“What about the leftover pizza?” Freddy asked.
“I checked,” Rose said. “It’s moldy. We have tuna and popcorn.”
Mom got her coat from the closet. She wrapped a scarf around her face, pulled a hat down to her eyebrows, and stuffed her hands in mittens. “I’ll go to the Asian grocery and get stuff for stir-fry. Anyone want to come?”
Freddy and Rose took a pass, but I thought it’d be good for Mom to have company. When Mom and I stepped onto the driveway, I inhaled and got an instant case of brain freeze, like I’d stuffed ice cubes in my nose. Every breath felt like a knife stabbing my head and then my chest. Even my eyeballs hurt.
We hustled to the car. My pants were no protection from the cold. The car’s seat felt like a block of ice, and our breath looked like plumes of smoke when we exhaled. Mom turned the key, but the engine protested. Rrrurrrurr. She tried again. Rrrurrrurr. On the third try, the engine didn’t even moan. There was nothing but a faint click. Mom banged her head against the steering wheel. “Is this really happening?”
“Maybe we can borrow Miguel’s car.”
She sighed. “Mia texted me. They went to visit family last night and decided to stay because of the weather.”
“Let’s go back inside.”
“Wait.” She put her hand on my leg. “Let’s put some positive energy out there. We get what we give. That’s what I believe, right? If we put our desire into the universe, the universe answers.”
Now Mom chose to think about positive energy? “My face hurts.”
“Charlotte, please. I’m desperate. Energy.”
I closed my eyes and tried to be quiet, but I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering. I thought good thoughts. I imagined the sound of the car starting. I imagined the heater blasting warm air. I imagined the taste of warm rice and soy sauce.
“Okay,” Mom said. “I’m going to turn the key, and the car is going to start.”
She turned the key. Nothing. Just the click of a dead engine.
She said it louder. “The car is going to start.”
Nothing.
“Say it, Charlotte.”
Through chattering teeth I said, “The c-c-c-car will st-st-start.”
Nothing.
“The car will start! This car will start right now or I swear to God I’ll—” Mom hit the steering wheel, and the horn gave a feeble honk.
“Mom!” I grabbed her arm. “Stop!”
This wasn’t my mom. My mom didn’t sigh or snort or hit. Mom took a few deep breaths and said, “Forget it. Let’s go inside.”
Mom marched downstairs and went into the bathroom without a word. I sat on the sofa next to Rose. “The car won’t start. It’s like the battery is frozen—literally frozen. Where’s Freddy?”
“He’s in his room with the phone.”
“Of course.” I snorted, which was normal. I was supposed to be the snorter in the family, not Mom.
Rose took Mom’s phone from her purse. “I have an idea.” She went into our room and shut the door as Mom barreled out of the bathroom with a hair dryer. She had a wild look in her eye. She hoisted it over her head and shouted, “The universe will respond!”
She marched upstairs. Freddy poked his head from his room. “What’s going on?”
“Observation: Mom is losing it,” I said as I ran to catch up to her.
Mom dug through a shelf in the garage until she found an extension cord. She plugged the hair dryer into the extension cord and the extension cord into an outlet.
“What are you doing?” Freddy’s coat was unzipped, and he didn’t have a hat or mittens. He stayed close to the basement door for warmth.
Mom didn’t answer him. She pressed the button on the wall. A blast of cold hit us as the garage door opened. The end of her scarf rippled like a flag as she walked into the wind. We stood in the garage and shivered while she opened the hood of the car, turned on the hair dryer, and placed it on the engine. She carefully pulled down the hood but didn’t latch it.
“Now what?” Freddy asked me.
“I have no idea.”
Mom adjusted her scarf and came back to the garage. “I’ll give it fifteen minutes.”
I cleared my throat. “Mom, I’m pretty sure you can’t start a car with a hair dryer.”
“Pretty sure,” Freddy agreed.
“It’s a test for the universe. If the car starts, we stay in one place until I finish the book. If it doesn’t start, we bounce around until something sticks—”
Freddy’s face went pale. “That’s insane!”
“Something has to change,” Mom said.
I didn’t know if my heart was pounding from excitement or anger. I only knew it was beating against my ribs. Moving? We’d escape the empty prairie, the basement, the winter. That was good.
Right?
But it didn’t feel good at all. It felt bad. I didn’t know what to say.
Freddy knew. “I’m not moving. I don’t care what the universe says. I don’t care what you say.”
Mom said, “Freddy, we’re a family. We stick together.”
“You are the one with the hearing problem,” he said. “I said I’m not leaving. I’ll live with Mia and Miguel. I’ll get a job and pay rent.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Even Charlotte likes it here, and she hates everything.”
The words I do not! were lodged in my throat, but I couldn’t get them out. I couldn’t believe he’d said that about me. I felt frozen inside. Freddy looked away and squinted. “Who’s that?”
A truck had pulled up next to our car. A man in a snowsuit and a ski mask stepped out. He followed the extension cord into the garage and pulled off his mask. It was Shorty from the gas station.
“Hi, Martha.”
Mom blinked in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Your little girl called the station and said your car won’t start. Happens all the time if you keep it outside.”
“As you can see, it’s under control. But thank you.”
“I brought jumper cables. It won’t take long.”
“You’re very kind,” Mom loosened her scarf. “But I’m used to dealing with problems myself. In fact, I’m warming up the battery right now.”
“With a hair dryer.” I said it without sarcasm or anger because inside I was too empty and cold for emotion. Freddy had said I hate everything—Freddy, who used to agree with me 100 percent.
“We’re testing the universe. If the car starts, we’ll stay. If it won’t, we’re moving. Because that’s how reasonable people make decisions.” Freddy hadn’t lost his sarcasm.
Shorty didn’t know what to say. He raised an eyebrow and nodded. Finally he said, “I guess it’s no different than flipping a quarter. People do that all the time.”
“Thank you,” Mom said.
“You bet,” Shorty said.
We huddled in the back of the garage, out of the wind, but nobody spoke. Finally Shorty leaned against Miguel’s toolbox and said, “Winter’s hard, even for me, and I grew up here.”
Mom smiled. “The snow is beautiful.”
“Yup,” Shorty said. “But it’s hard.”
“I love the way the frost covers the trees.”
“Yup. But it’s hard.”
“The sun—”
“Just say it’s hard!” Freddy said through clenched teeth.
Mom sighed. “It’s hard, okay? Happy now?” She sighed again. “It’s time to find out what the universe has to say.”
As Mom trudged down the driveway, Freddy turned to me. “What kind of vibes are you putting into the universe right now? Leaving vibes? Or staying vibes?”
“I hate everything, remember?”
“Jeez, I didn’t mean it.”
“Hah!”
He leaned against the garage wall, crossed his arms, and stared at the car, like he was willing it to start.
I thought about his question. I was making something here. Maybe my online scrapbook wasn’t a
s brilliant as Gloria thought, but it was good. Really good. I was sharing the story of Laura and Walnut Grove with the world. I wasn’t doing it for money, and I wasn’t doing it as a punishment, either, because I never cheated on my essay. I was doing it because I wanted to make something.
And I had three friends, three real-deal friends. Emma, Bao, and Julia.
Rainbow-denier Charlotte Lake had three friends.
We had to stay.
Please.
Mom turned off the hair dryer and got into the car. I sent a message to the universe: Start our stupid car NOW.
Rrrurrrurr.
“Don’t pump the gas. You’ll flood it,” Shorty said under his breath.
Rrrurrrurr.
“Don’t pump the gas!” Freddy shouted. “You’ll flood it!”
Rrrurrrurr.
I held my breath and Freddy yelled, “C’mon!”
Rrrurrrurr.
Vroooom!
The engine caught and roared to life.
Shorty shook his head. “Well, now I’ve seen everything.”
Freddy pumped his fist in the air and shrieked. He tried to high-five me, but I just shrugged and said, “Sorry. Too busy hating everything.”
While the car warmed up, Mom walked back to the garage.
Shorty said, “I guess my services aren’t needed. I better get back to the station.”
“You are very sweet to come over. I’m sorry Rose bothered you.” Mom’s eyes sparkled with her victory.
“Not a bother,” he said. “Get yourself an engine block warmer. I’ll install it, and you can keep the hair dryer in the bathroom.”
You know what Mom did?
She didn’t snort or sigh.
She hugged him.
* * *
I couldn’t sleep that night.
Yes, the car had started, and that was good.
But Freddy’s words played over and over in my mind. She hates everything. I tried to replace his words with song lyrics. Lady Gaga. The Beatles. Beyoncé. When that didn’t work, I silently recited the Pledge of Allegiance a couple of times. Still his words wouldn’t leave. I even got a flashlight and read a chapter from The First Transcontinental Railroad: The Impact of Westward Expansion on American Culture and the Economy.
Finally I shook Rose’s shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” she mumbled.
“Do I hate everything?”
“Huh?”
“Move over.” I squeezed next to her. “Do I hate everything? I need to know.”
She yawned. “Not everything. Just most things.”
“You’re wrong.” I turned to the side and leaned on my elbow. “I’m not a negative person. I’ll name things I like. The list is long, because I’m so positive. I like The Hunger Games series and—”
“Can I point out that The Hunger Games is about kids who are forced to kill one another?”
“No. You cannot. I also like happy movies like Toy Story. I like chocolate chip cookies and swimming and Monopoly and dogs and carrots and … What kid likes carrots? Me. I like so many things I even like carrots.”
“Why are we doing this?”
I pulled the blanket to my chin and sighed. “Freddy said I hate everything.”
“Freddy is stupid.” Mom taught us stupid was a swear word. Rose didn’t sigh or snort or hit, and she never, ever said stupid. “He thinks Mom can be talked into staying here,” she continued, “and that’s not going to happen.”
“Mom got a signal from the universe. She’s going to finish the book here in Walnut Grove, and trust me, that’s going to take a long, long time.”
Rose sat up. “How do you know?”
“I snooped. I opened her laptop when she was asleep. She’s only written five words. That’s why I know we’ll be here a long time, and I think it’s good. See how positive I am?”
“She’s doing research. Research takes time.”
Rose could find reasons for anything. Mom wasn’t failing at writing. She was succeeding at research! All this made me think about the frozen battery and Shorty’s visit. “Rose, why did you call Shorty?”
“To help Mom with the car,” she said innocently.
“Why’d you really call Shorty?”
She sighed in surrender. “Fine. I want to stay here, too. And he obviously has a crush on Mom, so maybe she’ll get a crush on him if she gives him a chance. So I called.”
I rubbed my chin. “Wait a minute! Did you know his sister Joan lived in that house when we went Christmas caroling? And that he’d be there?”
“Maybe Mia is friends with Joan’s neighbor. Maybe Mia told me.”
“Maybe?”
Rose shrugged. “Maybe Mia knows Shorty is single and that Joan always hosts their family’s Christmas.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
“So you want to stay in Walnut Grove? What about adventure?”
“It’s small and safe and not expensive. And this is the first place where you and I really hang out. Freddy has his own thing. But here you and I can be a team.”
“Yeah,” I said. Wow. Rose truly was the world’s best rainbow-finder if I was her substitute for actual friends.
Rose sighed.
“What?”
“The other day Mom talked about Houston. She said being close to the space station might help her connect with the Mars story.”
“But today she said if the car started, we’d stay here until she finished…” My voice trailed off. “Wait a minute. She didn’t say we’d stay here until she finished the book. She said we’d stay in one place.”
“I wonder if that place is Houston.”
“But she didn’t say anything about Houston. Let me think. She said if the car started, we’d stay in one place. If it didn’t start, we’d bounce around until something stuck.”
“So she didn’t say Walnut Grove specifically?”
My heart pounded all over again. “No.”
“Should we ask her?”
“Absolutely not! She’ll think the universe planted the Houston idea in your head. She’ll think it’s meant to be or something crazy like that.”
“So we’re just supposed to wonder?”
“Let me think about it, okay?”
Rose yawned. “Okay.”
If Rose had told me about Houston a few weeks ago, it would’ve been fine. Just another move. Why in the world did I stop my lunchtime reading with Mrs. Newman and start hanging out with those kids? How could I have been so stupid? For a moment, I tried to convince myself Rose had it all wrong. But Rose understood Mom better than any of us. When it came to Mom, Rose was right. She was always right.
Gets old, doesn’t it?
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
We were home for three days before the guy on the radio announced a warming trend. He said temperatures would rise to four degrees above zero, and the schools would open Thursday.
Julia, Freddy, Rose, and I left the house at the same time and trudged through the snow. We couldn’t talk because we’d wrapped scarves around our faces, leaving a small opening for our eyes. Bao waved at me when we walked through the school door. I pretended not to see her. Emma said, “Hey there!” as she passed my locker, but I pretended I didn’t hear. When the bell rang at lunchtime, I got my backpack from my locker and spread my lunch on my desk.
Mrs. Newman crossed her arms. “Charlotte? What are you doing?”
I just wanted to hide in the classroom like before. If we moved to Houston, my new friends would be strangers again, but I couldn’t tell Mrs. Newman that. She’d give me one of those “all’s well that ends well” lectures, like Ma Ingalls always gave. She’d say we’d stay in touch and be lifelong friends, all thanks to the Internet. I was almost old enough to have online accounts, but it wouldn’t matter. Not really. Even if the girls talked to me online, what would we talk about? We wouldn’t be part of each other’s stories. It’s not like we could have online ice-skating parties.
“You wanted
me to read that Trail of Tears article, and I haven’t. I figured you have another copy, and I could do it now.”
“You had the entire Christmas break plus three school-cancellation days to read it. You’re telling me you haven’t even started it?”
“I knew you’d be mad, so that’s why I brought my lunch. I knew you’d want me to read it now.”
Mrs. Newman crossed her arms. She did not fake smile. “Take your lunch to the cafeteria and eat with the kids. If there’s a problem, hiding in the classroom can’t be your first choice. Try to resolve it. I’ll expect you to finish that article over the weekend.”
She shuffled the papers on her desk, which told me the discussion was closed.
At lunch, the girls around me talked about their Christmas presents. New phones. New tablets. Gift cards. Bao told us about her aunt’s terrible cooking. Julia told us Miguel slipped on the ice and hurt his back. Emma told us her brother left a can of Coke in the car, and it froze and exploded.
I wanted to tell them about our frosted-cracker dessert, Christmas Day caroling, and Mom starting the car with a hair dryer. But I stayed quiet. I stared at my lunch and ate the corn one kernel at a time.
After school I told Julia I had a headache. She went to the museum alone, and I went home and headed straight to my bedroom. Rose was lying on her bed with the Laura biography she got for Christmas. She handed our phone to me.
“You have a text message.”
The message was from Julia. Gloria brought cookies. I’ll bring some home for you. Feel better soon!
Rose put the book in the drawer of the nightstand. “I’m not going to finish this biography. Don’t tell Mom. I don’t want to hurt her feelings. Do you want to read it?”
“Why wouldn’t you finish it?”
“It’s not like Laura’s books. It’s boring and sad.”
“But it’s Laura. You love Laura.” I searched through the stack of books and papers on the floor. “Hey, have you seen an article with Trail of Tears in the title? I have to read it, or Mrs. Newman’s laser eyes might blast me into oblivion.”
“I think it’s in that stack of newspapers on the table. I read it.”
“You must be bored if you’re reading my schoolwork.” I sat down next to her. “Why don’t you ever hang out with friends anymore?”
Laura Ingalls Is Ruining My Life Page 11