The Charming Life of Izzy Malone

by Jenny Lundquist

  There was scattered applause, and more than a few boos, while the Harrison family chanted, “Three-peat, three-peat,” again, in case nobody heard them the first time.

  “In pumpkin number two, representing Miller’s General Store, we have Dave Miller himself, weighing in at eight hundred and two pounds! Not Dave, but his pumpkin, Captain Jack O. Lantern!”

  Tons of applause, and Scooter continued, “And pumpkin number three . . .” He paused while Aunt Mildred whispered in his ear. “I apologize, pumpkin number three, the Death Star, has been disqualified due to insufficient size. Better luck next year, Don—perhaps you should stop eating so many of your donuts!

  “Pumpkin number four, and my personal favorite, weighing in at five hundred and fifty-two pounds, we have Bozo, which will be captained by none other than Izzy Malone, Dandelion Hollow’s own Star Bandit!”

  Mixed applause, and a couple people booed until Ms. Zubov yelled, “My garden’s never looked so good! Thanks, Izzy!”

  While Scooter announced a few more racers, I kept my eyes glued to the buoy across the way and kept imagining myself zooming across the pond, and being first to cross the finish line.

  “And last but not least! We have a last-minute surprise entry. Stella Franklin, daughter of our illustrious and long, long, long-serving Mayor Franklin. Weighing in at five hundred and sixty pounds, I give you . . . the Pumpkin Paddler!”

  Of course, there was a ton of applause for Stella.

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen, the rules are simple: Each racer must paddle their pumpkin around the buoy in the center of the pond and then head back this way. The first to cross the finish line wins. Ready?”

  “Ready!” the crowd yelled.

  “Good! On your mark . . . get set . . . go!”

  And we were off! I dug my paddle into the water and rowed as fast as I could. Working out on Dad’s rowing machine had given me good strength, but, just like Dad had said, it was definitely more awkward racing a giant pumpkin instead of a thin kayak.

  Mike Harrison and Dave Miller shot in front of the rest of us, and my heart sank a bit, but I wasn’t going down without a fight. Both of them had big, heavy guts, and I was willing to bet this race was the one time they worked out all year.

  I dipped my oar into the water and imagined I was back in my garage on Dad’s rowing machine: One, two; one, two.

  “Pumpkin number five, Mr. Pumpkin Head, is taking on water,” Scooter called. “Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we’ve got a sinker!”

  Mr. Pumpkin Head’s racer wasn’t giving up, though. He ditched his oars and started trying to swim the pumpkin out to the buoy. It was a lost cause, though, and soon Mr. Pumpkin Head was sinking fast.

  “And it’s going . . . going . . . gone!” Scooter yelled. “Just like the Titanic, folks, pumpkin number five is out of commission! But I suppose our hearts must go on!”

  Stella and I were both slowly gaining on Mike Harrison and Dave Miller. They reached the buoy first and their pumpkins collided as they came around the bend, spinning them both off course. “You did that on purpose!” Mike shouted.

  “Did not!” Dave shouted back. He ripped off his eye patch. “Can’t see anything with this thing on!”

  Stella and I gave them a wide berth as we paddled around the buoy and shot out in front of them.

  “And it’s the Star Bandit vs. the Pumpkin Paddler,” Scooter called. “Who will win folks? It’s Izzy—no, it’s Stella. . . . They’re in a dead heat, my friends! Hang on to your pumpkins, ’cause this one’s gonna be close!”

  I glanced over. Stella was right next to me, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth as she furiously paddled. I dug and dug. My strokes weren’t elegant, but fast and frantic, until Stella’s paddle clipped mine. Bozo spun and crashed into her pumpkin, and our paddles crossed.

  “Stop it!” Stella yelled as we tried to untangle our paddles.

  “I didn’t do anything!” I yelled back. “And why do you even care? You said this race is stupid!”

  “It is stupid! But Lauren’s made it clear I’d better beat you—and my mom told me I’d embarrass her if I lost to a weirdo like you.”

  Stella splashed water in my eyes. I sat back—stunned both by the water and her words—and Stella, finally untangling her paddle, edged past me. For the first time I wondered if living with Mayor Franklin might be a whole lot worse than living with Mom, and I actually felt bad for Stella.

  Not enough to let her win, though.

  I righted my boat, dug my paddle into the water, and continued on.

  “The Pumpkin Paddler is in the lead!” Scooter yelled. “It looks like Stella Franklin is about to . . . But wait! It looks like Bozo is gaining. Yes, yes . . . Bozo and the Pumpkin Paddler are neck and neck, or perhaps I should say gourd and gourd! Here it comes, ladies and gentlemen: the final push! The big finale, the one squash to rule them all. . . . Yes, yes . . . Yes! It looks like it’s Bozo! Pumpkin number four, helmed by our very own Izzy Malone, Dandelion Hollow’s infamous Star Bandit, has just won! Izzy Malone is the newest winner of the Great Pumpkin Regatta!”

  The crowd erupted into cheers. Violet, Daisy, and Sophia splashed into the pond and hugged me. Dad and Mr. Jackson also waded in, to help me climb out of Bozo. Once I was back on shore, a crowd surrounded me. A golden pumpkin trophy was thrust into my hands, and Scooter handed me a check for five hundred dollars, while Aunt Mildred, Grandma Bertie, and Carolyn came over to congratulate me.

  “You were amazing!” Carolyn said, high-fiving me while Grandma Bertie took a picture of us.

  “Thanks,” I said, and looked around. “Where’s Mom?”

  “I’m right here!”

  Mom came bursting through the crowd. She threw her arms around me. “I’m so proud of you!” When she pulled away, she pointed to a man holding a camera.

  “This is Timothy Dalton, from the Dandelion Gazette. I thought we could take another shot at our campaign family photo.”

  “Now?” I looked down at myself. I was damp from the waist down, and my cutoffs were smeared with orange pumpkin guts.

  “Yes, now.” Mom gave me a searching look. “Is that okay, Izzy?”

  “Okay,” I said, and I realized that might have been the first time she’d called me Izzy, without being reminded to.

  “Everyone gather around Izzy,” Dad said.

  “Oh, dear,” Grandma Bertie said, running her hands through her hair. “How do I look?”

  “Fabulous,” Aunt Mildred said. “You look just like me, don’t you?”

  “I look better than you, dear. I always have.”

  “Ew, Izzy,” Carolyn said, wrinkling her nose. “You smell like a pumpkin autopsy.”

  “You know you love it,” I said, slinging an arm around her as we all posed and waited for Mr. Dalton, who seemed to be having trouble with his camera.

  “Mildred, you’re pushing me,” Grandma Bertie said.

  “I’m not pushing you. Carolyn’s pushing me.”

  “That’s because Izzy’s stepping on my foot,” Carolyn said.

  “Sorry,” I said, stepping away.

  “Bertha!” Aunt Mildred snapped. “Now you’re pushing me.”

  “That’s not pushing. This is pushing!”

  “Stop it!” Aunt Mildred hollered.

  “Watch it!” Carolyn yelled.

  “Say cheese!” Mr. Dalton said.

  When I looked at the photo later, Aunt Mildred and Grandma Bertie were smacking each other with their handbags, Mom and Carolyn were grabbing for Carolyn’s guitar case before it fell into the pond, and Dad’s face was frozen in a pained grimace. I was in the middle of it all, holding up my pumpkin trophy, and wearing my Team Star Bandit shirt.

  It probably wasn’t the shot of the picture-perfect family Mom was hoping for. But it was pretty much what we all really looked like: messy and out of place, and a million light-years away from normal.

  35

  PADDLING ALONE (BUT NOT REALLY)

  Event
ually, the crowd started drifting away from the pond and back toward the games and food. Abandoned pumpkin boats bobbed in the water. Dad and Mr. Jackson were chatting with Scooter and Aunt Mildred while I pushed Bozo up to the edge of the shore.

  Lauren appeared in front of me, the water lapping at the edges of her sandals. “Okay,” she said.

  “Okay, what?” I said, as I started peeling stickers off Bozo.

  “The Paddlers. You’re in, Stella’s out.”

  I looked up. “Just like that?” The rest of the Paddlers stood behind Lauren, all except for Stella, who still sat in her pumpkin boat, staring glumly off into the distance. “Isn’t there room on the team for both of us?”

  “Stella isn’t cutting it,” Lauren said. “So she’s out. You’re in.”

  “Thanks,” I said, although the rush of excitement I expected to feel didn’t come.

  Ever since last summer, all I wanted was to join the Paddlers. I felt like it would mean that someone cared, that I wasn’t as alone as I thought. That someone noticed. Because, up until recently, it seemed like no one had.

  But somehow in the last month, almost without me realizing it, things had changed.

  Behind the Paddlers, Aunt Mildred had approached, and was quietly listening.

  “Practice is Saturdays at nine a.m. at the aquatic center,” Lauren said. “Don’t be late.”

  I imagined spending Saturday after Saturday with Lauren and . . . actually, I couldn’t even name the other girls on the team. They all looked so much alike, I could never tell them apart.

  “Thanks,” I said again. “But . . . I think I’m going to pass.” I couldn’t believe the words were coming out of my mouth, but I knew I was making the right decision.

  Don’t get me wrong. I still loved racing, and the beauty of the open water, and the peace of a clear blue sky. But being on Lauren’s team seemed a lot less appealing than it had a few months ago. Even if I wasn’t a part of the Paddlers, that didn’t mean I couldn’t try out for the team at Dandelion High in a few years. And I would.

  Aunt Mildred was smiling, but Lauren looked shocked. “What are you talking about? We both know you were desperate to join us.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “But I’m saying no anyway. For now I think I’d prefer to paddle alone.”

  Except I knew I wouldn’t be alone. I had Daisy, Violet, and Sophia, and being friends with them beat being a part of the Paddlers any day.

  Lauren—who was normally so cool—was looking more and more like a toddler about to throw a temper tantrum. I wondered how often she heard the word “no.”

  “Fine,” she snapped. “Just so you know, everyone was sick of you following us around like a sad puppy—I only offered out of charity.”

  Charity? After I just won the race? I’d like to give her a little charity of my own.

  My temper was rising, and my fingers and toes were itching with options: launch pumpkin guts at her nasty-swinging ponytail, kick mud and water at her face . . . The possibilities were endless.

  I think Aunt Mildred knew what I was thinking, because she shook her head and mouthed, Butterfly.

  Reluctantly, I nodded, and decided I’d have to settle for a response of the purely verbal variety. I thought real hard about my next words: “Thank you. Your charitable efforts are noted and appreciated. But I’m still going to have to decline. I’ll be sure to let everyone know you invited me to join, though!”

  Lauren spun on her heel so fast the Paddlers had to scatter to get out of her way. They re-formed themselves and left, their ponytails swinging in unison.

  “Congratulations,” Aunt Mildred said as we watched them leave. “I think you just graduated from charm school.” She held out a tiny silver box. “And to celebrate, it’s my turn to give you a present.”

  I took the box and opened it. Inside was the glittery orange pumpkin charm I’d seen at Charming Trinkets.

  “Add it to your bracelet later,” Aunt Mildred said. “It’s part of your story now.”

  The pumpkin charm sparkled in the afternoon sun, and I wondered if it was the last one she’d ever give me, now that I’d just graduated. It seemed to me that as soon as Mrs. Whippie—Aunt Mildred—had started sending me letters and charms, life had gotten crazy and strange, in the best possible way.

  All of a sudden, I knew exactly how I wanted to spend my Saturdays. I looked up and said, “Hey, Aunt Mildred . . . What are you doing next weekend?”

  36

  THE BEGINNING OF A GOOD STORY

  “What if we called it ‘The Charm Girls Club’?” I asked Aunt Mildred. It was the Saturday after Pumpkin Palooza, and we were walking to the Kaleidoscope Café, on our way to meet Daisy, Violet, and Sophia. The three of them had been excited to learn that Aunt Mildred was actually Mrs. Whippie, especially after she had convinced everyone’s parents to give us a two-hour reprieve from our grounding.

  “The Charm Girls Club,” Aunt Mildred repeated, testing it out. “I like it.”

  “I thought we could meet every couple weeks or so.”

  Aunt Mildred nodded. “You’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t get in the way of your cleanup duties.”

  On Monday, I’d gone into Principal Chilton’s office and given him my entire winnings from the regatta—five hundred dollars—to pay back the cleanup costs for the orange wall. Any money left over, I’d said, could be donated to the Eco Club, so they could still go on their trip to the observatory.

  Overall, he took the news that I was the Star Bandit pretty well. After I was finished apologizing profusely and promising him that something like this would never, ever, ever happen again, he leaned forward and whispered, “I actually liked your orange wall. But there’s no money in the school budget to repaint, and I doubt I could get our board of supervisors to agree to it even if there was, so unfortunately the gray walls will have to stay.”

  Then he straightened up and said he was giving me, Daisy, and Violet two weeks of detention. He also assigned us to Dandelion Middle’s newly formed Cleanup Committee—which was just a fancy way of saying he wanted us on trash pickup duty for a couple months. Sophia said she didn’t want to be left out, so she joined the committee too. I think she was the only one who was actually excited about it.

  When Aunt Mildred and I arrived at the Kaleidoscope, Daisy, Violet, and Sophia were already there. They were huddling in a corner booth. Daisy and Sophia each had an arm around Violet, who was crying.

  “What’s wrong?” Aunt Mildred asked as we slid in across from them.

  Violet wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Dad sat me down and talked to me today. He and Ms. Harmer are engaged.”

  “That stinks,” I said, and Aunt Mildred rammed me with her elbow.

  “Ow! I mean, that’s . . . not totally terrible,” I said, and scooted away from Aunt Mildred.

  “That’s not all,” Violet said, beginning to sob again. “They don’t want a long engagement, so they’re getting married next week. They’re already in contract to buy a new house—so we can all move in together and be one big happy family.” Violet hung her head. “Dad said he hoped I’d try to be happy for him.”

  “Oh Violet, I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t imagine having the Hammer for a stepmother—I couldn’t imagine having any mother besides my own. She had her problems, and most of the time neither of us understood each other, but I wouldn’t have traded her for anyone. It made me mad that Violet had lost hers so young.

  Aunt Mildred produced some scented tissues from her handbag for Violet to dry her eyes. Ms. Zubov arrived with plates of pumpkin pie. “Best of the season,” she said, passing them around. “They’re on the house.” She reached over to squeeze Violet’s hand. “I heard about your Dad’s engagement—”

  “That’s because this town is full of gossiping busybodies,” Aunt Mildred said.

  “—and you can come here as often as you want, on the house,” Ms. Zubov finished.

  Violet nodded, and we began eating our pie in silenc
e.

  “What’s going on?” Violet asked after she’d stopped crying. “Why did you want to meet today?”

  “I had a lot of fun earning my charms,” I began. “And I thought . . . maybe you did too?” I waited, and the other girls nodded. “So how would you feel about starting a club? Maybe we could call ourselves the Charm Girls. Aunt Mildred has agreed to keep buying us charms and giving us tasks to do.”

  When I had told Aunt Mildred my idea and asked if she wanted to be our official club leader, she teared up a little.

  “I had a wonderful time picking out charms for you girls, and I’d love to keep doing it,” Aunt Mildred said now. “In fact . . .” With great ceremony, she removed four small boxes wrapped in pearl-pink wrapping paper, and topped with white bows. “I’ve got another charm for you to earn, if you’re up for the task.”

  The girls looked thoroughly intrigued. “You mean,” Sophia said slowly, “we’d get together, do fun things, and add charms to our bracelets?”

  “Something like that,” Aunt Mildred said. “Speaking of which”—she produced a bracelet and a cupcake charm, which she handed to Sophia—“these are for you.”

  Sophia grinned widely as she hooked the charm onto her bracelet, and Violet said, “Yes, please. Can we be a club? The last thing I want to do is hang out with Melanie all the time—that’s what I’m supposed to call Ms. Harmer at home.” Her voice broke on the word “home,” and she grabbed tightly onto Daisy and Sophia like she was afraid they’d vanish.

  “I’m in,” Sophia said, hugging Violet. “Earning my charm and baking those cupcakes was the most fun I’ve had since moving to Dandelion Hollow.”

  “I’m in, too,” Daisy said.

  “All right, then.” Aunt Mildred passed the boxes around. “Go ahead and open them—I’ve talked to each of your parents, and they’ve already agreed to this. Izzy’s parents have already said they’d be chaperones.”