by Annie Tipton
“All right, all right.” EJ sighed and added a final red peg to her Battleship board. “Hit. Aircraft carrier sunk.” Then she added quietly, “You win.”
“What was that?” Isaac cupped a hand around his ear. “Who wins?”
“YOU win, but you’re still a massive loser!” EJ wrenched the tiny plastic pegs and battleships out of the game board and threw them into the box. “You win. I lose. Happy?”
“Very happy.” Isaac put the box lid on the Battleship game, pressing it down with both hands so it made a rude noise that sounded like expelled gas.
“Pardon me.” Isaac pinched his nose and pretended to look embarrassed.
EJ rolled her eyes and tried to look disapproving at her brother, but her lips quivered into a grin, and a laugh overtook her face.
“Isaac, you are ridiculous.” EJ grabbed him and poked the super-ticklish part of his neck. “But you’re not going to beat me in Battleship and Chickenfoot dominoes. Ready to lose?”
“Never!” Isaac laughed and squirmed until he got away, scampering to the opposite side of the coffee table.
“I’m going to set up so we can start playing when Mom and Dad are done in the kitchen.” EJ opened the lid of the box and removed dominoes, setting each piece facedown one at a time.
Isaac and Bert watched EJ, both with their noses peeking over the edge of the coffee table.
“You’re doing it wrong,” Isaac said after watching for several moments. “You’re too slow.”
“You could help me,” EJ said.
Isaac stood up, and before EJ could even get a word out, he turned the box over, scattering the remaining dominoes across the coffee table and onto the floor. Bert yipped at the clattering noise and hid behind EJ.
“Isaac! Come ON!” EJ said, exasperated. “Pick up the ones on the floor before Bert decides they look like dog treats.”
“Say the magic word….” Isaac wagged his finger at EJ.
EJ knew this was one of those moments Mom would say that Isaac was just trying to get under her skin for the fun of it. Why? Because that’s what brothers do.
“Do it before I knock you into next week!” EJ replied, a little louder than she meant to.
“Nobody’s knocking anybody anywhere,” Dad said as he walked into the living room, kneeled next to the coffee table, and began to pick up dominoes. “Unless it’s a knock-knock joke.”
“Knock-knock!” Isaac said.
“Yes, we all Noah good joke,” EJ said. “Shut it!”
“Okay, okay, enough you two,” Mom said. She was holding a tray with a big bowl of popcorn, napkins, and four plastic cups filled with fizzing root beer. “Dad and I have good news and bad news.”
EJ’s stomach did a nervous flip at the words bad news.
“The good news is that two of your favorite people are coming over to play games tonight,” Dad said, reaching under the table to pick up the last stray domino.
“Did we hear our names?” As if on cue, Mrs. Winkle appeared from the kitchen, dressed in a pea-green jumpsuit with a wide purple belt and a tiny purple top hat with white feathers sticking up on the right side. EJ had always admired Mrs. Winkle’s unusual fashion sense. Mr. Johnson shuffled along a few steps behind, looking pretty boring by comparison in his white polo shirt and khaki pants.
“I heard we’re playing Chickenfoot tonight, so I wore my best chicken hat,” Mrs. Winkle said, removing her hat to reveal an egg underneath. “My good luck charm.”
“Mrs. Winkle! I have a spot right here for you.” EJ patted the couch cushion next to her.
“Thank you, m’dear!” Mrs. Winkle sat and helped EJ turn the last couple of dominoes facedown.
“I didn’t wear a chicken outfit, but I did bring these.” Mr. Johnson picked a pair of reading glasses out of his shirt pocket and swapped them with his regular glasses. “These will make sure I can see the tiny dots on the dominoes so I can beat all of you.”
“We’ll see about that, Mr. Johnson.” EJ gave him her best game face.
“And the bad news,” Dad said, “is that Mom and I have to go to a meeting, so we’re going to miss out on game night.”
Again? EJ’s brain yelled at her. What is going on?
“What meeting?” EJ asked, trying to sound casual, even though the flip in her belly had turned into a fireball in the pit of her stomach. She really hoped she’d get an actual answer this time.
“It’s just something that came up last minute,” Mom said as she set the popcorn and root beers on the coffee table. “But we are so thankful that Mrs. Winkle and Mr. Johnson were available to come over tonight. You all will have a great time.”
EJ opened her mouth to ask another question, but Dad cut her off.
“See you in a couple hours.” Dad waved as he and Mom walked out the front door. “Have fun!”
EJ snatched a cup of root beer from the tray and took a huge gulp, thinking it might extinguish the fire in her belly. The combination of the giant gulp and the fizziness of the liquid made her cough and sputter, spilling soda down the front of her green Regional Spelling Bee T-shirt.
“Oh EJ!” Mrs. Winkle quickly took the cup from EJ with one hand (to prevent any further spillage) and gently patted her on the back while EJ coughed.
“Sometimes it just goes down the wrong pipe…. Keep coughing,” Mrs. Winkle said.
“It wasn’t me that spilled this time!” Isaac said gleefully. “I call that progress!”
EJ’s coughing finally calmed enough that she could grab a handful of napkins from the tray and mop up the root beer from her front. “Ugh. What a mess,” she muttered, feeling the hot ball of frustration grow as the sugar from the soda made the T-shirt stick to her chest.
“No harm done, EJ,” Mr. Johnson said, tossing a couple of popcorn kernels in his mouth. “No use crying over spilled … root beer.”
“Well, are we ready to play?” Mrs. Winkle asked as she passed out the remaining cups of root beer.
“Let’s get ready to ruuumble!” Isaac shouted as he picked up seven domino tiles and set them up in front of him. Mrs. Winkle, Mr. Johnson, and EJ did the same.
EJ scanned her tiles, looking for the double nine tile to start out the game. If she was lucky enough to get the double nine, she was sure she would win.
“I’ve got the double nine.” Mrs. Winkle smiled and set the tile down in the middle of the table.
EJ looked at her tiles again. No nines at all. She took a domino from the draw pile. Still no nine.
“Pass,” she said.
Mr. Johnson looked at his tiles through his reading glasses that were propped on the end of his nose. EJ didn’t wear reading glasses, but she guessed that the closer Mr. Johnson could get his glasses to the dominoes, the better he could see them. Mr. Johnson played one of his dominoes on the double nine.
Isaac and Mrs. Winkle both played nines, but that left three more nines they had to fill before open play. It was EJ’s turn again, and she was still staring at a hand that didn’t have any nines.
She begrudgingly picked up another domino from the pile. A double two.
“Pass,” she said, tapping the domino on the table impatiently.
Mr. Johnson, Isaac, and Mrs. Winkle made quick work of filling the remaining three spots with nines. Now the board was open for EJ to play anywhere she wanted. She glanced back and forth between the table and her dominoes, searching for the very best play she could make. Then she looked for any play she could make. She felt the heat in her belly start to spread to her chest.
“Are you kidding me?” she said to no one. “I can’t play!”
“Oh dear, I’m sure you can,” Mrs. Winkle said, scooting toward her on the couch. “Want me to help you look?”
“No! I can do it!” EJ spat out the words before she could stop them, but then she saw the hurt look on her neighbor’s face. “I mean—no thanks, Mrs. Winkle.”
EJ looked once more at each playable spot on the table, and sure enough, none of her dominoes matched. She
drew a tile from the pile and barely looked at it, sure it would be another dud.
“Pass—wait! No, not pass!” EJ double-checked the table. “I can play!” She plopped it down end-to-end with the first tile Mr. Johnson played, matching sixes. She breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed a little bit.
“Well done, EJ!” Mrs. Winkle smiled. “Remember—it’s just a game.”
“Heh,” Mr. Johnson grunted. “A game I’m winning!” He set down a double seven domino, crossways, starting a chicken foot play. That meant the next three plays had to be sevens, to create a formation that looked like a bird’s talon.
“Cock-a-doodle-doooo!” Mr. Johnson crowed triumphantly. It seemed very out of character for the former neighborhood grump. Any other time, EJ would’ve found it funny. Tonight it was just annoying.
“Two can play that game, Mr. J.” Isaac played a seven, adding the first talon to the chicken foot. “Cock-a-doodle-doooo!” Isaac stood up and bent at the waist, pecking at the popcorn in the bowl like a chicken pecking at its feed.
“Oh, you are two birds of a feather.” Mrs. Winkle chuckled as she laid a second seven on the chicken foot. Then she tucked her hands under her arms and flapped them like a hen and added, “Baach, baach.”
EJ was convinced everyone had gone insane. This was a game that would have only one winner! This was no time for fun! No room for goofiness!
The other three laughed and continued to make chicken noises, but EJ just got quiet. There were no sevens in her hand. She was going to have to draw a domino—again. She felt the heat spread from her chest up to her neck, ears, and finally her cheeks.
Maybe it was the fact that Macy was moving to Milwaukee or maybe it was because now she might be moving away or maybe it was because she lost a game of Battleship to Isaac or maybe—just maybe—she still wasn’t 100 percent recovered from chicken pox and not quite herself (in reality, it was probably all of these things put together), but at that moment EJ simply couldn’t contain the frustration she felt from her head to her toes.
In one fluid motion, EJ flips the coffee table over, flinging dominoes, popcorn, and root beer across the room. The other three stare at her in openmouthed shock.
“I can’t take it anymore!” EJ shouts. “This day is the worst!”
“EJ, honey, it’s your turn,” Mrs. Winkle said, bringing EJ back to reality.
EJ saw that the chaos she had just imagined hadn’t actually happened. She looked down at her hand to see the domino that she had just drawn. Double threes. That did it. She clenched her fist around the tile before dropping it on the table.
“Mrs. Winkle, you’re going to send me to my room in about ten seconds,” she said.
“You don’t want to play anymore?” Mrs. Winkle looked confused.
Instead of answering, EJ picked up the bowl of popcorn, took a deep breath, and shouted as loud as she could, “I HATE THIS GAME!” Then, without warning, she turned the popcorn bowl upside down on Isaac’s head. White kernels cascaded down as the bowl teetered on his head like an oversized hat.
Mrs. Winkle gasped and let out a little wail.
Mr. Johnson tried to cover up a chuckle with a fake cough.
Isaac lifted the bowl a bit and looked at EJ, eyes wide with surprise, awe, and a hint of a smile.
“Emma Jean Payne! You most certainly do need to go to your room! I’ve never known such a bad loser in all my life. It’s just a game, dear.”
“I know, but I like to win.” EJ crossed her arms and stomped toward the stairs. “And I really needed a win today.”
EJ glanced over her shoulder one last time to see Isaac, still with the bowl on his head, stuffing a handful of popcorn in his mouth. Bert sniffed the piles of white stuff on the floor.
“You know, I think this popcorn is even better now,” he said, breaking the tension in the room in the way only Isaac could. “Isaac-flavored popcorn. Delicious!”
“Hey, kiddo.” Dad peeked his head through EJ’s bedroom door later that night. “May I come in?”
EJ nodded, put a bookmark in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and set it next to her on the bed.
“Holy moley, your room is a disaster area, EJ.” A pair of jeans and a copy of Anne of Avonlea got caught under the door as he tried to open it. “You really need to clean up in here.”
“How was your meeting?” EJ asked, hoping Dad would give a clue about where he and Mom had been.
“You and I both know I’m not here to chat,” Dad said as he shoved a wad of clothes aside and sat on the foot of her bed. “Mrs. Winkle told me what happened. But what I want to know is, why?”
EJ thought for a moment. Should she ask about the mysterious crying and secret code words and unexpected meetings? The fact was that if they were going to move, she kind of didn’t want to know. At least not yet. So she decided on another approach.
“Macy might move to Milwaukee,” EJ said, watching Dad’s reaction.
“Macy might move to Milwaukee,” EJ said, watching Dad’s reaction.
“I see,” he said, nodding.
“What am I going to do if I lose my best friend, Dad?” EJ felt tears stinging her eyes. He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her next to him.
“You know, EJ, because I’m a pastor, people expect that my answer to every question or problem is to just ‘pray about it’ or ‘read the Bible’ or ‘go to church more,’ ” Dad said. “While those are all good, doing those things isn’t what it means to live by faith. If you really, truly trust God—even in the hard times like when your best friend moves to Milwaukee—that means living without worry, knowing He has your back.”
“God cares that Macy is moving away?” EJ asked. She had never thought about that before.
“He cares that you’re concerned about it and it’s making you yell at your friends and family and dump popcorn on your brother’s head,” Dad said. “But He’s got the future under control. He wants you to trust Him about it.”
“Easier said than done,” EJ said.
“You’re absolutely right.” Dad chuckled. “It takes guts to have faith and fully trust God. I hope you’re up for the challenge, EJ.”
I hope I have enough guts, EJ thought.
“Mom said if you apologize to your brother and help clean up the popcorn, we can get a couple of rounds of Uno in before bed,” Dad said. “You game?”
“Yeah, just keep the soda and popcorn away from me,” EJ said, grinning. Dad smiled and walked to the door, carefully tiptoeing around piles of clothes and junk on her floor.
“Hey, Dad?”
“Yes, daughter?”
“No matter what I’ve said in the past, I really like living in Spooner.” She tried to sound as convincing as she could. “A lot.”
“Ooooookaaaaaay.” Dad looked at her as if she’d gone loony. “That’s good to know.”
Chapter 8
JAIL BREAK
July 19
Dear Diary,
Here’s the good news: CAMP STARTS ON MONDAY! And here’s the bad news: I’ve been banished to my room to clean it and pack for camp. And I’m not allowed to come out until both of those things are done. I would much (much) rather be outside in the beautiful weather I see just on the other side of my window.
At least Isaac is stuck inside cleaning his room, too.
Although, if I’m honest, Mom’s right in calling my room a “disaster area” this time. In the summertime, it seems extra easy to let the mess get out of control. In fact, my room sort of looks like a book, clothes, and shoes bomb exploded—I can’t see even one square inch of the floor or the top of my bed right now. (It took me fifteen minutes just to find you under a pile of dirty clothes, Diary!) And I have no idea how a lime-green flip-flop ended up hanging by its strap from the ceiling fan in my room. (I think I will blame my delirious, fever-y self from when I was sick with chicken pox.)
Apparently Isaac is avoiding cleaning his room as much as I am. A few minutes ago I could hear him jumping on his bed (the squeak of th
e mattress springs is a dead giveaway), and now I hear Isaac trying to convince Bert to clean his room. I don’t care how smart and talented that dog is, he’s not gullible enough to do Isaac’s work for him!
EJ
EJ looked longingly out the window and sighed. The weather was perfect for setting up the sprinkler and having a good run-through with Bert (one of his favorite summertime games). The punishment she was serving seemed too harsh for her crime.
“You are hereby sentenced to time behind bars (in your bedroom) for camp-packing procrastination and cleaning laziness,” the judge (Dad) had said, pounding his gavel (the bottom of his coffee mug) on the top of the courtroom bench (the kitchen table). “Take care of your responsibilities, and you may be granted an early release and a full pardon.”
EJ turned away from the window to face her mess of a room. She had to get to work if she wanted to play outside before the sun went down. She took a deep breath and started.
First she pushed all the clothes off her bed and onto the floor, bulldozer style. Next she quickly made her bed—the sheets were a little rumpled under the bedspread, but it was good enough for her. Then she pulled her red polka-dot roller suitcase from under her bed, unzipped it, and put it on top.
EJ rummaged through her top desk drawer until she found a crumpled piece of paper with Mom’s handwriting on it—a list of things to pack for camp. She smoothed it out by running it over the edge of the desktop. Then she sat down on her bed and read:
1. Eight T-shirts (You’ll only be there for six days, but camp can get messy sometimes, so it’s a good idea to have extra.)
2. Four pairs of shorts (Or to be safe, pack one pair for every day. Your choice.)
3. Eight pairs of socks and underwear (See #1.)
4. Converse All-Stars (As if you’d go anywhere without these!)
5. Flip-flops (To wear in the shower and to the lake for swim time.)
6. Two pairs of jeans (It’ll get chilly in the evenings.)