CHAPTER 13
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Long ago in Gettysburg, a famous speech was heard
In it was a number, not in digits, but in words.
Find that many soda cans, and then when you are done,
Stack them up and take a pic. (Recycle every one!)
How cute that the seniors wanted us to recycle! For some reason, it seemed like Luke’s idea. I bet it had been. Okay, soda cans. I needed how many? I recited Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, “Four score and seven years ago …” All right, I remember my American History teacher in Meriton last year said a score was twenty. So four score is eighty, plus seven is eighty-seven. Eighty-seven soda cans. Where the heck was I going to find eighty-seven empty cans?
Recycling day wasn’t until next Thursday, so trash-picking wasn’t an option; I couldn’t wait that long. It dawned on me that I could just buy eighty-seven cans of soda. I pulled up my desktop calculator and divided eighty-seven by six. That would be 14.5 six-packs, so I’d have to buy fifteen to get the half pack. Those were about three bucks each, so I needed … $45?
Um, no.
That was a mani-pedi plus tip at my salon.
Forget it.
I had to think of a source. What kind of place would use a ton of soda but only in cans? Restaurants all used fountains. Vending machine sodas were mostly in plastic bottles. Even if one had cans, it wasn’t like people stood there, chugged the soda, and then tossed the can in the nearest trash. An airplane would work. Flight attendants opened soda cans all day long. Unfortunately I was nowhere near an airport, and even if I was, I highly doubted I’d be allowed anywhere near the trash.
No, I needed someplace more local. Someplace with a lot of people who liked to drink out of cans. Or drank weird stuff that only came in cans. Or the place used cans like the airline because they didn’t have a fountain, but they needed small servings of a wide variety of beverages to accommodate a lot of picky drinkers.
Wait a second … picky drinkers … Aha! I had it! I couldn’t believe how obvious it was.
Shady Acres. There were over three hundred picky, opinionated diners and drinkers in that place. I remembered volunteering in the dining room my first year there. I had gone into the kitchen for something and noticed shelf upon shelf of beverages, most of them in cans. I later found out that certain residents would only drink certain brands of certain sodas or juices or sparkling water, but not every day. So the staff ordered a few pallets of each to keep on hand.
I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it sooner! I checked the time. There were still a couple of hours before my family would get home. Long enough to run over to Shady Acres and see what I could find. It would almost make my lie about going there for an afternoon tea a truth. Shady Acres … afternoon … beverages …
Almost a truth.
I threw on some dry clothes. I didn’t bother with hair or makeup, which wasn’t like me. Normally, I wouldn’t leave the house without at least a five-minute face and a perky ponytail.
But I was in a race. A race against the clock, a race against the other players, and a race against my family. There was no time for vanity. Vanity was for losers! Plus, Tara always said I was naturally cute enough.
When I got to Shady Acres, instead of parking in the visitors’ parking lot like I usually did, I pulled around back to the loading dock. To the right of that, I spotted two enormous Dumpsters, one black and one blue with a recycling symbol. The only problem was, they were locked behind a six-foot-high slatted wood fence. There was a gate where the garbage truck could gain access, but it was padlocked. I got out of the car and peered through the slats. The sides of the fence met the wall of the building on either side of a steel door labeled Trash Repository Room. I couldn’t get to the recycling from the outside, but maybe I could from the inside.
I left my car in the back and walked around to the front door. I waved to the front desk attendant, who knew me by sight. I vaguely remembered that the trash room was off the kitchen, so instead of turning left toward the resident rooms, I veered right toward the dining hall. Inside, staff members were milling around setting up for the dinner service (which started at three thirty!). People would pass in and out of the swinging kitchen doors so many times that nothing seemed odd when I went through the doors too.
That was as far as I got.
The place was a zoo. People in white uniforms ran everywhere yelling at each other or chopping or stirring or mixing or frying. Food and utensils were scattered and piled on every inch of countertop. Discarded peels and stems littered the floor. Steam and smoke billowed up from the stoves.
I guess dinner for three hundred took a lot of work.
The heat was stifling. The overwhelming smell of so many foods cooking at once was nauseating. Far across on the other side of the kitchen, I spotted the door to the trash room in a little vestibule off to the side. I was almost glad that there was no possible way I could reach it unnoticed, because I had to get out of there before I passed out.
Back in the dining room, I leaned over one of the tables to catch my breath. The cheap polyester tablecloth seemed to slicken beneath my sweaty palms. How was I going to do this? I couldn’t wait until after dinner. It ended at five thirty and my parents would be home long before that.
I needed an accomplice. I needed a diversion. I knew where to find both.
I couldn’t help but stop to listen outside their door for a second.
“I happen to like the smell of my Jean Naté After Bath Splash,” Ms. Eulalie cried.
“It smells like a whorehouse in here!” Ms. Franny bleated.
“Well, you would know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just what you think it means, Jezebel.”
I knocked on the door and pretended I hadn’t heard a thing. “Anyone home?”
“Blythe!” Ms. Franny exclaimed. She picked up a magazine and fanned her face. “Go open that window, will you? Get some fresh air.”
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Ms. Eulalie said, holding her hand up to me. “Don’t you do any such thing. It’s already colder than an icebox in here.”
Ms. Franny smacked the magazine down on her side table. “Nonsense. It’s plenty warm.”
“On your side! You got the heater! I got the leaky, drafty window! And you’re so stingy with that heat, too. Like you’re gonna use it all up or something. Got to save it so we don’t run out.”
Ms. Franny stuck her tongue out at Ms. Eulalie, then turned and stared at me for a moment. A shadow of confusion fell over her face. “Wait a minute. What day is it? Why are you here? Is it Monday? I thought it was Saturday. When did it get to be Monday? I’m losing my marbles.”
Ms. Eulalie pointed to the floor. “There goes one.”
“No, no,” I said. “It is Saturday.” I perched on the edge of Ms. Franny’s bed and leaned in close. “I’m here on a special mission. I could use your help, though. Both of you. If you’re up for it.”
“What kind of help?” Ms. Eulalie asked.
“What kind of mission?” Ms. Franny followed. “Will there be guns involved? I’ve got good aim. I’m a dead shot.”
“No, there will be no guns,” I said.
“Damn,” Ms. Franny mumbled. Ms. Eulalie glared at her for swearing but let it slide.
I proceeded to give them the whole story. I told them they’d been totally right. After Dad canceled the Senior Scramble and everything, I’d felt like a bully. I told them about Luke’s online newspaper and how I apologized to him and proposed the idea of taking the Senior Scramble underground. The ladies had nobody to tell, but I swore them to secrecy anyway. I explained how everything in the hunt worked and what yesterday’s clue was like and told them my plan for getting the cans.
“So what do you think?” I asked them. “Are you in?”
The ladies looked at each other for a
few moments, then at me. Ms. Franny opened her mouth, held it there, and then finally said, “So who’s Luke?”
“That’s what I want to know too.” Ms. Eulalie’s eyebrows danced up and down. She grinned at me.
“You guys!” I cried. “No!” I thought I’d done a good job of covering up my semi-crush. Apparently not. “He’s just some senior. I don’t … He just … It’s nothing. I mean there’s no ‘it’ even. There’s nothing. He’s n-not anybody. I mean of course he’s somebody, but I mean he’s not … you know. Somebody.”
Once they were sure I was done babbling, Ms. Eulalie went, “Psssh!,” and Ms. Franny went, “Ha! Yeah, right.”
“Lord love you,” Ms. Eulalie said, “but you tell lies like Ms. Franny sings: hard to listen to and even harder to believe.”
I expected Ms. Franny to come back with some witty retort. Instead, she said, “On this point, I have to agree with the old fart bag. Blythe, you stink at lying.”
“So I’ve heard,” I muttered to the floor.
Ms. Franny clapped her knobby hands together. “Well, I for one am in on Operation Soda Pop. How about you, Ukulele?”
“Lord save me, yes. I’d never say no to you, baby girl. Not after you been so good to me all these years.”
“The only problem is,” Ms. Franny said, “Nurse Ratched’s going to be coming around in a little while to wheel us down for dinner. After that, it’s lights-out.”
“We get so tired after dinner, you know.”
I nodded in agreement even though I didn’t want to agree to what I knew Ms. Franny was about to say.
“Can we postpone till tomorrow?”
“Nurse Darlene is off on Sundays, remember.” Ms. Eulalie winked at me.
Good point. “I hadn’t thought of that,” I said. It definitely would be easier without Darlene around. She’d know something was up and bust us, no question. I hated to lose all that time on the hunt, but I couldn’t afford to blow this. I had no other soda can options. “What’s the Sunday floor nurse like?” I asked.
Ms. Franny blew a raspberry. “A moron.”
I stood up to leave. “Okay, what time tomorrow?”
“Say, one o’clock?” Ms. Franny said. “That’s the peak hour for Sunday visitors. The place will be crawling with people, and nobody’ll bat an eye if we’re out of our room.”
“I agree,” Ms. Eulalie said.
“Sounds good,” I said. I was already collecting a list in my brain of lies to tell my parents. “I’ll see you then. And thanks, ladies.” I kissed each of them on the cheek and left.
I pulled into my driveway just as my parents’ car did. They were home early. At least I didn’t have to lie to them about where I’d just been. My stomach lurched at the sight of my mud-coated history book on the floor beside me. I kicked it quickly back under the passenger seat.
“How was Gran and Granddad’s?” I asked once we were out of our cars.
“SO boring,” Zach said. “You’re so lucky you stayed home. I had to sit through three whole photo albums of old dead people. Be glad you missed it.”
Mom got out and smoothed the wrinkles in her camel pants. “How was the afternoon tea?” She said “afternoon tea” like it was a jewel on her tongue. A precious little gem that was lost to her now.
I felt sorry for my mom, so I did my best not to answer her with a lie. Not a direct one, at least. “Shady Acres was great. The dining room and kitchen were very busy. I had a good time with Ms. Franny and Ms. Eulalie. I’m pretty wiped out, though.”
Mom beamed at me. “Well, I’m sure they appreciated your company. Why don’t you go upstairs and have a little nap?”
Wow. Third rule of lying: Dance around the lie with distracting truths. They’re far more convincing.
Dad got out, gave me a vague smile, and placed his hand on the top of my head for a second. I didn’t have any truths that were appropriate to say out loud to him at that moment, so I kept my mouth shut. I followed him and Mom inside and then took a detour to the laundry room to toss my clothes in the dryer. Mom would probably think I simply felt like doing some laundry. After that, I went up to my room to check the stats on the Senior Scramble. All I could do was hope that other players were having as much trouble as I was.
When the Revolting Phoenix came up, I clicked on the statistics button. It displayed everyone’s user name and what clue each person was on. Most of them hadn’t turned in the photo for the first clue yet, which was a relief. A few had turned in the one for the second clue and were on to the third already. Crap.
My plan for tomorrow had better work or I was going to fall way behind. I logged off the site and suddenly realized that I was starving. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I had forgotten completely. I try to eat smart. I drink plenty of water. I know what keeps my energy up and keeps my skin hydrated. Yet once I left the house this morning, I didn’t have a drop to drink or a bite to eat and I didn’t even notice. Weird. Well, I was hungry now.
I went down to the kitchen and grabbed the first things that looked appetizing: a bag of potato chips and a root beer. Not my normal diet. When I popped a chip in my mouth, though, it tasted like the most spectacular thing I’d ever eaten. I finished the bag and guzzled the soda, then slouched back upstairs and fell asleep.
Mom woke me up for dinner, but my stomach was still heavy from the greasy potato chips. I ate a little salad, but I only picked at my pork chop. I didn’t want any of the mashed potatoes. Instead, I made hash marks in them with the tines of my fork.
The phone rang. Mom excused herself and scooted back from the table. I heard her muffled voice in the kitchen talk for a few minutes. Then she came back and sat down. Her face had tensed up. Her jaw flexed in and out. She blinked a few times and then blossomed into a full-blown lady look. “The showings today went very well,” she said. “We have two offers on the house.”
Dad set his knife and fork down on his plate. “Are they any good?” he asked. I wanted to claw that eager expression off his face.
Mom sat down in her chair. “They both came in at the asking price. Marjorie will be stopping by after dinner to go over the details.” She methodically laid her napkin across her lap, picked up her fork, and started eating.
That was it. It was done. Our home was gone.
CHAPTER 14
I DIDN’T CRAWL OUT OF BED UNTIL SOMETIME AFTER eleven Sunday morning. Marjorie had been at the house until almost midnight. She had shown up after dinner and presented the two offers on the house. One was from a family with five boys. The other was from the yuppie idiots I had seen that afternoon. The offers were exactly equal in price, timeline, contingencies, everything.
We thought that all we had to do was pick one, but Marjorie said no, now that there were competing bids, she could call the buyers’ agents and ask for their clients’ “best and highest” offer. I suppose it was the free-market system, but it felt unnervingly like a shakedown.
Marjorie called the other agents right there on her cell, and both agents said they’d get back to her within an hour. By eleven o’clock, we had the “best and highests.” The family could only come up another five thousand dollars, but the yuppies tacked on ten grand. Marjorie said the buyers had given us forty-eight hours to decide before the offers expired. Until we accepted one and signed the contract, either one of the buyers could yank their offer at any time. The whole negotiation seemed quick and dirty.
Once Marjorie left, I did my best to sway my parents toward picking the family. What I really was doing was arguing against the yuppies. I had to be careful not to let it slip that I’d seen them. Zach liked the idea of extra cash, of course, so he argued their side. Mom and Dad didn’t say much. That’s how I could tell that they were overwhelmed and confused. Finally, they decided to sleep on it, so we all went to bed.
Now the morning sun was flooding my beautiful room that soon would belong to someone else. Even though I was curled up under my polka-dot comforter, I could hear Mom and Dad downstairs in the kitchen. I
couldn’t make out any words, but I was familiar with the tone. They were arguing.
They had to be butting heads about which offer to take. At least that meant that one of them wanted to give our home to the family with kids, which was encouraging. The other person wanted the money more. I could guess who was who. Mom came from money; it meant little to her. It meant a lot to Dad, though. He was trying to prove his worth to Granddad. How lame and insecure.
As far as I was concerned, there was no way those yuppies were getting their hands on my house. I slid my feet into my fuzzy white slippers and charged down into the fray. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.
I passed Zach in the family room. He was sitting on the couch, throwing Cocoa Puffs into his empty orange juice glass. Mom must have relaxed the no-food rule now that we had buyers on the line. Every time Zach made a shot, he’d announce, “Two points!” The shots he missed were scattered across the glass top of the coffee table.
Dad and Mom stood in the kitchen, leaning on opposite counters, arms crossed, faces set. Mom’s softened when she saw me, though. “Good morning, sweetie,” she said. Dad kissed the air and winked at me. He didn’t say anything.
“Morning,” I said. “What’s up?” I tried a non-confrontational approach. “Did you guys decide?”
Dad and Mom locked eyes. “Not yet,” Dad said.
I poured myself a mug of coffee and nonchalantly said, “It would just be so nice to know there were going to be kids running around here and growing up. It’s a family house, you know?”
“I agree,” Dad said.
What? Hold up. Dad wanted to take the lower offer?
7 Clues to Winning You Page 13