Zoe in Wonderland

by Brenda Woods

  Also by Brenda Woods

  The Blossoming Universe of Violet Diamond

  Saint Louis Armstrong Beach

  A Star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame

  My Name Is Sally Little Song

  Emako Blue

  The Red Rose Box

  NANCY PAULSEN BOOKS

  an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street

  New York, NY 10014

  Copyright © 2016 by Brenda Woods.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Nancy Paulsen Books is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  eBook ISBN 9780698172968

  Edited by Nancy Paulsen.

  Design by Annie Ericsson. Text set in Baskerville Classico.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 2016 by Frank Morrison

  Cover design by Kelley Brady

  Version_1

  Contents

  Also by Brenda Woods

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1: Four Things That Definitely Aren’t My Fault

  2: Sort of Like a Seed

  3: A Very Tall Man

  4: Just Zoe

  5: Quincy

  6: Saving Tears

  7: Zoe Remembers

  8: Introducing the Snox

  9: Daddy Reindeer

  10: Now Open on Sunday

  11: The Movie

  12: Waiting

  13: A Super-Sad Saturday

  14: The Worst Zoe Mood Ever

  15: Not Just Zoe Tonight

  16: The Hospital and Kendra

  17: Without Quincy

  18: Trouble

  19: Back at the Wonderland

  20: The Day After Trouble Day

  21: Nana’s Cure

  22: A Sign

  23: The Trouble/Worry/Problem Zapper

  24: A New Friend

  25: Inside Mrs. Warner’s House

  26: Grounded

  27: Zoe and Quincy Together Again

  28: The Boy Comes to the Wonderland

  29: The Baobabs—Still Nothing

  30: Zoe and Harper Discover

  31: Christmas and the Day After

  32: Wind and Tears

  33: The Wonderland’s Ashes

  34: Reindeer in Hawaii

  35: Zoe G. Reindeer’s First Adventure

  36: A New Wonderland

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Brenda Woods

  For Dominic

  1

  Four Things That Definitely Aren’t My Fault

  The first thing that’s definitely not my fault is that our last name is Reindeer. No one, not even Grandpa Reindeer, is quite sure how that came to be the family name. And even though everyone complains about it—well, everyone except my daddy—no one ever did anything to change it. As for me, I get tired of the jokes, especially around Christmastime.

  Once, last year, I explained to Grandpa and Nana Reindeer how you can actually go to court and legally change your name, but they both stared at me like I’d just said a cussword. Then Nana Reindeer shook her finger at me the way she used to when I was little and I’d done something bad and whispered, “Hush, Zoe, with that modern nonsense. Like it or not, it’s our name.”

  The second thing that’s definitely not my fault is that my daddy, Mr. Darrow Reindeer, is a horticulturist, which is a fancy way to say he knows a bunch of stuff about growing flowers and plants and trees. And because I’m the only one of his three kids who’s interested in learning about it, he’s teaching it to me.

  The third thing that’s not my fault either is that we live in a house behind my daddy’s business in Pasadena, California, which is called:

  Doc Reindeer’s Exotic Plant Wonderland

  And if anyone ever asks why he named it that, he informs them that he’s a doctor of plants and this is his wonderland.

  The last thing I cannot and will never be able to take responsibility for is the fact that I have an extremely annoying older sister, Jade, and an even more annoying younger brother, Harper. That puts me, Zoe G. Reindeer, smack-dab in the middle. The G. stands for Gabrielle. It’s also my mom’s name.

  I have to admit there are two things that are my fault.

  Two Things That Absolutely Are My Fault

  I did send away for the seeds.

  I didn’t read the directions before I planted them.

  And not reading the directions led to the sign that changed everything.

  Now—about the seeds . . .

  2

  Sort of Like a Seed

  The outside of a seed has a hard coat or shell, and the inside, which Daddy says is called an embryo, comes alive when you water it. Sort of like a seed, there’s this thing inside of me that’s nothing like my outside, and it’s alive.

  Some days it comes alive a lot, and other days it happens maybe only once or twice, kind of like a sneeze or hiccup.

  Sometimes it keeps me from paying attention. And not paying attention can get me into humongous trouble—trouble that wraps around me tighter than a cocoon and is almost impossible to wriggle out of.

  I really never know when it’s going to come alive, but once it gets going, it’s kind of like a bowling ball that’s rolling faster than fast down the lane toward the pins—impossible to stop.

  Like yesterday, for example.

  After school, I was walking home past the park where a girls’ soccer game was being played. I was on a soccer team once, but I quickly found out that I stink at sports. So I did what most people do who stink at sports: I quit. But sometimes it’s fun to watch, so I stopped and stared through the chain-link fence. The players’ feet were tangled around the ball, everyone trying to get control.

  And suddenly, it—the thing that’s inside of me, which I guess you could call my wild imagination—came alive and she—Imaginary Zoe—appeared.

  Zoe G. Reindeer, super forward, was on the field with the ball, in a perfect position. Her eyes zeroed in on the goal. She aimed and kicked with all of her might. The ball zoomed through the air. Their tall goalkeeper stretched sideways like she was made of rubber, trying desperately to guard the net, but she failed, and the ball crossed the goal line. Zoe’s teammates hoisted her in the air!

  When the buzzer signaling the end of the game sounded, I blinked, and just like that, the real Zoe was back. The real me was still peering at the players through the fence, watching the winning team give each other high fives. The real me still stunk at sports and was now going to be late getting home from school.

  The real me, a shy, perfectly plain girl-person, wears glasses. The real me never stands out, not at school, not at home, not at anywhere. The real me doesn’t like loud crowds. Mostly, the real me likes the quiet of the Wonderland’s pond and greenhouse and of half-em
pty movie theaters. The real me has only one friend. Plus the real me has big feet, feet that make me resemble the letter L. The real me can’t even whistle. If they gave awards for being boring, I’d get a gold medal.

  But Imaginary Zoe is everything the real me isn’t. Instead of being eleven years old, she’s already a teenager and even has her driver’s license. She’s really pretty and can sing and dance and has friends who hover around her like a flock of pigeons, and she gets really good grades without studying a lot, and she never forgets things, and everyone loves her, especially her parents and brother and sister and even teachers. Plus she doesn’t stink at sports.

  Sometimes I try very hard to keep Imaginary Zoe from disappearing, but because my real world keeps interrupting with all of its stuff like chores and homework and getting annoyed and having to brush my teeth and sometimes being forced to eat pickled beets, Imaginary Zoe vanishes.

  Now that I’ve explained how I’m sort of like a seed and also about Imaginary Zoe, I can tell you about the real seeds.

  3

  A Very Tall Man

  It was a Saturday and the rain was starting and stopping, coming and going, like someone was up there in the clouds playing with a switch, turning it off and on, on and off. The sun was playing hide-and-seek too, every now and then shining a little light through the clouds before quickly disappearing again.

  My mom had just left to pick up my sister, Jade-queen-bee-of-the-house, from cheerleading practice and to drop off my brother, Harper-science-geek-genius, at his museum class. I was inside the nursery, doing my regular Saturday jobs: watering the plants, pruning away dead leaves, spraying the orchids with purified water. After that, I usually organize the bulbs and make certain all of the seed packets are in their right places and lined right side up. Then I head to the greenhouse, my favorite quiet place, especially when it rains.

  Grandpa Reindeer was there because Daddy was heading out to the desert and he needed someone to be at the register.

  “I know how to work the register,” I’d told my daddy. “Can I, please, please, please?”

  But he’d responded the way he always does. “No, Zoe, you’re only eleven.”

  Only eleven. I was getting tired of being only eleven. “When I’m twelve, can I do it?” I asked.

  “Maybe.”

  Daddy climbed into his beat-up white truck. “Thanks for helping me out, Pops,” he told Grandpa.

  He was going to buy two rare endangered plants, one called a baseball plant and the other one called an old woman cactus. For the past week, it’s all he’s talked about. The way some people are concerned about endangered animals, my daddy is concerned about endangered plants.

  “I should be back by five. I doubt we’ll have many customers in this weather. And keep an eye on Zoe.”

  Grandpa glanced my way and winked.

  Keep an eye on me? I really don’t need anyone to keep an eye on me, I thought. Besides, only chameleons and other weird things can keep one eye on anything. Humans are on the two-eye system. Where one eye goes, the other follows.

  I waved at Daddy, but I suppose he didn’t see me. His truck wheels rolled over puddles, making tracks in the muddy gravel, and he was gone.

  Not long after Grandpa sat down, he nodded off, the way he has a habit of doing. I was at the sink, filling the watering can, staring at the register, when suddenly—

  Zoe was the Saturday boss of the Wonderland. She liked being in charge. She popped open the register and counted the money. She wrote down the total. Then she jotted down ideas for increasing sales. She’d show the list to her daddy when he got back and he’d give her a raise. She certainly deserved one. How much? Zoe wondered.

  When the bell that chimes whenever someone opens the nursery door went ding-dong, I blinked. The watering can I was holding was overflowing with water. Quickly, I turned off the faucet.

  The man standing in the doorway was so tall, he had to duck to get inside. My eyes started at his red-and-white two-toned shoes, and by the time they reached his smiling lips, my head was cranked all the way back, resting on my shoulders. He was that tall.

  His skin was dark brown and his teeth gleamed like they’d been painted glossy white. His raincoat was gray, his pants pale yellow, and his black cap had the letters JPL on it.

  Grandpa woke up, yawned, and stumbled to his feet. “Can I help you?” he asked the man.

  The man turned his head slowly, scanning the room. “I was passing by and wondered if you have a tree I’ve been looking for but haven’t been able to find. It’s something quite unusual for these parts.”

  The man spoke with an accent I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t Spanish, maybe French—but if you want to know the truth, except for movies, I haven’t heard many French people talk.

  Grandpa turned on the computer at the end of the counter. “If you tell me the name, I can check our inventory and see if we have it. We have a boatload of unusual things here. That’s why it’s called a Wonderland.”

  “I’m searching for a baobab tree,” he said.

  “Baobab tree?” Grandpa repeated.

  “B-A-O-B-A-B,” the tall man spelled it out.

  Grandpa Reindeer typed in the letters, but nothing came up. “I don’t think we have any.” He typed it in again. “Nope . . . nothing, sorry. What kind of tree is it?”

  “It’s a tree that grows in my country, Madagascar.”

  I glanced up at his face. His lips were almost as dark as his skin. I’m usually too shy to talk to strangers, but I had to ask, so I said, “You’re all the way from . . .” Suddenly my shyness got stronger than my curiosity and my words stopped.

  Grandpa looked my way and reminded me, the way he and Nana have since I was little, “Don’t be bashful, Zoe.”

  I started over. “You’re all the way from Madagascar?”

  “Yes,” the man replied.

  “Wow. I’ve imagined myself there before,” I told him.

  “Imagined yourself?” he asked.

  I nodded and glanced at Grandpa. His smile encouraged me to keep talking. “When I was a little kid, I saw that movie called Madagascar probably four times, plus last year for geography our teacher showed us a video, so it was pretty easy to imagine myself there.”

  The tall man raised one eyebrow and grinned at me.

  “It looked like a beautiful place, plus it has some animals and plants that can’t be found anywhere else on Earth. That’s what the video said,” I informed him.

  “It is beautiful,” the man agreed.

  “B-A-O-B-A-B.” Grandpa wrote it on a slip of paper. “Well, I’ve never heard of it, but I’m sure my son has. He’s got what I call a wealth of knowledge.”

  The tall man said, “It’s also called ‘the tree of life.’ They can live for thousands of years. Or maybe it’s listed under another name? Try ‘monkey bread tree.’”

  I laughed.

  Grandpa typed in monkey bread tree. “Sorry, no monkey bread tree, but there is something called a monkey cup plant. It says it’s an insect eater.”

  “I’ll try somewhere else,” the man replied, then turned to leave.

  “Sorry to say this, Mister, but if it’s unique and it grows and you can’t find it here, you’re probably not going to find it anywhere close by. I’m not trying to brag, but we’ve got some very weird stuff, even Venus flytraps and cobra lilies and . . .”

  The very tall man laughed loudly, opening his mouth so wide, I could see his pink tonsils. “Thank you for your time, sir.”

  Grandpa eyed the cap and asked him, “You work over at JPL?”

  “Yes. For almost twenty years.”

  “What’s JPL?” I asked.

  Grandpa answered, “Jet Propulsion Lab up the road, other side of Altadena. Place that sends probes and instruments out into space, studies planets . . . among other things.”

 
“That’s right,” the tall man agreed. “I’m an astronomer.”

  My curiosity wouldn’t give up. “An astronomer? So you know a lot of stuff about outer space?” I asked.

  He looked my way, pointed up to the sky, and answered, “Yes, we imagine ourselves up there. Having a community open house next month, if anyone might be interested.” His eyes stared into mine. “The information is all online . . . young people sure seem to enjoy it.”

  The astronomer smiled again, and as he opened the door to leave, the chime sounded and the sun suddenly burst out of its hiding place. “The star of day finally returns,” he said.

  The star of day? I’d never heard the sun called that before.

  “I’ll leave a message for my son about the baobab. Is there some way he can get in touch with you?” Grandpa asked.

  “I’ll stop by again. It’s on my way,” the tall man answered.

  I went to the door, but with legs as long as his, legs like stilts, he’d already made it to his car and was climbing inside. There was a peace sign decal on the back window, and when he started his car, the tailpipe sputtered and smoked.

  “Rather odd fellow,” Grandpa commented.

  I squinted at the sun—the star of day. “I like him,” I said.

  And just as the tall man zoomed off, Mom drove up.

  4

  Just Zoe

  My sister, Jade, was in the passenger seat, and a girl I’d never seen before was sitting in the back— probably a new princess friend of Jade’s or maybe another queen bee. I keep wondering how Jade does it, collecting friends the way I used to collect Barbie dolls. Nana Reindeer calls it “Jade’s gift.”

  Jade is fifteen, tall and kind of skinny except for her butt, which is sort of big, but she’s always doing exercises trying to make it bigger. She has brown hair and huge dark eyes. Even without mascara, her lashes are so long that I sometimes wonder how she keeps her eyes open. Any girl who wants to avoid attention should try having Jade Reindeer for a sister. With Jade in a room, most other girls disappear, especially me.