Lizzy and the Good Luck Girl

by Susan Lubner

  “Okay,” said Joss. “We’ll be back. Come on, Lizzy. Let’s go.”

  “Hold on,” I said. I unwrapped my scarf and dropped it around the girl’s neck. “Here. You can keep this. I have another one.”

  “Good idea,” Joss said to me. I was glad she didn’t mind, since she had knit it for me.

  “Thanks. It’s so cold in here,” the girl said. It seemed like it took an extra wrap around her neck to get it on right. She was small.

  In the shadowy light she reminded me of a rare bird I had seen in a book, with the scarf under her bony face and the way some of the hair across her forehead stood up in little spikes, like it was exasperated.

  “You can’t tell anyone I’m here,” she told us.

  The sound of her voice felt like a kick to my stomach. I didn’t even know her, but somehow I suddenly wanted to protect her. “We won’t,” I said.

  “I’m serious.” The girl rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. She was wearing a coat that didn’t seem ratty at all. Someone must have cared enough about her to make sure she had a nice warm jacket. Or maybe not, I reconsidered. She had run away, after all.

  “We won’t say a word. We promise,” Joss told her.

  Outside, we walked quickly toward the diner. “This is weird,” I said. “How long do you think she’s been there?”

  “For as long as it takes a banana to turn brown?”

  “I guess,” I said. “How long is that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was almost brown when she got here. Maybe it’s only been a day or two,” Joss said.

  I hoped so. “I can’t picture having to stay in that cold house by myself even for one night.”

  “Someone must be sad not knowing where she is,” Joss said. She kicked a rock and it made a clink when it hit the fence.

  “Maybe she ran away for a good reason,” I said. “Maybe she had to.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve seen stuff on TV before about parents who hurt their kids.” That was harder to think about than living in a dark house and eating only peanut butter and rotting bananas.

  Joss stopped walking for a second. “I’ve seen stuff like that, too,” she said. She put her hand across her mouth as if she had just realized something that made her feel scared and uneasy.

  I was feeling pretty uneasy myself. A girl hiding in a closet. A cat named Smoky. They had to be signs of something.

  I wondered what.

  CHAPTER

  3

  “HEEEEEEEEEEY! IT’S LIZZY PANCAKES AND HER matching sidekick!” Sid Valentine carried a tray full of omelets so fat the guts were spilling out. Sid was tall and skinny and as bald as a cue ball, with a beard and a mustache like a pirate. When he zipped by, he popped his fake front tooth out and back in, and Joss and I laughed. Sid did that whenever we asked him to (and sometimes when we didn’t). But he always made sure no customers were looking, and he used his tongue not his hands, so no germs were involved.

  “You should get a gold tooth,” Joss told him once. But Sid was way too nice to be a pirate, anyway.

  The Thumbs-Up was always crowded. Joss and I waited by the door for two stools to free up at the counter. The counter ran parallel to the kitchen, down one side of the diner. On the other side, four booths with shiny red seats took up the entire wall. In between were eight tables, most with two or four chairs, except for the one where a couple of the tables had been pushed together to accommodate a bigger party.

  Most of the Thumbs-Up’s walls were covered in old Coke and Pepsi signs my mom and dad had collected from flea markets, plus a colorful metal sign mounted over the kitchen that read: EAT HERE, THE FOOD IS GOOD. And hanging from the ceiling, in the center of everything, was the front half of an old Chevy, because a whole car was too big to fit. It was black with white wheels to match our checkerboard floor.

  Joss and I waved to Cooper and Zoe, friends from school, who were at a table with Cooper’s parents.

  I looked beyond the counter and the half wall into the kitchen. Through the open space I saw Dad sweating over the griddle. To the left of that opening, a blackboard hung where yours truly posted all of the specials. Not only was I a whiz at sandwich naming, but I had really neat handwriting, too.

  “Order up!” Dad hollered. He slid a plate piled with scrambled eggs and steaming home fries onto the shiny metal countertop in front of him and stuck an order slip underneath.

  “Good morning, lovelies!” Bibi hollered to us over two towers of french toast. She hustled to deliver the stacked plates, her dark ponytail swinging back and forth behind her shoulders.

  Bibi liked to wear funky-looking sneakers she called practical with pizazz. Today’s pair was covered in leopard spots. Another pair had lemons and limes. She sometimes wore a pair that looked like they had graffiti all over them. But her favorites were the black-and-white checkered sneakers because she got a kick out of matching the diner floor.

  She snatched up some menus and scooted over to greet the two policemen who had come in behind us.

  “Welcome to the Thumbs-Up diner!” Bibi said to them, like they’d never been in before. That’s how she greeted all the customers, regulars and “newbies.” The whole of the East Thumb police force, all two of them, came in for a danish and coffee about three times a day.

  The officers followed Bibi to a table. Each kept a hand on his belt right by his gun, probably ready to shoot, just in case something bad happened. It crossed my mind that maybe they secretly wished something bad would happen, because nothing police-worthy ever happened in East Thumb. Mostly, the cops seemed bored out of their skulls. I’d bet they’d want to know about a girl hiding out in the apartment house across the street.

  A couple of stools finally opened up, and Joss and I plopped onto them. Joss pulled out her sweater sketches and unrolled them.

  Dad looked up from the griddle. “Hey there,” he said. “What’s happening?”

  Oh, not much. We just found a hungry girl hiding in a closet, that’s all. Instead, I told him, “Fudge woke me up again. Twice!”

  Dad threw his hands in the air, still clutching a spatula in one. “That Fudge!” He pretended to be angry. “To boldly go where no cat has gone before!” he said, shaking his head. Joss laughed.

  “Dad!” I was not a Star Trek fan. Dad swore he was no Trekker or Trekkie (there was a difference, apparently), but he liked to quote old Star Trek TV shows and movies. Sometimes he replaced a word from an original line with one of his own that he thought made it funny. Like calling his pickup truck “the East Thumb Enterprise,” after the Star Trek spaceship.

  “How’s the cat sweater business?” Sid asked, scooting behind the counter. He poured us water and set down silverware wrapped in a napkin. “Ready for your big event next Saturday?”

  “We will be,” I told him.

  “I’ve never heard of a cat wearing a sweater.” He wiped down the area in front of us while carefully avoiding Joss’s sketches.

  “That’s why it’s such a brilliant idea. What word did your mom call it?” I asked Joss.

  “Novel.”

  “Right,” I said. “It’s that.”

  “You’ve got to be pretty brave to dress a cat,” he said before walking away.

  “Hey,” I said to Joss, “we should have some of the shelter cats and kittens at our event. Maybe some of them could get adopted right on the spot.”

  Joss nodded. She was watching the little TV that was mounted from the ceiling in front of us. “That’s the girl! On the news!” she whispered at me, her eyes still focused on the screen. “Look!”

  I looked up at the screen just as a commercial came on.

  “Where?” I asked.

  “It was the girl in the closet! You missed it.”

  “Are you sure? What’s her name? Where’d she come from?”

  “I didn’t hear. I only saw it for a few seconds, but it was the girl’s face taking up the whole screen.”

  “Someone is looking
for her!” My heart was skipping. I glanced behind me at Officer Hodge and Sergeant Blumstein, as if by looking at them I could gauge if they were starting to suspect that I was hiding something. I hoped I didn’t look as guilty as I suddenly felt.

  “What are we supposed to do?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” Joss said. “We promised her we wouldn’t say anything, remember?”

  We had promised, but it felt awful knowing something that someone else might be desperate to know, too.

  “Maybe if we tell the girl she was on the news, she’ll go home,” Joss continued.

  “Maybe.” I had no idea if she would or wouldn’t, but Joss just saying that she might made me feel better. “Let’s talk cat sweaters, instead,” I said.

  Joss poked her finger at the first little drawing. Not only could she knit super well, but her sketches were great. “I know lots of dog sweaters have sleeves, but I’m just going with leg holes. Cats aren’t as patient as dogs, so I’m keeping it simple,” she said.

  I nodded. We knew our sweaters wouldn’t be for every cat, like Joss’s cat Marco and my Reuben, who were grumps. But lots of cats, like Fudge, who I had dressed in socks and T-shirts before, were totally easygoing.

  “Then there’s this.” She unrolled a second sketch to show me a sweater with pockets on the back.

  “Why pockets?” I asked.

  “To hold cat treats.”

  “A cat with a treat stuffed inside a pocket could attract a wild animal. Or a dog. It’s kind of like bait.”

  “Hmmm…” Joss pressed her hand against her face. “True. We’ll skip the pocket option.”

  “Like you said, keep it simple,” I told her.

  I pulled my notebook out of the bag that was still slung across my hip. “I thought up three names for our sweaters. Which one do you like best? CatKnits? Get it? Like catnip… but CatKnit?” Joss shook her head, which I didn’t mind because it wasn’t my favorite, either. “How about Knitty Kitty?”

  “Cozy Cat!” she shouted, pointing to the third choice. “I love it!”

  “Yup, me too.” I made a little check mark next to it. Then Joss and I fist-bumped. I had just closed my notebook when Sid fake-tossed my plate of pancakes, flicking his wrist like he was about to throw a Frisbee to me. I flinched.

  “Fake out!” he hollered and waited for us to move our stuff. He served Joss her fried eggs and placed my plate gently in front of me. Some of the blueberries had burst, and the stack was soaked with little pools of dark purple.

  “Yum. Thanks, Sid.” I reached for my water. The ice cubes inside the glass swirled and formed a smiley face. My heart blew up like a puffer fish. A random happy face was always a good sign. How could it not be? As soon as I thought that, the ice shifted and the smile was gone. Happiness is short-lived. The thought paralyzed me for a split second.

  “I’m saving this for the girl in the closet,” Joss said quietly a few minutes later. She had finished her breakfast except for the bacon, which she wrapped in her napkin and tucked inside her coat pocket.

  Bibi whizzed by us with an armload of dirty dishes. “Chop, chop, girls! I could really use your help bussing tables,” she said.

  Joss took our coats and my bag to hang up in the back while I quickly finished eating, still wondering about those ice cubes in my glass and the trickiness of signs. What were the ice cubes trying to tell me?

  Some signs were obvious. Like a street sign, that straight-out told you that you were standing on the corner of Abbott and Greenleaf. The other kind of sign, like the ice cube kind, well, they only told you that you were standing on the corner of something. It was up to you to figure out what that something was.

  One thing I had learned to be true is that the not-so-obvious signs were everywhere if you paid close attention—even in the shape of a puffy cloud or in the song of a bird outside your window. Sometimes they appeared out of nowhere. Like on the hand of a total stranger. In the shape of a tiny tattoo. A sign that might be super important, if it were actually meant for you.

  CHAPTER

  4

  AT THREE O’CLOCK, SID WAS STIRRING THE STOCK for tomorrow’s soup.

  The last two customers paid their bill. Dad waved to them as they walked out the door. “Have a good one!” he said. He flipped the orange sign in the window to CLOSED. Then he moved behind the half wall to clean the griddle. His sloped belly bumped up against the edge with each forward scrub.

  I heard the metal click of the time clock from the back room, Bibi clocking out.

  “I have to say, I am proud of you girls,” she said to Joss and me before leaving. “I’ve always said it’s a nice thing to stick your hand out when someone needs it. I hope those furry little sugar packets appreciate all you’re doing for that shelter. See you two sugar cookies soon,” she said to us. Her sneakers made a squeaky sound as she strolled toward the door.

  Joss refilled salt shakers and collected the ketchup bottles from the tables.

  “What’s the soup tomorrow?” I asked Sid, erasing the old specials off the blackboard.

  “Chicken vegetable,” he said.

  “We’ve got to go,” Joss was whispering in my ear. “Let’s get her food.”

  “I’m almost ready,” I said. I dropped the chalk into the little metal tray, leaving a blank space on the board. I got paid a little extra to come up with the sandwich special of the “every other day or so.” But I hadn’t thought of a new one yet.

  Dad came around the counter holding a mug and a large bottle of the colored tablets he was always chewing to help with his heartburn. Mom liked to tease Dad a little bit about it because his stomach problems started when she got pregnant. She joked that she was the one who was supposed to have the heartburn, not him, since it was a common thing for a pregnant woman.

  “We’re hungry,” I told Dad.

  “Grab a sandwich,” he said, taking a seat behind a stack of papers and mail.

  In the back kitchen, I pulled a plastic container out of the refrigerator. “What’s in here?” I asked, lifting the top off.

  “Chicken! Just what the girl ordered,” Joss said to me.

  “Ah! Not that. That’s for the soup.” We hadn’t noticed that Sid had followed us in. He reached around me and pulled it out of my hands.

  “How about just a tiny piece?” Joss asked.

  “How about chicken salad? I made a fresh batch of that.” He slid the container back in the fridge.

  “Chicken salad will work,” Joss said.

  “Yeah. It’s still chicken,” I said.

  “Still chicken,” Sid said, looking a little bit confused. “You want your sandwiches on a roll or wrap?”

  “Roll,” we both answered.

  “Can we have an extra sandwich to split?” I asked.

  “Really?”

  “We are soooooo hungry,” I said, slumping my shoulders and hanging my arms toward the ground like I was weak and tired.

  “Yeah,” Joss said, copying my exaggerated slump. “We worked our butts off.”

  “You sure did. Three sandwiches coming up.”

  “Oh, and can you make them to go?” I asked. “Please,” I added.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  While Sid went back out front to make the sandwiches, Joss and I snuck into the giant fridge. I wrapped up a few slices of salami and some roast beef and dropped them into my bag. I added a hunk of cheddar cheese, a fresh banana, and some packets of the oyster crackers we served with the chowder and soups.

  We grabbed our coats. Then I filled an extra-large cup with ice and Coke. “All this food will make her thirstier than she probably already is.”

  Dad was still at the counter doing paperwork. He swiped his hand over the top of his no-fair-hair, as Mom and Sid liked to call it. Sid, because his own hair had started thinning when he and Dad were just seniors in high school together almost twenty years ago, and Mom, because it was thicker and shinier than her own and Dad could not have cared less about it. “Perfect hair, wasted on the wro
ng person,” she’d joke.

  “Order up!” Sid handed us the three sandwiches each wrapped in white paper with a smiling cat face he had drawn.

  “Cute!” I said to him. “Thanks.”

  “I’m a man of many talents,” he told us, pushing his tooth out and in. Joss and I laughed.

  “See ya,” I called out to Dad.

  Joss held her hand out toward my father, pressing her pointer and middle finger together and her ring and pinky together, leaving a large V in the middle. The Vulcan salute. Dad saluted back. I tried, but I couldn’t separate my fingers like that unless my ring finger and pinky were bent way forward.

  “You have to work on it,” he said to me with a wink. Then he swallowed a burp, tossed a couple of those colored pills into his mouth, and chewed quickly. “Why don’t you eat here? I’ll be working for a while.” It was three thirty, and we had told the girl we’d be back by then.

  “We have stuff to do,” I said.

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “Stuff stuff,” I told him.

  All of a sudden Dad stood up out of his seat and jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Do you smell that?” he asked us.

  “What?” I said.

  “Smoke. You two didn’t turn anything on back there, did you? The oven? The griddle can’t be on, I just finished cleaning it.” He sniffed in deeply. “It smells… smoky…”

  Smoky!

  I whispered to Joss, “Like the cat!” A sign.

  Joss tipped her head a bit and raised her eyebrows. It was a look that asked, Seriously? and Are you nuts? at the same time.

  Sid stopped restocking the straws at the counter and double-checked the griddle. “Everything’s off. But I smell it, too.”

  “Me too,” Joss said.

  “Where’s it coming from?” Dad said more to himself than to us. He sprinted to the back room. I heard the back door swing open, Dad’s footsteps pounding up the staircase to our apartment, and then the sound of his feet running over my head. I looked up at the diner ceiling.

  “Oh no!” I screeched, and ran out after him with Joss and Sid behind me. The back door to our apartment was just a few feet from the back door of the diner and it was wide open. I started up the staircase when Dad came jogging back down.