Wow. Triple wow.
“I know you probably don’t even want to be my friend anymore it’s so embarrassing,” he said with a sniff. “I wouldn’t blame you.”
“Is this why we can never stay over at the farm?” I asked. “Is this why she never lets you sleep over anywhere?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“Wow,” I said out loud this time. “That’s so messed up.”
“I know,” he said.
“So what are we going to do about Michael?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” Atticus shook his head. “I don’t know.”
I knew what Atticus was afraid of. It wasn’t just that Michael might make fun of him. It was that Michael would know. Michael would know something that almost nobody had known. Not even me.
“It even happened to my dad when he was my age,” Atticus said, “but my mom just doesn’t get it. He tries to tell her to leave me alone but she doesn’t and then it just gets worse. She’s gonna freak out when she sees my sheets this morning. If I was there, she’d be freaking out on me right now. And Michael would hear. Everyone would hear.”
I had never seen Atticus look desperate before.
“It’s going to be okay,” I finally said.
He just looked at me. “How do you know?” he asked, like he really needed the answer.
“Because we’re pinky friends,” I said. “And I just know.”
I stuck out my pinky finger. In second grade, we came up with this idea of being pinky friends. Whenever anything bad happened, one of us would stick out our pinky finger to the other. Usually it was Atticus who was sticking his pinky out to me because usually I was the one with something bad happening. We would shake pinky fingers and it would all be okay. We hadn’t done it since third grade—when we decided we were too old for pinky shakes.
This morning we were not too old for anything.
He looked at me. I looked at him. He stuck out his pinky finger and we shook.
“Okay, then,” he said.
“Okay,” I answered.
“And if that doesn’t work, I’ll talk to him,” I said. “Michael’s a little scared of me, you know.”
Atticus almost smiled, then said, “Yeah, I know.”
He wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve and sniffed real loud. He saw M’s stocking on my bed and pulled out the collar from inside.
After a long minute, he said, “You know, I had a dream about M last night.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. It was really real, too. She was in that shed by the water tower. You know, the one that looks like nobody ever goes in there.”
“Was she okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. She was.”
He started shaking the ball with the bell inside next to his ear.
“Well, let’s go, then,” I said.
“Avie, it was just a dream.”
“I know,” I said. I picked up M’s new collar and fastened it around my wrist. “I know,” I repeated, and took the collar off again.
I couldn’t shake this feeling, though. It was a grand-idea feeling and it was banging to get out.
“Yeah, but what if it wasn’t just a dream,” I said. “What if somehow, you can see things in your dreams that nobody else can? What if your dream was your Infinity Year power?” I paused and let this sink in for a second, then looked at him real hard. “Atticus, what if M really is at the water tower?”
“Come on, Avie. Dreaming is not my Infinity Year power. X-ray vision or flying or something like that—those are magical powers. Not dreaming.”
“But how do we know? Atticus, it could be anything! It could be dreaming! What if you can dream things that come true? What if that’s really your magical power?” A part of me thought it was crazy, too, but I so wanted to believe. I missed M so much. I was willing to try anything.
“Okay,” he said. “Why not? I can’t get into any worse trouble than I’m already in today.”
“Really?” I asked. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Let’s go to the water tower.”
* * *
I wasn’t sure my mom would think an expedition to the water tower would be a good idea. So instead of using the front door and possibly waking her, Atticus and I snuck out my bedroom window. I grabbed my bike quietly from the garage and joined him on the driveway. I had on two sweaters, my heavy coat, and my reindeer hat. I was still freezing.
It was seven o’clock the day after Christmas, so nobody was on the streets. We rode past the school and down the long main road that led toward town. We took a left onto Duffy Drive and saw the water tower up in the distance. We sped down the street riding side by side like we owned the road.
The water tower has been in our town for something like a hundred years. We pulled onto the gravel road that leads to the tower and parked our bikes at the bottom of it.
Every year at the end of school, some high schoolers climb to the top and spray-paint stuff up there. We looked up and read what they wrote last spring.
Lions Rule!
Mr. Waxberger Stinks
Will ♥ Caroline
Will actually climbed up there and spray-painted the last one. Caroline said it was a dumb thing to do, but I think she secretly liked it.
The shed was past the water tower back toward the woods. It was bigger than I had thought. It was really more of a cabin. A dirty, rickety, probably dangerous cabin.
I followed Atticus to the door and he turned the knob. It didn’t open at first but he shook the handle a few times and pushed real hard. Finally, the door gave way.
It looked like no one had been inside for about a million years. There were old rusty desks stacked on top of one another, filing cabinets with drawers hanging open, and lots of broken rakes and hoes and shovels scattered all over. In other words, the place was full of old junk. Junk that was covered with at least an inch of dust.
“M,” I said as we walked inside. “M, are you here?”
We didn’t hear anything. We walked in farther.
“Marmalade!” I said louder.
We waited but M didn’t answer. I sat down on a dusty crate and put my head in my hands.
“I knew it was stupid to get my hopes up,” I said.
“It wasn’t that stupid,” Atticus said as he sat down beside me. I looked at him. “Yeah, it was a little stupid,” he said.
“I just miss her, you know. I don’t know what I’m going to do. She’s been gone a whole week. Maybe she’s never coming back. Maybe I’ll never see her again. I miss her so much, Atticus.”
I started to cry. I just couldn’t help it. We sat in that horrible shed and Atticus watched me. I must have cried for a whole minute.
“I’m sorry,” I finally said, and sniffed. As sad as I was, I remembered that Atticus had come to me with a big problem that morning. I needed to get it together. I sniffed again. “What are we going to do about Michael and your mom?”
“I don’t know,” he said, his shoulders drooping. “I don’t think there’s anything I can do.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“My dad says—” Atticus suddenly stopped talking. His head jerked up. “What was that?”
It was dead silent in the shed for about ten seconds. Then we heard it.
Meow.
We looked at each other. I wiped my eyes and listened harder.
Meow.
There it was again!
I jumped up. “M!” I cried. “M!”
She appeared through a gap in the filing cabinets. She was scraggly-looking and missing part of an ear. It was M, though. It was my kitty.
“M,” I said, and ran to her. I picked her up and gave her a big hug. She felt thinner. If I had to tell the truth, like in a courtroom or something, I’d have to admit that M has always been kind of a fat cat. Maybe all that fat had helped her last this long.
I turned to Atticus. “You did it! Your dream was true. You got your magical power!”
“I guess I did,” Atticus said. Hi
s mouth dropped open like he could hardly believe it.
I held M close and kissed her between the ears. Atticus and I sat back down on the dusty crate and petted M until she started purring. We watched her start to come back to being herself.
Atticus was grinning. “What’s so funny?” I asked, grinning back.
“I was starting to doubt. I really was.”
I knew what he was talking about. We had been waiting for our Infinity Year powers for so long, he was beginning to think they would never come.
“Me too,” I said.
“Yours will come soon, I bet. Anytime now.”
“You’re probably right.” I hadn’t told him about my mind-talking with animals yet. Too many things had gotten in the way. And I wasn’t really sure about it. “It doesn’t even matter right now,” I said, rubbing my cheek against M’s head. “I’m just so happy to have my M back.”
Atticus had a far-off look in his eyes. “I wonder what I’ll dream of next,” he said. I smiled inside. Atticus was already daydreaming about his future night-dreaming.
As the three of us sat in that cold, dusty, rickety shed, it finally felt like Christmas.
Gently, I wrapped M in my coat. We made our way out of the shed and tucked M carefully in the basket on the front of my bike. She rode in the basket all the way home.
As we headed down my street, Atticus started slowing down. Mrs. Brightwell’s car was in my driveway.
We both stopped our bikes. “What do we do?” I asked.
Atticus sighed. “We get this over with.”
We parked our bikes in the garage. I gathered up M in my coat and Atticus led the way inside.
Mrs. Brightwell and my mom were sitting at our kitchen table. As soon as they saw us, they were both on their feet.
“Avalon,” Mom said.
“Atticus,” Mrs. Brightwell said. They said our names at the very same time.
“Where have you been?” Mom asked. She looked mad but I could tell she was actually worried.
“How did you get here?” Mrs. Brightwell asked Atticus. She looked mad and I could tell she was actually mad. Atticus tried to answer but she just kept talking. “What were you thinking riding your bike all the way over here?” she said. “It’s freezing out there and you could have been hurt and it’s the day after Christmas and—”
“You found her!” Mom suddenly exclaimed. She was looking at M’s head peeking out of my coat. “How did you find her?”
Mom took M out of my hands and held her close. I had never seen my mom so happy to see anyone before.
“Atticus found her,” I said, smiling.
I looked at Atticus. He was smiling, too.
Mrs. Brightwell was not smiling. She turned and picked up her purse off one of the chairs in the kitchen. “Atticus, we have to go,” she said.
I looked at her and she looked at me. Yes, Mrs. Brightwell did not like me. Maybe it was because we lived in the wrong part of town. Maybe it was because my father was in prison.
Or maybe it was just because Atticus liked me.
Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. Atticus had told me his secret, and there was nothing she could do about that.
I gave her a look, though. It was a look that said don’t mess with my best friend. She may not like that we are best friends. But we are. It didn’t matter that we were in separate classes. It didn’t matter that we sat at different tables at lunch. We were best friends. And that was something that was never going to end. You know, like infinity.
That’s just the way it is, Mrs. Brightwell.
ELEVEN
Atticus had gotten his magical power. There was no denying it. So that meant that Pop-pop was right. This was our Infinity Year.
If it had been some other kind of power, one that didn’t help me find M, I might have been a little jealous. But I wasn’t jealous. I was curious.
What was my magical power going to be? Was it really talking to animals with my mind or was that a little silly? Atticus’s magical power definitely showed up when I needed it most. I wondered if mine would show up like that.
It felt like a big fat mystery.
M was doing much better. She had to stay at the vet on that first night, but then she came home and has been camped out on our bed ever since. Her new collar didn’t fit because she had lost so much weight. I have put my mind-talking experiments on hold while she is getting better.
Atticus and I have talked about what we think happened to M many times. We have decided on this version of the story:
Before I got up on that Friday before Christmas, Mr. Squirrel tapped on the window and woke up M. M got mad. This was the morning she decided she wasn’t going to take it anymore. When she heard Mom take up the garbage cans, M thought this was her chance. She would go outside—just for a few minutes—and take a swipe at that Mr. Squirrel. Show him who was boss and that sort of thing.
M snuck past the open door and tiptoed through the grass toward my window. Mr. Squirrel heard her, though, and turned around. Their eyes met. Mr. Squirrel has very taunting eyes. So when that squirrel took off through the neighborhood, M could not resist it. She chased after him—all the way to the water tower. Mr. Squirrel climbed up a tree beside the shed and jumped through a broken window that was way up high. M followed him up the tree and jumped through the window, too, but my fat cat couldn’t get back out. Mr. Squirrel could, though—and did—leaving my M alone, to die.
That Mr. Squirrel is one evil rotten rodent.
I didn’t like thinking about how M might have lost a piece of her ear, so we didn’t try to figure that part out. I was okay with that remaining a mystery.
Since the day we found M, Atticus and I hadn’t talked about his secret. Not one time. Whenever I wanted to bring it up, I got the feeling I shouldn’t. It was kind of like how Atticus never talked about my dad being in prison—unless I talked about it first. So I decided to be okay with it. If he wanted to talk about it, I figured he would.
School started back up and I geared everything in my life toward one thing. The spelling bee. Ever since the classroom bee, Isabel Fernandez had joined me and Mrs. Jackson on Monday and Wednesday afternoons for our spelling drills. Now that the school bee was only three weeks away, we started meeting on Thursday afternoons, too.
We learned a lot together in the three weeks before the bee. Mrs. Jackson really focused on etymology. That means the origins of words. She told us how most of the words we use today can be traced back to their ancient beginnings. They can come from old French words, old Greek words, even old English words. Our words come from everywhere and everyone.
Over the past couple of months, I had also learned some things about Isabel. Her grandparents live in Ecuador and she goes to visit them every summer with the rest of her family, which includes her parents, three brothers, and two sisters. She has a big family and they can all speak Spanish, so she is very good at spelling words with Spanish origins.
I don’t have a big family or speak another language, but I was starting to see that Isabel and I have a few things in common. First, we are both superior spellers. Second, we both have a cat that we absolutely love. Her cat is named Daisy and she showed me a picture of her while we were waiting for Mrs. Jackson one afternoon.
Last, we aren’t like the other girls. I’ve noticed that a lot of girls at school come in groups. There was Elena, Sissy, and Chloe, of course. Then there was Mae, Hannah, and their other friends, Courtney and Emma. Mae was nice to me and we were friends, sort of, but I wasn’t part of their circle.
Isabel is like me. We don’t hang out with other girls much. We don’t have girl friends. We have our spelling. We have our cats. And lucky for me, I have Atticus. I didn’t think there was an Atticus in Isabel’s life.
The Sunday before the bee, Atticus came over all afternoon to help me prepare. When he was reading the flashcards, sometimes he pronounced the words wrong but I could usually figure out what he meant and spell them correctly anyway.
M
sat on my lap or his lap the whole time. She was gaining weight and starting to act like her old self again.
The big bee was on Thursday evening, and Atticus had promised to be there. I didn’t know about my mom yet. She had to work and hadn’t been able to find someone to cover her shift. She was going to try to get off early but couldn’t be sure.
So much for my cheering section.
On Wednesday afternoon, Isabel and I sat across from Mrs. Jackson for the very last time. Mrs. Jackson quizzed us for about an hour by calling out words from her big spelling book. After Isabel spelled graffiti correctly, Mrs. Jackson closed her book and looked at us.
“I think we’ve done enough,” she said.
“Are you sure? Because what if we get asked a word we don’t know tomorrow?” I asked, rather nervously.
“That will very likely happen,” she said. “But you two have tools now. If you don’t know a word, ask the questions about it. That will help you figure it out.”
Mrs. Jackson was going to be the moderator at the big bee, so we would be asking her all the spelling questions, just like we did during our drills.
She suddenly smiled. “Just remember to breathe,” she said, looking at both of us. “And have fun. Spelling bees are supposed to be fun.”
Right.
* * *
The Grover Cleveland School-Wide Spelling Bee started on Thursday evening at 7:00 p.m.
I had gone to Isabel’s house after school and we kept studying our flashcards until it was time to go back to school for the bee. At 6:15 p.m., we put away our flashcards and gave each other a high five. Isabel Fernandez and Avalon James were ready.
At 6:50 p.m., we entered the Grover Cleveland Lunchroom and Auditorium. It was already starting to fill up with parents and kids in the audience. Isabel’s mom took us backstage to join the other spellers. There were thirty-eight of us altogether.
The Infinity Year of Avalon James Page 9