I swear Melissa looks relieved when I let Tootsie drag me out of the room. After we leave the kitchen, Lottie and Melissa start talking and then Lottie giggles. I lag behind Tootsie on the stairs.
I’m sitting on Lottie’s half of the room while Tootsie arranges her dolls in a circle. They’re having a fish fry. Apparently, some of the dolls don’t like each other and are arguing with Tootsie over where they should sit.
Running my fingers over Lottie’s footboard, I feel for the words Lottie and I scratched into the wood when we were six. Lord Almighty, did we get in trouble for that. Even though Mr. Townsend did his best to cover them up, the words are as plain as the nose on your face: I love you Violet. I love you Lottie. We have known each other all of our lives; our parents were neighbors before we were even born. My fingers trace the letters. I hope I’m not missing out on anything downstairs.
Tootsie thrusts a doll at me. It’s the one with purple eyebrows. “You’re this one. You’re from Troit.”
“I don’t want to be from Troit.” I smooth Purple Eyebrows’s hair. “I’m from here.”
“No!” She slips her thumb in her mouth, just like Lottie used to do when we were little. Back then, I carried a baby blanket everywhere and Eddie had a fish doll. He twiddled the fins so much he wore them right down to threads.
Momma’s got my blanket in a keepsake box along with cards and drawings I’ve made for her. And I bet Eddie’s momma’s got that fish doll, too, because even when you outgrow your childish things, someone saves them for you. Someone who loves you does that so you don’t forget who you are.
I’m still holding Purple Eyebrows when Lottie hollers up for us to come down. It’s a bull race, me and Tootsie in the lead and Lottie’s middle sisters, Hannah and Ashley, thundering down behind us. The grown-ups come in, and the noise level goes up about a thousand decibels.
Mr. Townsend slaps me on the back. “How ya doing, Vi?” He grabs his knife sharpener off the counter. “Time to get this show on the road,” he says and heads out the back door with Mr. Gold.
“Well, look at all these girls!” Mrs. Gold says. She looks at me, then turns to Mrs. Townsend. “Another one of yours?”
Lottie and her sisters are all dishwater blondes, but I like it that Mrs. Gold thinks we might be family.
Mrs. Townsend laughs. “Four’s not enough? This is Violet, Lottie’s best friend.”
Hearing that, my heart bulges with gladness and it’s all I can do not to look straight at Melissa. Instead, I step forward and shake Mrs. Gold’s hand. “Momma and I live next door. If you’re not late for church next week, you’ll hear my momma sing.”
Mrs. Gold chuckles. “Well, you’re certainly not a shrinking violet, are you?” Mrs. Townsend laughs.
I don’t know what she means, so I just say, “No, ma’am.”
“Let’s go see how Mark is coming along.” Mrs. Townsend ducks out the back door with Mrs. Gold.
Hannah and Ashley start arguing about who has to set the table, and Tootsie marches around them with her hands on her hips and my flip-flops on her feet. I look at Melissa and Lottie sitting on the bench. Suddenly, I realize Melissa is staying for the fish fry.
“Violet, what’s wrong?” Lottie asks.
I quickly rearrange my face into a friendly face. “Nothing,” I say, even though my heart feels like it just got slammed. “Nothing at all.”
4
Melissa’s nose wrinkles as she looks at the tray of fish fillets Mr. Townsend has just cut and rinsed. She sits down on the bench while Lottie and I begin to press the fish into the cornmeal. I pick up a lemon wedge and drizzle the coating with juice.
“Lottie! You still got your watch on!” I point with the lemon toward Lottie’s wrist. Lottie’s watch has a diamond chip in it. You have to tilt the watch and catch the light just right so’s you can see the diamond, but it’s there. Her parents gave it to her for her twelfth birthday, on account of it being her last year before becoming a teenager. She always takes the watch off when we cook ’cause she don’t want anything to tarnish it.
She washes her hands, unclasps the watch, and puts it aside. We drop the coated fish pieces into the kettle, careful not to plop them in because you’re talking about a kettle full of boiling oil.
“Come on, Melissa, you want to help?” Lottie says. “It’ll be fun.”
Melissa shakes her head. Her mouth is turned down. “I can set the table—would that be okay?”
“The forks and knives are in that drawer,” Hannah says, pointing. She grabs Ashley’s hand and they run out of the kitchen.
I know why Melissa offers to set the table. What she really means is I’m not touching that fish! She’s using manners to disguise it, but I’m on to her. I figure if she’s going to eat it later, she can help cook it now. I pull her away from the silverware drawer.
“Come on, Melissa,” I say encouragingly. “It’ll be more fun if you do it too.” I really do mean it—it would be fun to see her squirm. Lottie gives me an appreciative glance. She doesn’t know what I’m up to, but we’ll laugh about it later.
I take off my apron and hand it to Melissa. “So’s you don’t ruin your fancy clothes.”
She has no choice. She takes my apron, stands, and puts it on. “Thank you,” she says to me. Well, I’ve got to hand it to her, keeping her cool and her manners when I can clearly see how grossed out she is.
Lottie explains how to roll the fish and drop them in. Melissa picks up the first piece and her lips pull back as soon as she touches it. I laugh inside. By the look on her face, you’d think she was handling fresh roadkill. She holds the fish between her thumb and finger and lightly touches it to the cornmeal before slipping it into the kettle.
“Good!” Lottie says.
Melissa turns from the stove and says, “I don’t think I can keep smelling this fish.”
“Sure you can,” I say. “Just breathe through your mouth.” Before she can object, I say, “Now the second piece.”
She turns back and picks up another piece, holding it away from herself like a dirty diaper. When she touches it to the cornmeal, I press her hand down.
“Eew!” Her hand flies up like it’s been electrocuted, and she jumps back from the stove.
I almost laugh out loud.
“That was gross.” She turns to me. “Why did you do that?”
Lottie is looking at me. She looks mad too.
I make a what-did-I-do face at her and turn to Melissa. “Haven’t you ever cooked fish before?”
She hesitates, then goes, “Of course I have. Fishsticks.”
I can’t believe Lottie doesn’t huff like I do on hearing that. “Fishsticks? Fish don’t come out looking like little bars.” I cannot believe this girl. I grab her arm and pull her out the back door.
“Violet!” Lottie pulls fish out with the tongs, but she can’t leave the stove with the kettle going.
Melissa wrenches her arm away as we get up to Mr. Townsend’s station. Perfect. He’s just made the first cut on a big one, right under the head. The fish’s eye is wide and looking up. His mouth is gaping, like he was surprised to have been caught. Mr. Townsend turns the blade and pulls it down. He lifts the skin and meat as he cuts and the fish’s belly is exposed. With his fingers, Mr. Townsend wiggles out the wormy-looking guts.
“Oh!” Melissa has her arm against her mouth.
She steps backward, but I pick up the dump bucket and show her. “See?” I shake the bucket. Guts and fish heads slide over each other. “This is what cooking real fish looks like.”
She pushes away from me and runs toward the steps but doesn’t make it. She vomits right there on the stairs.
“Melissa!” Mrs. Townsend runs to her. She sweeps Melissa’s hair back and holds it while Melissa finishes up.
I put the bucket down and stare. I didn’t mean for her to puke. But if you think you’re going to be part of a fish fry, you better know it ain’t no fishsticks.
Lottie’s at the screen door watching
the Golds leave. Mrs. Townsend hoses down the back steps as Hannah and Ashley run around. I’m pulling the fish out of the kettle; they’ve turned out perfectly. The Golds’ motor turns on, and I hear the crunching of gravel as their car turns out of Lottie’s driveway.
Tootsie clatters up the porch steps, throws open the screen door, and runs in. “They’re gone,” she announces. When no one says anything, she brushes by Lottie and grabs her hand. “Don’t be sad.”
Lottie pats Tootsie’s head. “I’m not sad,” she says. She lets go of Tootsie and tells her to tell their mom everything’s about ready. Then she looks at me. “I’m a little mad.” She walks up to where I’m laying the fillets on paper towels. She leans against the counter. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose, but you were kind of mean to her.”
My mouth drops open, mainly because I didn’t think Lottie had noticed. But now I’ve got to defend myself. “Lottie,” I say, peering directly into her eyes, “we were both showing her how to cook fish. You heard what she said—the smell was getting to her.”
Lottie squints. She’s not quite buying it.
“You’re the one who wanted her to cook with us. I was just trying to be helpful—I even gave her my apron so her clothes wouldn’t get dirty, remember?”
Lottie nods. “That was nice of you.”
“So when she said that about the smell, I thought maybe she’d do better outside, that’s all.”
Lottie’s face scrunches up. She needs one more push.
I shake my head. “I just feel sorry for her, living in the murder capital of the United States, going to school with such dangerous people.”
Lottie’s eyes go wide. “I know! I can’t imagine living like that!” Her face is all lit up and I feel better ’cause she’s not mad at me anymore. “She said they might even build a subway there!” She moves the fish to a serving platter and grabs the coleslaw from the fridge on her way to the table.
I bring the forks and knives. “Like in New York?”
“I don’t know. She said the subway would be aboveground.” Lottie shrugs. “Like a monorail, I guess.”
Big deal, they have monorails at Disney. It’s just a ride.
Tootsie and the rest of the family come pushing through the screen door. Everyone sits down, and after we say grace, we start passing around the food. I am surrounded by noise and family and it is as cozy as snuggling in your bed on a cold night.
5
I’m sitting on my porch in the morning when Eddie comes down the road on his bike.
“What’re you doing?” he says, turning down our walk.
“I’m going to Lottie’s later.” But right now I know for a fact she’s doing laundry—I saw the sheets out on the line. I hate folding clothes, so I sat with Momma till she went to work, then I came out here to sit. “But I’m not doing anything right now.”
Eddie wipes his forehead with his arm. “Want to look for cups with me?”
If you return thirty BrainFreeze cups to the gas station, they give you a free BrainFreeze. I need a drink anyways. A root beer one sounds good. “Let’s go.”
Walking down the road is like walking inside an oven. The humidity presses the sun down on you, and the dirt road blasts the heat back up. Eddie thinks our best luck for finding used cups will be where all the teenagers park, out by the county road. We go down a little ways and then turn left onto the fork that dead-ends at the woods.
The footpath is worn in good, lined mostly by palmettos and wax myrtles, a few scrub oaks. Definitely cooler under here. We walk single file. Sometimes Lottie comes with us, but usually she’s stuck doing chores, what with her dad working at the repair shop and her momma getting stuff ready for the farmer’s market. I like being outside with Eddie ’cause he knows scientific things about bugs and snakes, and he can catch a lizard as fast as I can. Besides, when Eddie and I are alone, I don’t feel like we have to be talking all the time.
We duck under spiderwebs that stretch across the path over our heads. The woods are a busy place. Woodpeckers are drilling trees and squirrels are running along branches in the treetops. One ground squirrel picks up an acorn and darts up an oak; another squirrel chatters right behind him. They don’t seem to take notice of us, and we keep walking. Finally, we spill out to the open area that runs along the river.
Eddie pulls a pack of pretzels from the pocket of his baggy shorts. He gestures with the bag. I shake my head. Shrugging, he crinkles it open. “How was the fish fry?”
My chest heaves with a big sigh. Just as I am about to tell the story, it spins around and turns into something different. This new version is better. I try it out on Eddie.
“Melissa puked something awful at Lottie’s,” I say. I remember Lottie’s sympathetic expression toward Melissa and I try to imitate it. “Poor Melissa.” I press my lips together and shake my head. We pass by turkey oaks and cypress trees. You can’t see the river from here; the woods end on a ridge that drops down to the water. We go around the bend and the net bridge comes into sight.
“What was she doing there?”
I like how he emphasizes she—like even he knows that gooseneck girl didn’t belong there. “Lottie’s parents invited them over. We were showing her how to cook fish, that’s all. We were trying to teach her everything. I even showed her how Mr. Townsend cleans a fish.” I look at him straight on to see how he’s buying it.
Eddie starts laughing.
I forget to keep the sympathy on my face. “What?”
“I passed Tootsie in the field.” His eyes twinkle.
I shrug one shoulder.
“She said you pushed Melissa’s head into the dump bucket.”
I stop walking. “What? I didn’t do that. I didn’t make her puke on purpose.”
Eddie looks at me and grins.
“I didn’t.” I start walking again. The ground slopes up into a cliff along the river. The net bridge stretches between a dock on this side to a ramp on the other side. The boards you have to climb to get up to the bridge are a termite’s dream, rotten and moist.
“Gonna cross with me, Violet?”
The bridge sags high above the river. Most of the netting has fallen off. The wires look thin. And there are gaps big enough for a person to fall through. Him and that bridge—he won’t leave me alone about it.
“Let’s take the long way around,” I say. “Might see an eagle if we do.”
Eddie stares at me, smiling. I stare back, daring him with my eyes to say something.
“Okay,” he says. “Let me feed the fish first.” He climbs up, grips the hand cables, and the wires shake all the way to the other side. The bridge squeaks and clanks with Eddie’s first step. A thick cord runs on the bottom where there used to be boards to walk on. Eddie slides across it as easy as a tightrope walker.
I look around for a long stick. In case he falls in, I could hook his collar and drag him out before the alligators get him.
Eddie stops in the middle of the bridge and starts throwing pretzels. “Violet! Did you see that one?”
“No!” I can’t see nothing through that black water. I do see bubbles and then pretzels disappearing suddenly, as if yanked down.
“Hey! There’s Alfred!”
My heartbeat goes into a drumroll. I ain’t moving any closer, but I stretch my neck and my eyes strain over the river. Those alligators are sneaky. They float with just their eye humps sticking out. Downriver’s smooth as glass, and when I look back to Eddie, he’s smiling and throwing pretzels. My heart calms down.
“Alfred?” I say, moving a little closer. “You mean Allie.” We ain’t seen that alligator since last year. Seen some baby ones, but not that big one. Lottie and Hannah thought it was a log, it was so far away, but Eddie and I know it was an alligator. We just can’t agree on if it’s a boy or a girl. ’Course I secretly think that gator’s a boy, but I like to mess with Eddie about it.
“Oh, man!” he shouts. “You just missed the biggest catfish.” He holds his hands about three feet
apart.
I laugh. “You big liar.”
“You ought to know,” he says, coming off the bridge. It springs back after his weight and rattles before settling down. We start walking again.
I’m frowning now. “What do you mean?”
He leans his head toward me. “I know you don’t like Melissa.”
His words cut right through to my heart. Not because they are mean, but because they are true. I think how I might get around this, but Eddie’s not easy to fool like Lottie is. He knows when I’m lying.
We walk in silence. The path is getting narrower again; we’re getting close to the county road.
Eddie bends down and picks up a crushed BrainFreeze cup. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried.”
He shrugs.
“I’m not—what would I have to be worried about?” I scowl at him.
He raises his hand like a stop sign. “Okay, nothing.”
The way he says that gets under my skin, and I narrow my eyes. “What?”
“Well . . .” He pauses, scratches his neck. “Maybe you’re a little jealous.”
I cannot believe I’m hearing this. “Jealous! What would I have to be jealous of?”
He waves his hands around, erasing the air between us. “Nothing—forget it.”
I stop walking and cross my arms. “Tell me.”
Sighing, he turns around and faces me. “Well, she’s pretty . . . Lottie likes her. . . .” He pauses. “And she wears a bra.”
My face flashes with heat on that last word. My mouth drops open, but nothing comes out.
“But you shouldn’t be jealous,” Eddie says. How he can even talk after saying that one word is beyond me. “You got everything she does.” He starts to walk, then turns around, and though his lips are straight, the tiniest bit of a smile shows through. “Except the bra.”
I pick up a stick and hurl it at him. He raises his forearm and blocks it. I grab more sticks and become a human machine gun, bam, bam, bam, but he laughs and runs ahead.
Violet Raines Almost Got Struck by Lightning Page 2