Rory’s eyebrow shot up.
I marched up to the counter and pulled a five out of my back pocket. It was all the money I had left.
“Here you go, whenever you’re ready.” The barker set three ratty softballs in a triangle formation on the counter in front of me. “Be sure to stay behind the table, now. No leaning, and good luck.”
I picked up the first ball and placed my fingers over the seams. It felt right, if a bit light, in my hand. Next, I studied the tower of bottles. Three jugs made the bottom, two stood in the middle, and one sat on top.
I aimed for the bottom row. My arm flew back. Then, whoosh! The ball slipped from my fingers and bounced into the bottom right corner. The top bottle swayed but didn’t topple.
That was a warm-up, Vi. That’s why you bought three chances. I rolled my shoulders back and took a deep breath. Ready. Set. Throw!
The ball sailed from my grip, and the top bottle tumbled to the floor.
“Nice!” Rory cheered behind me.
“And she got one!” The worker held the bottle up for all to see. A few cheers followed.
But I didn’t let myself celebrate. I had one throw and five bottles left. I took a step back, found my target, and everything else faded away. My arm whipped round. I grunted.
Thunk!
Bull’s-eye. The ball struck the middle bottle on the bottom row. The bottles toppled in four different directions.
“Yes!” I jumped up in the air. Rory and I high-fived.
“And we have a winner!” the barker announced. “Name your prize, any prize.” He motioned to the rows of plush toys.
“Actually, I want a goldfish.”
“Ah, you snooze, you lose. The last one just disappeared. They’ve been the hottest prize today.”
“What?” I shook my head, trying to understand.
“We don’t have any more. That kid won the last one.”
“Will you be getting any more?” Rory asked.
“Afraid not. Pick a prize, would ya?” he ordered as he restacked the tower for the next player.
But I was too shocked and upset to choose anything else. I wanted a fish.
“Sometime before Christmas would be nice,” said the teenager in line behind me.
“Fine,” I huffed, looking at my options. Then it hit me. “The big orange cat, please.”
“Garfield?” Rory asked. “I didn’t know you liked him.”
“I don’t. But I may know someone who does.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
With no time to explain, I darted into the crowd, looking for a boy in a red cap. “Excuse me.” “Pardon me.” “So sorry.”
“Hey, watch it!”
“Sorry, Mister, uh, Coach Harriman,” I called over my shoulder to my old softball coach.
“Hey, Speed Racer,” Rory said, catching up to me, “isn’t the fancy Miss Catfish stage that way? I think I see Ransom and Leon grabbing seats.”
“Yeah, but they haven’t started yet. You go ahead.”
“Oof. Excuse me.” Rory dodged a mother pushing a double stroller, then strode back to me. “You do know your best friend is about to take the stage.”
“Yes,” I huffed. Clearly, I was not the track star of the family. “But I’ve got to catch that kid. Save me a seat!” And I sprinted away from the stage, leaving Rory standing still in the pulsating crowd, just as a magician turned some colorful scarves into doves. The audience cheered. My lungs burned and my feet slapped the pavement. Up ahead, a red cap dashed around a corner.
I bolted forward.
Tucker stopped at last. Out of breath, I jogged up to him as he showed his fish to the bored teenager, maybe his older sister? Or babysitter? Whoever she was, she wore cut-off shorts and braces across her teeth. It sure wasn’t his mom from the mall.
“Hi.” I explained my dilemma to her and asked if I could speak with Tucker about his prize. She shrugged in an up to you kind of way.
I bent down. “Hi, Tucker. My name is Vilonia. I really, really need a fish for an important school assignment. I was wondering if you’d want to trade that boring fish, that you can’t take too many places, for this gigantic fluffy cat that, when you use your imagination, kind of looks like a tiger!” I made my hand into a claw and fake roared.
Tucker tilted his head to the side and squinted. I could see the little wheels turning in his brain while he sized up Garfield with a scowl. He held his fish in front of his nose and then dropped his arm back to his side.
My heart sank.
“It’s your choice, Tuck,” his babysitter said.
I smiled at him, hoping I looked kind and patient and not desperate.
“Okay.” Tucker held out his bag. “You can have him.”
I wanted to hug him, but I gave him Garfield instead. “Thank you so much! I know you’ll take great care of this, er, tiger cat. His name’s Garfield.”
Tucker’s eyes grew wide. He looked at Garfield and smiled. “Okay.”
“Okay.” I smiled too, and held onto my precious plastic bag with a death grip.
“Okay!” the babysitter agreed.
“Bye, Tucker.” I waved. “I’ve got to go now.” And I turned on my heel and ran straight into Mr. Reyes.
“Whoa!” He struggled to balance one of Guy’s famous shakes and a paper plate carrying the biggest funnel cake known to man. “We almost had a caketastrophe.” So during spring break Mr. Reyes paired his Captain America tee with a Boston Strong cap.
“Oh, um. Hi, Mr. Reyes,” I said, quickly hiding the goldfish underneath my raincoat. Thank goodness I had listened to Daddy and brought it. “I like your cap.”
“Thank you, Vilonia. Are you having a good break?”
“Yep.” I smiled. “A great break.” Please don’t ask about Max. Please don’t ask about Max.
“Well, that is great to hear.” Mr. Reyes’s eyebrows creased. Could he tell I was acting strange? “How’s Max?”
“Max. Max is . . . um? Max is good.” I beamed. “A little lonely. I think he misses you.” My cheeks grew hot. I was a horrible liar, and Mr. Reyes was no dummy. But I don’t think he saw the goldfish underneath my raincoat.
“Well, it’s a good thing I’ll see him the day after tomorrow!” He winked.
I started to respond, but the crowd by the stage went bananas. Out stepped the master of ceremonies, our local radio DJ, Richie Rhapsody. “The forty-seventh annual Miss Catfish Pageant will begin shortly. So y’all buy yourself a cold drink, grab a seat, and get ready to see some of Howard County’s brightest, most talented stars.”
“We love you, Richie!” screamed a fan.
“I love you, too,” he replied.
“Nice seeing you, Mr. Reyes, but I’ve got to find a seat.” I raised my voice over the whistling crowd.
“And I’d better get this cake delivered while it’s still warm.”
“Oh, sure.” I stepped aside and watched Mr. Reyes and his Boston Strong cap walk away.
The sun hung low in the sky now. The string of lights shone zigzag across walkways, connecting booths like twinkling laces on a tennis shoe. I pulled the new goldfish back out of hiding.
Music filtered through the loudspeakers. The first group of contestants paraded across the stage, single file. All I knew was I didn’t give a hoot about the new Miss Catfish. All I cared about was seeing Ray Charles. Make that adopting Ray Charles.
Please let him be here.
Richie Rhapsody’s announcer voice filled the late afternoon air, but I couldn’t tell you a single thing he said. Let alone what color the girls’ dresses were. Or what song the band played. My heart beat to one drum, Ray Charles. Ray Charles. Ray Charles.
I made a bet with myself I could find his booth before AC took the stage. I took a left, and a long alleyway of vendors opened before me, but halfway down I spotted a paw-printed logo. The Animal Shelter’s logo. I rushed over.
A gaggle of kids crowded around a portable pen. I wedged my shoulder in between two boys. Six yellow Lab pu
ppies tumbled and nipped at one another, chasing tennis balls and chewing on rawhides, blissfully unaware of the attention they were receiving. Except for one, who’d stuck his nose through the grate, licking a preschooler’s fingers. The little girl giggled and shrieked, surprised by the tickles.
“Mona, come stand by Daddy and me, please.” A round lady, talking to one of the shelter workers, snapped her fingers to get Mona’s attention. But Mona shrieked, fixated on the pups.
They were cute all right, but they weren’t Ray Charles. I turned to the main table, where Mona’s parents stood, and I wondered what I’d say when I got up there. So, did you bring Ray Charles? I’m the one who called about him last night.
And the next thing I knew, there were nods and thank-yous, and Mona’s dad, bald and every bit as round as Mona’s mom, shook the volunteer’s hand while slipping some brochures into his shirt pocket. They turned to leave and left me smiling and looking stunned at the tanned shelter worker with huge hair, shimmery lips, and paw-print earrings.
“Miss Sogbottom?”
“Hey there, Vilonia. What can I do for you?”
“I—uh,” I stammered, and replayed the phone call in my mind. I knew the volunteer’s voice had sounded familiar. Why hadn’t I put the two together?
“I see you’ve won yourself a new fish. Today must be your lucky day!” Miss Sogbottom smiled and took a long sip of her Guy’s milkshake. Going by the Nilla wafer on top, my guess was banana cream.
“Hi.” I cleared my throat. “I called last night, about Ray—I mean Izzy. Is he here?”
Miss Sogbottom’s cheerleader smile slipped faster than a meteorite falling to earth.
“Oh, honey. That was you?”
I nodded. “Is he all right?”
“Oh, yes, he’s fine, but . . . I’m so sorry, Vilonia. Izzy’s spoken for.”
Spoken for? What did that even mean?
“Excuse me?” I whispered, taking a step back.
“Well, um. Someone dropped off an application at the shelter a little bit ago, along with the adoption fee. But don’t you worry. I’m sure everything will shake out just fine.”
Shake out just fine? What? We’re talking about actual lives here—mine and Mama’s and Ray Charles’s. My brain stopped processing her words. My heart splintered into a million tiny shards, and a crater-size void took its place.
“Vilonia. Are you all right?” It was Mr. Reyes, with his half-eaten funnel cake.
I pulled the new goldfish to my chest and blinked. “I—I’ve got to go.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
So much for Miss Sogbottom’s promise of matching Izzy/Ray Charles to the best home. Mine.
Hot, angry tears blurred my vision, but I knew one thing. I had to get out of there, and the fish was coming with me. I stumbled a few steps toward the packed staging area. Miss Bettina stood three yards in front of me, in floral pantsuit glory, talking into a microphone. I ducked the other way, underneath a couple holding hands.
I pushed through the dense crowd. My jacket caught on one of those temporary fences, and I tugged hard to break free. Jazzy music drifted through the air from one of two tall speakers as girls in shimmery gowns paraded offstage. I’d missed the introductions. I craned my neck to get a glimpse of AC waiting in the wings backstage, practicing her deep breaths before she went on, but I couldn’t see a thing. Oh well. Nothing mattered now. Daddy said he wouldn’t let me get a dog, and now The Universe agreed.
I put my head down. The music changed tempo, and a gap formed in the crowd. I broke away, sprinting like the wind, as my best friend since forever fluttered like an exotic butterfly to center stage. I ran past stage left, where Neely’s sky-high updo caught the corner of my eye. No doubt some—okay, all—of the pageant contestants were her clients. I blew past the carnival games and their obnoxious barkers, past the Cake Walk, past the Himalayan, the Maze of Mirrors. Past all the boys taking advantage of the now-empty lines.
My legs pumped faster. And Leon does this for fun, I thought as I exited through the gate. By the time I reached the nearest sidewalk, my side began to cramp. I slowed to a walk. The run had done me good; it felt good to use my muscles, to burn off some anger. Kind of like throwing strikes.
I kept on, one foot in front of the other. There was only one place I wanted to be. The sky had grown darker, even though the sun hadn’t set. A drop of water fell on my cheek. Then another on my arm. I reached for my raincoat, and the sky opened wide. Rain pelted the sidewalk, the trees, and me, but my navy raincoat with green frogs was gone. I spun around, but it was nowhere to be found. Four whole weeks, that’s how long I’d kept it. I sprinted the rest of the way home. By the time I reached our house, I was wetter than an otter. Mama would be so mad. I pushed on the front door, but it was locked tight.
“Mama! You home?” I rang the bell.
No answer. But all the lights were on. Weird. I wrapped my arms around my middle and studied the row of empty drives and hazy porch lights. My whole street was at the festival.
I shivered and walked around back. That door was locked too, and the spare key underneath the planter was gone.
“Come on,” I whispered, trying to open the door to Daddy’s shop. “Just open.”
But it was bolted tight. I rested my head against the door. Cold and exhausted, I held up the carnival fish. Drops of water pinged off the plastic bubble. He (she?) stared at me, Miss Responsible. “Well, I know of one more place.”
The rope ladder was slippery wet. I climbed onto the first rung, and seeing I needed both hands, I pinched the top of New Max’s bag between my teeth. Up and up we climbed. Until my head met the trapdoor.
I hoisted myself up into the tree house and shut the window to keep out the rain. I shivered. I was cold, wet, and sad. My chest felt too small for the crater in my heart. Was this how Mama’s sadness felt? I turned on the magical twinkle lights. The row of candy beckoned, but all the licorice in the world couldn’t make me feel better. I couldn’t look at the picture of Nana on the wall. Or of my family. Instead, I slunk to the floor in a puddle, cradling Mr. Reyes’s new library fish in my lap.
So this is what happens when you try to be responsible, I thought. You kill one fish, win another, and the dog you have your heart set on is stolen right out from under you. I had worked so hard, had written so many obituaries. I broke down and sobbed. Tears slipped off my face onto the fish’s plastic case. I’m sure he didn’t know what to think of his new owner.
I have no idea how long we sat there like that, the two of us, while the wind whipped, the rain beat, and the leaves shivered and shook around us outside.
Car doors slammed. I peeked through the shutters and saw headlights cut off in my drive. My heart leapt. Suddenly, there was nowhere I’d rather be than with my family.
“Come on, fish. Let’s go.” I threw the trapdoor back and half slipped, half slid down the ladder, almost forgetting to pull the trapdoor shut.
Another car pulled into the drive. And then voices, shouting. I ran across the yard, splashing in mud puddles, swinging the bag with the fish.
First I saw Mama and Daddy run into the house. And then Neely drove up in her pink sedan, hopped the curb, and slammed on her brakes. Out tumbled AC in her twirly blue costume, looking like a wet snowflake. And then Mr. Reyes and Miss Sogbottom climbed out of the back. What in the world?
“AC! Over here! Mr. Reyes!” But the rain drowned my voice.
I ran up onto the porch and pushed open the door, never in my life so happy to walk into the warmth of my own house.
“Vilonia!” Mama wrapped me up with a bear hug. “We were so worried about you, baby. You weren’t by the Ferris wheel. You missed Ava Claire’s dance . . .” I glanced at AC, who looked down at her toes. “Then Miss Sogbottom found us and said you ran off, upset.”
“Tadpole! You’re home.” Daddy picked me up and gave me a twirl. “I’ve caught a fish drier than you. Where is your raincoat?”
“Sorry, Daddy. I lost it at the
festival.” I pushed strands of wet hair out of my face.
“Next time tell someone before you take off, you hear? Better yet, take someone with you.”
I nodded. They still hadn’t noticed the fish.
“I sent Leon home to check on you, but he ran back saying you weren’t here—”
“We were starting to get scared,” Mama interrupted.
“But I was here. I was up in the—”
Leon and a small army of soggy boys burst through the door, their sneakers squeaking across the floor. “We looked everywhere, Dad,” Leon gasped, then spotted me. “Oh, hey.”
“You’re home!” Ransom and Rory chimed the obvious.
“Here,” Leon said, “I found this by the stage. You owe me.” He held out my navy raincoat with the tiny green frogs and winked. I think he was teasing. Maybe.
“You kids will catch cold unless we get you properly warmed up. Terry, you grab the sweaters, and I’ll put on some tea. Vilonia has some serious explaining to do.” Mama headed for the kitchen, and my stomach clinched.
Beagles. I didn’t want to explain anything. Mama spun back around. “Vi, you run upstairs and change first. Give me that fish, so I can put it in a bowl.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And Ava Claire, why don’t you borrow a pair of Vilonia’s pajamas. I’ll hang your costume up to dry.”
“Thank you, Mrs. B.”
Mama hustled out of the room.
“Looks like your mama’s back,” AC mumbled as we climbed the stairs.
I remembered what Daddy had said one week ago, right before I hopped on my bike and rescued Eleanor from a certain and horrible death: Every day is different when it comes to Mama.
I opened my door, still flashing the KEEP OUT!!! sign made before Max’s memorial, and sighed. “I really hope you’re right,” I said, and switched on the light.
AC leaned against the doorjamb with her arms crossed and her mouth stretched into a thin, tight line. “She saw me dance.”
I tugged open my dresser and froze.
AC’s face flushed, and her hands flew through the air as she spoke. “Do you have any idea how it feels to have your best friend skip the biggest dance of your career ?”
Vilonia Beebe Takes Charge Page 12