The Wondrous World of Violet Barnaby

by Jenny Lundquist

  I glanced over. Joey was sitting on Santa’s—Scooter’s—lap while Olivia stood just to his side. The photographer snapped a picture, and then Scooter beckoned to Dad and Melanie to join them. Dad and Melanie glanced at each other and shrugged, then joined in for another picture while Aunt Mildred held Melanie’s purse. I felt another Terrible Beautiful Ache go through me, like someone was plucking an out-of-tune violin.

  “I can’t believe he married that woman. I mean, what was Mitch thinking?”

  I tried not to listen, since they were talking about Dad and Melanie. Gossip is one of Dandelion Hollow’s favorite pastimes, and Edith Binchy’s knitting circle, the Knattering Knitters, was famous for being huge gossipers. Izzy’s grandma Bertie was a part of it, but Edith Binchy was probably the worst of the lot.

  I didn’t like that they were gossiping about Dad and Melanie, but in a weird way, I understood it. Melanie had lived in Dandelion Hollow for only a few years, but Mom had grown up here. She had been the town’s favorite piano teacher. Addison Binchy, Edith’s granddaughter, had actually been one of Mom’s students.

  “Candy cane?” I said, waving my box in the Knatterers’ general direction, even though it was empty. A few of the ladies had enough sense to at least pretend to look ashamed that I’d caught them gossiping about Dad.

  “Violet, sweetheart, how are you?” Edith asked, fake concern flashing in her eyes.

  “Couldn’t be better,” I said, smiling wide. When someone you love dies, at first people understand why you’re sad. But after a certain amount of time has passed, they expect you to be happy again. Besides, I was pretty sure whatever I said would be repeated all over town.

  “Buzz off, Edith,” Aunt Mildred said, coming up beside me. “And take your hive of busybodies with you. Go get your daily dirt somewhere else.”

  “Well.” Edith sniffed. “Bertie told us you were difficult.” Izzy’s grandma Bertie is Aunt Mildred’s twin sister, and the two of them fight like teenagers.

  “I’ll bet she did. Say, if you want some gossip, you wanna know what I heard about that no-good son of yours?”

  Edith gave a shocked exclamation, then herded the Knatterers away.

  “Good riddance,” Aunt Mildred said, sitting down next to me. “I went to high school with Edith Binchy—what an impossible woman.”

  A loud thump sounded on the village green; Mayor Franklin tapped on the microphone that was set up next to the Christmas tree. “Attention, everyone! If you could all gather round!”

  Aunt Mildred scowled and muttered a couple words under her breath. Last month Izzy’s mom had run against Mrs. Franklin in the mayoral race. Mrs. Malone had lost pretty badly, and Izzy’s family was still mad about it.

  Aunt Mildred and I stood up and joined the crowd in front of the tree. I found Dad, Melanie, Joey, and Olivia, and stood behind them. Dad turned and caught sight of me and said, “There you are. We were looking all over for you.”

  It didn’t look like it when you were taking a family picture with Santa, I wanted to say, but like usual, I kept quiet.

  “Welcome to Dandelion Hollow’s annual tree-lighting ceremony!”

  I didn’t hear anything else Mayor Franklin said, or the Dandelion High choir when they started singing carols, because I was watching Dad. His hand was on Melanie’s back and he kept laughing as she whispered in his ear.

  I remembered when Dad used to look at Mom like that. Like they were the only two people in the world. Mom always used to say that Dad was “the One” for her. But now that Dad and Melanie were married, did that mean that Melanie was “the One” for Dad?

  As soon as the choir finished singing, the tree lit up, sparkling and shining, and a cheer went up from the crowd.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Melanie said.

  “It sure is,” Dad agreed, but he wasn’t looking at the tree. He was still looking at Melanie. Dad linked his arm with hers, and turned to me. “Don’t you think so, Champ?”

  “Sure,” I said. “It looks great.”

  Then I picked a candy cane up off the ground. It was uneaten and still wrapped in cellophane. Someone had tossed the whole thing away, like it was completely worthless.

  CHAPTER

  7

  COOKIES AND SODA

  Dad works long hours at Barnaby’s Antiques—the shop he owns over on Dandelion Square. Most days he’s already at work before I wake up in the morning, and he doesn’t get home until dinnertime, when we usually order takeout. I was pretty used to having quiet mornings to myself, so it was a little strange Monday when I walked into the kitchen and found Melanie, Olivia, and Joey there, eating breakfast. The morning news was on in the background, Joey was banging on his cereal bowl, and Olivia was talking about a school-newspaper meeting she had later today.

  “Good morning, Violet,” Melanie said.

  “Morning,” I mumbled. I ignored the plate of bacon she offered me and headed for the fridge, wishing the three of them didn’t have to be so loud.

  “Oreos and soda aren’t a healthy breakfast,” Melanie announced in a tight voice when I joined them at the table.

  “Oh,” I said when she pushed the plate of bacon toward me. “Thanks . . . but I don’t eat meat.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes, but Melanie smacked her forehead. “You’re a vegetarian, I forgot.”

  I didn’t see how she kept forgetting. Didn’t want to remember, was probably more like it, and I figured she hoped it was a phase I’d snap out of pretty soon.

  Except it wasn’t a phase. After Mom got sick, Dad went out and bought a ton of books on cancer and nutrition. He stayed up late every night reading them, then announced one day that we were all becoming vegetarians and were eating only organic produce. By the frantic look in his eyes, I knew not to argue.

  The night after Mom died, he came home with takeout hamburgers and ate them defiantly, muttering a bunch of bad words the whole time. I looked at mine and thought I was going to be sick. I threw it away later that night, when all the lights in the house were turned off and I could hear muffled sobs coming from Dad’s room.

  “I’ll make you some toast,” Melanie said.

  “Thank you, that’s really nice,” I forced myself to say in a polite voice. “But I’m fine, really. It’s no big deal.”

  Olivia glared at me. “Whatever, Violet—no one has time for your theatrics today.”

  “Theatrics”—it means, “exaggerated mannerisms, actions, or words.” Basically, being overly dramatic, and I didn’t see how quietly trying to eat my breakfast qualified as being dramatic. They were the ones causing a racket this morning and freaking out over my breakfast choices.

  “You never let us eat cookies in the morning,” Joey said to Melanie furiously. “I want an Oreo, too.”

  Melanie chewed on her cheek. “Violet . . . in my house, we don’t have cookies and soda for breakfast.”

  In her house? Another ache went through me.

  “I have cookies and soda for breakfast all the time and Dad doesn’t care,” I said. Well, actually, Dad probably had no clue what I ate for breakfast, but Melanie didn’t need to know that. Besides, why did I have to be the one who changed? The three of them had already taken over the house—why couldn’t I keep one tiny piece of the life Dad and I used to have, even if it was just a stupid plate of Oreos?

  “Violet.” Melanie sighed. “I’m just trying to give everyone a good, healthy home.”

  I had a good home—you’re the reason I had to move out of it, I said only to myself. To Melanie, I said, “Got it. No more cookies and soda for breakfast.”

  I left the kitchen, grabbed my coat and backpack, and headed for school, determined to get as far away from Melanie and her house as fast as I could.

  CHAPTER

  8

  BURSTING WITH FRUIT FLAVORS

  When something bad happens to you, people assume that you should Talk About It. It’s healthy, they say. It’s good for you. And if you don’t want to Talk About It, well then, s
omething must be wrong with you, and it needs to be fixed. You need to be fixed.

  After Mom passed away, I didn’t want to talk about it. Talking about it can’t change it. One minute you’re normal, the next you’re the Girl with a Dead Mother. And no amount of talking or crying or pleading can change that, so what’s the point?

  Dad didn’t want to talk about it, either, but he figured I ought to, so he made me see the guidance counselor at my old elementary school: Mrs. Mudge, who was like a hundred years old, and seemed to take it personally when I didn’t talk to her, either.

  I thought I was done with those visits once middle school started, but the second week of school, I got a note to go to the office, where I met my new guidance counselor, Coco Martin. She likes to pretend to be all tough, but I know she really likes me, and that feels nice, even if I spend most of my time during our sessions not answering her questions.

  Whenever I visit, Coco ignores the chairs in front of her desk and has us sit in two squashy beanbags in the corner of her office. They’re really comfy and I like them, but it’s also a reminder that I’m not here because I’ve gotten in trouble. I’m here because something terrible has happened, and she wants to see how I’m doing.

  “So,” Coco said after we settled in. “Let’s talk.”

  “Talk?” I feigned surprise. “About what?”

  Coco didn’t roll her eyes at me, but I could tell she wanted to. “School. Life. Your new stepmother.”

  “Now why would I want to talk about things like that?” I said.

  “Some people think it’s normal in a situation like this,” she said. “They call it therapy.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, some people think it’s normal to eat fish eggs. They call it sushi.” I leaned back in my chair. “What else you got?”

  Coco pretended to think about it. “New house?”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “New houses exist.”

  Now Coco actually did roll her eyes. “Don’t try to outsmart-aleck me, Violet. I’m a professional. You’ve got to give me something to work with, okay? Besides, I’ve got Trent Walker sitting in the hall, and I’d be happy to keep him waiting all day if I have to.” She settled deeper into her beanbag and stretched. “Man, these are really comfortable, don’t you think?”

  I sighed. “All right, fine. It’s only been a couple days, but so far Melanie has managed to get rid of a bunch of our stuff, she’s telling me what I can and cannot eat for breakfast, and I’m pretty sure she’s not going to let me paint my bedroom walls. There. Are you happy now?”

  “Ecstatic,” Coco replied. “I’m bursting with fruit flavors.”

  “Bursting with fruit flavors” is one of Coco’s favorite phrases. I’m not exactly sure what it means. But I think it might mean that she’s happy on the inside, or that right now life feels sweet, and not very sour.

  “But seriously,” Coco continued. “I’m worried about you. You seemed a lot happier last month. You made some great friends. You have that bracelet club that you and Izzy are starting—she told me all about it the last time she got sent here.”

  “Why did Izzy get sent here?” I asked, curious.

  “Can’t tell you that—but let’s just say that girl needs to learn there’s a time and a place to tell someone off. Anyway, my point is, you seemed happier last month. I know this past week can’t have been easy. Are you sure you don’t want to tell me a little more about what’s going on with you?”

  I shrugged again. I was having a great time last month helping Izzy earn her charms. But that was before Dad got engaged to Melanie, before everyone started talking about the holidays, and I realized that Black Christmas wasn’t just a one-time thing. Christmas without Mom is the new normal.

  “What about the letter?” she continued.

  I paused. “What?”

  Seriously? Can’t I have just a little bit of privacy? I knew Dad and Coco chatted sometimes, but this was ridiculous.

  I guess my irritation showed, because Coco said, “Your dad called this morning and left me a voice mail that you received a special letter. He’s worried about you. He said you barely said two words over the weekend. He said you’re separating yourself from everyone else in the house.”

  I stared over Coco’s shoulder at the wall behind her. She likes to plaster her office with posters with different sayings on them. The one directly behind her read, “Be a rainbow in someone else’s cloud.” I figured Dad must have called Coco because he and Melanie thought I was the opposite of that: I was the gray cloud hanging over their shiny new-family rainbow. And in a rainbow, there’s just no room for gray.

  “Who was it from?” Coco asked.

  “My mom,” I answered.

  Coco looked surprised. “Your mom? I don’t understand.”

  “She wrote it before, well, you know.” I hesitated, but then removed the letter from my backpack and gave it to her. While she read, her eyes became glassy. “This is wondrous,” she said.

  “Wondrous?” I repeated.

  Coco nodded and handed it back to me. “Look it up later in that dictionary you’re so proud of. I think ‘wondrous’ is the perfect word to describe it. . . . Actually, that gives me an idea. I’ve got an assignment for you. I want you to write a letter.”

  “A letter to you?” I said.

  “To anyone. It doesn’t matter who—you don’t even have to send it. I’m worried that you’re keeping a lot of your feelings pent up. If you can’t talk about how you’re feeling, I’d like you to write about it.”

  I didn’t see how writing a letter would make anything better. But there were so many things I had never told anyone, because I didn’t think they’d understand. Maybe it would be nice just to put it on paper—maybe even write it in my purple journal, where no one would ever see it.

  I left not too long after that. Maybe I wasn’t bursting with fruit flavors. But I wasn’t feeling sour, either.

  CHAPTER

  9

  PARTNERS

  When your stepmother is the meanest teacher in the world, school is just a bundle of good times. People had been talking about Dad and Melanie all month, and this morning was no different after I left Coco’s office and made my way to second period.

  “Hey—your new mommy gave me an F on my test,” a guy from my math class called, and the group of boys he was hanging out with sniggered.

  “She’s not my mother,” I shot back. “And maybe you got an F because you’re a moron.”

  “Hey, Hammerhead, what’s up?” Tyler Jones said as I passed him and Austin. “Hey! Didn’t you hear me? Hammerhead? Get it? Don’t you think I’m funny?”

  “Hysterical,” I called, flipping around and walking backward so I could stare at him. “Your ingenuity amazes me.”

  “Ange-what? Listen Nerd Brain—”

  “Tyler!” Austin slammed his locker. “Shut up!”

  Austin ran to catch up with me. “Sorry about that.” Austin and I both have history with Miss Mallery for second period, so we continued down the hall together.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s not your fault Tyler has the personality of a dirty toenail.”

  Austin grinned, and said, “Listen—about the tree-lighting last night. I’m sorry I was kind of a jerk.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Kind of a jerk?”

  “All right, a huge jerk.”

  “A ginormous jerk,” I agreed.

  “Wait—” He grabbed my arm before I could step inside Miss Mallery’s classroom. “There’s this cooking school in New York that my mom has always dreamed of going to. I guess she applied, and got in. She’s flying to New York next week to check it out. And if she likes it, she’ll come back for Christmas, but then leave again next month. Her program would run from January through September.”

  “So she’d be living in New York all that time?” I asked as students streamed past us into the classroom.

  Austin nodded. “I guess it’s her dream or something. She and Dad have been talking about
it for a while—but they didn’t tell me until right before we left for the tree-lighting. That’s why I was mad. I didn’t mean to be a jerk, I swear. I just thought they could have told me earlier, you know? Instead of just springing it on me. But she said, what if this is her big opportunity, her shot to pursue her dream and she never gets another one like it?”

  “What if ?” I murmured. I’d repeated those two words a lot the last couple years.

  “I know she’d only be gone less than a year,” Austin continued. “It’s not the end of the world. It’s not like she’s dying—” Austin’s eyes widened with horror as he realized what he’d just said, and who he’d said it to. “Violet, I’m so sorry. I’m such a nerd.”

  “You’re a total nerd,” I agreed. “But it’s okay. . . . Seriously, it’s fine,” I added when he tried to apologize again.

  At least Austin understood there was a difference between missing his mom because she was maybe going away to cooking school for a year and me missing my mom because she had passed away. Once, a few days after Mom’s funeral, Stella Franklin told me she knew how I felt because her dog had just died.

  “Anyways,” Austin said as the warning bell rang, “I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted,” I said.

  “Cool.” Austin held open the door. “After you.”

  We slid into seats in the back row and Miss Mallery called the class to attention. “All right, everyone, I have wonderful news!”

  Austin glanced at me and rolled his eyes. Miss Mallery was really young and always bounced on the balls of her feet when she was excited—which was pretty much all of the time. She had honey-colored hair, a long face, and warm brown eyes—she sort of reminded me of a golden retriever. Today she was wearing a Santa hat with a bell on the end that jingled each time she bounced up and down.

  “Well?” she said, bouncing again. “Don’t you want to know what my wonderful news is?”