I was absolutely dumbfounded. I guess Wren wasn’t so predictable after all.
“Want to sign my cast?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he said.
Other kids had written little messages or pictures or signed their whole names, but Wren just wrote “Wren.”
“Hey, can I sign?” asked Matthew Sawyer, and I said, “Sure.” He was sitting in Africa, too. I thought he was going to write something dumb, like “Smell you later,” but he just wrote, “Feel better soon. Matthew Whitman Sawyer.”
He felt really bad because it had been his granola bar wrapper that made me slip and break my wrist, so he was extra nice. Plus, he knows a lot of helpful tips about caring for broken bones because his mom is a doctor.
“If it gets really itchy, you could stick a chopstick inside to scratch it,” he said. “It works really well.”
“Hey, that’s a really good idea,” I said. “Thanks.”
In fact, everyone was extra nice to me, even Miss Tibbs. At recess, she zipped up my jacket for me, because zipping jackets is one of those things you really need two hands for, like opening thermoses and putting tops on markers.
As she zipped up my jacket, I looked closely at Miss Tibbs.
She was wearing her usual black coat, but underneath I saw a glimpse of red peeking through.
Miss Tibbs never wore red. Miss Tibbs never wore green. Miss Tibbs never wore any color at all. Only black.
Curiouser and curiouser, I thought.
Then I noticed what Miss Tibbs was wearing on her head.
A hat. A brown, checkered hat. The old-fashioned kind that looks like it belongs in a black-and-white movie.
I have only seen one other person wearing that kind of hat.
Seymour Luntzgarten!
That’s when I remembered how I had introduced the two of them at the memorial for Ezra’s guinea pig. They had also both signed the petition I made to get Miss Mabel a new speaker. And I definitely remember Miss Tibbs writing down Mr. Luntzgarten’s phone number on a piece of paper and slipping it in her pocket.
Those sneaky suckers! They’d fallen in love!
“I like your hat, Miss Tibbs,” I said. “Is it new?”
“Yes, or, rather, no,” she stammered. “Yes and no, I suppose. It’s an old hat but new to me. A friend gave it to me.”
Bingo!
I could just hear the wedding bells ringing! And if Miss Tibbs and Mr. Luntzgarten got married, I’d definitely be the flower girl! At the party, grumpy old Mr. Luntzgarten would give a toast and say, “The true hero tonight is Veronica Laverne Conti. Without her, none of this would be possible. Three cheers for Veronica!” There would not be a dry eye in the place.
“What’s your favorite kind of flower, Miss Tibbs?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” she replied. “Daisies, perhaps. Or mums. Why?”
“Oh, no reason.” I smiled. “You know, I’m right-handed. That means my broken wrist does not stop me from doing things like writing or brushing my teeth or, I don’t know … sprinkling flower petals.”
Miss Tibbs looked really confused, but she just said, “I’m glad, Miss Conti.”
That’s when Jude came over to play with me, just like he’d promised he would. But it wasn’t just him. All the Fix-It Friends came, too, including our clients. Cora wasn’t there of course, but I hardly even noticed because I was so happy to see Liv and Maya and Noah and even J.J. Taylor.
“Hi, guys! What are you all doing here?” I asked.
“Jude and Ezra said you could use some company,” said J.J.
“We’re here,” said Liv, doing a pirouette, “for cheer!”
She did a ballet kick and landed in a ta-da! position.
“What do you want to play?” asked Maya in her small, whispery voice.
“Well, that’s the problem,” I said. “I can’t play much with this broken wrist.”
“Umm, problem? Did someone say problem?” asked Jude, raising his eyebrows. “Because I happen to be the president of a world-famous problem-solving group—”
I giggled. “Jude! Cut it out!”
The Fix-It Friends don’t have a president. And if we did, of course, it would be me!
“So you can’t do much with your broken wrist,” said Ezra, “but you can talk, can’t you?”
“Trust me,” said Jude, rolling his eyes. “She can talk, all right.”
“So how about a few rounds of a little game I like to call…” Ezra paused to make sure I was full of anticipation. “… ‘Would You Rather?’”
“Yes!” I squealed. “You’re a genius!”
It was the perfect idea. I have always loved playing “Would You Rather?” but I could never play with Cora because she just doesn’t get it.
I’d ask her, “Would you rather have the ability to fly or breathe underwater?”
“Oooooh, I can’t choose!” she’d say. “They’re both so wonderful!”
And when she would pick the choices, it was worse, because she always made it too easy by making one choice terrible and the other one great, like, “Would you rather eat boiled worms or a hot-fudge sundae with extra whipped cream?”
But Jude and Ezra are experts at “Would You Rather?” So we all sat down on the ground and played.
“Would you rather eat your favorite food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the rest of your life,” asked Ezra, “or never eat it ever again?”
“Never eat it again,” said Jude. “Then I’d always have great memories and never get sick of it.”
“Are you kidding?” I said. “Eat it for every meal! You can’t get enough of a good thing!”
Liv piped up then. “Would you rather get stung by a swarm of bees or pinched by a bunch of hermit crabs?”
“Crabs!” Maya said quickly. She is terrified of bugs.
“No way!” came Matthew Sawyer’s voice. A second later, he plopped down next to Maya. “I’d rather get bee stings, for sure. Some people think bee venom can be used as medicine, you know. For arthritis and stuff. My mom told me about it.”
“Can bees cure a broken wrist?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” said Matt.
“Then I agree with Maya,” I said. “Crabs! A pinch isn’t so bad. After all, my grandparents pinch my cheeks all the time!”
We had so much fun that I sat next to Matt during lunch and kept playing. Wren sat with us, too. He didn’t ask any questions, but he was good at making choices lightning fast, without any explanations. He’d just spit out the answers, very sure of himself.
“Porcupine poop.”
“Bed of nails.”
“Zombie puppet.”
I saw that Margot and Cora were eating school lunch together at the other end of the table, but, after a while, I didn’t even notice them.
Chapter 19
The next morning, a miracle happened! When I walked into the classroom, there was Minnie! She had finally come back from Puerto Rico!
“Minerva Ramos!” I shrieked. “Am I ever glad to see you!”
She said her abuela was feeling a lot better, which is why they had come home.
Then she had a million questions for me, like why was I wearing a blue cast? And who was the new girl? And why weren’t Cora and I saying one word to each other?
“It’s a long story,” I said. “A tale of heartbreak, betrayal, and one slippery granola bar wrapper. Oh, and, by the way, Miss Tibbs is in love. And Wren’s dad is now a pastry chef.”
“What was he before?” she asked.
“An accountant.”
“Huh,” said Minnie. “I go away for two weeks and everything gets turned upside down.”
* * *
That night after dinner, Mom said, “I know we had to cancel the trampoline party, but I think we should still have your birthday party on Saturday. We’ll just do it here!”
“We’ll see,” I said.
This time, “We’ll see” did not mean “You betcha.” It meant “why bother?”
&nb
sp; Mom wanted to tell me her ideas to make the party fun, but I didn’t feel like talking about it. The next night was the same thing, and the night after that was, too. I knew Cora wouldn’t be there, and I just couldn’t imagine a birthday party without Cora.
On Friday, I went to Minnie’s house after school. We wrote a new song for my demo album, One Tough Cookie. Minnie wrote the music part on her piano, and I wrote the words. It was a slow, sad song called “Three’s a Crowd.”
When Dad and I got home, Jude and Ezra rushed to the door to meet me.
“Close your eyes!” Ezra told me. Then Jude took my right hand and led me into the house.
“Now, open!” said Jude.
I blinked a few times. I was in our living room, only it didn’t really look like our living room. It looked like the bottom of a swimming pool. There were tons of turquoise streamers everywhere—crisscrossing the ceiling and hanging down in strands from the lamps and television and paintings. Everywhere I turned, there were turquoise balloons floating against the ceiling, with turquoise ribbons hanging off of them like tails. There was even a whole line of turquoise party hats waiting on the mantle.
On the wall above the sofa hung a homemade sign decorated with turquoise glitter. I recognized Jude’s handwriting right away. It said:
Happy 8th birthday, Ronny Bo Bonny!!
And there, standing next to the sign, were Jude and Ezra and Pearl, who had a big smudge of turquoise glitter on her cheek and a balloon in each hand.
“Wowza,” I said.
“Wowza,” repeated Pearl.
“It’s for your party tomorrow,” Jude said. “Do you like it? Ezra and I might have gotten a little carried away with the streamers, but I figured that’s just how you like it.”
“We’ve got the entertainment all covered, too,” said Ezra in a rush. “I’m gonna deejay, and we’ll do freeze dancing and a limbo contest and then, of course, the piñata.”
“Oh, Mom never lets us have piñatas,” I said. “She says they’re a one-way ticket to the emergency room.”
“See for yourself,” said Jude, pointing into the hallway.
There was Mom, on a stepladder, hanging a big, white poodle piñata from a hook in the ceiling.
“I thought we’d try it just this once,” said Mom, smiling.
I looked around at Mom and Ezra and Jude and Dad and Pearl. They were all looking at me with big hopeful smiles on their faces. I knew how much they all wanted to make me happy. And I liked the streamers and balloons and party hats and especially the piñata—I really did. But the truth was that I just didn’t feel cheerful.
“Thanks,” I said. I wanted to say it with a lot of pep, but it came out kind of weak. I tried to say it again, with more excitement, but when I opened my mouth, a loud sobbing sound slipped out. Before I knew it, fat, hot tears were sliding down my face.
I ran upstairs as fast as I could, into my bedroom. I threw myself facedown on my bed and cried louder than I had ever cried before.
A minute later, I heard footsteps. I knew they were Mom’s because they were slow and soft. Then I felt a hand on my back and Mom’s voice saying, “Oh, honey.”
“I like the decorations,” I sobbed, “but it’s not really a party without Cora.”
Except I was crying so hard, it just came out: “I like the WAAAAAAAAA, but it’s not WAAAAAA without WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
“Honey, I’m having trouble understanding you,” said Mom. “Is this about Cora? Did you two have a fight?”
I was crying too hard to answer, so I just nodded really fast.
“Because of the new girl?”
I nodded again.
“Did the green-eyed monster rear its head?”
This made me so surprised that I looked up.
“How’d you know Margot has green eyes? You’ve never even met her.”
Mom laughed. “Margot’s not the green-eyed monster,” Mom said. “I’m talking about jealousy. That’s what Shakespeare called it.”
“I guess I’m jealous,” I sniffled, sitting up on the bed. “But how would you feel if some new girl showed up speaking French and wearing zippers and eating oysters and stole your best friend?”
“I’d feel really jealous,” said Mom, squeezing my hand, “and probably a little heartbroken.”
“I just don’t understand what I did to make Cora not like me anymore,” I said.
I laid my head on Mom’s lap, and she twirled my hair like I used to do to myself when I was a baby, sucking on my paci. It still makes me feel oh-so-calm and peaceful.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Mom said.
“Well, I kind of did,” I replied. “I told Cora the clothes she makes are ugly and also that I hate her.”
Mom and I both laughed at the same time.
“Okay, so maybe you did a few things wrong,” she said. “But so what? You’re human. What I mean is that it’s not your fault that Cora made a new friend. It’s not because of anything you did. And it doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you anymore.”
“I just want things to go back to the way they used to be.” I grabbed a tissue and blew my nose hard.
“The thing about friendships is that they can’t stay the same forever. How could they? People change, and friendships have to change, too. But that’s not always a bad thing.”
“It feels bad,” I said. “It feels awful. I don’t even think I’m an optimist anymore. Because I don’t think this will have a happy ending.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Mom. “Sometimes friends grow apart and move on. Sometimes, you just need some space before you find your way back together … and I have a feeling it’s going to be that way with Cora.”
“You do?” I asked hopefully.
“I really do,” she replied. “It’s just my mom-stinct.”
“You know, Mom,” I said. “You’re pretty good at problem-solving. You’re almost Fix-It Friend material. Almost.”
Chapter 20
The next morning, I woke up to the most delicious smell in the world. Fresh, hot waffles! With strawberries! And whipped cream!
Dad always makes me breakfast in bed on my birthday. Then he serves it on a real tray. I love it! It makes me feel like a queen.
Pearl was still sleeping, and we just let her sleep. But the smell woke Jude up, and he climbed down from the top bunk to sit on the foot of my bed, where he stole whipped cream–covered strawberries from my plate.
Mom and Dad sat next to my bed, and while I ate, they told me the story of the day I was born. They tell it to me every year. It’s an exciting story because it starts with a huge snowstorm.
Nobody thought there would be a big snowstorm because it was the end of March, but—surprise! Blizzard!
Then came the next surprise: Even though I wasn’t supposed to be born for two more weeks, my mom started having contractions, which is how you know that a baby’s going to be born. It was late at night, and my mom woke up my dad.
“The baby’s coming!” she said.
“I know, in two weeks,” he said. He was still half asleep.
“No! She’s coming right now!” my mom said.
“She can’t come right now. We’re in the middle of a blizzard!” my dad said.
This is Jude’s favorite part of the story. He always says, “See? Even then you had no patience! And you were already a drama queen.”
So, Mom and Dad had Nana and Nonno come downstairs to babysit Jude, who was only two years old. Then Dad tried to dig the car out from under all the snow so they could drive to the hospital. But it was freezing, and the snow had turned icy, and it was taking too long.
“It’s taking too long!” my mom shouted. “We have to go to the hospital now!”
They had no idea how they would get there. It was way too far to walk, especially in the snow. The subways weren’t working because of the blizzard. And there were no taxis anywhere.
“Did you panic?” I always ask Mom.
“A little,” she said,
“but I knew everything would be all right.”
“How? How’d you know?”
“Mom-stinct,” she always says.
So Dad kept shoveling the snow off the car while Mom waited in the entryway to our building. The contractions kept coming, and she knew she didn’t have much time before the baby, who was me, would be born. And then, suddenly, a birthday miracle happened.
A limousine passed right by our building. It was white and really, really long. Dad ran up to it and waved his arms. This is my favorite part of the story.
The limo stopped, and inside were a bride and groom who had just gotten married! They were driving home from their wedding party.
“My wife’s having a baby! Right now!” Dad said. “Can you give us a lift?”
The bride and groom said, “Sure. Why not?”
Just an hour after that I was born, safe and sound, in the hospital.
Mom and Dad were so grateful to that nice couple that they named me after them. Dad always jokes that they were going to name me after the groom. If they had, right now I’d be Herbert Ewell Conti. That’s Dad’s favorite part of the story.
But they didn’t name me after the groom. They named me after the bride. Her name was Veronica.
And when Mom said my name to just-born me, they knew it was the right name because I grinned a big grin. And even though everyone else thought it was just gas, Mom knew. She just knew. That’s her favorite part of the story. She always gets a tear in her eye when she tells it.
“I can’t believe that was eight years ago today,” said Mom, giving me a squeeze. “Happy birthday, honey.”
Pearl ran in then. She ran so fast that her PJ pants dropped down to her ankles. She yanked them up and then she yanked out her paci and shouted, “’APPY BIFDAY TO ME!”
“Pearl, my girl,” said Dad. “It’s not your birthday—”
“It’s okay, Dad,” I said. “I just thought of something.”
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