Annie's Life in Lists

by Kristin Mahoney

2. Ted: The fame thing is kind of self-fulfilling, isn’t it? I mean, of course a six-leaf clover will bring you fame, because it’s so rare that everyone winds up hearing about it. It’s not like there’s any magic involved. (I had to admit he had a point.)

  3. Mom: Are you all right, Annie? You’re awfully quiet.

  4. Me: I’m okay. I’m always quiet!

  5. Ted: Not really. Not anymore.

  Mom turned around and smiled. She knew Ted was right; I wasn’t so quiet anymore. But I didn’t have many words just then. It had been a crazy day. And it was about to get crazier.

  Three kinds of people I half expected to see at my house when we returned

  1. A news crew

  2. A marching band

  3. A crowd of photographers

  One person I did NOT expect to see at my house when we returned

  1. Millie

  But there she was, sitting on our front steps, holding a wrapped package. Her mom and dad were standing in the yard, checking out the rosebushes.

  First words spoken by each grown-up

  1. Dad: Hey, strangers!

  2. Mom: You guys!

  3. Millie’s dad: Hey, yourself!

  4. Millie’s mom: Annie, we hear you’re famous!

  At which point I thought, Whoa, maybe it is true about the six-leaf clover bringing you fame. Because how else would they know already?

  Two things Ted said to bring me back to reality

  1. Dad, you posted about the clover on Facebook, didn’t you? (Oh yeah, that would explain how they knew.)

  2. Annie, aren’t you going to talk?

  Five things I had been wanting to say to Millie for months

  1. Why haven’t you written to me?

  2. Why didn’t you answer my question about Charlotte?

  3. What’s going on back in Brooklyn?

  4. Are you still my friend?

  5. Will I ever see you again?

  At least now I had an answer to that last one.

  The only thing I could think to say to Millie at that moment

  1. Why are you here?

  Millie was quiet. After a heavy few seconds, her dad explained that our house was on the way to some relatives they were visiting, so they thought they’d stop in and surprise us.

  I was definitely surprised.

  How Millie finally broke her silence

  1. Hi, Annie.

  2. Can I see inside your house?

  Things I said as I gave Millie a tour of the house

  1. This is the living room.

  2. This is the dining room.

  3. This is the kitchen.

  4. Those are the basement stairs.

  5. Out there is the backyard.

  6. Upstairs are the bedrooms and bathrooms.

  You get the picture. I was barely speaking to her. I was being terse, to use a Mr. Allbright word.

  Why was I being terse?

  1. I was thinking about the unanswered email.

  2. I was wondering if she was best friends with Charlotte now.

  3. I was wondering how she could ask for a tour of my house without explaining any of that stuff first.

  Two things Millie and I said at the exact same time:

  1. Millie: Can I see your room?

  2. Me: How come you stopped writing back to me?

  I repeated my question: “Why did you stop writing back to me?”

  Reasons Millie gave for not writing

  1. I didn’t know what to say.

  2. I knew you’d be mad if I told you that you were right—that it was Charlotte Devlin I was going to the movies with. I didn’t know how to tell you that she’s actually a lot nicer now. I think it has something to do with her getting braces?

  When I told Millie she was getting off topic, she looked surprised that I had interrupted her. But she said okay and continued….

  3. You sounded like you had a bunch of new friends here, and it made me feel weird.

  Finally she said, “You’re right, though. I should have written. I’m sorry. Can I show you what I brought?”

  Three things I thought might have been in the wrapped box Millie brought

  1. Brooklyn bagels

  2. A friendship bracelet

  3. My Guinness Book of World Records, which she had borrowed and never gave back

  Two things that were in the box

  1. A hand turkey with the words “Happy VERY Belated Thanksgiving” written on it

  2. A marble notebook, the one we had started writing notes to each other in right before I found out I was moving.

  “Open it,” Millie said.

  Fifty-one notes that were in the marble notebook

  1. On the first page, the last note I wrote to Millie in Brooklyn. It just said, “I think I blabbed to Mr. Lawrence about something I shouldn’t have. I’ll tell you more about it at lunch.”

  2–51. Notes Millie wrote to me during all the months I was gone.

  “There’s not much in it for the months when I was good about emailing,” she said when she saw my surprised face. “Then, for a while after you asked about Charlotte, I started feeling weird about not writing you back, and I wasn’t sure what to say. But I kept the notes going all along, see?” She flipped through the pages and I could see, in her funny, pointy handwriting, reports on everything that had happened to her in Brooklyn that year. I knew I would take time to read all of them later, but for now certain things jumped out at me: the names of kids in our class, a goofy cartoon of Mr. Lawrence, doodles of stars and planets, and a few times—in big letters—the words “SORRY” and “ARGH! I wish you were here!”

  I haven’t been much of a hugger since around first grade (and neither has Millie), but after I looked through the notebook, I reached out and gave her hand a little squeeze. She knew what it meant. She squeezed back.

  Four things that broke my trance over the notebook

  1. The doorbell ringing

  2. The phone ringing

  3. Ted saying, “Geez, it’s the whole town!”

  4. Mom calling up the stairs, “Annie, can you come down here, please?”

  Eight people Millie and I found waiting at the bottom of the stairs

  1. Zora

  2. Kate

  3. Amelia

  4. Charlie

  5. Zach

  6. Mr. Allbright

  7. Nurse Taylor

  8. Principal Wilson, who said, “We just wanted to stop by and congratulate our famous student!”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, but it didn’t really matter, because just then Dad came in and said, “That was Channel Seven on the phone. They want to interview you for a story on tonight’s News at Six.”

  Eight questions people had then

  1. Zora: What are you going to wear?

  2. Amelia: Do you want to borrow my clover outfit for this? You should look more clovery. You’re a Clover Gapper now. (I was right! It is Clover Gapper!)

  3. Kate: Can you get the weather guy’s autograph for me?

  4. Ted: Can Mind the Gap play in the background?

  5. Mr. Allbright: Do you know that if they ask you about anything that you don’t want them to put on air, you should say “off the record” before you answer?

  6. Millie (in a whisper): Who are all these people?

  7. Dad: Do you think you want to do this, Annie?

  8. Me: Should I do it? What would I say?

  And then Mom said exactly what I should have known she would say, which was: “It’s totally up to you, hon. But I think you’d be great. Just be you.”

  What does it mean
for me to just be me? Who is that? Ten possible answers

  1. A fifth-grade kid who just found a six-leaf clover

  2. A kid who usually notices a lot, but only found the clover because it was beside a Frisbee

  3. A city kid who accidentally told a family secret

  4. A Clover Gapper who is figuring out how to fit in

  5. A little sister

  6. The quiet friend who only talks if she really has to (and I guess in a news interview, you really have to)

  7. The girl who saved Amelia from becoming a blood sister

  8. The girl who put Hope in her place at Clover Fest

  9. Someone who was really missed by Millie

  10. A kid who’s just figuring out how to speak up

  Okay, Annie, you got this, I thought. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

  Crowd reaction to my decision

  1. Cheering

  2. Laughing at the cheering, which seemed a bit over the top (me and Kate)

  3. Hugs (from Mom and Dad)

  3. Drumming (from Ted, of course)

  4. A little hug from Nurse Taylor, who said she and Mr. Allbright had to go but she would be sure to watch that night

  “Why are they leaving together?” Kate whispered as Mr. Allbright and Nurse Taylor walked out the door.

  “Off the record?” I said. “I think she’s his girlfriend.”

  Seven ways life has changed since I became the Clover Kid (that’s what the lady on the news called me)

  1. I got a bunch of free stuff (like clover necklaces, T-shirts, socks—even a little stuffed clover). I’ve been trying to pass it out to my friends in a way that seems fair. As lifelong Clover Gappers, they’re more excited for the stuff than I am. Zora got the necklaces, Kate got the jeans patches, Zach and Charlie got shoelaces, and Amelia got the pencils (round, of course). I did keep the stuffed clover, though; I named it Jade.

  2. Mom and Dad go out more. Everyone got to know our family after my famous find, so they started making new friends. Plus, people were so impressed by Dad’s recipes at Clover Fest (his clover guacamole won a blue ribbon) that some other parents asked them to join their gourmet dinner club.

  3. Mom has been working more. One of the members of the Clover Council found out she was a graphic designer and checked out her website. He liked Mom’s portfolio so much that he asked her to design all new stuff for them: stationery, banners, the works. And some other organizations around here are starting to hire her too. She keeps reminding Ted and me that these are civic clubs with limited budgets and it’s not like we’ve hit the jackpot or anything, but I can tell she’s happy to have a little extra income.

  4. Everyone at school knows who I am now. Even the older kids. The other day Will Garner (sixth grader) said, “Hey, Annie,” to me in the hallway, and I thought Amelia was going to faint. (She says he’s crazy gorgeous, and she’s kind of right.)

  5. For the first time ever, there are people I don’t know who know me. The other day I was at the drugstore with Mom, and a girl I’d never noticed before asked if she could get a selfie with me. That was definitely a first.

  6. The more people I get to know, the less afraid I am to talk to them.

  7. Now Millie writes to me more than I write to her. But that’s not because I’m famous; it’s because we’re friends again. And I don’t write less because I’m mad at her. I’m just busier these days. I don’t have one best friend, like I did in Brooklyn, or any “backup” friends, like I thought I needed. They’re all just my friends. And the more friends you have, the more stuff you have to do, so my email-writing time is limited.

  Five ways my life has not changed since becoming the Clover Kid

  1. I still have to help wash the dishes every night.

  2. Even though Mom has booked more work, we still aren’t sure how long Dad’s job will last once the new highway is done. But he seems more at ease about it the longer it goes on. “Government red tape makes these things last forever,” he keeps saying. We’ll see. But I don’t wonder as much as I used to if we’re going to move back to Brooklyn. Ted never asks either. No one has said it out loud, but I think we all might be okay with staying here.

  3. I still get embarrassed pretty easily. (Let’s just say I learned my lesson about saving chewing gum behind my ear; what worked for Violet Beauregarde does not work for me.)

  4. Ted still makes fun of me for doing klutzy things. (He has been calling me Chewie or Chewbacca ever since the gum incident.)

  5. I still don’t have a phone.

  My four favorite chewing-gum flavors

  1. Watermelon

  2. Grape

  3. Wild cherry

  4. Strawberry-kiwi

  Three things I admitted to Kate, Zora, and Amelia in the Pond Fort at the beginning of summer break

  1. I’m afraid of bears.

  2. I was afraid I wouldn’t meet any friends in Clover Gap. (“But you did!” Amelia said.)

  3. I have a really good memory, but for weird stuff. (“We kind of figured,” Kate said. “Yeah,” Zora added. “You’ve been talking a lot more lately, and you remember the craziest things about people!”)

  What happened after I told the truth about my memory

  1. Nothing. Turns out no one thinks it’s creepy (except maybe Ted).

  Seven plans I have for the summer

  1. Finish Mom’s book challenge so I can FINALLY GET MY EARS PIERCED.

  2. Practice my free throws so I can beat Ted in HORSE.

  3. Learn how to dive at the town pool.

  4. Visit Millie in Brooklyn. (Mom said we can go there for Fourth of July because Millie has an awesome view of the fireworks from the roof of her building. And Ted is all excited to play with his old band and hit his favorite music stores. He told Marcus he’d bring back some new guitar picks for him.)

  5. Help Kate learn her lines for her drama-camp play. She thinks I’ll be good at this because of my memory. I tried telling her it doesn’t really work that way, but she says I’m still her best bet.

  6. Meet with Amelia to write letters to Zora in Jamaica, where she’ll be spending a month with her grandparents. Zora said we had to write to her every day, but we told her it would be more like once a week. (I could tell that standing up to Zora was hard for Amelia, but I think she’s getting better at it.) Amelia already made stationery for us to use for the letters. It has a little clover and “From A2 to Z” across the top.

  7. Go to our family’s special beach spot, Wren Island, with Aunt Pen. The other day I got an email from her saying she can’t wait to hear all about how things have been going since she saw us at Thanksgiving, and all the adventures I’ve been having in Clover Gap.

  So much has happened this year, I really don’t know what to tell her first.

  I guess I’d better start making a list.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  (OR, SOME OF THE WONDERFUL PEOPLE WHO HELPED BRING ANNIE TO LIFE)

  1. Everyone who first told me I was a writer, starting with my parents: Mary Lou Keim McGinn, who honored my imagination and took dictation on my earliest stories before I could pen them myself; and Howard McGinn, whose encouragement and contagious love of words sparked my childhood writing endeavors.

  2. Kevin McGinn, the funniest person I’ve ever met, one of my great cheerleaders, and certainly the best human to have spent a childhood with. Like Annie, he’s an encyclopedia of memories, and I’m so grateful for his willingness to share them. (Hint: He rode his bike into a pit long before she did.)

  3. Jane and Samantha McGinn, for their kindness, bookworm solidarity, and enthusiasm through every milestone.

  4. All the little tribes who’ve taken me in, raised me up, and given me great stories over the years
. (Here’s looking at you, Sanford kids, Lafayette family, McCall’s girls, and Brooklyn mamas.)

  5. The endlessly spirited, generous, and comforting women of my South Orange–Maplewood village. (Really, what would I do without you?)

  6. The incredible teachers of Sanford, N.C.; Lafayette College; and the Bank Street College of Education, whose patience and wisdom fostered a passion for literature, an urge to ask questions, and a deep appreciation for good stories.

  7. Melissa Walker, dear friend, N.C.-in-N.Y. sister, and writing shaman, who read an early Annie draft, wholeheartedly “got it,” and spearheaded the search for others who would agree.

  8. My amazing agent, Sarah Burnes of the Gernert Company, whose gently incisive questions brought Annie and her world into sharp focus; and her colleague Logan Garrison Savits, whom I can’t thank enough for finding and championing this manuscript, and helping to shepherd it along every step of the way.