Nice. I was impressed with CJ’s attempt, appealing to my mom’s yearning for brotherly and sisterly affection. Still, I doubted that she had forgotten when CJ had built a fort around Henry, Bo, and himself. It took two hours to pry out enough nails to get them free.
“I think that May will see the signs just fine without the hammer and nails,” Mom said. “You better hurry, though. They’ll probably be back soon.”
When the last batch of brownies sat steaming on the cooling rack, next to the dozens of cookies, two cakes, and a few loaves of apple bread, and I had washed the spatula for the last time, I filled up a glass with lemonade and walked out onto the front porch and down the stairs. The pages they had hung flapped in the breeze.
In multicolored marker and big, bold letters, the sign read: I HOPE YOU DIDN’T FLUNK, MAY!!
I smiled. That’s what Bo got for trusting CJ to help him spell. Taking a sip of my lemonade, I turned my gaze to Ben’s house across the field and then quickly away, hoping he’d understand what I was going to do.
I still needed to arrange the letters, cassette tapes, and the manuscript for tomorrow. Then I needed to pick out an outfit, and I was thinking that I should practice a little speech. With my brothers off somewhere, Emma at the high school, and May and Dad still gone, I’d have time to get everything ready without being interrupted. I managed to slip by Mom, who was stacking cookies, covering brownies, and wrapping up the loaves of bread, and snuck up to my room, closing the door gently behind me. I immediately went on a search in my closet for something to wear for the big announcement. Unfortunately I had packed mainly shorts, T-shirts, and tank tops but was pleased to find a skirt and top still stuffed in my suitcase. Mom probably tucked them inside just in case. I didn’t have any shoes other than the old sneakers on my feet, but newspapers and TV cameras usually only took pictures or filmed you from the waist up.
I set the outfit out on the old stool. Now to gather everything together. The letters still sat on my dresser from the night before, but when I lifted up the mattress, my heart dropped to my feet.
The story was gone.
I lifted the mattress up higher.
Nothing.
I swept my hand underneath, my fingertips searching for a corner of paper. “No, no, no, no, no.”
And then I remembered how I had just set the manuscript on the floor, next to my bed, last night. I flopped onto the mattress, peered down, and gasped.
The pages of the manuscript were flipped upside down, scattered among a rainbow of colored markers.
Bo!
I scrambled for the pages. How could he? What was I going to do now? Even after I had been so careful, my brother had managed to ruin the only thing that was going to help me stand out. He’d ruined everything!
I stacked the papers together, angry tears spilling down my cheeks.
“They’re here! They’re back!” Bo shouted. Bo. The person who destroyed my chance at being recognized. My anger flared up fiercer than ever.
I stomped out of my room, down the stairs, and out the front door.
“She passed,” Dad said, his voice showing his surprise. “I don’t know how she did it, but she did.”
I ignored my sister’s outstretched hand as she showed off her license, and ran up to my brother. “Bo!” I yelled. “How could you?”
He had May around the waist and was asking, “Do you like my sign?”
My sister gave a confused smile. “Um, I think?”
I grabbed Bo by the arm and pulled him off her. “I said, ‘How could you do that?’ ”
“Ouch, Sunday. That hurts.” He looked up at me, the smile slowly disappearing from his face.
“What is this about, Sunday?” Mom asked. Her eyebrows were knit together and her arms folded.
I pointed up at the porch, where some of the pages had blown away. Now the sign read: YOU FLUNK MAY! “Great,” I said, running up to the porch and pulling down the remaining pages. “Where did the rest of them go?”
Bo shrugged and looked around. “I don’t know.”
“We should’ve used the nails,” CJ said, shaking his head.
Henry tossed the keys into the air and tried to catch them. “I saw some blow away.”
I ran my hands through my hair and turned on Bo again. “How could you, Bo? How could you take the one thing that mattered most to me and completely ruin it?”
“I-I-” he stuttered.
I held up the papers. “You don’t understand how important these were. They were going to make me special, and now—” My cheeks burned. “Now they’re ruined. You ruined them. Just like you always do. Just like everyone always does!” I stared hard at him. “I … I don’t ever want to see you again!” Then I pushed past everyone and ran back into the house and up the stairs to my room. I slammed the door and locked it, flopping onto my bed and burying my face in the pillow.
All the dreams I had had for tomorrow were crumbling around me. Sure, I could still give the reporters the rest of the manuscript and the tapes and the letters. But now it was incomplete and some of the pages were colored on.
There was a soft knock on my door. “Sunday?” Mom called.
“Go away!” I yelled. “Just leave me alone.”
“I don’t know what this is about, but Bo is crying hysterically, and you need to apologize to him.”
I sat up, my eyes stinging. “Apologize to him? He’s the one that took something of mine, something more important to me than …”
“Than what, Sunday?” Mom yelled. “Than your brother? There is nothing more important than your family.”
“You don’t understand! Now, just go away.”
“Fine, I’ll leave you alone for now. But when you come downstairs you will be apologizing to him. He’s still young, and he didn’t know what he was doing.”
I waited until her footsteps disappeared before I got up off my bed and went to the window.
“Sunday?” Bo said from outside my door. He sniffled.
“Go away, Bo. I don’t want to talk to you.”
“But I didn’t mean to draw on your papers.”
“Go away. And! Leave! Me! Alone!”
IT WAS almost time for the play. After trying to get out of going altogether, I threw something on, stomped down the stairs, and plopped onto the couch.
“Sunday,” Mom said. “I think you have something to say to Bo.”
My brother peeked out from behind her, his nose and eyes red. He swiped a hand across his face, bringing a disgusting booger-slime across his cheek.
“Sorry,” I said, the word oozing with insincerity. I wasn’t sorry. He’s the one that needed to be sorry.
But that seemed good enough for him because he sniffed and then plopped down next to me.
I got up, brushing off his hand when he tried to grab ahold of mine. “I think I forgot something upstairs. Let me know when we’re leaving.”
Bo followed behind me. I turned and glared at him.
“Can I come with you, Sunday? Maybe we can look for the missing pages?”
I glanced down the hall to make sure Mom wasn’t nearby. Whispering, I pointed my finger in his face. “I told you, Bo, leave me alone.” His bottom lip trembled, but I didn’t care if he cried.
Bo tried to squeeze in next to me in the van on the way to the play and then again when we got to the high school, but I switched seats or got up and moved. I could tell that Mom could see what was happening, but she didn’t say anything. And Emma didn’t give her any time. The moment we arrived, she dragged Mom backstage to help with a few minor adjustments to costumes before the production started.
“Everything okay, Sunday?” Dad asked, taking a seat beside me. May was on the other side, texting a play-by-play of her driver’s test to someone.
“It’s fine. I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”
He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me to him, kissing the top of my head. “Well, you know I’m here.”
Despite the hurri
cane of emotions swirling around inside me, I was able to slip into the eye of the storm for the first act and loved every moment. The actors and actresses were wonderful, the sets were beautiful, and I couldn’t help feeling proud of my sister, who had created the “simple but elegant” costumes fluttering across the stage. At intermission, Dad handed me five dollars. “Go and get yourself something to munch on until the second act starts.”
I took the money and stole away to the concession stand, hoping that Bo wasn’t trying to trail after me.
Jude, cheeks red, stood at the backstage door with a small bundle of flowers in his hand. Ben Folger stood by him, dressed in a shirt and tie, a single daisy in his lapel. Were they best friends now? My stomach sank, and I tried to focus on the fact that reporters were coming tomorrow. Jude glanced in my direction, but I turned away from him. The world needed to know what I’d found.
The man behind the concession stand smiled at me. “What can I get for you?”
I quickly looked beside me, thinking that Bo would be there to order something. He wasn’t. I could order whatever I wanted and wouldn’t have to share it with anyone. “I’ll have a brownie and lemonade, please.” I paid, took my treats, and started for the auditorium.
“Sorry,” the usher said. “No drinks or snacks inside.”
Probably for the best. If I went in I’d have to share my brownie, and CJ would have my lemonade sucked down in seconds. Out here I could enjoy it by myself.
I went over and stood by the window. Muzzy and Papa Gil were both outside with Mr. Castor, who was tied to a tree. Papa Gil pointed his finger at the dog, and Mr. Castor dropped what was in his mouth, his tail wagging.
I smiled.
“Have you talked to anyone yet?” a woman asked. She was wearing a knee-length black skirt and a white silky-looking blouse, the fanciest outfit I had seen on anyone since we came. I could tell that this woman did not live here. The man she spoke to looked a little more like someone from Alma, but I doubted it.
“A few people, but no one seems to know much about her except that she was pretty reclusive. But we already knew that. Everyone knows that.”
I stepped closer, set my lemonade on the ground, and retied my shoe. The man had a camera slung over his shoulder, and the woman was pulling out a small notepad and pen. It was one of the reporters!
Should I say something? Introduce myself? I stood, cleared my throat, and wiped my hands on my pants.
“I don’t want to just wait for tomorrow,” the woman said. “We need to get information now. I’ll talk to the old ladies and you talk to the old men.”
“And the kid?”
The woman pulled a piece of gum from her purse, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth. I bent down and tied the other shoe so I could listen a little longer. “Yes, we’ll meet the girl tomorrow at that library thing and see what she has. And if she really did find a secret manuscript, this is going to be huge.”
I knew it!
The woman continued. “But if we don’t find anything out tonight or tomorrow morning, I want to get first read of the manuscript and the letters.”
“What about that critic from New York? He’s going to insist that he get to tear it apart before anyone else does.”
My heart thunked like metal in my chest. Tear it apart?
“Who? Albert? Oh, I’ve already told him that I want to look at it first. He agreed, but I’m not sure what other papers and networks that girl called. In any case, I want a read. I’m sure there’s a juicy story there. A secret child, a hidden husband, a wretched home life. Albert can adore or loathe the manuscript. I don’t care. Whatever Wren Lee wanted kept hush-hush, that’s what I’m going to find out.” She swiped red lipstick over her lips. “Nothing stays hidden forever.”
“Lee Wren,” the man said.
The woman turned to him, annoyed. “What?”
“You said Wren Lee, but her name was Lee Wren.”
She waved him off. “Her name could be Napoléon Bonaparte and I wouldn’t care. We came here for a story and that’s what we need to get.”
I was still hunkered down over my shoe, unable to move, as they walked off. They wanted to tear apart Lee Wren’s manuscript, expose everything that she wanted to keep secret, turn it into a juicy story.
Well, what else did you think, Sunday? a voice in the back of my head asked.
I didn’t know.
My mind flashed to Ben Folger’s house. It was bustling with cars, reporters knocking on his door, cameras flashing, relatives hounding him, townspeople bringing over loaves of bread hoping to get the scoop. The pictures of Lee Wren and Ben would be taken and spread everywhere.
Lee Wren’s manuscript would be printed up, talked about, criticized. Her letters published, her life over-analyzed. The tapes would be played, maybe sold.
The lights dimmed and the ushers closed the doors to the auditorium. The second half was starting. I slipped inside and found an extra seat next to Henry.
The act started and ended, and I hadn’t heard a single word. When the lights were turned up at the very end, I wished that they hadn’t been. I still needed time to think. What juicy story would the press create out of Lee Wren’s manuscript and letters? Could I do that to Ben?
But if I didn’t give the newspapers what I’d promised, I’d still be a nobody. Plus I’d be called a liar for bringing the media all the way down here and then not delivering. I did not want to be remembered for that.
“Ready to go backstage and see your sister, Sunday?” Dad asked. I nodded and followed.
Emma grinned ear to ear, loving the attention, the compliments, the hugs, and the flowers. Everything I had been hoping to get tomorrow.
“Thanks!” she said, bringing a bouquet of roses to her nose. “You really think everything looked good?”
“Your costumes were gorgeous,” Mom said. “I’m so proud of you.”
My heart sank at the thought of not hearing those same words. I walked out of the auditorium and stood by the van to wait for everyone else.
There had to be a way I could be famous and still not betray Ben Folger and Lee Wren.
But as I looked into the darkness, I realized there was no way I could have both.
I had to choose.
At home up in my room, I read and reread and re-reread the letters over and over again.
I knew what I couldn’t do, and I knew what I needed to do. It’s just that both of them left me with the same just “one-of-the-six” label I’d always had.
I set down the manuscript and the letters on the nightstand next to the tapes and flicked off the light. I’d go see Ben first thing in the morning.
“SUNDAY!”
The light came on and I sat up and squinted, trying to focus on what was going on.
Mom opened my closet, then bent down and looked underneath my bed. “Is Bo in here?”
I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the clock. One o’clock in the morning. “No, why?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t know where he is. Your dad picked Emma and me up from the auditorium and I went to check on the boys. He’s not in his room or anywhere in the house. Your dad and I have checked everywhere. We can’t find him.”
I jumped out of bed. “But he has to be here.” I pulled on a pair of shorts. “He’s probably just hiding. Or maybe he fell asleep somewhere crazy and can’t hear you.”
Mom wiped her tears, smearing her mascara. “I don’t know, Sunday. I’ve looked everywhere.”
I grabbed my flashlight and headed down the stairs, Mom following behind me, sniffling. “Bo!” I yelled in the empty entryway. After I searched in every nook and cranny in the house, I burst out the front door and saw three flashlights bobbing in the blackness. “Bo! Where are you?” I called out. “It’s Sunday.”
I found Dad, May, and Emma out in the field. “Dad?”
He turned and grabbed ahold of my shoulders, his hands trembling. “You found him?”
“No … I-I” I stuttered. I h
ad never seen my dad, usually so put together and calm, look so terrified. “I wanted to know where you’ve looked already.”
“In the house, the library, the yard, and the field.” He turned to May. “Could you call the police, May?” She sniffed and then rushed off to the house. Dad turned back to me. “I don’t know where he could be. I just don’t know.”
“I’m going to ask Ben and then go over to Jude’s house. They’ll help.” I dashed across the field, bolted up the porch stairs, and pounded on the door. “Ben! Wake up! It’s me, Sunday! Wake up!”
A light flicked on, I heard footsteps, and then the door opened and a bleary-eyed Ben Folger looked out at me. “Sunday? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Bo. He’s gone. No one knows where he is.”
“I’ll get my flashlight.” Ben disappeared inside and then came back to the door. “I’ll start around here.”
“Okay,” I said, running down the walkway. “I’m going over to Jude’s. Maybe he went there. And Ben—” I said.
He turned.
“I already decided not to tell anyone about anything. You know, with Lee.”
“Thank you.” He gave a quick nod and a half smile, then disappeared into the dark.
Jude’s house filled with light when I pounded on the door and rang the bell over and over and over. His mom, with Jude behind her, opened the door a crack.
“Please, Ms. Trist. My brother Bo. Is he here?”
She opened the door wider when she realized it was me. “No, Sunday. He isn’t.”
Jude shook his head no, too. “I haven’t seen him since the play tonight.”
Tears stung my eyes, and I told them that everyone was out looking for him. Jude ran back into his bedroom, reappearing with a T-shirt and two flashlights. Jude’s mom pulled her bathrobe tighter around her waist, grabbed her cell phone, and started out the door. “I’ll call Wally. He’ll help. You go down the street this way and I’ll go the other way.”
Jude and I called to Bo until our voices were hoarse. When we reached Main Street, I sank to the curb, dissolving into sobs. Jude sat down next to me and put his arm around my shoulder.
A Summer of Sundays Page 21