I think it was the sight of their scared faces that prompted me to do what I did next — defy Aunt Cecelia.
“You’re not really in charge,” I told her. “Maybe you’re the sitter, but Mama and Daddy are in charge of our house, and I am going to call them. If they say I can go to the meeting, then I can go…. And you can’t stop me from calling,” I added, dashing into the kitchen.
I reached the phone before Aunt Dictator could even open her mouth. First I called Daddy.
“Mr. Ramsey’s office,” said his secretary.
“Oh, hi, Ed,” I said, trying not to sound shaky or upset. “This is Jessi. Can I speak to my dad, please?”
“He’s out of the office, Jess,” Ed replied. (Ed is one of the few people who calls me Jess. I kind of like it.) “Is this an emergency?”
I hesitated. “No,” I said at last. Emergencies are fires and accidents and injuries. I wanted to talk to Daddy badly, but this was not an emergency and I didn’t want to do anything irresponsible.
“Do you want me to tell your father you called?” asked Ed.
“That’s okay. I’ll see him at home tonight,” I replied.
“Okay.”
Ed and I hung up.
I glanced over my shoulder at Aunt Cecelia, who was watching me carefully. I turned around, picked up the phone again, and started to dial Mama’s new work number. But halfway through, I quit. Mama had said that, until she was used to her job, Becca and I shouldn’t call her at the office — unless there was an emergency and we couldn’t get hold of Daddy.
Okay. No emergency, no call to Mama.
I hung up, defeated. Have you ever heard the saying, “Someone’s got you over a barrel”? Well, Aunt Cecelia had me over a barrel. It meant that she’d put me in a situation I couldn’t get out of. I had no options. In this case, I couldn’t go to the BSC meeting. Not unless I just rode off, completely disobeying her. And that would make Mama and Daddy (not to mention Aunt Cecelia) very mad. I knew I couldn’t go without talking to my parents first.
“Can I at least call Kristy to tell her I won’t be attending the meeting?” I asked Aunt Dictator. “That is the responsible thing to do.”
My aunt let me make the call.
“Hi, Kristy,” I said. “Guess what. I’m really sorry, but Aunt Cecelia won’t allow me to come to the meeting today. I was ten minutes late getting back from the Rodowskys’ and my aunt blew a fuse.”
“Over ten minutes?”
“Yes. Can you believe it?”
“No. That’s so unfair!”
“Listen, Kristy. Can you do something for me?” I lowered my voice even though I didn’t need to. Aunt Dictator had taken Becca and Squirt into another room. “Can you call me a lot during the meeting? It’ll make me look like you can’t get along without me.”
“Sure,” replied Kristy. I knew she was smiling. That kind of thing appeals to her. “Your aunt’ll think you’re the BSC president!”
“Oh, thank you!” I told her.
Boy, did my friends live up to their promises. Our phone rang fourteen times between five-thirty and six o’clock.
By the third call, which was from Stacey, I whispered, “Aren’t you guys tying up the club phone? I don’t want to make you do that.”
“No. We’re tying up the Kishis’ phone. We’re taking turns going down to the kitchen and using the phone there,” Stacey told me.
“Oh, okay.” Then I raised my voice for Aunt Cecelia’s benefit. “No, tell Mrs. Hobart I won’t be able to sit then. I have a dance class that afternoon.”
By 6:00, Aunt Cecelia had had it up to here. (Picture me holding my hand to my chin.) She couldn’t believe all the phone calls, but there wasn’t much she could do about them — except not forbid me to attend another meeting, and she wouldn’t do that again. Aunt Cecelia might be a jerk, but she’s no fool.
After dinner that night, I just casually mentioned to Mama and Daddy that Aunt Cecelia and I were having some trouble, but I made it sound like no big deal, so my parents didn’t seem upset. They didn’t even talk to Aunt Cecelia (at least, I don’t think they did).
Aunt Cecelia and I were locked into an awful game now. I’d do something, she’d do something back, neither of us was happy — and Mama and Daddy hardly had any idea what was going on. They were too busy with their jobs and their grown-up lives.
That night, Aunt Dictator came into my room and announced, “We have got to do something about your hair.” I guess she was still mad about the fourteen phone calls.
Overbearing pig, I thought. I wanted to say those words to her face, but instead I said, “You can do whatever you want as long as Madame Noelle will approve.”
Aunt Cecelia paused. For some reason, Mme. Noelle is practically a goddess to my aunt. I guess because I have come so far with my ballet — dancing lead roles and stuff.
Even so, Aunt Dictator was only slightly daunted. She got out a jar of cream, a brush, and some other things, and gave me the most awful hairdo possible. Fortunately, it was severe, so it was great for ballet. My hair would never be in my eyes. It couldn’t escape the trap Aunt Cecelia had put it in.
“There,” said my aunt. “Now you’re someone I can be proud of.”
Because of my hair?
I ran downstairs to complain to Mama and Daddy, but they were talking seriously about a problem Mama was having at work. They looked dead tired, too.
When they glanced up at me, standing in the doorway to the living room, all they said was, “Did you do something to your hair, Jessi?”
I left them alone. I didn’t tell them what was really going on — that Aunt Cecelia was running our lives, and ruining mine.
It was the evening of the science fair. I was so excited, you’d think I’d entered a project in it. (Well, in a way I had.) Anyway, the kids who were entering had to arrive at Stoneybrook Elementary by six-thirty in order to set up. The fair itself began at seven-thirty.
So at six-thirty, there were Stacey and Charlotte, Mal and Margo, Kristy and David Michael, Jackie and me, and a whole lot of kids and their parents or brothers or sisters or grandparents. Actually, Jackie and I had arrived at 6:20 to make sure we got our table staked out.
Now, at nearly seven o’clock, the all-purpose room was noisy and busy. All around Jackie and me were sighs of relief (when things went right) and groans (when things went wrong). Kids walked by carrying everything from huge pumpkins to complicated electrical things. I could hear the sounds of gears turning, tools tinkering, and video equipment. The all-purpose room was a pretty exciting place to be in.
“How do you feel, Jackie?” I asked him.
His volcano was loaded up and ready to explode. The “Welcome to the World of Volcanic Activity” sign was hung on the front of his desk. His pointer was in his hand.
“Fine,” he replied, but he sounded nervous. “Listen to this: Igneous rocks are born from fire, the molting —”
“Molten,” I corrected him.
“The molten rock that lies several feet —”
“Miles.”
“Okay. Several miles below the surface of our wonderful earth.”
“Just our earth, Jackie. Don’t overdo it.”
Jackie nodded miserably.
* * *
Seven-thirty. The all-purpose room had really filled up. Teachers and parents and families and friends were pouring in.
“Look!” cried Jackie. “There are Mom and Dad and Archie and Shea!”
Boy, did Jackie seem relieved.
The Rodowskys made a beeline for The World of Volcanic Activity.
“Your project looks great, son,” exclaimed Jackie’s father.
“Yeah, it really does,” Shea managed to admit.
“You know what?” I said. “I think I’m going to look around at the other projects before the judging begins. Jackie, you stay here and answer questions — but don’t set the volcano off, okay?”
Jackie laughed. “Okay.” He was beginning to feel pleased with himself.
Even Shea hadn’t seen the volcano explode. Jackie couldn’t wait for the big moment. He wanted to prove something to Shea who, as his big brother, was always several steps ahead of him.
I walked slowly around the room, looking at the displays and experiments. I saw a model of a human heart made from Play-Doh (I think). I saw a small-scale “dinosaur war.” I saw an impressive project about the Ice Age. I saw Charlotte’s plants with her charts and graphs. One plant was considerably more healthy-looking than the other two, which were sort of scraggly.
“Which plant is that?” I asked, pointing to the full, green one.
“Guess,” she said.
“The one that listened to classical music.”
“Wrong.” Charlotte grinned. “It’s the Duran Duran plant. I’m not sure why. Maybe they were just really fresh seeds.”
I laughed, and continued my walk through the exhibits. When I got back to Jackie’s display, I found his family preparing to take a look around, so I said I’d stay with Jackie.
The volcano attracted a lot of attention.
“Neat! What’s that?” asked a curly-headed boy.
“A volcano,” said Jackie proudly. “It can erupt. It makes ash and lava go everywhere. It’s really messy.”
“Can I see?” asked the boy.
Jackie’s face fell. “Sorry. I can only make it explode once. I have to wait until the judges are here. You can see it then.”
“Okay,” said the boy, looking disappointed.
A few seconds later two girls walked by.
“A volcano!” exclaimed one. “Hey, I’ve always wondered. What does make a volcano?”
Jackie was prepared. “Igneous rocks are born from fire …” He said the entire speech without one mistake. I gave him the thumbs-up sign.
The girl frowned. “But why,” she went on, “do igneous rocks do that? I mean, why does heat make a volcano erupt?”
Jackie was stumped. That wasn’t part of his speech. And he couldn’t demonstrate the volcano to the girls, either.
Just when I was beginning to feel bad, my own family showed up. Well, Mama and Daddy and Becca did. Squirt was at home with Aunt Dictator. Becca had come because she wanted to see Charlotte’s experiment, and my parents were there because of the volcano they’d been hearing about.
I began to feel better.
At eight o’clock, an announcement came over the PA system.
“Attention, please. May I have your attention? The judging will now begin. All participants in the science fair prepare to demonstrate and explain your projects to the judges. Visitors, please stand at the back of the room during the judging.”
“That was our principal,” Jackie informed me. (You’d have thought the President of the United States had just spoken.)
“Good luck, Jackie,” I said. “I know you’ll do fine. When it’s time to make the volcano erupt, tell the judges you have to call me to light the match because you’re not allowed to do that yourself.”
Jackie swallowed and nodded. I joined my family at the back of the room.
The judging began.
Two women and a man walked solemnly from table to table. They looked each project over. They requested demonstrations. They asked questions.
Asked questions? Oh, no! Jackie couldn’t talk about anything that wasn’t in his speech. I hoped fervently that the judges would be so impressed with his demonstration that they wouldn’t ask him any questions.
Tick, tick, tick. It was almost eight-thirty.
At last the judges reached The World of Volcanic Activity. I saw Jackie whisper something to one of the women. Then he saw me in the crowd and motioned for me to come forward. I did so, matches in hand.
“This,” said Jackie as I reached his table, “is Jessi. She’s my helper. She has to light the match for me.”
(The judges smiled.)
I lit the match, told everyone to stand back, and tossed the match in the volcano. Jackie threw his hands in the air and cried, “The miracle of a volcano comes to life before our very eyes!”
PHOO! Lava was everywhere! It almost spattered the judges. Then it settled into a nice gooey flow down the sides of the volcano. The judges looked extremely impressed.
I stood to the side as Jackie made his speech, using the pointer.
The judges nodded and smiled.
And then the questions began.
“How,” asked the man, “is the crater of a volcano created?”
“Um,” said Jackie. He looked at me, but I couldn’t help him. “Um,” he said again. “I don’t know.” At least he didn’t admit that I’d practically done the project for him.
“Well … what happens to the lava when it has flowed out of the crater?” asked one of the women.
“It — it’s very hot …” Jackie said lamely.
I looked at the ground. This was my fault. I felt terrible as I watched the judges make notations on their pads of paper. They walked on to the last project of the fair without even telling Jackie, “Good work,” or “Nice going.”
I went back to my parents and waited guiltily and nervously for the results of the fair to be announced.
“Jackie’s project was great!” Dad said to me. “I’ve never seen such a thing. You really helped him.”
A little too much, I thought.
Several minutes later, another announcement crackled over the loudspeaker. “The judges,” said the principal, “have reached their decisions.” (The judges were standing in the center of the room.) “They have chosen first-, second-, and third-place winners. When the winners are announced, will they please receive their ribbons from the judges? Thank you.” There was a pause. Then the principal continued. “Third prize goes to Charlotte Johanssen for her project entitled ‘The Power of Music.’”
Applause broke out. Charlotte, looking shy but pleased, edged over to the judges, received her yellow ribbon, and scurried back to her table, where she proudly attached the ribbon to the sign she’d made for her project.
The next two winners were announced. They went to kids I didn’t know. I sought out Kristy, Mal, and my other friends in the crowd. Except for Stacey, they looked as disappointed as I felt.
But nobody looked more disappointed than Jackie, even though an Honorable Mention ribbon was already being fastened to his desk. (Every kid except the three winners was given an Honorable Mention.) The Rodowskys and I crowded around The World of Volcanic Activity.
“Don’t be too upset, honey,” Mrs. Rodowsky told Jackie.
I had to speak up. “He has a right to be upset,” I said.
Mr. and Mrs. Rodowsky turned to me. “Why?” they asked at the same time.
“Because — because I gave him so much help with his project that he really didn’t do much of it himself.”
“Yeah,” said Jackie, giving me the evil eyeball.
“I’m really sorry,” I went on. “I just wanted him to win. He’s always saying he’s no good at anything, or that he has bad luck. I wanted him to see that he can be a winner. I guess I went about it all wrong, though.”
Mr. and Mrs. Rodowsky were really nice. They understood what had happened. I got the feeling that they might have done things like this for Jackie in the past. Mr. Rodowsky even admitted to building the glass and wood box for the volcano himself. (Well, with a teeny bit of help from Jackie.)
But Jackie, who’s usually so easygoing and sunny, continued to scowl at me. “I just wanted to have fun,” he said. “That was all. I just wanted to make a volcano erupt.”
“Jackie, Jessi apologized to you,” his father said gently.
“I know.” Jackie finally managed a smile. But it quickly turned to a frown. “Oh, no,” he muttered. “Here come John, Ian, and Danny. They’re going to laugh at me. I just know it.”
But the three boys who approached us looked excited.
“Jackie,” said one, “your volcano was totally rad. Make it explode again!”
“Yeah,” said another. “That was so cool.”
Jackie explained why he couldn’t “explode” the volcano again.
“Oh, well,” said the boys. “It was still awesome.” They started to walk away. “See you in school on Monday!” one called over his shoulder.
Jackie grinned at me like the Cheshire Cat. “I don’t believe it!” he cried.
Mr. and Mrs. Rodowsky were smiling, too. “You know,” said Jackie’s mom, “there’ll be another science fair next year. Jessi, maybe you could try helping Jackie again.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I better not.”
“Good,” replied Jackie. “Because if I’m going to lose, I want to do it all by myself!”
We laughed, even Shea and Archie. But while I was laughing, I was thinking about something. I needed to talk to my parents. And I needed to talk to them badly.
I left the Rodowskys and searched for my parents in the crowded all-purpose room. I finally found them at Charlotte’s table, along with Becca, Charlotte’s parents, Stacey, and of course, Charlotte.
I pulled my mother aside. “Mama? Can we go home now?”
“What’s the matter, honey? Don’t you feel well?” Mama’s hand immediately went to my forehead. “No fever,” she murmured.
“I feel fine,” I told her. “I’m not sick. But I need to talk to you and Daddy. It’s about Jackie and — and Aunt Cecelia and some other things. Please can we leave?”
“Of course we can.” Mama looked alarmed.
We couldn’t leave right away, though. Saying good-bye took awhile. Becca had to congratulate Charlotte one more time and finger the prized yellow ribbon. Then I ran into Kristy.
“Sorry about Jackie,” she said sincerely.
“Thanks,” I replied. “Sorry about David Michael.”
Kristy smiled. “Thank you. But it’s funny — he doesn’t seem upset at all.”
At last my family had made our way out to our car. As we drove home, Mama said, “Becca, Jessi wants to have a talk about some things with Daddy and me, so when we get to our house, could you keep Squirt and Aunt Cecelia company for awhile and let us have some privacy?”
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