half and Poppy could wear the other. But would she?