“Big old houses always have big attics,” I say, pushing the battered cardboard boxes into the middle of the room, directly beneath the dust-covered light fixture.
“Awesome!” cries Gina. “So, these are the clothes?”
“These are the clothes,” I repeat, pushing back the limp cardboard folds of first one box lid, then the second.
Excitedly, we begin to rummage inside. The clothes belong to Mom. In the 1970s, when she was growing up, she sewed herself a lot of stuff: dresses and jumpers and kerchiefs, but best of all, skirts. Mom says that homemade outfits were really in fashion back then, and that lots of teenage girls went shopping for material and followed simple clothing patterns.
I’m really glad Mom was one of those girls. In the seventies, you see, people liked really weird, wild, colorful patterns. And they made their skirts long and full. Put those two things together and you have the makings for a perfect gypsy costume!
Gina and I weed through the clothes, pulling out the skirts and heaping them in a pile on the floor. Once we’ve got them all, we begin to try them on, tugging them over our jeans.
“Wow,” says Gina, swirling around in an orange-and-white skirt that’s way too long for her. “Good thing you remembered about this stuff.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Mom showed them to me a long time ago. I never thought about using them for a costume before.” I twirl in a skirt, too. This one is mint-green and sky-blue with white detail. It’s also way too long for me. “Maybe we should decide on the skirts we want,” I say, “and then my mom can hem them for us.”
“You’re sure she won’t mind us wearing them?” Gina asks.
“Of course not,” I tell her.
And then the attic plunges into darkness, just before the door at the bottom of the staircase slams shut. Gina and I can’t help ourselves; we scream!
Chapter Four
Our attic has no windows, so it’s pitch-black now, and Gina and I reach for each other in the darkness.
“What happened?” she asks, a little breathless. “Did someone blow a fuse or something?”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I answer slowly, trying to ignore the way my heart is slamming against my rib cage.
“What do you mean?”
Instead of replying, I slip out of the blue and green gypsy skirt and inch closer to where I’m pretty sure the wall is, groping for the light switch with my hand.
“Tori?” Gina says. “Where are you?”
“Over by the wall. I’m looking for the light.”
“It’s so dark,” my cousin half-whispers.
“Don’t worry,” I say, sounding braver than I feel. “Just stay right where you are so you don’t trip over anything. I’ll find the switch, I’m sure.” But after what feels like an eternity of patting down the wall, I still haven’t met with any luck.
I hear Gina moving closer now. “You can’t find it?” she asks in a small voice. “What if the attic is haunted, Tori?”
“Haunted!” I cry. “Don’t be ridiculous.” But deep down, though I hate to admit it, I’ve always had a touch of that same silly fear.
“Maybe we should call for help,” suggests Gina. “Somebody’ll hear us and--”
“No,” I say firmly. “Believe me, that’s just what they want us to do.”
“What who wants us to do?”
I sigh. “Whichever one of my dumb brothers did this to us.”
“Your brothers?” she asks in surprise.
“Welcome to my life, Gina.”
“Well, what are we going to do then?”
I think for a second. “Let’s find the top of the stairs, and then sit and scoot down them. That way, we can’t trip and fall.”
“Okay,” Gina agrees slowly. “I guess.”
It doesn’t take me long to figure out where the stairs are, and then I hold my hand out for Gina. She finds me and squeezes my palm, and we sit down together, side by side.
Thump, bump, thump, bump. We make our way cautiously down the staircase, scooting like toddlers and probably getting the seats of our jeans all gross and dusty.
At last, we reach the bottom, and I jump up, grateful to see the crack of light coming through the door there. I reach for the doorknob and twist it, but it doesn’t fall open the way I expect. I twist it again, harder this time and shift my weight against the door, but it doesn’t budge. “Gina,” I hiss, “we’re locked in!”
“Oh, no,” she moans. “I just want to get out of here. We have to call for help now.”
I agree. I lift my fists above my head and bang loudly and insistently on the door. “Somebody unlock the door!” I shout. “Me and Gina are in here!”
Gina joins me, pounding on the wood with her arms. “Help us!” she yells. “Let us out!”
After what feels like a few hours of banging and shouting, but what is probably only several minutes, we hear the click of the door being unlocked, and then it swings open, and my cousin and I tumble out into the hallway, straight into Dad.
“Girls,” he says in surprise, “what were you two doing up in the attic and how--”
“We were trying on Mom’s old clothes to use for our Halloween costumes,” I explain in a rush. “And then suddenly the light went out and someone locked the door, and--”
I am interrupted by the jarring sound of Joey snickering. He’s appeared in the doorway of his bedroom and is watching us with amused interest.
I stab a finger through the air at him. “Joey did it!” I cry. “He sneaked upstairs and turned off the light and then locked us in the attic, Dad!”
Dad turns to look at Joey, disappointment showing on his face. “Is that true, son?”
My brother stares down at his gym-socked feet.
That’s all the answer Dad needs. “You owe Tori and Gina an apology,” he says steadily. “It’s very dark up there, Joey. Without any light, the girls could have fallen--maybe even down the stairs--and gotten seriously hurt.”
“Yeah, Joey,” I add nastily.
Dad gives me a look that says, “Let me handle this.”
“I knew they wouldn’t get hurt,” Joey mumbles under his breath. He lifts his gaze just the tiniest bit to Gina and me. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Gina answers quietly.
“No, it isn’t okay!” I shout. I’ve had enough. More than enough. “’Sorry’ won’t cut it, Joey,” I say.
“Tori!” Dad snaps.
I can’t believe this. He’s yelling at me? “They’re always bugging me, Dad. All of them. They never leave me alone. You just don’t get it.” I spin on my heel and march toward my bedroom.
“Tori....” Dad’s tone is softer now. He watches after me, as if he’s debating whether or not to follow me. Finally he seems to decide to stay right where he is.
But Gina tails me into my room. She closes the door behind the two of us and studies me carefully. “Are you okay, Tori? At least we’re out of the attic now and--”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with the attic anymore,” I tell her. “It’s just, like, the last straw. Now do you see why I can’t write a ‘family brag paper?’”
Gina only stares at me.
It takes me awhile to snap out of my bad mood that afternoon, but by the time Mom returns from running her Saturday errands, I’m feeling a lot better.
Gina and I tell her all about our plan to be gypsies for Halloween, and Mom agrees with us that it’s a wonderful idea. She helps us bring her large pile of seventies skirts down from the attic, and watches as we try them on again in my bedroom, modeling them for her.
We finally decide on the skirts we like best (I choose a purple-and-blue paisley-print one since purple’s my favorite color, and Gina chooses a bright-yellow one with big red daisies splashed all over it). Mom says that she’ll definitely hem them to fit us.
Then the three of us have hot chocolate and cookies in the kitchen, and by the time Auntie Luz comes to pick up Gina, we’re bursting with excitement for Halloween
.
That night, Andrew and Stephanie come for dinner, and I’m as happy as always to see them.
Stephanie is my sister-in-law, and I love the sound of that. I love knowing that I actually have a relative with the word “sister” in her title. Especially after what happened today.
Stephanie is also beautiful. She has thick blonde hair and big sparkly blue eyes, and a smile that makes you feel cared-about. Even though she is seven months pregnant, with a tummy as big as a beach ball, she still manages to look like one of those perfect people you see in a magazine.
I run to the door after Dad lets them in, and the first thing Andrew does is to lift me off my feet and squeeze me in a bear hug. “How’s my favorite sister?” he asks.
I laugh. “I’m also your only sister,” I say.
He grins at me. “You never let us forget that, Tore.” He puts me back down, and I rush to Stephanie.
She smells good, like perfume, when I hug her. Then I touch the bulge in her blouse and ask, “So, have you found out what the baby is yet?” even though I already know the answer to that.
Stephanie laughs and runs her fingers through my hair affectionately. “Oh, Tori, Tori, Tori. You know we want it to be a surprise.”
“I know.” I sigh. “I sure hope it’s a girl!”
When the doorbell rings again, I’m positive it’s Jaine. Ben practically trips over himself as he dashes to answer it. He flings the door open and lifts her into his arms as though he hasn’t seen her in a month instead of just yesterday at school.
They kiss right there in the entryway, their arms wrapped around each other and their faces lit up as if they’re the only two people in the world. I try very hard not to gag. If I did, I’d be as bad as Joey.
Then Jaine spots me and gives me a big phony hug. How do I know it’s phony? I just do. Jaine has that way about her, that pretend-I-care-so-much-about-Ben’s-family-just-so-I-impress-him way. It doesn’t fool me for an instant. And who knows if it fools Ben, or if it even matters to him. He sure never acts like he cares all that much about me.
I pull away from Jaine, choking over her perfume which, unlike Stephanie’s, smells very cheap and overdone.
“How are you, Tori?” she asks me, using the same kind of voice I use when I talk to my two-and-a-half-year-old cousin Sofie.
“I’m fine,” I mumble, and inch away from her. Ugh.
And so the evening goes. All of us--minus Nate, of course, since he’s the Camaro expert of the universe--sit down to dinner together in the dining room. Somehow, I end up in the chair right next to Joey’s, which is extra-unfortunate since I’m not even speaking to him after what he did to Gina and me.
I completely ignore him, even when he asks me to pass dishes. So Stephanie, who’s sitting on the other side of me, has to keep reaching around me to give Joey what he’s asked for. Every time this happens, she looks at me quizzically and raises her eyebrows. She’s used to the two of us not getting along, but I guess she’s never caught us in the middle of the “silent treatment” before.
After dinner, we all pitch in to help clean up, and then Dad starts a fire in our big old living-room fireplace, and everyone gets comfortable in there. Andrew and Stephanie brought a chocolate-swirl cheesecake for dessert, and Mom makes coffee for the adults. We sit around enjoying it, laughing and talking.
Except I don’t do much talking for a change. I sit quietly in front of the fireplace hearth and watch the flames dance over the logs. I don’t even bother to wrinkle my nose and make disgusted faces at Ben and Jaine, who are curled up so close on one end of the couch that you couldn’t squeeze a piece of paper between them. Instead, I am thinking. About that awful “family brag paper” I have to write. And about my brothers.
I must look very unhappy or something, because Stephanie notices and comes over to me. “Tori,” she asks, perching on the stool by the fire, “are you okay?”
I shake my head slowly, and then, to my great surprise and horror, I feel tears come into my eyes, wet and warm and stinging.
I try to hide them from Stephanie, but I think she’s already seen them. She slips her arm around me and rubs my back for a moment. Then she asks, “Do you want to go up to your room and talk?”
Suddenly, I realize that’s just what I need. I nod my head and sniffle gratefully. Then I get to my feet, and the two us slip quickly out of the living room without anyone really taking notice.
Up in my room, I turn on the lamp, and Stephanie and I sit on my bed together. For a few minutes, neither of us say a word.
Then I open my mouth, and it all comes tumbling out. I tell my sister-in-law about the awful assignment from Mr. London, and about how I can’t possibly write that paper truthfully, because there’s nothing good at all to say about Nate or Ben or Joey. I tell her every little thing I can think of that irritates me about each one of them, although I’m sure I’ve told her before. And I finish off with the story of Joey locking Gina and me in the attic today.
“Oh, my goodness,” she says quietly once I’m done. “So that explains why you were ignoring Joey at dinner tonight.”
I nod my head. “It’s so terrible, Stephanie, being the only girl. The only brother I like is Andrew.”
Stephanie laughs gently. “You know I have two sisters,” she says. “But guess what? I grew up wishing I had brothers instead!”
My mouth falls open. “No way! Why did you wish that?”
“I don’t anymore,” says Stephanie. “But, Tori, sisters come with a whole different set of problems. They lock you out of their rooms and make you feel left out. They fight with you over clothes, and when you get older, maybe even boys. And they take much longer to forgive and forget than brothers do. Do you ever remember having a fight with one of your brothers that lasted for more than an hour or so? Do you ever remember any of them refusing to speak to you? Or arguing with you over borrowing your stuff?”
Woodenly, I shake my head. “I guess I’m the one who stays mad,” I admit. “I’m the one who gives them the silent treatment. And we don’t even like the same kinds of things. We leave each other’s stuff alone.”
“That’s just what I’m talking about,” says Stephanie. “Because you’re a girl and they’re guys. Now, I’m not saying that sisters aren’t wonderful and special, because they are, and I love mine very much. But brothers are special, too. And whether you have sisters or brothers or both, there are always going to be difficulties, just because you’re siblings. So the trick is, you’ve got to pay more attention, to look closely for those little things about your siblings that, deep down inside yourself, you love. The things that make you proud of them. And then you’ll see just how much they mean to you.”
Like Mr. London said. “But--but what if I can’t find anything I love about them?” I ask. I am really and truly afraid of this.
“Well,” says Stephanie, and I can tell she’s trying not to smile, “sometimes you need to help these things along.”
“What do you mean?”
She pulls all her hair over one shoulder and combs her fingers through it. “Well...maybe if you start being nicer to your brothers, they’ll start being nicer to you. And then you’ll see what there is to love.”
“I guess I’m not that nice to them,” I confess. “I could try to work on that....But it isn’t going to be easy.”
Stephanie laughs again, louder this time. “Maybe it’ll be easier than you think.” Then she pulls me into a hug--a sister hug.
Chapter Five
Over the next week, I devote most of my free time to two things: getting my Halloween costume ready and thinking carefully about the talk I had with Stephanie.
The costume part is easier by far. Mom has our gypsy skirts hemmed in no time, and between her and Auntie Luz, Gina and I come up with plenty of scarves. Auntie Luz’s scarves are the best, really. She’s got all these long, silky, bright, colorful ones with fringe and tassels. We choose scarves for our heads and scarves for our necks that will help disguise the bulky
awkwardness of the jackets we have to wear trick-or-treating.
We spend a long time sorting through our dress-up jewelry, too, and picking out the best gaudy necklaces and big rings and bangle bracelets to complement our costumes. And Auntie Luz lets us each borrow a pair of gigantic gold hoop earrings, which is a very good thing because neither of us has hoops of our own that are anywhere near as big.
As the days pass, we grow more and more excited for Halloween. Gina’s excitement is total, untouched by anything else. But mine is clouded with worry over my “family brag paper.” By Wednesday, I haven’t even written one word of it.
Again and again, I replay my conversation with Stephanie in my head. She suggested that maybe if I started being nicer to my brothers, they would start being nicer to me. And then I would find what there is to love about them. It seems pretty doubtful, but I’m desperate now. And I guess it’s worth a try....
The only thing is, how am I supposed to start being nice to them? I am not going to act like some total fool by kissing up to them, that’s for sure. Besides, my brothers would just think I’d gone crazy and make more fun of me than ever before. So, how am I going to manage this?
According to Stephanie, there are little things about Nate and Ben and Joey which, deep down inside myself, I love. I have my doubts. But if it’s true, then maybe if I think hard enough, I’ll remember something and...that’s it!
When Gina came over on Saturday, she mentioned some nice things about my brothers. And I’m glad she did, because now I have a plan. It might be silly or far-fetched or both, but the due date for my paper is drawing nearer with every passing second, and I’ve got to do something.
So on Wednesday night, I open my desk drawer and pull out three sheets of stationery. Unfortunately, I have only one kind of stationery--a Christmas present from a great-aunt, I think--and it’s all different shades of pink with shoes and hats and purses all over it and says “Diva” in big sparkly letters at the top of each sheet. But, it will have to do.
On each piece of paper, I write a note.
Dear Nate,
The Tori Trilogy Page 3