“The paramedics said it looked serious,” Kevin said, his voice cracking.
I drew my knees to my chest and hugged them. “But G-Mags is tough. Remember those stories she told us about how poor she was? How her family hardly had any food—and there was no medicine when she got sick? She’s a survivor.” I knew it wasn’t the same as surviving a stroke, but I wanted so much to make Kevin feel better.
His eyes brightened and he gave a tiny smile. “She is tough, isn’t she?”
“Sure she is.”
Seconds passed, and the brightness faded. “People can die from strokes,” he said. “Or become paralyzed for the rest of their lives.”
“But it doesn’t always happen. I’ve heard of people having strokes and being okay afterward. I’m sure G-Mags will be fine in the morning.”
Kevin rolled sideways, away from me. “You can’t be sure.”
I clasped my knees tighter. “But I am sure.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I just feel it.”
After a few minutes of silence, I tiptoed to my bedroom. There was no use trying to explain things. I didn’t even understand what was going on myself.
Once I was in my bed, I stared out the window at the same wispy moon I’d seen behind Kevin’s parents each night. I knew from science class that it was a waxing crescent moon, which meant it was moving toward being full.
I studied it a little longer, imagining it as the final curve in a pair of parentheses, the close of a single thought, suspended in the infinite sky.
CHAPTER 19
When the clock rang at seven, the first thing I did was to stretch my tongue toward my back teeth. Yes! No broken bracket. The inside of my cheek was as smooth as a baby’s.
Later, when Kevin and I visited Mr. Sidhu’s shop, I realized it had to have been several weeks since the time loop started. I was pretty familiar with the inventory on those floor-to-ceiling shelves, and I’d read quite a few of the books.
I passed a table filled with mystery novels, squeezed together like a deck of cards. A similar table marked ROMANCE sat across from Mr. Sidhu, who was behind the counter, reading a worn-out paperback with an old-fashioned spaceship on the front.
While Kevin talked to Mr. Sidhu, I browsed through the kids’ mystery novels. It was the third day in a row I was buying the same book about a stolen painting. I planned on finishing it that night. I had my eye on another mystery for the next day. That one had a shadow, a shoe, and a key on the cover.
When I brought my book to the counter, Kevin was deep in conversation with Mr. Sidhu. As he listened, Mr. Sidhu’s bushy, black eyebrows moved up and down. He was saying what he said every day—even before the time loop started—that the DVD set Kevin wanted was $59.99.
Kevin stuck his hand in his pocket and frowned. “I don’t have that much money.”
Mr. Sidhu looked sympathetic. “Do you have a birthday coming up? Maybe you can make a list. Put these on it.”
Kevin shook his head. “It’s not until October.”
“I am sorry,” Mr. Sidhu said. “But I cannot change the price. This is a collector’s item. But I will tell you what I can do. If anyone comes here and shows an interest in the DVDs, I will give you a call first. You can let me know if you have saved up enough money to buy them.” He handed Kevin a card to write on.
“But I live more than an hour away.”
“Do not worry,” Mr. Sidhu said. “I will hold them for you.”
“Wow, thanks. I’ll start saving my allowance as soon as I get back to Montclair.” Kevin scribbled his name and number on the card and pushed it across the counter.
He gave me a big smile as we headed toward the door. I smiled back, but I couldn’t help but feel a little sad that Kevin would never save up enough money to buy those DVDs.
CHAPTER 20
While I waited for Kevin to arrive on the boardwalk with his cow suit, my skin tingled with excitement. I’d decided to do something different. Something I never would have done before the time loop.
A seagull dive-bombed a stale french fry as Kevin came up behind me. As always, he analyzed the man and woman and asked me if I wanted to put on the suit. That day I said, “Yes.”
I stumbled as my sandal caught on the fabric. Once I got my footing, I looked up at him and asked, “What does a cow say when she trips?”
“I don’t know?”
“Moops!”
Kevin yelled, “Moops! Moops!” as he pretended to trip. Then the two of us laughed so hard that we had to stop ourselves from falling off the boardwalk into the sand.
Once I pulled on the hood with the ears, I posed like a fashion model with my hand on my hip.
“I’ve got to get some footage of this,” Kevin said. He held up his camera and shouted, “Lights, camera, action!”
It was surprisingly fun walking down the boardwalk in costume. A little boy waved and smiled—as if I were a celebrity. Or maybe he thought I would give him a free sample of chicken, like that cow at the mall food court.
Some people made sure they kept their distance—as if I had some type of disease. Still, it was fun to watch people’s reactions as I paraded along the boardwalk. I stopped and turned to Kevin. “I’m beginning to like this moo-squerade.”
“It’s cool to do something different once in a while,” he said. “Isn’t it?”
I bumped him with my hindquarter. “You don’t know the half-and-half of it.”
• • •
As I tapped the golf ball once and sent it straight to the Humpty Dumpty hole, it struck me how much I was changing when it came to sports and art, while everything else stayed the same.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Kevin said. “You always complain you’re not good at sports.”
“Beginner’s luck.” The truth was that after all the practice, I’d figured out the trick of striking the ball a certain way, depending on which hole I was at.
Day after day, as my score improved, I realized how much Kevin did not like to lose at mini golf. After all, he was the one with the expertise. But I was playing as well as he was. Sometimes better.
I tried to stop myself from hitting the ball in the precise place or tapping it just the right amount, but I was really enjoying winning.
One day while watching Kevin struggle to get the ball past the paddles of the windmill, I felt a pang of guilt.
Then, suddenly, I had a great idea.
CHAPTER 21
The next morning, I crept into the living room early and inched open the top drawer of Dad’s desk, where he kept his wallet. My pulse pounded as I ran my fingers across the smooth, black leather.
I reached into the dollars compartment and flipped through the bills: two fifties, a twenty, and a ten. Pressing my lips together, I held my breath and pulled out a fifty and a twenty.
My hands felt sweaty. I’d never stolen anything in my life.
But it wasn’t really stealing. Was it?
I was just borrowing the money. I knew my father wouldn’t touch his wallet all day. The next morning, his money would be back inside. He’d never know I took it.
I slipped the bills into my backpack and continued the day as if nothing unusual had happened.
Still, all morning long, I felt an excitement that I’d never experienced before. Was it because I was planning to surprise Kevin? Or that I’d gotten away with stealing?
During breakfast, while Kevin told me once again about his latest movie idea, I secretly plotted how I would get away from him.
I waited until he went home for the cow suit, knowing I had exactly twenty-two minutes until he came back. As soon as he was out of sight, I raced to the store.
“How may I help you?” Mr. Sidhu asked in his usual cheery voice.
“You know that DVD set that my friend Kevin has been looking at?”
“Of course,” he said, reaching behind the counter. “Your friend has very good taste.”
The DVDs were wrapped in plastic, so all I could see wa
s the movie on top: The Colossus of New York. “You’re sure this is what he wanted?” I asked.
“Oh yes. These are four movies made many years ago. In the fifties. Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Day the Earth Stood Still, The Blob, and this one.” He pointed to the picture on the top DVD. There was a scary robot, a bunch of screaming people, and New York City in the background. Kevin would love it. And he’d finally get to see the beginning of that movie he’d been watching on TV.
I grabbed my wallet from my backpack and pulled out two bills. Mr. Sidhu’s eyebrows came together. A wayward curl of black hair dangled in the middle of his forehead. “So, you are buying this for your friend as a gift?”
“Yes.”
“This is a very expensive gift.”
“Uh, well, I’ve been saving my money for it. I want to surprise Kevin.”
Mr. Sidhu held the fifty up to the light and ran a marker across the front. “I must make sure any bill over twenty is not counterfeit,” he said matter-of-factly. “Unfortunately, there are many dishonest people in this world.”
I looked down and swallowed hard. Had he emphasized the word “dishonest,” or was it my imagination?
“I am sorry I do not have wrapping paper,” Mr. Sidhu said.
“It’s okay,” I answered. “It’s not Kevin’s birthday or anything.” The musty old book smell in the shop had gone from soothing to suffocating. The heel of my right foot bounced, and I couldn’t make it stop.
Mr. Sidhu pulled a plastic bag out from under the counter and then slipped the DVDs inside. It felt like he was doing everything in slow motion.
“This is a fine gift,” Mr. Sidhu said. “You are a very generous friend.”
Could he tell I was lying about saving the money? I’d heard people do weird things with their eyes when they aren’t telling the truth. Walking toward the exit, I tried to steady my eyeballs. I looked back over my shoulder, half expecting Mr. Sidhu to call the police as I opened the door. But he just waved and said, “I hope your friend enjoys the movies.”
I took a huge breath of fresh air and shouted, “Thanks. I’m sure he will.”
I sprinted back to where I was supposed to meet Kevin and tried to shake off the slithery feeling running through my veins.
As I watched him bound toward me in his cow suit, I forgot about everything. I couldn’t wait to give him the gift. I pretended to be surprised as I listened to his cow facts and his theory about the cow suit personality test. But as soon as he finished, I whipped the DVDs out of my backpack and handed them to him.
His eyes widened. “What? Where did you get these?”
“At the store, of course.”
“But where did you get the money? They’re so expensive.”
“Um, they went on sale.” Another lie. I was getting good at it.
Kevin examined the DVDs. “This is so cool. Thanks!” He looked at me. “But we have to watch them together. Once we leave the shore, you can come to my house and we’ll have a movie marathon.”
“Yeah . . . that’ll be great.” I gave a weak smile, knowing we’d never be able to watch all those movies together. The next morning they’d be back in the store, sitting on the shelf behind Mr. Sidhu.
A lump rose in my throat as I looked at Kevin’s face, full of anticipation. I felt like a piece of fruit that was rotten on the inside, but still smooth and perfect on the outside.
CHAPTER 22
Once we got back from Atlantic City, instead of turning on the TV, Kevin pulled out one of his new DVDs. “C’mon,” he said, setting his laptop on the kitchen table. “We can catch The Colossus of New York before dinner. He slipped the DVD into the slot and dragged two chairs together. Sitting next to him, I tried to contain my secret joy that I didn’t have to watch the end of The Day the Earth Stood Still for the gazillionth time.
The smell of ragout and rosemary surrounded us. The movie was a sad one, about a man who got hit by a car and died. His father, a famous brain surgeon, operated and put his son’s brain into a robot. But the robot turned bad and started terrorizing people.
Just as the robot was using his X-ray eyes to kill someone, Mr. Damico came into the kitchen. “Ah,” he said, “The Colossus of New York. I saw that one when I was about your age. Scary, isn’t it?”
“No way,” Kevin said. “It’s cool.”
Mr. Damico laughed. “I guess it’s cool. It’s kind of a fifties version of Frankenstein.”
Kevin paused the DVD. “What do you mean?”
Mr. Damico sat across from us. “Well, the brain surgeon father in the movie is just like Dr. Frankenstein. He starts off with good intentions but, instead, creates a monster.”
“What are his good intentions?” Kevin asked.
“I suppose both stories have to do with finding the secret to immortality.”
The second Mr. Damico finished, I blurted, without thinking, “But isn’t that a good thing?”
Mr. Damico shook his head. “It never seems to work out. It’s like they used to say in that old margarine commercial: ‘It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature.’ ”
Kevin gave a puzzled look. “What does that have to do with margarine?”
Mr. Damico shrugged. “I can’t remember. But that phrase always stuck with me.”
It stuck with me, too—all through the movie and dinner. By the time Kevin wanted me to play Scrabble, my mind was as mixed up as the tiles Kevin poured out onto the table. Still, I picked the same ones I did every night. I’d memorized everyone’s letters as well as the words they’d put down. And I’d secretly researched tons of words on the Internet so I could figure out how to get the most points. I knew it was cheating. But it was just a game. It wasn’t hurting anyone. Right?
So when Kevin put the letters M, R, O, N next to the letter O that was already on the board, I was ready. I scrunched up my face as if I were concentrating really hard, and then placed my O, X, and Y before the word “MORON.” “Yes! Forty-two points!” I shouted.
“Oxymoron?” Kevin said. “How did you know how to spell that?”
“I looked it up.”
“What?” he said. “When? You’ve been sitting here the whole time.”
“Uh, I mean I looked it up once in school—when we studied poetry. It’s when you put two words together that contradict each other.”
“She’s right, son,” Mr. Damico said. “She’s gotten us good.”
I looked over at Mr. Damico and announced with authority, “Shakespeare uses it a lot. Like in Romeo and Juliet, when Romeo says, ‘O brawling love! O loving hate!’ ”
Mr. Damico stroked his chin. “That’s very impressive, Haleigh.”
I felt a little guilty for trying to out-trivia Mr. Damico but thanked him anyway.
Kevin gave a baffled look, mixed with some frustration because I’d gotten so many points. “How can hate be loving?”
I shrugged and looked around the table for someone else to answer.
G-Mags chimed in from the couch, “When you get to be my age, you realize such contradictions are everywhere—wise fools, poor little rich girls . . .”
Kevin was quiet for a minute. “I’ve got one! The living dead—you know, like zombies.”
Mrs. Damico laughed and said, “Leave it to Kevin to bring science fiction movies into it.”
I could tell that made Kevin feel better. We continued with the game until it was time for me to go.
On the porch, I gave G-Mags the usual hug before leaving. And I smiled when she told me to come back in the morning, like she did every night.
But as I walked away with Dad, I couldn’t get the words “living dead” out of my mind.
CHAPTER 23
That night, I lay in bed thinking about pizza and how I might never again get a slice at Chris’s Place. Mom, Dad, and I would go there every Sunday night. When Chris would see us coming, he’d throw the sausage and pepperoni on the half for Dad and shove the pizza in the oven before we were even in our seats. I’d never realized how sp
ecial those nights were. Or how much I’d miss them.
I took another glimpse of the painting on my desk. Up until then, I’d told myself I’d made the perfect wish. But I was starting to wonder.
When I heard Mom’s footsteps, I jumped off the bed and started packing.
“All set for tomorrow?” she asked, entering my room.
I threw a shirt in my suitcase and nodded. Before I’d found the paint set, I never lied. At least, hardly ever. There was that time I’d told Abbey her new dress was pretty—even though I didn’t like the shade of red. But that hadn’t been a bad lie. Ever since the time loop started, I’d been lying to everyone. I felt like something inside me was shriveling up, like a seed with no water.
I wanted to tell the truth, but if I did, who would believe that we were all repeating the same day over and over? I wasn’t even sure if it was happening only here at the shore. Or in all of New Jersey. Or, maybe, all over the world.
Were artists everywhere doing the same sketches over and over again every day? Just like I was.
“I’ll give you a hand,” Mom said. She picked up my sketchpad off the floor. “Did you do any drawings today?”
“A few.”
“I’d love to see what you’ve done.”
I flipped the cover and showed Mom some of the sketches I’d made earlier that day of Kevin and G-Mags.
She put her hand to her chest. “Oh my!” she exclaimed.
I dropped the pad and turned to her. “What is it? Are you okay?”
“These drawings. They’re beautiful.”
“Mom, you scared me!”
“Why have you been hiding them?”
“Uh, I don’t know . . . to surprise you?” I really did hate lying to her.
“I knew you’d been practicing, but I had no idea how much you’d improved this summer.” Her eyes got shiny.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t believe how lucky I am to have a daughter with this much talent. This drawing of Kevin . . . look at those details . . . just beautiful.” She stroked my hair. “And you haven’t even started lessons with your new art teacher yet.”
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