Better With Butter

by Victoria Piontek

  “Quit messing around, Maeve,” Johnny hollered, and choked up on his bat.

  “Just bring me home, brother.” Maeve rubbed her hands together like she could already taste victory.

  “No cheating, Castaway,” Andrew called.

  “What’d you say?” Maeve asked, leaving third base and making a beeline for Andrew.

  “Maeve, get back on base. It’s what they want.” Johnny dropped his bat and started after his sister.

  “I said, no cheating, Casta-way,” Andrew answered, emphasizing the long-running insult. Beulah regularly called the Castos the Castaways behind their backs, but few dared to say it to their faces. Doing so was asking for a whipping. Both the girls and the boys had quick tempers and even quicker fists, and Maeve was the meanest of the bunch.

  Maeve took one step closer to Andrew and met him eye to eye, her freckled nose just above his. Maeve was going to be a sixth grader in the fall, the same as Sparrow, Johnny, and the twins, but only because she’d been held back a year. This meant that even though Andrew was tall for his age, Maeve topped him by four fingers. She also fought better.

  Maeve poked Andrew in the chest. “No one calls me a cheater or a Castaway.”

  “I call it like I see it,” Andrew said, and then tagged Maeve with the ball. “OUT!”

  Ansley whooped.

  Maeve looked ready to spit fire.

  Sparrow felt riled up herself.

  Mama’s death, Auntie Geraldine’s ill nature, the threat to Dalton House, the heat—all sparked and crackled like kindling, feeding an anger she’d been unaware of moments before. She was tired of things she couldn’t control. She wanted to exert her will on something and a cheating Monroe fell smack-dab into that category.

  She started toward Maeve and Andrew just as Johnny trotted up beside his sister. Johnny tried to pull Maeve away. “Forget it. We’re still ahead.”

  If Maeve was the meanest of the Castos, Johnny was the kindest. Sparrow had never seen him start a fight. In fact, he’d often try to broker peace if it could be found, but if it couldn’t, his fists were as hard and as swift as any Casto’s.

  Andrew grinned. He seemed to think the odds had swung in his favor now that Johnny was there to control Maeve. “Yeah, Maeve. Be a good girl and listen to your brother,” he said, his good ol’ boy drawl as plain as his good ol’ boy smirk.

  Sparrow reached the pitcher’s mound just as Maeve shoved Andrew.

  In seconds, the entire outfield rushed toward them to watch the impending fight. They formed a tight circle around Andrew and Maeve. On either side of Sparrow, shoulders pressed close. In their excitement, the kids beside her forgot to keep their usual distance, and for that single moment, she belonged.

  Then a sulfurous breeze traveled across the marsh and touched Sparrow’s hair. A tendril tickled her face. She moved to brush it aside, reminding the kids on either side of her of her presence. The kids pushed away, forcing the circle into a crescent. Sparrow, alone, remained in the yawning space like a raft adrift on an unfriendly sea.

  She ignored the rejection. The idea of Andrew Monroe thinking he was better than other folks made her blood boil. “Andrew Monroe, apologize to Maeve right now!”

  “Andrew? Maeve started it, swamp rat,” Ansley said, tossing her glove on the ground and planting herself in front of Sparrow like she wanted a fight too.

  “You know that’s not true,” Sparrow said.

  “Swamp rat and Castaways sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Ansley singsonged.

  “Shut your mouth, Ansley,” Johnny said. “For goodness’ sake, her mama just died.”

  Sparrow didn’t know what shocked her more: a Casto sticking up for someone outside of their family or the embarrassed flush that turned Ansley’s cheeks red. Sparrow had never known Ansley to regret an insult.

  Maeve looked from Ansley to Andrew, balling and unballing her fist as if she couldn’t figure out which Monroe she disliked most. Suddenly, she seemed to decide and flew at Andrew, pouncing on him like a wild animal.

  They toppled to the ground, brawling like tomcats.

  Andrew yelped in pain. “She bit me!”

  “Oh, boy.” Johnny reached down to grab his sister by the arm.

  Sparrow pushed past Ansley and reached for Maeve’s other arm. She’d about gotten hold of it when the spectating kids scattered.

  “The grown-ups are coming,” Johnny said.

  Sparrow glanced toward the house and instantly regretted taking her eyes off the fighting pair, because in that second of inattention, Maeve and Andrew rolled toward her and knocked her off her feet.

  She tried to scramble out of the way, but before she could, Andrew’s elbow slammed into her mouth, making her teeth rattle, and her head hit the ground.

  To Sparrow’s relief, a hand grabbed her by the forearm and dragged her out of the fight. Gratitude washed over Sparrow as her limbs disentangled from Andrew’s and Maeve’s, but when she turned to face her savior, her relief turned to dread. She hadn’t been rescued. She’d been caught by Auntie Geraldine.

  Auntie Geraldine’s alabaster cheeks burned a furious red, and her eyes bulged in disbelief. “Sparrow Dalton! I believe you have just about lost your mind!” That she yelled in front of company gave testimony to the depth of her anger.

  Sparrow’s lip throbbed, and she tasted the metallic tang of blood. Andrew’s elbow had cut her lip. She opened her mouth to say something, but one look from Auntie Geraldine silenced her.

  Mason Casto hauled Maeve off Andrew. Mason Casto was Maeve and Johnny’s uncle, and he looked as angry as Auntie Geraldine.

  Wesley Monroe reached out an elegant hand to help his son up. “You all right?” he asked kindly. As the town’s only lawyer, he owned the biggest, prettiest house in Cattail County. He did all the law in Beulah, of course, but also worked in Havisham, which was why, according to Auntie Geraldine, they had so much money. A tidbit Sparrow knew to be fact since Auntie Geraldine kept track of things like that.

  “Fine,” Andrew said through gritted teeth.

  He didn’t look fine. Dirt covered his white dress shirt, and both eyes were swelling. He did his best to brush himself off and then turned to Auntie Geraldine. “Sorry for the trouble, Ms. Dalton.”

  “I know it wasn’t your fault.” Auntie Geraldine smiled at Andrew in a kindly way that made her look like Mama. When she smiled like that, her ice-blue eyes warmed, and her hair seemed more blond than gray, but it was a smile Sparrow rarely saw since Auntie Geraldine never bestowed it on her.

  “What happened here?” Wesley Monroe asked.

  “Nothing,” Sparrow, Johnny, Andrew, and Maeve said in unison. None of them would talk to the adults about what happened. Every kid in Beulah lived by one rule—tell the grown-ups nothing. Kid business was kid business, and as such, they dealt with things in their way. There’d be paybacks, but they would happen far from the adults’ watchful eyes.

  “Welp, if no one is talkin’, I’ll take these two home,” Mason Casto said. “You can rest assured, Geraldine, we’ll handle this at our place.”

  “I would hope so.” Auntie Geraldine turned her stony gaze toward Sparrow. “As for you, young lady, we’ll discuss this in private.”

  “Go easy on her. No real harm’s been done and she just buried her mother,” Mason Casto said.

  “I most certainly will not. Acting in such a despicable way on today of all days. It’s inexcusable! My sister is probably rolling over in her grave.”

  The reminder of Mama in her grave felt like a punch in the stomach, and Sparrow’s knees buckled. Auntie Geraldine didn’t need to say such awful things. She only did it to hurt Sparrow.

  Mason Casto reached over and steadied Sparrow to keep her from falling. “Geraldine,” he said softly.

  “I’ll not be lectured at by a Casto,” Auntie Geraldine snapped, and everyone felt the yoke of Beulah’s social structure. Castos didn’t tell Daltons how to act, even when the Dalton was in the wrong.

  Mason nodded
, and after an uncomfortable pause, he offered his hand to Wesley. “Sorry about your boy there.”

  Wesley returned the gesture, and the two men shook. “He’s tough. Aren’t you, son?” He slapped Andrew on the back.

  Andrew nodded miserably. Maeve had clearly beaten him.

  The Castos turned to leave, and everyone watched as they walked away. They got in their truck, and Mason Casto maneuvered it out of the long line of cars parked in the Dalton drive.

  He started to pull out onto Route 17. Then he stopped to make way for a vintage van, the color of periwinkles, hauling a teardrop camper. It zoomed down the rural country road toward town.

  “Flea market folk,” Wesley Monroe said.

  “Charlatans,” Auntie Geraldine corrected him.

  As Sparrow watched the blue van speed by, a girl leaned out the window and released a piece of yellow paper, as if setting a bird free. The paper took flight. It fluttered back and forth, making the most of its freedom. Just when it looked as though the paper would land in the middle of the road, the swamp sent a breeze its way and the paper picked up momentum again, hurtling toward the funeral party like tumbleweed. As it flew by, Sparrow snatched it from the sky.

  It was an advertisement. THE GREAT MADAME ELENA was typed in bold at the top of the page, and below the words were three tarot cards. Under the cards, more text said, Be amazed. Be astounded. Child psychic. Sees all. Knows all. Have your fortune foretold and all your questions answered. Appearing for a short time only at the flea market. Then much lower down and in much smaller print: All readings $20.00. Cash only, paid in advance.

  A quiver of curiosity quickened in Sparrow’s stomach—sees all, knows all.

  Auntie Geraldine ripped the paper from Sparrow’s hand. She scanned the page and then tore it down the middle. “Fortune-tellers,” she said, her disdain clear.

  Fate, Sparrow thought.

  Copyright © 2021 by Victoria Piontek

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available

  First edition, July 2021

  Jacket Artwork: Allan Davey

  Jacket photos © D. u. M. Sheldon/age fotostock and Shutterstock.com

  Jacket design by Keirsten Geise

  e-ISBN 978-1-338-66220-7

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