It was Sunday, the day after the movies, so Juliet had one whole day to herself before school started again. She decided to spend the afternoon sorting her collections. By six o’clock, she was ready to relax in front of the television.
When she walked into the living room, Oaf was sitting in a beanbag chair.
“Juliet,” she said. “I can’t find the remote.”
While Juliet felt behind the sofa cushions, Mom came into the room.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” she said, leaning on the doorframe. “Juliet, could you set the table, please? I’m dishing up in a minute.”
“It’s not my turn tonight,” said Juliet. “It’s Oaf ’s.”
“Fine,” sighed Mom. “Whatever.” She walked back down the hall toward the kitchen.
Oaf slid lower in her beanbag, just like a sunken soufflé.
“You’d better go set the table,” said Juliet. “I think Mom’s in a bad mood.”
“Mom asked you,” said Oaf.
“Oaf, it’s not my turn.”
“But Mom asked you.”
“But it’s your turn.”
“But Mom asked you.”
“Oaf! That’s because she didn’t realize I’d set the table yesterday. You’re the one who should do it.”
“Mmm,” said Oaf, pretending to think. “I don’t think so.”
Juliet pursed her lips like a drawstring bag. Normally, she’d be happy to help out Mom, just to be nice, but Juliet was now in a bad mood herself. What’s more, this was a matter of principle. Oaf never did any work around the house, and Juliet was tired of picking up the slack. Now was probably not the best time to take a stand, but that was just too bad. Juliet stayed in her chair and watched TV too.
Five minutes passed, then Mom’s tired voice funneled down the hallway. “Kids! I see the table, but it doesn’t look set!”
Juliet wondered if it was possible, by sheer force of will, to pass on a sense of responsibility from one person (Juliet) to another person (Oaf). After several minutes of intense concentration, she realized the answer was no.
Juliet heard Mom’s footsteps in the corridor, followed by the sound of boxes being shoved about. Mom poked her head into the living room looking an odd shade of purple. Eggplant purple, thought Juliet. Mom was the kind of person who spent her days a cheerful, rosy pink. Juliet didn’t like to see her purple. When your mother’s face is purple, you want to be careful.
“Girls,” said Mom slowly and quietly, “you have one minute to set the table.”
“But, Mom,” said Juliet, “it’s Oaf’s turn to do it. She’s the one you should be asking.”
“No, it’s not,” said Oaf.
“I-really-do-not-care-whose-turn-it-is-so-long-as-it-is-done!” said Mom.
“But—”
“One minute!” snapped Mom. “And one minute only, or there’ll be hell to pay. Hell—to—pay.”
“I wonder how much hell costs,” muttered Oaf. “It might be as much as two hundred dollars. I hope I don’t have to pay for it out of my allowance.”
Juliet rolled her eyes.
One minute passed. Then two. It was time to go eat.
Juliet sat quietly at the dinner table feeling guilty. Neither she nor Oaf had set the table. It’s a Matter of Principle, she thought. Mom should have made Oaf set the table, not the good and trustworthy daughter! It’s a Matter of Principle, a Matter of Principle.
Dad stirred in the bedroom, then came out and joined them.
A Matter of Principle, a Matter of Principle.
Mom clanked pots and pans in the kitchen.
A Matter of Principle, a Matter of Principle.
Nana shuffled into the room and sat down.
A Matter of Principle, a Matter of Principle.
Oaf sang softly under her breath.
A Matter of Principle, a Matter of Principle, a Pratter of Minciple, a Pattle of Minciter … .
What would Mom say?
As it turned out, Mom said nothing at all. She just stood in the doorway of the dining room, holding a pot of spaghetti in one hand and a ladle in the other. The silence was terrible. It was a thick, stifling, pillow-over-the-face kind of silence. Even Oaf, who had the nerves of a knife-thrower’s assistant, fidgeted.
Mom stepped forward, lifted up the ladle, and served five piles of the spaghetti straight onto the tabletop, one in front of each person. They looked like five upturned buckets of worms, oozing and slithering about. Mom went back into the kitchen and returned with another pot. This one contained the bolognese sauce. Juliet watched in horror as Mom dumped minced meat and tomatoes right on top of the spaghetti.
“Interesting,” said Dad, nodding his head, “but perfectly hygienic. In some parts of India, people don’t use cutlery at all. They—”
“Martin!” said Mom. “Can we just eat?”
Dad closed his mouth.
“Mom,” said Juliet, once Mom had sat down, “we … we haven’t got any forks to eat with.”
“Right!” said Mom, “I’ll get them then, shall I, since no one else in this family does any work around here?” She stormed out of the room and came back with five forks. “Anything else, people? Drinks, perhaps?”
The rest of them shook their heads, horrified at the thought of what Mom might do with a bottle of orange juice and no glasses.
“So, Nana,” said Dad, trying to lighten the mood, “tell us what you got up to in craft class today.”
“Craft class?” said Nana slowly. “What did I do in craft class today?”
Juliet didn’t like the tone of her voice. She sounded … fed up.
“In craft class,” she went on, “I spent three hours decorating my TV remote control with seashells and glass beads, so I’m pleased to report my Ph.D. in biochemistry hasn’t gone to waste.”
“Oh,” said Juliet, feeling anxious.
“Let’s just say it goes well with the self-portrait I did the other day, the one made out of dried macaroni.”
“If you don’t like that craft class, maybe we could find you another one,” said Mom, “or perhaps some other activity.”
“Oh?” said Nana. “Like bingo, you mean? Or I could join the Seniors Who Knit Club, and we could all sit around and discuss doilies. Or maybe I could join the I’ve Got Ingrown Toenails and Want to Complain About My Feet Society. I hear they’re looking for members.”
“Are they?” said Oaf, peeling off her sock.
“Oaf!” said Mom. “No bare feet at the table.”
Oaf sighed and put her sock back on. Nana huffed and Juliet frowned.
“Righto, then,” said Dad heartily. “Guess what I found today! My old chemistry set. I thought I could set it up again and do some experiments.”
Oaf turned to Dad with shining eyes. “Can we make explosions?” she said.
“Possibly, possibly,” said Dad.
“I guess that means you’ve been mucking around rather than clearing that junk out of the hallway,” said Mom. She was looking purple again, and Juliet didn’t like it. Words like divorce, custody battle, and hostage situation popped into her mind.
“Well, Martin?” said Mom. “Did you get any work done on the boxes? The boxes in the hall I was lucky enough to stub my toe on this evening?”
“Oh … ah … well … ,” said Dad.
“Typical!” said Mom. “You didn’t even try!”
“Karen, that’s completely unfair! You’re just in a bad mood, and you’re taking it out on me.”
“Oh, I’m in a bad mood, am I? And who, pray tell, put me in this bad mood?”
Juliet hated it when adults asked angry questions they already knew the answers to.
“Our hall looks like a dump site,” said Mom. “I’d like to invite some people over, but how can I? Couldn’t you at least try?”
Juliet shut her ears. She was feeling sick, and her skin was all prickly. Lindsay had once told her you could only keep seven thoughts in your head at any one time. Juliet tried to think of seven things to h
elp her forget about the fight. Why are eggs egg-shaped? she thought desperately. Why is yawning contagious? How many planets are there in the solar system? How many moons does each planet have and what are their names?
But it was no use. Mom and Dad were too loud.
“Well!” said Nana. “So much for harmony on Gregson Street.”
“You needn’t criticize,” said Dad. “Look at you! You’re not wearing your safety alarm. Again! What if you fell over and no one was there to help?”
“Don’t speak to me that way, Martin! I’m a grown woman, I’ll have you know.”
Then Oaf began humming.
“Ophelia!” said Mom. “Give it a rest, will you? You’re in no position to be causing trouble tonight, young lady. I mean it!”
Juliet wanted to do something to save the situation. Anything. Then she had an idea. “Wait!” she cried with a kind of desperate brightness. “Why don’t we all Name Our Feelings?”
Everyone stopped talking, looked at Juliet, and then, just as quickly, went back to their arguing.
It seemed to Juliet as though a war had broken out. Mom was mad at Dad because Dad had made the house look like a dump site. Dad was mad at Mom for getting angry with him for making the house look like a dump site. The house looked like a dump site because all the boxes, which used to live in Juliet’s room, now had nowhere to live. So if Juliet had never got her own room, Dad would still have his study. Then there wouldn’t be any stuff in the hall, the place wouldn’t look like a dump site, and Dad and Mom wouldn’t be fighting. So really, the whole thing was her fault! Juliet felt utterly miserable.
As the voices rose around her, the glimmer of an idea flashed through her mind. It was an idea that made her sad, but she knew it would solve all their problems. “Stop!” she cried, getting to her feet. “Everybody stop! This is all my fault, but I know how to fix it!”
Juliet looked around the room at Mom, Dad, Nana, and Oaf. She sighed a great and noble sigh. “I’m going to give up my room,” she said. “Dad can have the study back, and everything will be the way it’s always been, okay? No more fighting. It’s all going to be fixed.”
Everyone stared back in stunned silence. A little sob escaped from Juliet’s lips, and she ran out of the room.
Juliet lay in her own bed in the room that would soon become Dad’s study once more. She thought about Life and wondered why it was always such hard work. Why couldn’t people just be nice to each other once in a while? She felt awful about losing her room, awful about the fighting, awful about Nana being cranky, and awful about her friends. There were so many things to feel awful about, she didn’t know where to begin. Even when she’d gone through each worry, she still felt bad. It was as though she was still carrying a problem, but she didn’t know what it was. All she knew was that it was really heavy and it hurt a lot.
She looked at the photograph of Nana on her bedside table. Nana had said if ever there was a problem too hard to describe, she should put it in the hollow in the trunk of the Worry Tree. Juliet wished she could crawl into that hole and never come out. She reached up and touched the inky black spot. She felt her worries trickle down her arm, to her fingertips and into the hollow of the tree. “Time for sleep,” she said wearily and switched off the light.
Juliet didn’t feel like talking to anyone the next morning so she ate her breakfast alone on the veranda. On the walk to school, Oaf grumbled about having to share her room again.
“Where am I supposed to keep my maggot farm now?”
Juliet ignored Oaf, her mind on other things: specifically, what had Gemma and Lindsay cooked up for her today?
She didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“So,” said Lindsay, as the three girls opened their lunch boxes, “did you see the list that’s going around?”
“What list?” said Juliet warily.
“It’s the one where you write down the name of everyone in the class, then put a number next to their name,” said Lindsay.
“They used to do it at my old school,” said Gemma. “You’re meant to number everyone in class from the person you like the best to the person you like the worst.”
“But the most important thing,” said Lindsay, “is to put your best friend first.”
Oh, thought Juliet. So that’s what they’re up to.
“Here,” said Gemma, “I’ve got some pens.”
“And I’ve got some paper,” said Lindsay. “I’ve already written everyone’s name down, so all you have to do is number them.”
Lindsay and Gemma bent over their papers and started scribbling. Juliet rubbed her eyes, exhausted. How was she going to get out of this one? She wanted to cry or scream or bite her nails or something. No matter what she did, her friends were going to make her choose. But how could she? She liked them both—Lindsay for her brains and her curiosity and the fact that they’d been friends ever since kindergarten, and Gemma because she was funny and brave.
There were also things she didn’t like about the two of them, like Lindsay’s dark moods and the way she was unfriendly to new people. Or the way Gemma grabbed things without thinking (like that volcano eraser). How on earth could she choose between them? Whatever she decided, she’d end up losing a friend.
“Juliet?” said Gemma. “Are you done yet?”
“Yeah,” said Lindsay. “Hurry up.”
The V-shaped crease appeared between Juliet’s eyebrows, and her rash crept slowly up her arms. If they wanted an answer so badly, well, she’d give them one. She just hoped they were prepared for the outcome.
“I’m done,” said Juliet, pressing her list to her chest.
“Well, come on,” said Gemma. “Let’s see it.”
“Pass me yours first,” said Juliet. “You too, Lindsay.”
The girls shrugged and handed over their lists. Juliet took them, weighed them in her hands, and ripped them in two and then two again.
“Hey!” said Lindsay. “Aren’t you going to even look at them?”
“I don’t need to,” said Juliet. “I know you put me first, and I know Gemma did too.”
“True,” said Gemma, “but what we really want to know is, who did you put first?”
“Yes,” said Lindsay. “Who do you like best?”
Juliet felt anger boiling up from her toes like milk on the stove. Any second now, it would overflow.
“Come on, Juliet,” said Lindsay. “It’s unfair to make us wait.”
“Yeah,” said Gemma. “Don’t be mean.”
“What?” said Juliet, slowly, dangerously. “Did you just call me mean and unfair?”
Lindsay and Gemma swapped anxious glances. Juliet’s face was purple.
“Jul—”
“How dare you say that about me! What is wrong with you two? I am absolutely, completely, and utterly sick of you two and the way you keep fighting over me! Does it really matter who I put first on this piece of paper? Really?”
Gemma and Lindsay looked down.
“If you really want to know who I put as number one, you’ll just have to read my list, which”—and she snatched it away before the two girls could touch it—“which I’ll give to you in a minute. But I want you to know something first. I have been miserable for weeks because of you two. Totally miserable. All this trying to make me choose and stuff has been awful, and I’ve had enough! So read my list and remember, this decision is final. I will never talk about it again, and if either of you tries to bring it up, I’ll just sit by myself at lunch! At least then I’d get some peace!”
At this, Juliet threw her list on the ground and stormed across the playground. Lindsay and Gemma looked at each other, then at the paper. They both bent down to pick it up, but Gemma was quicker.
“Well?” said Lindsay. “C’mon, what’s it say?”
Gemma took her time smoothing out the paper, then held it close to her chest so Lindsay couldn’t see. “Wow,” she said, flashing her sugar-cube smile. “I don’t believe it! I’m number one! That means Juliet
likes me best!”
“What?!” said Lindsay. “There is no way! I’m her oldest friend! Here, give it to me!” She snatched the list away from Gemma to check for herself. “What? … That doesn’t make sense. Oh … I see what she’s done. Look, Gemma, you made a mistake. You’re not the only one who’s number one. She’s gone and picked us both!”
Juliet sat on a wooden bench and ate her yogurt with great ferocity. When she spotted Lindsay and Gemma walking toward her, she decided to say nothing. If they were angry with her, that was just too bad.
“Is it okay if we sit here?” said Lindsay.
“If you don’t mind,” said Gemma.
Juliet nodded curtly.
The two girls took their seats, one on each side of her. There was an awkward silence, but Juliet didn’t care. She just kept eating her yogurt.
Lindsay finally spoke. “Juliet,” she said, “I was going to go buy some stuff to make a sandwich in a minute. Would you like a bite if I did? Gemma, you can have some too, if you want.”
Juliet put down her spoon. She’d thought Lindsay was going to tell her off. Instead, she was asking her to share a sandwich. Juliet knew this was Lindsay’s way of saying, “I’m sorry.”
“All right,” said Juliet, smiling with relief. “Sounds good.”
Lindsay smiled back, knowing this was Juliet’s way of saying, “I forgive you.”
A moment later, Gemma opened the zipper of her top pocket and took something out. “I thought you might like this back,” she said.
“My volcano eraser!” said Juliet. “Thanks!”
Juliet turned it over in her hands. She was shocked her outburst had produced such good results.
“There’s something else too,” said Gemma. “I was wondering if you and Lindsay would like to come over and play at my house sometime. We’ve got a big TV, and we could watch some shows. Even nature documentaries, if you like. But only if you want to.”
The Worry Tree Page 5