by Sandra Byrd
I smiled and didn’t correct her. Prayer. Yes, that would be a good idea. I just hadn’t thought of it. I really didn’t think I needed to pray about this one, though. I was pretty sure I was on the right track.
After worship that night, someone came by handing out flyers. I took one and glanced at it before sticking it in my Bible.
As I was picking up my room before bed, a text came in. A forward. I didn’t recognize the number, so I texted back.
Who is this?
Chloe.
Chloe? As in, the Aristocat who’d had a meltdown at the tea shop last month, which my mother and I witnessed? who had thrown her purse at the May Day Ball, scattering its contents, including Tommy’s phone? who hated me because . . . well, because Tommy might like me?
Who had given her my number?
I quickly added her to my address book, just so she’d be in there for good and I’d know who she was if she tried to contact me again. She sent the forward again. I wrote back just to be uber-polite.
Hey.
But no way was I sending that forward on. Even if it did warn of bad news if I ignored it.
I was grateful I didn’t believe in jinxing.
Chapter 10
Thursday morning I got to school early to deliver the papers. As I loaded the bag, I noticed Hazelle hunched over the new edition. She never read the paper on the morning it came out unless she had an article in it, and this week, she did not.
Okay, so I should have remembered that curiosity killed the cat. But I wasn’t a cat.
“Whatcha reading?” I asked politely, jiggling the Peter Chen bag in order to fit in as many papers as possible.
“Nothing,” she snapped.
Wow. I backed off.
“Oh, well, if you must know,” she said, “my horoscope.” She looked up at me. “What are you?”
I must have looked as dumbfounded as I felt. I had no idea what she was asking. “A girl?” I offered.
“No, I mean, what sign are you?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“When is your birthday?” she persisted. For some reason the whole line of questioning was starting to make me nervous.
“July.” I didn’t give her the date.
“You’re probably a Cancer,” she said.
As she spoke, Natalie quietly came up behind us. “That’s not a nice thing to call your friend,” she teased. “I think Savvy is rather nice, not a disease.”
Hazelle rolled her eyes. “I mean her astrological sign is Cancer.” She closed the paper. “I’m a Cancer too. Things don’t look so good for Cancers this week.” At that, she grabbed her book bag and made her way back to her desk, very clearly closing down the conversation.
Natalie smiled chummily at me and raised her eyebrows as if to say, Well, what can we do?
Against my better judgment, I found myself warming to her.
First period I walked in just in time to witness a hostile look from Brian to Hazelle and the evil icicle she hurtled right back at him. At which point Brian turned to me and asked very sweetly, “Hey, Savvy, do you have a piece of gum?”
Now Brian and I had been gum-chewing buddies for months, but I wasn’t about to get sucked into a lovers’ Bermuda Triangle. “Fresh out today,” I said, grateful that Louanne had pinched my last few pieces the night before.
The day didn’t seem to be going well for Hazelle, Cancer or not. But for me? Fine.
On the way from third period to lunch, Chloe passed me in the hall. She flicked her gaze at me, but it certainly wasn’t friendly. I was so glad I hadn’t forwarded her text.
I sat at the newspaper table that day, chatting with Melissa about the article I was proposing. Natalie was sitting close to Rodney . . . but not as close as she’d been sitting with him at the hamburger place on Saturday. Hazelle was staring into her tuna fish sandwich. I wavered between feeling really bad for her and wishing she’d wrap the sandwich up before the smell permeated all our clothing. Feeling bad won, and I said nothing.
“Savvy?” Jack grabbed my elbow. “Can I have a word with you? In the courtyard?”
“Sure.” I tossed my apple into the dustbin. It landed with a heavy thud, kind of like my heart. When Jack wanted to talk in private, something was most likely wrong. I followed him into the bright May sunlight. We sat down together on a bench.
“Well, I don’t know why it hasn’t crossed my mind before now,” he started, “but you do realize that we’re going to have to let the new editor in on our secret.”
I looked at him blankly. “Secret?”
“The Asking for Trouble column,” he said.
Oh yeah. That. “Will I . . . Will I get to keep the column?”
“I dunno. The column is a great asset, and right now it’s our most popular feature, given the amount of mail we get on it. But every editor gets to choose his—I mean her own lineup.” He stood up to leave. “Just something to think about, okay? No need to say anything till after the vote.”
I nodded and stayed on the bench, waiting for the bell to ring. In spite of her friendliness for the past two weeks, I still believed Natalie resented me because of my history with Rhys. Plus, she liked to be number one at everything.
She might want to write the most popular column herself—and take the credit.
Hazelle, on the other hand, would never forgive me for getting the column instead of her in the first place. Once she found out that her own sister, Julia, whom she idolized, had chosen me, she would never let me keep the column.
Suddenly, just like that, a thick cloud smothered the sun. I pulled my sweater around me and went to fourth period. I dug out my phone, scrolled through till I found Chloe’s forward, and sent it on.
Chapter 11
Friday was no-uniform day. I loved it, lived for it—the day we could wear our own styles. Because the weather was warming up some, I wore my best pair of nonbleached jeans with layered tanks and tees over it and some Converse shoes. In Seattle I probably would have worn flip-flops, but even the relaxed dress code didn’t allow for those here.
On the way to last period, Tommy came up alongside me. “Can I walk you to class?” he asked.
“Sure.” We talked comfortably about our classes and last week’s game. “I enjoyed watching it,” I said. “My dad has become a real British football fan since we moved here.”
“We play again tomorrow, but it’s an away game,” he said.
I felt a pang of disappointment that I couldn’t watch it. “I hope you win.” I stopped at my classroom. “One more class till Fishcoteque,” I said, then immediately regretted it. Girl rule #109: don’t bring up food with guys.
“I haven’t been there in a long time,” he said. “Mind if I join you?”
I grinned. Cross off rule #109, ladies. Dudes like food.
An hour later we pushed open the door to the steamy fish-and-chips shop, or chippie, as the Brits called it. Even though I was from Seattle—a seafood-lovin’ town—I’d never liked fish till I moved to London. Here the fish consisted of firm little bites of moist flesh enrobed in a crispy crust and accessorized with tartar sauce or vinegar.
“What’ll it be, luv?” Jeannie asked me. “The usual, then?”
I nodded, wishing she hadn’t made it sound like I was here every day.
Tommy placed his order and then insisted on paying for mine.
“No, really,” I said. What would my dad think?
“You can pick it up next time,” he said.
That meant there would be a next time.
Tommy grabbed some napkins, and Jeannie leaned in close to me. “Dishy, that one,” she said knowingly.
I didn’t disagree. I smiled.
We sat and talked, mostly about church and how we both ended up there. “Joe asked me to play in the worship band,” I shared.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“Nothing yet. I, uh . . . I guess I should pray about it,” I said. “I’m getting really involved with another ministry.
”
“Sounds good,” he said. We chatted and ate, and after a bit he said good-bye. I wished him good luck in his game the next day.
I finished my chips and orange Fanta and then grabbed the newspaper sitting on the next table. I turned to Auntie Agatha, my favorite column. After I finished reading it, I saw that the horoscope column was nearby. Funny, I’d never even noticed it was on that page before.
Before I could help it, I glanced at Cancer. “If you encourage someone you love, things will work out well for you,” it said.
I pushed the paper away. And then a text came in. It was from Penny.
Chapter 12
I packed up my stuff and hoofed it the few blocks to Cinnamon Street and then raced inside. “Mom?”
“In here, Savvy,” she called from the kitchen. Louanne was parked in front of the telly brushing Growl. One glance at his grumpy face and soggy paws told me that he’d been involved in some recent combat with Dr. Ruff’s organic dog wash. By the looks of things, Growl had lost.
I called out a greeting to Louanne, who ignored me in favor of whatever show she was engrossed in, and I went into the kitchen. “Stay here,” I instructed my mom. I saw the look on her face and added, “Please.”
I called Penny. “Hey, Penny, it’s me.”
“Savvy! Has your mom checked her e-mail? My mum just told me she sent her a message a couple of days ago about the Chelsea Flower Show. It’s tomorrow, and she wondered if she wanted to come. It’d be a good way to get to know the ladies in the garden club.”
“Just a minute; I’ll ask her,” I said, ready to set the phone down.
“Savvy, wait!” Penny said. I pressed the phone back to my ear. “We get to come too. We stay in a hotel overnight, and we girls go shopping whilst the mums are at the show. I want you to come too!”
“Wow!” I said. “I’ll call you right back.”
I clicked off the phone and looked at my mom. This could be a really good thing . . . for both of us.
Chapter 13
Early the next morning Penny and her mum came to pick us up in their extremely cool little sports car.
“Nice to have rich friends,” Dad muttered under his breath after he’d downed his morning breakfast of tomato juice with a shot of hot sauce in it. I grinned and kissed his cheek good-bye. He loved Penny. He was just jealous that he wasn’t actually in the car or, better yet, driving the car. Instead he’d have to settle for watching Top Gear on the telly and taking Growl for a walk. He was a good sport about it all, though. I knew the hotel in Chelsea was more than we could really afford right now, and sacrifices would have to be made.
An hour later we drove up in front of the hotel, got early check-in through our garden-show package, and met the others in the lobby. I noticed that Ashley’s mother was in charge. No surprise. To my great relief, even though most of the others were Aristocats, Chloe wasn’t there. At first Ashley thought maybe the ten of us girls should look at the gardens with the mums after all, but it was only because Ringo Starr had been at the show the year before, as had clothing designer Stella McCartney, and she was hoping to bump into some celebs.
She finally decided in favor of shopping on High Ken, as the locals called High Street Kensington, and then Oxford Street; the rest of us breathed a sigh of relief and headed down to the Underground. The concrete walls rumbled around me like they had in Seattle during an earthquake, and I reminded myself twelve times, under my breath, that my mother had said I’d never been claustrophobic. The Tube doors swooshed open, swooshed closed, carried us a short distance, and then we got off and raced into the late May sunlight. Shopping!
We bought some little things at Topshop—and I felt like an old hand there after having been, umm, once, officially—and then we were off to Bershka.
“Bershka?” I asked innocently.
Penny nudged me. Girl rule #212: Don’t display ignorance of local fashion hangouts.
“Yes, Bershka. You know,” Ashley insisted. “The Spanish fashion shop?”
“Oh, right. Bershka.”
Ashley dropped £100 at Bershka, which was about $150 by U.S. reckoning, on a pair of tights and twice as much on a pair of shoes. We started down the street, and she announced, “I need some jeans.”
I glanced at the store’s slogan near the door: Look Good, Pay Less.
Hooray! I opened my little British flag snap purse and counted my money. “I could use some jeans too,” I said. Maybe I’d find some to replace the ones I’d lost in the great washing disaster.
“Me too,” another girl said. We looked at each other and smiled. When Ashley was involved, there was strength in numbers.
Ashley sailed through the various departments looking over all the jeans. At first we kind of trailed behind her like preschoolers crossing the street behind their teacher, and then we broke up and looked on our own. On one table I found the perfect pair of jeans. My size. Great stitching. Skinny but not too skinny. Marked down. Just as I was about to pick them up and take them to the try-on room, Ashley announced, “There’s nothing here I like. Let’s go.”
I noticed that the other jeans shopper had a pair in her hands too, but she dropped them like stolen merchandise within seconds of Ashley’s announcement. I looked at Penny, ready to speak up and ask if anyone would mind if we waited a second while I tried these on. Penny shook her head a little to indicate that wasn’t a good idea. I dropped my pair too, but I was steamed.
Later that night Penny and I sat in our hotel room eating a room-service meal of roast and Yorkshire pudding in our pj’s, and I asked her, “What was up with not trying on the jeans?”
“Ashley has some good points, like, uh, leadership, and she can be generous when she wants to. But she likes to be the boss.”
Ashley, meet Natalie. That would be a smackdown I’d love to watch.
“So why do you go along with it?”
“I’ve known her since I was little,” Penny said. “It’s not worth it to make a big deal.”
I was about to open my mouth and insert my foot—speak up about how she should stand up for herself—but as I thought about it, she was moving forward, a little at a time. Maybe I needed to step back a little. Then we’d be in step with one another.
Back home on Sunday night, Mom was helping me do my laundry—duh, couldn’t afford to lose any more clothes—and we talked about the weekend.
“Hold on,” she said, leaving the laundry for a moment to dash into the kitchen and retrieve a small, brown, leather-bound notebook with gold writing on the front. “Everyone got one of these to take notes in, even me. I jotted down quite a few ideas and made some sketches of what I could do in the back garden.” She flipped through the pages, and I looked at them with interest.
Not that I was interested in flowers, mind you. I was interested in being interested in my mom.
“And look,” she said, “some photos I took with my phone.” She scrolled through a few, and I oohed and aahed at the appropriate moments. “Not as good of a photographer as you, I’m afraid, but it should be enough to help me see what I might want to do.” She smiled as she closed the phone.
“So did they say anything to you about joining the garden club?” I asked.
She nodded. “Lydia, Penny’s mum, said that, barring unforeseen circumstances, she sees no reason why I wouldn’t be voted into the club end of next month.”
“Great!” I said.
“Maybe.”
I looked at my mom. “Why only maybe?”
“Well, with the book club, I wasn’t sure they’d want me, but if they did, I knew I’d fit right in. This time . . . Well, we’re not rich, Savvy. We don’t have a huge estate. I’m just not sure.”
Chapter 14
Monday after school I was supposed to be in two places at once: watching Louanne and helping Becky with some prep work for the online auction, which was only eleven days away. I decided to float an idea.
“Do you want to come to Be@titude with me?” I asked Louanne.
/> “A fashion shop?” She wrinkled her nose.
“We walk by the ice cream shop,” I said. “I could buy you a cone on the way home.”
“Sundae,” Louanne negotiated with a firm smile. She knew she had me.
“All right, sundae,” I agreed. “Get your stuff and meet me on the porch.”
Two minutes later she appeared . . . with Growl on a lead.
“Oh no,” I said, “we’re not bringing him.”
“Of course we are,” Louanne said. “Part of watching me is walking Giggle. Right?” At that, the dog turned up his nose and pranced right in front of me before shaking his leash. Great. An uppity dog and a sister who’s turned to extortion.
We walked through the village, the birds singing sweetly and the leaves unfurling on the trees. Louanne skipped on the cobblestone paths, and I had to admit, if I weren’t nearly sixteen, I might have wanted to skip myself. Growl was behaving. All was right with the world.
When we arrived, Becky was bustling about with Isobel and another woman, so I stood outside the door with Louanne and Growl. Emma came outside to join us. “A dog! A dog! I always wanted a dog, but our flat is too small, Mum says.” She ran over and gave Growl a tight squeeze around the neck. His eyes seemed like they were about to pop out, and he had a look on his face that said, Get me out of here, but he stood still while Emma petted and hugged him.
Louanne leaned over and whispered, “You were right about this little girl. She’s nice.”
I winked at my sister. Anyone who loved dogs would be all right with her. Plus, Emma was younger than Louanne, which made Louanne feel mature. And important.
A few minutes later, Becky ushered the women out of the shop and me and Louanne in. “But the dog . . . ,” I began.