by Jaime Berry
I choked on another laugh about Mr. Meacham and walked closer to Abby.
“I’m a member of the Junior Bassmasters Club. You could join too, if you want.” She skipped forward like rattlesnakes were as harmless as dandelions.
“There’s a club for fishing?” I asked. She gave me a look like I’d asked if the sun was made of yellow chiffon.
“Course there is. There’re clubs for about anything. Fishing can be simple, but being really good is complicated,” she said. “But you don’t have to be really good to join Bassmasters. You just have to love to fish.”
Well, that disqualified me on both counts. Though, I’d seen enough paper-plate crafts and lumpy decoupage to know exactly what she meant about the difference between a hobby and a skill.
The pond looked even worse up close. The bank was a muddy slope covered in ragged weeds. Bugs as big as hummingbirds zipped on and off the water while little ones swarmed in small dark clouds. And the smell of mud, mold, and wet rot was thick enough to stick.
I stopped short of an old dock, while Abby hopped over missing planks, walked to the end of it, took off her backpack, and settled down on one of the potentially rotted boards.
“You coming?” she asked
I stepped on a plank that creaked with my weight and hesitated. “Will it hold both of us?”
“Sure it will. Trust me. I’ve been here a million times,” she said and patted the dock next to her. Something slapped against the water, and I decided I might prefer sitting by Abby. “Besides, if you fall through, it’s only about a foot deep here.”
I froze. She laughed again and started setting up her supplies.
Once I got to the end of the dock, she asked, “What was it like where you moved from?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Like here, only a little bigger. Better than the last place we lived.”
“How many places have you lived?” she asked.
“A few,” I said and shrugged. People normally had one of two reactions when they found out how often we moved: They got extra curious and asked a whole lot of questions, or they kept their distance. I wasn’t sure that I wanted either from Abby just yet.
She paused what she was doing, shaded her eyes from the sun, and looked at me. “So, I’m guessing fishing’s not really your thing. What do you like to do?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Movies, shopping, stuff like that.” I’d learned these were things most people accepted, and it was my go-to answer concerning my interests.
Abby wrinkled up her nose but didn’t say anything.
She pulled a heavy-duty purple case from her bag. It was the kind makeup artists used, with shelves of little trays that folded out to reveal more layers of shelves. If this trip was going to include makeovers, maybe I’d underestimated fishing.
“Hold this for a sec,” Abby said as she handed me a plastic baggie. Instead of lip glosses or eyeshadows, it was full of plastic worms. She pulled out a tray that held hooks, rolled fishing line, a rusted pair of scissors, a pocketknife, and a box of Band-Aids.
“A long time ago, Miss Esther’s husband stocked this pond. Now, it’s mostly catfish and a few bluegill. But I caught a black crappie here. Hard to catch, but they’re pretty. Even prettier on a plate.”
“A pretty fish?” I asked.
“Fish can be pretty, if you look at them right. We’re throwing them back in today, so we won’t need to pull out the big guns.” Abby switched to a whisper as she removed the top tray to reveal another full of little lures. Some looked like worms and lizards, some like cute versions of bugs, and others that ended in a puff of fine feathers. Her box was neat and organized—lures were sorted by type, size, and color.
“These are only for special occasions,” she said as she lifted out the second tray. “This’ll do for today.” In the bottom of her box were two small Tupperware containers. She pulled out one and opened it.
“Is that a hot dog wiener?” I asked.
“Yep.” She held it out to me.
“No, thanks. Not hungry,” I said.
“Ha! Very funny.” With the knife from the top tray, she cut a thin slice, then slid it on the hook. She drew her pole slowly back over her shoulder and whipped it forward as she released a button on the reel. Her line flew out across the water and landed with a soft plop near a fallen tree and some weeds.
“What’s in the other container? Mustard?” I asked.
“That’s the big gun, but it stinks to high heaven. Best to keep that container sealed tight,” she said.
“But what is it?” I asked again.
She cut her eyes at me. “That’s my dip bait. Top-secret family recipe,” she whispered. “I don’t mean to brag, but I’m pretty famous around here for my dip bait.”
“Gram’s piecrust?” I asked.
We both laughed before she shushed me. “Fish scare easy,” she whispered, then bumped me gently with her shoulder.
In fourth grade, in Blessed, Alabama, I’d almost had a friend. Her name was Elizabeth. Right before Nan and I were about to move, I went over to her house. We jumped on her trampoline and I’d wanted to tell her I wouldn’t be at school the next week. But I didn’t. Instead, I left a papier-mâché pencil holder on her porch the day before Nan and I left. As I sat by the pond with Abby, that memory floated up and hovered over me like a swarm of gnats. Thinking of Elizabeth caused a little crack in me, an ache that was spreading, getting longer and wider like a run in a fine-gauge knit. Did having a friend make the risk of losing that friend worth it?
“Can’t talk too much or we won’t even get a nibble. You going to bait and cast or what?” Abby whispered again. “When I win the Family Pairs Bass Tournament, it’ll take away some of the sting of not placing at Regionals. Dad and I win almost every year. But I still need to practice my jig fishing before then.”
I looked at Abby with her wild hair and the spread of pale freckles across her nose and cheeks. Those freckles looked like she’d been sprinkled with something extra, and I forgot all about pretending to know what I was doing.
“Here’s the deal, Abby. I have no idea how to bait a hook. I don’t know what jig fishing is. And I’m not all the way sure what you mean by cast, unless you’re talking about the stuff they put over broken bones,” I said.
She looked at me a second, then bumped my shoulder with hers again and said, “Jubilee. Why didn’t you say so?”
I shrugged. “I really like to do crafts.”
“Like making stuff?” she asked.
I nodded. “I love Arletta Paisley’s show. She’s my idol.” That was a lot of truth for me, and I felt this tickle of excitement, like I’d shared a deep secret.
“Oh, right, she’s from here, isn’t she?” Abby asked. “I’ve never even seen her show.”
My mouth hung open, and I almost dropped my borrowed pole in the water. “You’ve never watched Queen of Neat?” Abby shrugged and shook her head.
“She’s the whole reason we moved to this town. The truth is, I thought it might make this place… I don’t know. Different,” I said.
A little bit of the truth was one thing, but I’d said way more than I meant to. Abby was quiet for a minute, like she knew I’d given her something private.
“I don’t know about different, but I think Hope Springs is special. Best place on Earth, if you ask me,” Abby said. “I’ll give you a tour if you want?”
“Nan and I already drove around, but I’d like that.”
“Well, not everything in Hope Springs is downtown. There’s a river just east of town with a rope swing and a pretty strong current for tubing down. The trail up Ginger Hill is bright red from the clay in the dirt, and at the top, the sun lights up everything as far as you can see. Then there’s Boggy Pond. Crawfish big as bananas hide under every rock. And, of course, there’s the people. If I ever needed help, chances are I could ask the first person I ran into, and they’d give it.”
“Giant crawfish hiding under rocks sounds terrifying, but the other stu
ff sounds great,” I said.
Abby laughed and after a bit she asked, “Want to know a secret?”
I nodded.
“I don’t just want to be a Junior Bassmaster. I want to win Nationals, and then I want to be the first woman to win the Bassmaster Classic. I didn’t qualify this year, but that just means I have more time to practice for next year.”
I nodded again. “Arletta says anything is possible with determination and creativity.”
“That reminds me—take a look at this.” She dug around in her tackle box and pulled out a lure. It was a little wooden fish painted dark green on top and light pink on bottom, with red lips and round eyes finished with cute curling eyelashes, all lacquered to a high shine. On its bottom hung two four-pronged hooks and at its tail was a sprig of thin yellow feathers. It was handcrafted, for sure.
“I made it. My grampa carves them, and I paint them. He was a pretty famous angler. People around here call him Kingfish. I’d love a nickname like that.” She sighed and set the lure in my hand so I could get a closer look. “I added the eyelashes and lips. Grampa doesn’t much like them. He’s more of a traditionalist when it comes to lures. And most everything else.”
“Now that’s a pretty fish,” I told her, handing it back. “And the eyelashes and lips are my favorite parts.” She smiled and gave me her rod to hold as she baited my hook and tossed my line out across the pond from hers.
“I thought you’d like it. Listen, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll watch an episode of Arletta’s show with you if you’ll come fishing with me again. Maybe you can even bait your own hook next time.”
“Deal. But you’re going to have to show me more than baiting the hook if you don’t want me to accidentally throw your rod into the pond,” I joked.
That afternoon when I got home, the sun was shining high and hot above our new rental house. I settled on the couch, and for the first time since we got to Hope Springs, I didn’t have that “wearing someone else’s gym socks” feeling. And it was all because of Abby. I knew just the thing to say thank you.
ABBY’S FISH ORNAMENT
Level: Intermediate
Supplies:
Tissue paper in at least two colors
White printer paper, or googly eyes
Toilet paper roll
Twine
Construction paper, various colors
Small scented satchel (optional)
Tools:
Scissors
Double-sided tape
Black marker
Quarter
Directions:
1. Use a quarter to trace several circles on the tissue paper in at least two different colors (try three colors—better to be bold than boring). Use scissors to cut the circles out and then cut them in half to make semicircles for the scales.
2. Place rows of double-sided tape on the toilet paper roll, about ¼ inch apart.
3. Stick the straight edge of the semicircles to the tape, leaving the circular edge hanging off at the tail end. Alternate colors for each row and place the scales in a brick pattern. Let the circular edge of the scales overlap the previous row, so none of the toilet paper roll shows through.
4. With white paper, cut two circles to be the eyes and use the marker to draw pupils. Then, stick them on each side of the head using double-sided tape. Googly eyes would work for a less sophisticated look.
5. Place a strip of double-sided tape around inside of the roll on the tail end.
6. Cut ½-inch x 4-inch strips of tissue paper and fasten them to the tape inside the roll to form a tail.
7. Cut a piece of twine about a foot long. Thread the twine through the roll, then tie the ends together to make a big loop for hanging.
8. Use the construction paper to create personal touches, like eyelashes, beauty marks, even a bow tie. This is an opportunity to really make the craft shine and make the receiver feel it’s meant just for them.
9. Optional but recommended: For a nice touch, stow a small scented satchel inside. This fish (unlike its real-life counterpart) makes for a nice room freshener and can hang from a rearview mirror, doorknob, or even a Christmas tree.
Blending In
Sunday afternoon, I walked down our gravel and dirt road with Abby’s gift. Her house was a big two-story farmhouse with gingerbread moldings across the top of the porch. It was painted a bright yellow and the whole thing leaned a bit to the left.
Just as I was about to step onto their porch, two roaring little boys burst out of the door and ran past.
“You two better run!” A man in a cherry printed apron appeared, waving a spatula. “Oh, hello,” he said. “Jubilee? Abby has been talking nonstop about you. I’m Frank: mayor’s husband, cook, dinosaur wrangler, and Abby’s dad. You hungry? I’m making burgers.”
“I was only stopping by to give Abby something,” I said.
“Come on. Best burger you’ll ever eat. I swear.” Abby’s dad crossed his heart with the spatula and did some sort of salute. Abby walked up behind him, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” I answered. “I made this for you.” My arm sprang up and held out the fish ornament. I’d stuck strips of one of Nan’s lavender-scented tree-shaped car deodorizers inside. Arletta always said the true crafter made do in a pinch. She did a whole segment on crafts that you can make with everyday throwaway household items. What that lady could do with the contents of a recycling bin ought to earn her a Nobel Prize.
As a rule, I did not give my creations to people face-to-face. I slid them under doors, put them on desks, even left one on the hood of a car. They were my way of saying goodbye—from a distance. But there I stood, holding out a dressed-up toilet paper roll in Abby’s direction. Suddenly, my mouth went dry. “You can hang it from your doorknob in your room. Or somewhere else. If you want.”
Part of me felt like throwing the stupid fish and making a run for it. But Abby hopped down the porch steps, grabbed it, and turned it slowly, a smile spreading as she noticed the freckles and eyelashes I’d glued in place one by one with Nan’s tweezers.
“It has freckles!” She gave me a one-arm hug. “Thanks, Jubilee. I love it.” She ran the tube under her nose and took a deep whiff. “Smells good too! You sure you don’t want a burger? Dad runs the One Stop restaurant across from the stoplight in town. His burgers really are the best.”
“Okay. Sure,” I said and followed her inside. The living room was covered in trucks, train tracks, and every species of toy dinosaur.
“This is what I have to live with—the twins and the wreckage they leave behind.” Abby motioned to the mess and kicked a path for us. I couldn’t help myself. I picked up three train tracks and half a dozen small dinosaurs and quickly tossed them in a toy box nestled under the sofa arm.
“I saw them on their way out,” I said.
“And heard them too, I bet.” She led me to a kitchen with a long wooden table in the center, covered with plates of sliced cheeses, tomatoes, onions, pickles, two bowls of chips, a tray stacked with toasted buns, and containers of three kinds of mustard and two that looked like mayonnaise. Nan and I didn’t have that much of a spread even on Thanksgiving. And there wasn’t a single marshmallow in sight.
Abby saw me staring and said, “Dad makes a big deal of Sunday lunch.” Her dad walked over to the screen door leading to their backyard. He kicked it open and yelled, “Harrison! Garfield! Lunch!”
“We’re all named after politicians,” Abby explained. “Me after Abigail Adams, not technically a politician but close. President William Henry Harrison died after thirty-one days in office, and James Garfield made it about six months. Mom says getting really close to something big is as important as getting there. How’d you get a name like Jubilee?” she asked, grabbed a chip, chomped it, and then added, “I mean, I like it. But it’s unusual.”
I have a picture of my dad holding a tiny baby me and only the top of his dark head is showing because every bit of his attention is
on me. Momma is in that picture and so are Wynn and Nan. They’re all so young, but Nan looks just the same. Momma told me she and Daddy named me Jubilee right then and there in the delivery room because it was the happiest word they knew.
“Just something my parents thought up,” I answered.
Best Christmas present Momma ever gave me was that picture and the story of how I got my name.
The twins ran in and slammed themselves into chairs. A boy with hair as yellow as canned creamed corn scooted his chair right next to mine. “My name is Garfield, and I’m already four and a half. My favorite dinosaur is a Carnotaurus because he has two horns and is a meat-eater, like me.” Then he directed his teeth at my arm and chomped the air twice. Harrison had dark honey-colored hair and freckles across his nose like Abby’s. He looked at me, shook his head, and rolled his eyes.
“Garfield, settle down. No biting guests.” Abby’s mom came in yawning and wearing a fluffy purple bathrobe that swept along the floor behind her.
“I also have some hair on my legs,” Garfield whispered. Harrison nodded his head in agreement, and I laughed. Abby’s family was a bit like the meal, over the top and then some.
“Me too,” I whispered, and both boys smiled and nodded as though leg hair was all it took to win them over.
“Jubilee, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Abby’s mom held out her hand. “Myrna Standridge.” She gave my hand a solid shake, and then caught herself. “Sorry, the handshaking is a bad habit, price of the job.”
There was so much going on, it was hard to concentrate. Garfield thumped his sneakers against the chair legs and Harrison skitter-screeched his fork over his plate while Abby’s dad whistled above a sizzling skillet and Abby’s mom talked over it all. Just when I thought I might have to go outside for a deep breath, Abby leaned across and said, “Sometimes I sing ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat’ in my head. Sounds weird, but it helps when things get too loud.”