The Wondrous World of Violet Barnaby

by Jenny Lundquist

  Izzy shook her head. “Austin’s been acting really weird lately. Last night I knocked on his door to see if he wanted to play basketball, but he said he was busy.”

  I said nothing. The reason why Austin was busy and didn’t want to play basketball last night was because we were texting back and forth while we watched the same movie on TV. (He liked it; I didn’t.)

  “Do you still like him?” Daisy asked.

  I turned to stare at Izzy. Say no, I thought at her.

  Wait a minute. . . . Where did that come from?

  I thought about it and decided that since Austin and I were getting to be friends, it might be weird if Izzy still liked him. I didn’t have to worry about it though, because Izzy wrinkled her nose and said, “No way—we’re both over it. Besides, he’s getting too tall. I don’t think I could ever like someone who’s that tall.”

  “Hey!” Jake called as he strode up to the register. He had a tree slung over his shoulder. “Can someone go over there and see if they need any help?” He gestured to the Jacksons.

  “I’ll go check on them,” I said, and left before anyone else could volunteer.

  “Hey,” Austin said when he saw me approaching. He was standing, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, while his parents were comparing different trees. Once I was standing right in front of him, I realized Izzy was right: he had grown a lot this year. Now he was taller than me.

  “Hi,” I said. “I thought you texted me last night that you were going over to Tyler’s today.”

  “I thought I was, too—until my parents decided we needed to put up a tree. I told them I’d rather play video games at Tyler’s, but they insisted. I don’t know why they’re making such a big deal about it.”

  “I do,” I blurted. Austin looked confused, and I added, “It’s because your mom’s leaving on her trip soon.”

  He still didn’t look convinced, but I knew I was right. The first Christmas after Mom got sick, she and Dad went all out: a bigger tree, more presents, a huge Christmas dinner. I overheard Mom tell Dad she just wanted to make the most of whatever time she had left. I knew it wasn’t the same with Austin’s family, but I was still pretty sure that with Mrs. Jackson leaving for New York soon, they wanted to celebrate the holiday season while they were all still together.

  “I guess,” Austin said finally. “But I’d still rather be playing Xbox.”

  We waited silently while Mr. and Mrs. Jackson continued to look at trees. “So,” I said, “have you thought anymore about our Egyptian project?”

  “Not really—but I guess we’d better get started soon. I’m so excited!” he said, doing a perfect impersonation of Miss Mallery.

  “Excited about what?” Izzy asked, and we both jumped. Neither of us had heard her come up behind us.

  “Um . . . inside joke, I guess,” Austin said.

  Izzy glanced at me and I shrugged.

  “I guess you had to be there,” I said.

  “Oh, okay.” Izzy laughed, but she didn’t actually look that happy.

  CHAPTER

  15

  A CHAIN OF TEXTS

  After the Jacksons left, the tree lot got busier. The rest of the day went fast, and when the sky had turned pinkish gray, Grandma Caulfield appeared and invited us all inside for dinner. We followed her back into the farmhouse, and when we entered the kitchen, we were greeted with the scents of garlic and herbs and onions.

  “I made spaghetti and a meatless sauce,” Grandma Caulfield said. “Violet, you’re a vegetarian, right?”

  I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Right,” I said, touched that she remembered and didn’t make a big deal about it. Melanie always seemed irritated or personally insulted when I didn’t eat everything she cooked.

  “You girls are welcome to spend the night, too,” Grandma Caulfield said.

  “Violet and I can’t,” Olivia said. “The baton-twirling team is performing at Dandelion High’s football game later.” She turned to me. “Your dad is supposed to be picking us up soon so we can go.”

  “He is?” I said. No one told me that. I pulled out my phone and texted Dad:

  Can I spend the night at the Caulfields’? Please? I don’t want to go to the football game.

  “I’m starving,” Daisy said. Before she could grab a plate, Sophia said, “Wait.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her clock charm. “This first.”

  Each of us pulled our charms from our pockets. “We have earned our charm,” Izzy said solemnly, and the four of us hooked the tiny clock to our bracelets while Olivia watched.

  “Your charm club seems like a lot of fun,” Olivia whispered to me as Grandma Caulfield passed out plates piled with spaghetti.

  After we finished eating, the doorbell rang and Delia went to answer it. She returned with Aunt Mildred, who was carrying four tiny boxes from Charming Trinkets.

  “More charms?” Daisy asked.

  “More charms,” Aunt Mildred confirmed, and Izzy and Daisy high-fived.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Grandma Caulfield asked, and Aunt Mildred nodded.

  “I thought I would give you your next round of charms now.” Aunt Mildred shot a tentative look at Olivia, who said, “Don’t mind me; I’ve been wondering how your club works.”

  While Olivia looked on curiously, Aunt Mildred passed around the boxes, and we opened them. Inside were two charms. The first was a tiny gingerbread house. It was gold and brown with multicolored bits of glass speckled on the roof. The second charm was a tiny Santa hat.

  “The Santa-hat charm is for Secret Santas.” Aunt Mildred produced a tiny red velvet bag. “Pick a name out of here, and that’s who you buy a present for.” She glanced at Daisy. “See? I told you we’d have fun this time around.”

  Izzy went first. She pulled a small paper square from the bag and frowned. “What happens if you pick your own name?”

  “Put it back and pick another one.”

  Izzy did, and then it was my turn. I drew Izzy’s name, which I was glad about, because I really wanted to get her something nice this year, now that we were friends again. After Sophia and Daisy picked a name, Aunt Mildred said, “The gingerbread-house charm is for next weekend—you’ll be making them together.” Aunt Mildred looked at Izzy. “Your parents have already agreed to host Friday night, and everyone can spend the night if you want.”

  I surreptitiously slid Mom’s letter and list from my pocket and looked at it under the table.

  “Surreptitiously”—it means “done by secret” or “acting in a stealthy way.” I guess I’d been sort of secretive about the letter. I still hadn’t told Izzy, Daisy, and Sophia about it—there just never seemed to be a good time. But sitting in the warm glow of the Caulfields’ kitchen, it seemed that the right time was right now.

  “Do you think your Christmas tree will be up by then?” I asked Izzy.

  “Probably, why?”

  “Because I have to do a sleepover under a Christmas tree.” Slowly, as they listened quietly with wide-eyed stares, I began to tell them about finding Mom’s letter and about her list. By the time I was finished, Sophia was fighting tears, and Izzy and Daisy looked grave. Olivia didn’t look all that surprised, and I wondered if Dad had said something to her about Mom’s letter.

  “I’m so sorry, Violet,” Daisy said.

  “It’s not a bad thing,” I said. “I’m glad I found the letter.”

  “I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a mother so young,” Aunt Mildred said. “But I do know what it’s like to lose someone long before they should’ve been lost. And if you’re lucky enough to hear from them after they’ve passed, you’ve got to take advantage of it.” She had a faraway look in her eyes. I was pretty sure she was thinking of Jack Whippie; her husband of only a few hours, before he was killed in a car crash.

  “Can we read the letter?” Izzy asked, reaching for it.

  “No.” Sophia laid her hand on Izzy’s. “Something like that should be private. . . . But could we see the
list, though?”

  “Sure.” I handed the list to Sophia. Izzy and Daisy gathered around her, and everyone read quietly.

  “Are you going to do it?” Sophia asked.

  “Finish the list?” I asked, and she nodded. “Yeah. I’m going to try to finish everything before Christmas. But I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

  “Good, then it’s settled.” Sophia took out her cell phone and snapped a picture of the list. “We’re going to help you finish it.” She looked up suddenly. “If you’re okay with that. I mean, I could delete the picture, if it’s not okay.”

  “No,” I said, swallowing a lump in my throat. “It’s okay.”

  I stared around the table; Izzy, Daisy, Sophia, and Aunt Mildred stared back at me, smiling, and I realized I felt more comfortable, more at home, here at Caulfield Farm, eating dinner with the Charm Girls, than I probably ever would at Melanie’s too-small dinner table. When I glanced over at Olivia, she had a strange expression on her face, and I wondered if she knew what I was thinking.

  “Coffee’s done,” Grandma Caulfield said. She sat down at the table and handed Aunt Mildred a steaming cup. Then Delia announced that she wanted to clean out her closet and get rid of some things. “Do any of you want to help?” she asked me, Izzy, Sophia, Daisy, and Olivia. “You can have some of my old clothes, if you want.”

  “Definitely,” Izzy said immediately. “Do you have any long skirts you’re giving away?”

  Izzy, Sophia, Daisy, and I followed Delia back to her room. Olivia hung back, and as I left the room I heard her ask Aunt Mildred, “Do you pick out the charms, or does Izzy tell you what to buy?”

  Delia’s room was huge. Besides having her own bathroom and a big walk-in closet, there was a four-poster bed covered with a plaid quilt, a few squashy armchairs in front of a fireplace, a mirror in the corner, and posters of Delia’s favorite rock bands plastered on the walls. It didn’t seem like a mom’s room—more like a big sister’s.

  “Wow,” Sophia said as we all ducked inside Delia’s closet. “You have so many clothes.”

  I like clothes, and I like trying them on, but rifling through Delia’s stuff reminded me of the day Dad and I finally donated Mom’s clothes to the Goodwill, and the Terrible Beautiful Ache hit me so hard I wasn’t sure I could keep standing.

  “Violet?” Daisy said. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. After all, it had been a year since we’d gotten rid of Mom’s clothes; I felt stupid telling everyone it was bothering me now. “I think I’ll just watch—I probably just ate too much.” I made it over to the fireplace and collapsed into an armchair. The warmth I had felt as we ate spaghetti together began to evaporate.

  As I watched them, it was hard not to think about other things, like the way Mom’s clothes smelled like her. All the birthday cards she’d saved from Dad and me over the years—we’d found them tucked in her dresser drawer. Her T-shirt that had a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge on it that I kept and sometimes still wore to bed.

  A text came in then from Austin:

  How’s it going?

  Okay. Everyone’s helping Daisy’s mom clean out her closet. Not really into it.

  Tell me about it. My parents are decorating the tree and being all kissy-faced. It’s disgusting. Usually, my mom yells at my dad to put more lights on the tree while he says a bunch of bad words.

  Dad called me then, but I sent the call to voice mail so I could text Austin back:

  Yeah. Nothing like a little family fight to start the holidays right.

  Ha! You’re a poet, and you don’t even know it!

  “What’s so funny?” Izzy asked.

  “What?” I looked up, startled. Izzy was dressed in one of Delia’s colorful skirts; the three of them had started trying on her clothes while I’d been texting with Austin.

  “You’re laughing. Who are you texting?”

  I felt weird telling her I was texting Austin, so I said, “No one. Just someone from history class.”

  “Violet?” Grandma Caulfield came into the room. “Your step . . .” she paused in midsentence. “Melanie is here for you and Olivia,” she finished, just as a text came in from Dad:

  Can’t do a sleepover tonight, Champ. Sorry. We’re outside waiting for you.

  I jammed my phone into my pocket. “I guess I’ll see you guys later,” I muttered to Izzy, Daisy, and Sophia.

  “You didn’t have to just show up like that,” I said when I got in Melanie’s minivan. Dad was driving, and Olivia had just settled herself in the back row next to Joey. “It was embarrassing.”

  “No one was trying to embarrass you, Champ,” Dad said. “We decided to go to the football game at Dandelion High tonight. I know Olivia told you that.”

  “I hate football, Dad. You know that. You guys could have gone without me.”

  “We’re all going together,” Melanie said. “The whole . . .”

  Family. The word was there, like a bad smell in the air, even if she didn’t say it.

  “You should have at least called first and asked me if I wanted to go,” I said.

  Dad was silent, but Melanie twisted around to look at me. “No, Violet. I should not have. Because you are not in charge. You’re a child, not an adult, and you don’t make the decisions. Olivia’s baton-twirling team was invited to perform during halftime. She’s really excited about it, and we’re all going to support her.”

  “I took Olivia to the farm and hung out with her all day like you asked me to. Now I can’t have a little time alone with my friends because I have to go see her stupid baton-twirling routine?”

  “Way to be a jerk, Violet,” Olivia said.

  “It’s not stupid,” Melanie began. “And I don’t appreciate—”

  “Dad,” I said, ignoring her, “why is what Olivia wants to do more important than what I want to do?”

  “Nobody is more important than anybody else,” Dad said. “We just wanted to spend the night together. As a family,” he added firmly, looking at Melanie.

  “No,” I said. “What you really decided is that Olivia’s plans and her friends are more important than mine.”

  We drove the rest of the way in silence, and it occurred to me that I didn’t really belong anywhere. Not in Melanie’s minivan and not in the Caulfield’s kitchen, either. I pulled out my cell phone, just as another text came in from Austin:

  Dad just plugged the tree in and it blew a fuse and the whole house lost power. Christmas sucks.

  As I read, I imagined a chain of our texts stretching from me in the silent car all the way across town to Austin in his dark living room, connecting us. I decided to answer him back, even though I knew Melanie hates texting in the car. Because lately, the only time I felt normal was when Austin and I were texting.

  CHAPTER

  16

  A THIN WALL OF GLASS

  Dear Mom,

  I wasn’t planning on writing you another letter, but writing the first one made me feel better, so I thought I’d try it again. Tonight I ate dinner with Izzy, Sophia, and Daisy. I put another charm on my bracelet, and Aunt Mildred gave me two more to earn. I told the Charm Girls about your list, and they decided to help me with it. After I showed the girls your list, everything felt light and sweet, like eating the best shortbread cookies you ever tasted. But the feeling didn’t last long, and after a while I went back to feeling how I always feel: like a thin wall of glass separates me from everyone else. On one side was Izzy, Sophia, and Daisy, and they were happy and laughing and trying on clothes and having a wonderful time. I could see them, but I couldn’t join them. And then it ended up not mattering anyway, because Melanie made me leave so I could go to a stupid football game.

  This Christmas is turning out to be tougher than I thought. Last year, everyone would ask me how I was doing and they’d talk about you, which was hard, but it felt right. This year, hardly anyone has mentioned you, and that doesn’t feel right at all. I wish you were here so I could talk to you. I know I s
aid I’d try to finish the list before Christmas, but I don’t think Dad will have time to drive us to the snow this month.

  I’ll keep working on your list, and let you know how it’s going.

  Love always,

  Violet

  CHAPTER

  17

  POPCORN BALL

  Normally, I love school projects. I know some people—like Izzy—think that’s nerdy, but I like going to the library, and I like doing research. But I’ve never done a school project with a boy before.

  On Monday afternoon, Austin and I were supposed to meet after school at the Dusty Shelf to finally start figuring out what to do about our Egyptian project. After my last class ended, I went to the girls’ bathroom and brushed my hair. I was reapplying my lip gloss when Addison Binchy and Penelope Perkins walked in.

  “. . . and then she said my essay lacked depth,” Addison was saying. “Can you believe that?”

  “The Hammer is my least favorite teacher,” Penelope agreed. “I wish they’d just fire her—Oh, hi, Violet.” Her face changed, and I saw it, the exact moment she realized Melanie was my stepmom. “Hey—I didn’t mean—”

  “Forget it,” I said, capping my lip gloss. “You think you don’t like her? Try living with her. It’s a nightmare.” I meant it, every single word, especially when I thought about the two hours I’d spent shivering on the bleachers at Dandelion High after she made me leave Daisy’s house, just so we could watch Olivia’s baton team perform for maybe five minutes during halftime.

  I also had to admit that it felt nice talking with two girls—even if one of them was Addison Binchy—about my stepmother. Normal. And normal wasn’t something I’d had a lot of lately.

  “Seriously,” Addison said, taking a brush from her backpack and running it through her hair. “Didn’t you get kicked out of her class a couple months ago?”

  “Yeah, I’m in Miss Carter’s class now.” A month after school started, I’d stolen Melanie’s set of school keys. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done, but it was the only thing I could think of to get myself out of her class.