The Kindness Club: Designed by Lucy

by Courtney Sheinmel

  “I’d guess it’ll be a while. An hour or two at least.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  I pressed the button to hang up. I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere without telling one of them first. Now what?

  Oh. Oliver!

  Back before he’d left for college, Oliver was left in charge of me a lot, and I went to him for permission to do things. Just because there were a couple hundred miles between us now didn’t make him any less grown-up. In fact, these days he was even more grown-up—he was older than he ever had been before; and for that matter, so was I.

  He answered: “Hey there, your royal goose-ness,” he said.

  “Hi!” There were muffled voices in the background. Oliver lives in a dorm. Every room in his building has two people living in it. There are bathrooms down the hall, which everyone shares, plus a big room in the center called a “common room,” where people hang out, watch TV, play games, that sort of thing. From the sound of the voices, I wondered if that’s where he was. “I have a favor to ask,” I said.

  “How can I be of use, Ms. Goose?”

  “First of all, you’re a poet and you didn’t even know it.”

  “Oh, I know it.”

  “And second,” I went on, “I want to go to the Community House to pick up a quilting project, but Grandma and Dad are both in a meeting at the bowling alley. I can’t ask their permission to leave the house, so I’m asking for yours instead. Do I have it?”

  “Hmm,” Ollie said, and I could practically see him twiddling his fingers just to torture me. “I don’t know. You could get into a lot of trouble at the Community House.”

  “Oh, come on. Please. I’ll be super quick. I just need to pick something up. It’s for my club.”

  “The Kindness Club?”

  “Yup, that’s the one.”

  “Well, in that case, I guess I can’t say no.”

  “Oh, thank you, Ollie. Thanks a lot!”

  “Hang on,” he said. “I have a few rules. First, go straight to the Community House. Second, come straight home. Also leave a note for Grandma and Dad before you go, and call me the minute you walk back in the door. I’d say it’d take about fifteen minutes for you to walk there, fifteen minutes to do whatever you need to do, and fifteen minutes to get home. So you better call me in forty-five minutes. Got it?”

  “I got it,” I said. “Thanks again.”

  “I’m happy to be back in charge,” Ollie said.

  “Who’s letting you be in charge, Ollie?” I heard someone say—a girl.

  “My kid sister,” he replied. He’d never called me his “kid sister” before. He’d just said “sister,” or sometimes “little sister.” I didn’t like the term “kid.” It made me feel younger than I was, like someone who wasn’t old enough to be his best friend.

  “Who are you talking to?” I asked him.

  “Just a friend,” he said.

  “A girlfriend?” I asked.

  “Well, she’s a girl, and a friend,” he said. Behind the words, I could hear someone giggling—probably the same girl.

  “Come on, is she?” I asked.

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

  “When?”

  “When I say so.”

  He had a secret from me. I couldn’t remember him keeping a secret from me before. Best friends don’t do that. Except I was wondering if Ollie had changed his mind about that. Mrs. G had been right about things changing.

  “I think it’s so cute that you’re talking to your little sister,” I heard the girl say.

  “Ollie?”

  “Listen,” he said. “You have your errand to run, so I’m going to sign off. Don’t forget to call me when you get home. And leave a note for Grandma and Dad before you go. And CALL ME.”

  “I’ll do all those things, I promise. I’ll never let you down because you’re my best friend.”

  “Good girl, Lucy-goose-alicious. I’ll talk to you later.”

  CHAPTER 14

  The big room at the Community House was being used as a yoga studio when I got there, which meant I had to wait for twenty-three minutes. I walked the length of the orange and yellow hallway, feeling nervous. What if someone mistook the patches for garbage and threw them away? What if I took too long to call Oliver and he called the police?

  I couldn’t do anything about the potential first problem, but as far as the second problem was concerned, I’d have to run all the way home. I didn’t want to risk worrying my brother, and I certainly didn’t want to risk police involvement!

  Okay, that problem was solved. Now back to the first one: worrying about the patches. I’d paced the length of the hallway to the front door and turned to walk back down again. I began to count my steps. If the last step is on an even number, the patches will be there, I told myself.

  Thirty-one.

  Thirty-two.

  Thirty—

  The door at the end of the hall was pushed open by a woman, hair slicked back with sweat, yoga mat under her arm. I jogged the last few steps to the door, losing track of what step number I was on, and headed inside. There were a couple dozen women and a couple of guys with their own rolled-up yoga mats standing around talking to one another. One woman was in the center of them all. She was wearing layered tank tops, pink on the bottom and black on top, and zebra-print leggings. She had to be the one in charge, because she had a headset on like a concert singer.

  I walked past her and everyone else, and headed over to the windowsill. No patches. My heart picked up its pace, but I took a couple calming breaths.

  “Hey, do you need help with something?” one of the women asked. She’d broken away from the group to come over to me. “Are you looking for your mom?”

  People always assume kids have moms. I guess that’s understandable, since most kids do. But I don’t, and so it always gives me a little tingle when people ask me about mine.

  “No,” I said quickly. “I’m just looking for some patches.”

  “Patches?” she asked, confused.

  “The kids in the after-school program decorated them. They were right here. Did you see if anyone put them somewhere?”

  “No,” she said. “But I’m not sure you should be taking anything from the after-school program out of this room.”

  I was aware time was tick-ticking by. Oliver would expect me to be home in five minutes. Even if I left now and ran the whole way, I was cutting it very close. But luckily I didn’t have to waste time assuring her that I wasn’t a thief, because someone called out my name: “Lucy!”

  I turned around. “Leesha. Thank goodness you’re here.”

  “I never miss Laura’s yoga class,” she said, nodding toward Zebra-Pants Headset Woman. “We use this room because it’s the biggest, and she always draws a crowd. You should come sometime.”

  “I will,” I said. “But for now I came to pick up the patches so I can make the quilt like I promised.”

  “I put them in the supply closet for safekeeping. Come with me.”

  The supply closet was in the corner of the little-L part of the room. Leesha took out the stack of dried patches and slipped them into a manila envelope.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I gotta run home now.”

  “’Bye,” she called.

  I’m sure I beat some sort of world record on the way home, and I was panting when I dialed Oliver, who didn’t even pick up the phone, so I left a message: “It’s me, your favorite sister and BFF. I’m home safe and sound, and I’m going to stay here now and make my quilt. Hope you’re having fun with your girlfriend.”

  Since my bedroom is so small, I keep my sewing machine in a corner of the living room. I pulled it out and turned it on. I love the sound it makes when it hums to life, a gentle kind of whirr, like the sound of a hummingbird’s fragile little wings flapping. I loaded a spool of white thread onto the spool pin. Then I realized I had a problem. The kids’ patches were all different shapes. I’d done it to make it more fun and creative for t
hem. But it turned out I’d presented an extra challenge for myself. You’d think with the experience I have designing and sewing my own things, I would’ve figured that out before I sat down to stitch the quilt together.

  But I thought of a solution: I’d sew each of the kids’ differently shaped patches onto carefully measured square patches, then I’d sew all of them together. I needed to save the flat sheet for the back of the quilt. Luckily, I had some of the fitted-sheet fabric left over, as well as the pillowcases. I got out a tape measure and fabric scissors, but before I got to work measuring and cutting, I had another inspired idea. Tie-dye.

  YES, TIE-DYE!

  The sheets and pillowcases from Anabelle were white and, like blank pieces of paper, they’d been perfect for the kids to decorate. But they’d make pretty boring squares … unless I spiced things up a bit. In fact, I’d also dye the flat sheet and spice up the back of the quilt, too.

  I had tie-dye supplies left over from the summer. Within twenty minutes, I was in the backyard (where Grandma had made a rule that all tie-dyeing was to take place) with one bucket of blue dye and another of red. I’d folded the sheets and pillowcases accordion-style, and wrapped rubber bands around them. Every two to three inches, another rubber band. Then, wearing Grandma’s kitchen gloves, I dunked the pillowcases and fitted sheets into the red dye, and the flat sheet into the blue. When they finished soaking, I undid the rubber bands, and turned on the backyard hose to rinse them super thoroughly. Finally I was done.

  Well, not exactly done. It was time to put the sheets in the washing machine. By then, Grandma had come home for dinner. She made stir-fry veggies and tofu over rice, and put a plate in the fridge for Dad to eat when he got home, whenever that was. Midway through the meal, the washing machine beeped, and I switched the sheets to the dryer.

  After we cleaned up, Grandma offered to help me cut the red tie-dyed fitted sheet and pillowcases into perfect squares. She went into her room to get her reading glasses. You need to see well to make sure the cuts are precise as they need to be. When she didn’t come out within a few minutes, I went looking for her. She was lying on her bed, still clothed. Her eyes were closed, and her reading glasses were on the end table.

  My breath caught in my throat, and my eyes zeroed in on her chest. It was moving up and down, up and down, just like it was supposed to. She was alive, just tired, and that was fine. I didn’t mind cutting the squares on my own. But it wasn’t like her to go to sleep so quickly after dinner. Another weird symptom of something I couldn’t pin down.

  I found a Post-it and scribbled a message to stick on Grandma’s door, for her to find in the morning:

  Dinner was delicious. I hope you wake up well rested and all better!

  Then I went back to the other room and got to work.

  CHAPTER 15

  I spent a couple hours on Saturday night and all day Sunday on the quilt (minus the time I went back to Mrs. G’s to rake up the leaves in her backyard).

  After I cut the red squares, I fired up my sewing machine (aka, pressed the button to turn it on). I used white thread to sew the kids’ patches on, because I didn’t want the stitches to show. Of course they would a little bit, but I wanted the stitches to be as invisible as possible.

  The patches came out looking a little bunched up once they were attached to the red tie-dyed backing. I tried to iron them down. Ironing is just about my least favorite task. I’ve burned myself twice. But if you’re going to work in fashion, you have to accept that wielding a hot iron is at least occasionally going to be a part of your life.

  The ironing only partly worked to make the patches lie flat. It wasn’t perfect, which was a bit disappointing. Stitching the squares together went more smoothly, and once that was done, I turned the whole thing facedown and matched it up to the edges of the big, tie-dyed blue sheet. I sewed three quarters of the edges together, then I turned it inside out, which is called “envelope style,” and stitched the last edge together with teeny-tiny yellow stitches.

  When she came in to say good night on Sunday, Grandma admired the finished quilt draped across the top of my dresser.

  “It’s not as thick as I expected it to be. I don’t know why I thought two sheets sewn together would look thicker in the end. How did the pioneers keep warm under quilts like this?”

  “I think the point is they didn’t keep warm,” Grandma said. “But not to worry. This quilt is for decoration at the Community House, not for practical use. And it looks great.”

  “It’s not perfect.”

  “Oh, mago,” Grandma said with a sigh. “If you’re searching for perfection you’re always going to let yourself down. It’s a perfectly good quilt. You should be proud.”

  By Monday, I was back in school and ready to tackle the next kindness project: Serena’s birthday party. Chloe and Theo met me after Ms. Danos had let our class go for lunch. Chloe was clutching a brown paper bag. “Did you bring your lunch to school?” I asked.

  “Nope,” she said. “It’s a little surprise for you guys.”

  “What is it?” Theo asked.

  “I’m not telling you yet,” she said. “That’s why it’s called a surprise.”

  “Well, speaking of surprises,” I said, and I lowered my voice in case Serena was nearby. “I think we should find Serena in the cafeteria and invite her to sit with us.”

  “She always sits with Vanessa,” Theo said.

  “Fine, so we’ll invite Vanessa, too.”

  Of course it was possible that Vanessa would want to sit with the It Girls, but I didn’t mention that. Neither did Chloe or Theo. We rounded the corner. The hot-lunch line had already formed and stretched into the corridor. A few kids jogged ahead of us to get a closer spot. “But I thought her party was going to be a surprise.”

  “Right,” I said. I was practically whispering at that point. “But none of us know her that well, so we should still try to find out what would make the perfect party for Ser … for Petunia.”

  “Who’s Petunia?” Theo asked.

  “It’s a code name,” I said. “Now we can talk about this safely.”

  Theo rolled his eyes, but Chloe said, “Good idea.” Then she paused. “But how will we get that information from Petunia without ruining the surprise for her?”

  “We’ll be really crafty about it,” I said. “I’m crafty after all.”

  “You are?”

  “I made this skirt,” I said, shaking my hips a little so Chloe could see better how I’d sewn together panels from four different shirts I’d grown out of but hadn’t wanted to part with.

  “Right, of course,” she said.

  “Being good with textiles doesn’t necessarily equate to being crafty in other forms,” Theo said. “Especially with things that don’t involve physical materials.”

  “Huh?” I asked, which is, incidentally, a word I use an awful lot around Theo. In fact, I’d probably said “huh” more in the last few weeks of being his friend than I did in all the other weeks of my life put together.

  “I just mean being good at sewing doesn’t mean you’re particularly clever at getting someone to give you details about her life, without knowing why she’s giving you the details,” he explained. “Not that you’re not clever; I just mean there’s no correlation between one kind of crafty and the other.”

  “Well, in this case there is,” I told him.

  By then we’d made it to the front of the lunch line, and we each got a plate of veggie chili. I topped mine with a little bit of sour cream and a lot of grated cheese. “Keep your eyes peeled for Petunia,” I said.

  And we all did, but we didn’t see her, not as we picked up utensils, or stopped at the water dispenser, or headed across the room to our table.

  Four people we did happen to see were the three It Girls, plus Vanessa, back at their table. “Maybe Serena’s not in school again,” Chloe said.

  “Maybe,” I said. I blew on a spoonful of chili to cool it down. “Maybe you should try calling her later
,” I told Theo.

  “Me?” he asked. “Why me?”

  “You know her best.”

  “I barely know her at all,” he said. “You’re the one who used to have lunch with her.”

  “Yeah, but we weren’t really friends. Just acquaintances. Unlike your mom and her mom.”

  “Yes, but I’m not crafty like you,” he said.

  I had to laugh, but I cut myself off when I spotted Serena out of the corner of my eye. “Look!” I said. “There she is!”

  “Where?” asked Chloe. “I don’t know what she looks like, remember?”

  “She’s in a striped shirt, and her hair comes almost down to her waist. And she’s walking out of the lunchroom right now.” I pushed back my chair so quickly it wobbled.

  “Careful!” Chloe called.

  “I’m fine,” I told her, standing quickly. “I’m going to ask Serena to sit with us.”

  I crossed the room as fast as I could. Serena was holding a cafeteria tray with chili, no toppings, and a plain roll. Hot lunch. According to the rules Chloe had once told us, It Girls weren’t allowed to eat the hot lunch. Maybe that meant Serena wouldn’t even be allowed at their table.

  “Hey,” I said when I’d caught up with her. She stopped in her tracks and turned to me. I’d never noticed before, but she had the greenest eyes I’d ever seen. I decided to say something about them—a compliment card spoken out loud, because I needed something to break the ice. “Your eyes are really pretty,” I told her.

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  Then I didn’t know what to say. Should I tell her I was sorry to hear that her mom had died? I was, obviously, but it was hard to know what to do. What if she wasn’t thinking about her mom right then, and I reminded her what had happened and made her feel sad in a moment when she’d been feeling okay? That seemed like the opposite of kindness.

  There was a silence between us, but it was my turn to speak so I had to say something. “You know Theo Barnes, right?” I asked.