3
I SPENT THE whole of Sunday practicing for an oral report due first period on Monday. I must have gone over the darn thing fifty times in front of my mirror. Didn’t matter. The idea of talking while the whole class stared, terrified me. I got no sleep that night.
The next morning at breakfast I couldn’t eat. “I feel gross. Maybe I should stay home today.”
“What about your report?” My father cut his toast into little squares. “The one about Amelia Earhart?”
Ugh. Even though my dad had a thousand things on his mind, I guess it would be asking too much for him to forget hauling me all the way to the library in Thomaston the previous Saturday to get the book.
“Are you chicken?” Nancy sat across from me, wolfing down Alpha-bits.
“Nope, I forgot all about book reports being due today,” I lied.
NEEDLESS TO SAY, the long bus ride to school felt more nauseating than usual.
In English class, when our teacher, Mr. Hendricks, asked Craig Miller to start us off, Craig said, “Huh?”
“You were supposed to prepare a three minute talk about a nonfiction book you read.” Mr. Hendricks put both hands on his hips, which always left chalky prints on his pants.
“Oh, sure. Of course.” Craig swaggered up to the front of the room in his old army jacket. “I read this really cool book about Bonnie and Clyde.”
“Really?” Mr. Hendricks raised his eyebrows. “And the book title is?”
Without missing a beat, Craig said, “The Outlaws.” I could tell Craig hadn’t even thought about the assignment until this moment. My mouth fell open as he described a movie I had watched on TV last week. Obviously, he had, too. He wrapped up his speech with “If you want to know how it ends, you’ll have to read the book.” And then he was back in his seat, grinning.
Mr. Hendricks nodded, oblivious. Gee, that was an easy grade. Too bad for Craig that all his papers couldn’t be done out loud.
When it was my turn I shakily moved to the front of the class. I looked out at the faces before me. After a moment I opened my mouth and an odd squeak came out. I heard Pamela snort, followed by Claire’s high-pitched giggle. Everything I practiced went poof. I couldn’t even remember the title of my book; never mind what happened or what I liked about it. A cottony feeling filled my throat and hotness swept over me. I glanced at my index cards. I had spent hours fiddling with sentences so I could get my whole speech to fit on five cards in tiny print. The words blurred before me.
Mr. Hendricks looked at his watch. “Have you prepared something, Miss Henderson?”
I tried to nod.
“Why don’t you sit down then if you have nothing to share?”
In my haste to leave, my hands fell open and index cards flew everywhere. One slid under a boy’s sneaker. Down on my hands and knees, I almost had it, but at the last second, the foot slid it farther away. I heard a snicker. I made another grab for the card and got hold of it. The sneaker pressed down on top of it and I don’t know what possessed me, but I balled my other hand into a fist and slammed down hard on the kid’s toes.
“Ow!” he hollered.
I got my cards all accounted for, banged my head coming up from under the desk, and somehow, with all the power I could summon, placed one foot in front of the other and took the six steps to my desk. I wanted to cry. What a failure.
On my way out of class, Mr. Hendricks told me I could pass in a paper report for a D. One little D wouldn’t do too much damage to the super high grades I had in that class, so by the time I rode the bus home, it was a distant memory—one I was glad to be done with.
From the bus window, I glanced down the road to Miss Cogshell’s house and saw her come stumbling out the back door again. She must have spotted another robin.
“Old Coot, Old Coot,” called the boys’ voices from the rear of the bus. I cringed and hoped Miss Cogshell wouldn’t hear. She wasn’t awful enough to deserve this. I peeked around my seat and watched the back of Craig Miller’s blond head, unable to tell whether he joined in on the taunts.
Oh well, it wasn’t my problem. Even if Miss Cogshell did make delicious cookies, I had to admit I’d rather them tease her than me. That’s when I remembered the china plate. My mother had refilled it with some store-bought peppermints, and insisted that the plate be returned by today.
So, later that afternoon, I found myself making my way back down to the pier. When I got to the bottom of our hill, I balanced the plate with two hands and began to walk in as straight a line as I could, one heel coming down right in front of the toes of my other foot. Sometimes I pretended I was on a tightrope and other times I liked to count how many steps it took to get across the road.
Someone’s whistling interrupted my silence. I scanned the area and spotted light hair above army green—Craig coming towards the pier on his bike. I’d seen him down here several times lately and wondered what he was up to. I stopped walking like a goober and hid the plate to one side of me. All I needed was to have Craig see me delivering treats to Old Coot. He flew by, however, whistling away, without even noticing me. I moved on towards Miss Cogshell’s back door.
I opened the outside glass door and knocked, then waited, and then knocked again. I studied the peeling paint of the buoys that hung on either side of the door. They were blue with two thin green stripes around the bottoms. Fishermen always have their own combination of buoy colors so their markers will be easy to identify. Had Miss Cogshell’s father been a fisherman? It was hard to picture her being a little kid with parents and all.
I peered around a tall, bare lilac bush to inspect her backyard. Past the clothesline, in a far corner of the yard was the neatest little shack. A woodshed, I guessed, probably empty now except for passing squirrels. Old tarpaper covered parts of the roof while over-grown shrubbery almost blocked the entrance. A smaller shed across from it must have been an old outhouse. I turned back and gave one last hard thump, when suddenly the door swung open.
“Miss Cogshell?” I called, as I stepped inside. The house was silent except for the distant ticking of a clock. The deserted kitchen had a surprisingly lived in, cozy feeling. I placed the plate of peppermints on the center checks of the blue vinyl tablecloth, so Miss Cogshell couldn’t miss them.
As I turned to leave, my eye caught the sunlight shining in on the corner curio cabinet. The glass doors gleamed and all the little china animals on the shelves came alive. Their many reflections bounced off the mirrors that lined the inside walls of the cupboard. I gazed in at the glimmering figures—turtles, pigs, cats, and even a wolf. A small moose peeked out from behind a plump owl. I stood on tiptoe to see better, but could still only glimpse the head and one antler.
Ever since I’d seen a moose amble through our back yard, I’d been crazy about them. Without thinking, I opened the glass door and reached in behind the owl to pick up the moose. I cradled its smooth finish, more polished than a sea-worn pebble, gently against the palm of my hand.
“You are so cute!” I studied the tiny antlers and grinned at the funny expression on the moose’s face. “Now I’ll put you back where you belong.”
Before I could, I heard Miss Cogshell’s heavy footsteps crunching up the gravel of the walkway. I slammed the cabinet door shut, forgetting about the moose. It slipped from my hand and fell on the tile floor, one antler breaking off. I sank to my knees and gathered up the pieces, and then shoved them into my parka pocket, just as Miss Cogshell came in through the door with a grocery bag in one hand and her cane in the other.
My face grew hot as I watched Miss Cogshell discover me with a puzzled look. She placed her bundle on the table using it for support as she inhaled deeply. Then her face brightened. “Returning my plate?”
I nodded.
Faded blue eyes sparkled behind her glasses. “You are like a ray of sunshine in that yellow jacket.”
She looked down at her wooden cane, which I now could see was topped with a carved turtle. Its shell made a solid resting place fo
r her hand and its head popped out the front, sporting a whimsical smile. “I don’t believe you’ve met Clyde. Clyde, this is Amy.”
I smiled slightly at the turtle. Even though it weighed nothing, the moose felt like the Hope diamond in my pocket. With all my strength I kept my eyes from traveling over to the cabinet. She mustn’t notice her moose was gone until I could somehow repair and return it. Until then I felt certain I could be the next thing broken into pieces. Between a bombed oral report and now a smashed, stolen moose, I’d had enough of this lousy day. I whispered that I had to hurry home, waved goodbye, and ran out the back door.
4
WHEN I GOT to the road, there was Craig Miller again. Did he see me run out of Old Coot’s house? He had a serious expression on his face as he hurried across the field. For once he wasn’t wearing his army jacket, but instead carried it. The coat was wrapped around a log-shaped thing, and I could tell he struggled under the weight of it. As usual, my curiosity got the better of me. What was he doing? It must be important since he left his bike back at the pier. I continued to wonder what he lugged, until he was out of sight. It helped keep my mind off the broken figurine.
By the time I got home my stomach was in knots. I dug into my pocket and pulled out the pieces of the little moose. “I will have to glue you and then somehow sneak you back into the cabinet.” I shook my head and wondered how I had managed to get myself into such a mess.
I figured Nancy would comment if I went to bed early, so I waited around while she waltzed across the kitchen linoleum with a towel wrapped round her head. A strip of transparent tape held down her damp bangs. The towel turban made her look extra tall, although even without it, nobody would ever call her a shrimp. Everybody in our family had height except me. Our tall parents were watching TV in the living room.
Every two seconds Nancy would dance over and flip the radio dial back and forth until she found a good song. When my favorite, “Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree,” came on, I could barely hear it. That’s how loud she sang into her microphone/shampoo bottle, eyes closed, hips swaying. Ever since she fell in love with that kid on The Partridge Family, she thought she was some sort of superstar just waiting to be discovered.
I munched on potato chips and pretended to study my math book so she wouldn’t notice me. Didn’t matter. When her performance ended she wanted to discuss me anyway.
“When’s the last time you had a shampoo?” she asked in a sickeningly sweet voice.
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’ve probably noticed your hair’s starting to get a stringy look. I wouldn’t worry about it. Probably just needs to be cleaner.”
That did it. I had just washed my hair that morning. It wasn’t my fault Nancy got the good hair genes. I crumpled up the chip bag, stomped out of the kitchen and went to my room. Why did Nancy have to be so snotty? We used to play together and even sometimes dressed alike when we were little. The last time she said she’d do something with me, I spent twenty minutes arranging Monopoly money while I waited for her to get off the phone. When she finally hung up, she told me she didn’t want to play anymore. Guess who had to pack up the game?
The main difference between my sister and me is that she’s an outer person and I’m an inner. And I’m not talking about belly buttons. If we both ate a whole box of chocolates, we’d both be bummed out—her because she might look fat. Me? I’d be having ten fits worrying that my arteries might plug up.
I usually felt better in my room, sitting in the nook of my big curved window seat. Every pillow I could find was stuffed into that space and in my opinion it was the only comfortable spot in the whole house. Some of the rooms were so neat and bare they actually echoed. Mom couldn’t stand disorder, so no one was allowed to leave stuff lying around. Good thing nobody ever thought to check under my bed.
To me, the only house I’d ever known was rather big and not too cozy. But it was still home and I loved it. How could Nancy ever want to leave? I didn’t even like going away for a weekend.
As with most things in life, I liked everything to stay the same. Well, except for one thing. It sure would’ve been nice to have a town library. When you were a loner, you ended up reading the same books over and over. I think I must have read all fifteen of my Trixie Belden mystery stories about fifty times.
I could spend hours on that window seat looking out into the back woods. The real moose never returned, although I continued to search for him. Seemed everyone in my family had a long list of moose sightings. Everyone but me. But on lucky days, spotted from my window perch, a deer or fox would pass through on silent hooves or paws, unaware of my interest.
While I tried to concentrate on gluing the china moose, my reflection in the mirror on the back of the bedroom door caught my eye. I moved up close to it. Nancy was right—as usual—my hair was getting stringier. I’d been so busy counting zits I hadn’t noticed. Maybe I’d just start wearing a bag over my head and make everyone happy.
The glue worked well. By morning it was dry and if you squinted your eyes it was hard to see where the moose had been fixed.
ONCE AGAIN, AFTER school, I headed towards Miss Cogshell’s house. My knees felt like Jell-O every time I thought about how to return the moose. Please let her not be home and let the door be unlocked again. I looked all around before I turned into her walkway. No one in sight.
“This pathway is getting a little too familiar,” I grumbled. I knocked. No answer. Thank goodness. I reached for the knob. Just as I did—the door creaked open with Miss Cogshell’s welcoming smile behind it.
“Why Amy, what a delightful surprise. I hope you will stay longer this time. I just loved the peppermints. Of course that doctor I visited years ago would be having a conniption if he knew about all these sweets. But as I always say, I was born plump, so I might as well leave this good earth the way I came into it.”
As Miss Cogshell chattered on, my face felt like a toasted marshmallow. What in the world was I doing sneaking around like a thief? Finally, I couldn’t stand the guilt any longer.
“Miss Cogshell,” I interrupted. “I broke your moose.” I held it out, stared at the floor, and hoped her smile wouldn’t change to anger. My stringy hair hung over my eyes. I bit into my lip as I felt Miss Cogshell lift the moose from my hand, and then heard the slight clink as she placed it on the kitchen table. The silence dragged on as I stood there shaking. I had to do something fast before I became a smooshed bug beneath her giant paw.
“I’m sorry,” I spluttered. “The sunlight was shining on your cabinet, and it was so beautiful I couldn’t control myself. I had to see the small moose behind the owl because—well, because I really like moose. When I heard you coming, I shut the cabinet and the moose fell and broke.” I sniffed loudly. “I glued it.”
I peeked up through my hair. “I wanted to sneak it back.” I dragged my sleeve across my face and tried to pull myself together. Miss Cogshell stood silent. My temples began to throb. I counted the cuckoos coming from a clock in another room.
Then, before I could grasp what was happening, Miss Cogshell’s enormous arms surrounded me in a hug. They even smelled like bread dough, I thought, just before I wondered if I’d be smothered. Not having been hugged since I was a little kid, my emotions must have got all messed up. Next thing I knew, I had pulled away and nearly burst into tears.
“You are an honest young lady,” said Miss Cogshell, as she picked up the moose. I could feel her watching me. “I want you to have this moose to remind you of that honesty.” Miss Cogshell put the moose into my hand. I held it, and wondered what had just taken place. It wasn’t like me to cry or to talk so much.
“Sometime, Amy, maybe—that is, if you visit again—I’ll tell you all the stories of these little china animals.” She pushed back a wisp of white hair that had escaped her bun as she bent to gaze at the animals with fondness. “They come from all over the world. Some children would not appreciate that sort of thing, but I can tell, you and I are t
wo of a kind.” I watched her face with its strong features as she spoke, and realized she wasn’t that ugly after all.
As I got ready to leave, I wondered about this and then suddenly thought of something else. “Miss Cogshell, you said I had my grandmother’s eyes.”
“You do.”
“But . . . ”
“Not the color, the intensity. Whenever something was bothering Rosie, or she was getting ready to ask an important question, her eyes would blaze like the dickens. Then just as quickly, they would settle back down into peaceful pools.”
I smiled as I left the little house once again. This time I didn’t bother to check whether anyone was watching.
As I reached the dock, the empty horizon caught my eye. Where were the boats today? Strolling out to the end of the pier, I pulled my parka tight against the strong breeze. I sat down and dangled my feet over the water, startling a seagull that was perched just below. Its cry cut through the silence as it flew out over the rough churning whitecaps and melted into the distance. The crisp salt air refreshed me. I watched a stout man climb into his moored boat, wind up fish line, stack some lobster traps, and then spit into the water. He undid the ropes and started his engine. My eyes followed the boat putt-putt-putting until it was out of sight. I was still gazing out over the icy water when I heard the creaking of the dock boards behind me.
5
“HEY, SHRIMP, WHATCHA lookin’ for?” I spun around to find Craig Miller coming towards me. I noticed his bike lying in the dirt just before the pier. Why did he always have to catch me moping around by myself? Miss Unpopular.
“Just looking,” I answered, turning back to the ocean. We both remained silent for a minute while I tried to remember how many zits I had counted that morning.
“Bet you’d love to spot a harbor seal.” Craig pushed a hand through his wish-I-had-it thick, blond hair. His bangs hung down in his eyes, so he was constantly shoving them out of the way. I suppose it would have been too easy to get a haircut.
Call Me Amy Page 2