Frosted Kisses
Page 12
Tally frowns at him, but then she nods. “Agreed,” she says.
Blake takes a big bite of mashed potatoes, then asks Tally if she likes seafood. He opens his mouth to show her the potatoes inside.
“Anyway,” she says, ignoring him. “These odd jobs are earning us a good amount of money. But what we need is something big that will draw money as well as media attention.”
“Like what?” Blake asks.
Tally looks from him to me and back again, creating dramatic tension. “Avantouinti,” she says.
“Bless you,” Blake says.
Tally sighs. “It’s Finnish for ‘winter swimming.’” She smiles.
“So you want to do a polar plunge?” Blake asks.
“Not exactly,” she says. “I mean, polar plunges are awesome, but there are literally hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. I want to do something different.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Pudding,” she says. I look at Blake, who shrugs. “I want to put on a pudding plunge.”
“You want us to jump in pudding?” Blake asks.
“Yep,” Tally says. She grins from me to Blake and back.
“So people pay money to jump in pudding,” Blake says, making sure he understands.
“Not just that,” Tally says. “We get people to pay money to see other people jump in pudding. You know, like Sheriff Abrams or maybe Charlotte’s dad?”
I smile. Charlotte’s father is president of the bank. I’ve never seen him without a tie on, much less covered in pudding.
“And just think of the merchandising opportunities!” Tally grins at us. “So what do you think?”
“We’re going to need a lot of pudding,” I say. “And something to hold it in.”
“And a place to have it,” Blake says. “And permits and lifeguards. Not to mention towels and a shower station.”
Tally frowns. It’s clear she hadn’t thought about all of that.
“We can do this,” I say.
Blake looks at me. “We can?”
“Of course,” I say. I sound more certain than I am, but it has the desired effect. Tally is smiling again. “Let’s see if we can hold the Pudding Plunge at Winter Fest,” I say. “I’ll bet the dairy has a big enough vat to hold the pudding. And we can find pudding. There has to be a bulk pudding supplier somewhere.”
“We still have a big problem,” Blake says.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“What flavor pudding?”
“Chocolate,” Tally and I say at the same time.
Blake nods. “It’s a classic.”
Gram pokes her head out of the kitchen and asks if anyone has room for pie. Blake’s up and heading toward the kitchen before she even finishes her question.
Blake comes back with three plates and a whole pie. He cuts pieces of pie for Tally and me. Then he cuts the biggest wedge of pie for himself. He starts to transfer it to his plate. There’s no way the plate is going to be big enough.
“Why don’t you just eat out of the pie pan?” Tally asks. She’s joking, but Blake’s eyes get big and he leans forward.
“Is that cool?” he whispers.
I shrug. I’m not sure whether it’s cool or not, but we are at the kids’ table. And it’s not like anyone is under any illusion that Blake is actually going to return to the kitchen with leftover pie.
“Go ahead,” I say.
“Seriously?” he asks. I nod. He takes a huge bite of pie, closing his eyes as he chews. “I’d avantouinti all day long for pie.”
“You’d sell your soul for pie,” Tally says.
“Not my soul,” Blake says. “But maybe my appendix or part of my liver.” He looks at us. “Did you know that your liver is the only organ that can regenerate?”
“Can we not talk about your liver?” I ask.
“Why? Are you losing your appetite?” Blake asks, looking longingly at my piece of pie. He starts singing a song about his liver. Something about donating just a sliver because he’s a giver. I pass the rest of my pie to him. Blake looks at Tally to see if she’s going to give up her piece.
“Dream on,” she says, taking a big bite. “I am immune to your superpowers.”
“His superpower is being gross?” I ask.
Tally laughs. “That’s every guy’s superpower,” she says.
“I only use my power for good,” he says.
“And pie,” I say.
“And pie,” he says. Blake polishes off the rest of the pie and stands up. He offers to take our dishes to the kitchen, which seems suspicious. But from where we’re sitting, we watch Gram pressing the leftover pie from the grown-ups’ table on him. He feigns being full for about two seconds, but then caves. Dutch slides over on the bench to make room for him to sit down. So, while Tally and I are still relegated to the kids’ table, Blake has somehow managed to wrangle a spot at the adults’ table and get more pie to boot.
Dutch says something to him that makes him laugh. And I see my mom smiling, too. It’s weird. Even with everything over the past few months, she seems happier than I’ve ever seen her. And definitely more relaxed. Hog’s Hollow seems to suit her. It seems to suit all of us. I glance over at Tally to see if she’s thinking the same thing. There are tears in her eyes. She tries to blink them away.
“Thanks for agreeing to help,” Tally says. She looks past me and out of the window. “I just want to do as much as I can while I’m here.” She smiles at me, but her smile doesn’t make it all the way to her eyes. Tally stands up and heads toward the adults’ table, leaving me sitting alone at the kids’ table, wondering what she meant by while I’m here. She slides onto the bench beside Poppy, who puts her arm around her. I shake my head. Something is going on, but no one wants to tell me anything.
It rains for three whole days following Thanksgiving. The first day, Tally and I play board games and make popcorn and help Poppy box up dozens of her new mobiles. Then we help my mom at the bakery, baking dozens of blue velvet cupcakes for a baby shower. The second day, we spend at the ARK, mopping up water leaks and trying to keep the dogs from going stir crazy by taking them out for wet walks in small groups. I try several times to get Tally to talk about what was making her so sad on Thanksgiving, but each time, she starts talking about something else or pretends not to hear me or leaves the room. She finally just tells me to drop it and so I do.
By day three we’re so bored that by early afternoon, we are literally lying in the middle of Tally’s living room floor and staring at the ceiling.
“I am so bored,” Tally whispers.
“Me, too,” I whisper back. We quickly learned not to say it too loud. The last time we said it, Poppy overheard us and made us go sweep out the garage. Mr. Blick, one of Tally’s cats, comes over and sits on my chest. Pumpkin, her giant orange cat, climbs onto Tally. We lie like that for several minutes just staring at the ceiling fan twirling above us.
Poppy peeks in and asks if we want to go to the movies in Lancaster. We’re up, spilling cats onto the floor before she even finishes her invitation. “Don’t you want to know what’s playing?” she asks.
“It doesn’t matter,” Tally says, making Poppy laugh. She spins and looks at me. “Call Marcus.” I shake my head. She turns to Poppy. “I mean, if that’s okay.”
She shrugs. “Why not?” I can think of a million reasons why not, starting with he might say no. Poppy goes to change out of her studio clothes.
Tally turns to me. “I’ll call Blake.” She nudges me. “Come on,” she says. “What’s the worst that could happen? He says no?” I nod. “He’s not going to say no.”
She picks the phone up off the kitchen counter, dials, and hands it to me. I back away, waving my hands. Tally rolls her eyes and puts the phone to her ear. “Oh, hey, Marcus,” she says. “This is Tally. Penny wanted to talk to you.” She hands the phone to me. I glare at her, but take it. What else can I do?
“Hi,” I say. “How was fishing?”
Tally rolls her eyes.
“Oh,” Marcus says. Then there’s a long pause. I bite my lip. “I can’t.” I wait, but he doesn’t say why.
“Well, maybe another time,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says.
“Okay, then,” I say. “I guess I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye, Penny,” he says. Then there’s a click.
I look up at Tally. “He can’t,” I say.
“Well, he probably has a good reason,” she says.
I nod, but if he did, wouldn’t he have said so? I feel sick to my stomach. Why did I have to call? Now it’s awkward and horrible.
“Well, forget boys, then,” she says. “We’ll just make it a girls’ night.”
Poppy comes out of the back, pulling a sweater over her head. “So, is Marcus going to walk over or should we pick him up?” Tally shakes her head. Poppy glances at me. “Well, I’m sure he was just busy.”
I nod. But it wasn’t just that he didn’t want to come to the movies. It was his voice. He sounded weird and distant.
“Come on,” Tally says. “I’ll buy you your own box of Junior Mints. And I won’t eat any of them.” I follow Tally and Poppy out to the garage.
* * *
The movie turns out to be a double feature. Casablanca and An Affair to Remember. Tally and I’ve never seen either of them. Poppy, it turns out, has seen them about a dozen times. She cries during both of them. When the lights finally come on at the end of the second movie, she’s still blotting her eyes.
“So romantic,” Poppy says.
I glance over at Tally, who is completely dry-eyed. “So unrealistic,” she says. “In movies everything leads up to this one perfect moment,” she says. “Life isn’t like that.” She looks at me, waiting for me to agree.
“I guess,” I say. I frown. But maybe I want that. One perfect moment.
Poppy smiles. “Well, whatever you say, I think it’s romantic.” Tally sighs and rolls her eyes, making Poppy laugh.
We filter out with the rest of the crowd. Thankfully it’s finally stopped raining, but the fog is so thick, it reminds me of the airstrip in Casablanca. We climb into Poppy’s car and start back toward Hog’s Hollow. We have to drive through downtown Lancaster, which compared to Hog’s Hollow is huge. We stop at a traffic light. Tally is talking about how movie stars just aren’t as glamorous as they used to be. Poppy is fiddling with the defroster, which doesn’t seem to be working. I use the sleeve of my coat to clear a tiny circle in the foggy window. I look out of the window at Pat’s Pizza. The sidewalk out front is packed with people waiting for a table. There’s a girl outside with hair just like Charity’s. When she turns, I realize it is Charity. Awesome. But then I see who she’s talking to. Marcus. She says something and he nods. Then she leans in and gives him a hug, and I feel my stomach drop. Then the light turns green and we’re pulling forward. Well, I guess I know now why he couldn’t come to the movies with us.
I look away from the window and close my eyes, willing myself not to cry. I try something I read once about listing things in your head to keep yourself from crying. I start listing the first thing I think of: cupcake flavors. Lemon, vanilla, carrot, pumpkin spice, mudslide. Mudslide. Marcus’s favorite. Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes. I’m grateful it’s dark, but still I lean forward a bit to let my hair cover my face. The worst thing would be for Tally to see. She’ll want to know what’s wrong and then she’ll want to talk about it. And the last thing I want is to talk about it. I feel sad and humiliated and a small pinprick of anger. I swipe at my cheeks and tell myself to keep it together at least until I’m alone. Strawberry, white chocolate walnut, blue velvet …
Poppy drops me off at my house on their way home. I end up helping Gram organize the rest of the twinkle lights for the house. But it’s not distracting enough. I keep seeing Charity hugging Marcus again and again. Like it’s on a loop. Gram, my mom, and I have a late dinner of leftover turkey and pineapple cake. I pick at my dinner. When my mom comments, I tell her I just ate too much popcorn at the movies.
I help with the dishes, but then I tell them I’m going to go upstairs and read. My mom looks up from where she’s filling the kettle. “You okay?” she asks.
“I’m good,” I say. She frowns. I’m the world’s worst liar.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I shake my head. “If you change your mind, I’m here.” I walk over and hug her. She puts down the kettle and hugs me back. “I love you,” she says.
“I love you, too,” I say.
Upstairs I lie in bed and try to read, but I give up after reading the same page three times. I put the book down and shut off my light. Then I lie in the dark feeling sorry for myself. Even Oscar pushing under the covers, followed five minutes later by Cupcake, aren’t enough to cheer me up. I lie on my side staring out the window at the water, playing the Marcus and Charity movie over and over in my mind until I finally fall asleep.
* * *
On Monday, Miss Beans tells us we’ll have every art class for the rest of the semester to work on our sculptures. Charity walks in just as the bell rings. She glides past our table and smirks at me. Just seeing her makes my stomach hurt. After a whole night of replaying her hugging Marcus over and over, the sight of her makes me feel like throwing up.
I pull the bundle of twigs I collected on the way to school out of my backpack. I move to an empty table and start laying them out to make the framework for the dirigible I’m building. The only thing I can do at this point is distract myself. Unfortunately, Charity doesn’t make it easy. Her voice cuts across the hum of the pencil sharpener and the low drone of everyone talking as they work. Tally leaves the dog she’s constructing out of table legs and tin cans to help me tie the framework together.
Charity is loudly describing her ski trip in detail. Apparently she was a natural. “Gregory said my form was flawless,” she says. Her minions are listening, barely. Every time Charity pauses, one of the Lindseys breaks in and asks Esmeralda if she had fun or what she was wearing or what Gregory said about her form. Esmeralda just smiles and offers mostly one-word answers. Charity’s response is to talk louder and pepper her stories with digs about Esmeralda’s lack of ability on the slopes. She’s clever about it, though, saying everything with a smile.
“Do you want this to stick out here?” Tally asks, pointing to the twig I just attached.
“Of course not,” I snap. “Why would I want that?”
Tally looks at me with big eyes. “O-kay,” she says.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m just tired.”
Tally nods. She continues attaching twigs to the frame. “Have you talked to Marcus yet?” I shake my head. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure he was just busy.”
I nod. I can’t bring myself to tell Tally what I saw in front of Pat’s Pizza. I feel bad enough just thinking about it. I don’t want to talk about it.
“You should just talk to him about it,” she says.
“I don’t think so,” I say.
Tally shrugs, but I can tell I’ve disappointed her. “Whatever,” she says. “It’s what I would do if I were you.”
I look at her like she’s lost her mind. “Like how you’re talking to me about what’s been bothering you?” I ask.
“That’s different,” she says.
“I’m sure,” I say.
Tally pinches her lips together. She’s mad, but she knows I’m right, so I’m not backing down.
“Maybe we should talk about something else,” she says.
“Fine,” I say.
“Fine,” Tally says. She takes a deep breath and flips a page open in her sketchbook. Pudding Plunge is written across the top. Below it are dozens of numbered items. “First we need to—”
“Tally,” I say, putting my hand on the page. “I can’t.”
“Look, I know it’s a lot, but—”
“No,” I say.
“So what?” Tally says. “We’re not doing it?”
I sigh. I know how much this means to Tally, but with school and Marcus and the bakery and my dad and Charity, suddenly it just feels like too much. I could say I’m busy with the bakery or homework or even stacking firewood, but none of those things is the reason I can’t take this on. It’s more that I’m tired from the inside. Tired of my dad bailing. Tired of Marcus lying to me. And if I have to be really honest, the drama with Tally is exhausting me as much as anything. So, it’s not the busyness, although that’s there. It’s all of the sadness and anger and confusion that’s weighing me down—draining my energy.
“Maybe we just need to get someone to help us,” I say.
“Who?” Tally asks.
I frown. My mother and Poppy are both out. They’re swamped with work. Then it hits me. “What about Gram?” I ask. “This is a pretty dead time for her. Holiday portraits are all finished. And there’s only a few weddings at this time of year.”
“Oh my goodness,” Tally says. “You know who else we should ask? Dutch!” I make a face. “It’s perfect!” I shrug. It could go either way.
“Excuse me,” Charity says loudly. “Can you two keep it down? Some of us are trying to work.” The minions all smirk at us. It’s then that I notice what they’re wearing. Two of the Lindseys have butterfly clips that are identical to Esmeralda’s in their hair. The third Lindsey has a blue-and-pink polka-dot scarf knotted around her neck that looks suspiciously like the one Esmeralda wore on her first day of school. Esmeralda gives me a tiny smile. I smile back. Charity sees our exchange and narrows her eyes at me. My stomach flips over, but I don’t look away. I smile at Esmeralda again before going back to my project. The nice part of me wants to be nice to Esmeralda. The not-so-nice part of me wants to get back at Charity. I have a feeling befriending Esmeralda would really get to her.