There was a collective moan.
“This is supposed to be fun, ladies and gentlemen! You can choose to study anything. The world is your oyster!”
“Oysters?” Amelia looked up from doodling in her notebook. “Gross. They’re like boogers in a shell.”
Sensing another eruption, Ms. Perdilla raised the foghorn into the air as warning. “Thank you for that lovely insight. Now let’s all try to settle down.”
“Can we work in teams?” Leo asked.
Ms. Perdilla nodded. “Collaboration is an important part of the scientific process. So, yes, if you would like to select a partner, you may.”
“Sweet!” said Leo and Noah in unison, exchanging fist bumps.
Old me would have dreaded the idea of a group project. Not anymore. I turned to Kira. “Science buddies?” I mouthed.
Her giddy squeal was so loud that Ms. Perdilla almost had to blow the horn again.
***
We rearranged the desks so that we could work with our partners. Kira and I tapped our pencils. The pages in our notebooks stared blankly up at us.
“Any ideas?” I asked.
“I already used up my daily dose of creativity,” Kira said.
“On what, food poisoning?”
“Hey! Lying doesn’t exactly come easily to me.”
I wished I could say the same for myself. Lately lies and excuses were flowing past my lips like water through a sieve. Too easily. Too quickly. Just thinking about softball practice invited a swarm of butterflies into my stomach.
“How are you ladies doing?” Ms. Perdilla said.
“What if I told you we were writing our report in invisible ink?”
She eyed the white sheets of paper and raised a single eyebrow. “I would call your bluff, Miss Fitzwilken.” She placed a book on the desk. It looked positively ancient and smelled like the library basement. “Here. In case you need a little extra inspiration.” A tree stretched across its dusty cover, embossed in gold. “You can choose a different topic if you’d like. I know we talked about amphibians, Isabel. But this caught my eye. Might be interesting, given the history of your family’s property.”
I looked down at the book. Twisting roots and limbs spelled out its title: Restore Your Orchard: Bringing Fruit Trees Back to Life.
“Thanks,” I said. “We’ll think about it.”
“We will?” Kira asked, surprised by my willingness to discuss anything tree-related in public.
“Sure, why not?” The chance seedling had acted so odd that morning, with its gray bark and angry spikes. Maybe this book could explain what was going on. Maybe it could even help me speed up the next harvest.
“Fantastic,” Ms. Perdilla said.
The lunch bell rang and I tucked the book into my bag. “Thanks again,” I said, feeling inspired.
Chapter 24
Later that afternoon, the diamond beckoned.
An invitation. A challenge. An opportunity.
I seized it and ran.
From base to base. First, second, third. And back to home again. I had changed into my practice clothes quicker than my teammates so I could be the first one on the field. The grass had been mowed with a lattice pattern that reminded me of the crisscrossed crust of an apple pie.
Coach Naron jogged toward me. “Nice to see you, Fitzwilken. Heard through the grapevine you might not make it today. Feeling under the weather?”
“I’m fine. Ready to work. Ready to hustle!” I said a little too enthusiastically. I shuffled my cleats in the grass, trying to tone it down a notch.
“Glad to have you with us today. Here come the other ladies.”
The locker-room door opened and girls flooded the field.
“Coach Naron?” I asked.
“Yup?” She opened her playbook, covered with barely legible diagrams and notes.
“Have you picked the starting lineup for the opener yet?”
“Why? You hungry?”
It took me a few seconds to decipher her sports speak. “Starving,” I said, punching my fist into my glove.
“Good! Then let me see what you can serve up on the plate today.” She blew an ear-splitting whistle. “Ladies! Drills start in five! Grab a ball.”
Everyone paired off and spread out across the field. I looked for Kira but didn’t see her.
“Think fast!” someone shouted, hurling a ball at my head. I snapped my arm up to catch it just in time.
“Jeez, watch it!” I yelled. The girl turned her head and I noticed a mile-long ponytail running down her back. It was Kira
“Good catch,” Coach Naron said. “Ladies! The ready position is fundamental. You have to be prepared for any situation that may arise. Like Fitz and Ritts just demonstrated.”
Coach gave us nicknames! I instantly forgave Kira for nearly knocking my head off.
I threw the ball back to her. She caught it and hollered, “Go long!”
I jogged backward, barely fast enough to snatch the ball from the sky. I returned a sizzling curveball, hoping Coach was still watching. We continued until our muscles were warm and loose.
“Huddle up!” Coach Naron called out. We gathered together as she described a series of drills. “As you know, the opening game against the Minnows is coming up. We need to start the season strong. Let me see what you’ve got. Break!”
We rushed into our positions and began executing the drills. I made a few mistakes, but so did everyone else. We were still getting into a groove as a team. Learning each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Every time I was paired with Kira, we both did great. A silent trust carried the ball back and forth between us. Our midnight practice in the clearing paid off.
When we shifted into scrimmage mode, Coach pointed to me and then at the pitcher’s mound. “Let’s see what you’re cooking, Fitz.”
I yanked up my socks and adjusted the laces on my snazzy cleats. I wiggled my fingers. Time to initiate my lie-to-truth plan. No pressure.
Abigail Winthrop stepped up to the plate. I surprised myself by knowing her name. I also knew that she was twice my size and a slugger. “Yum, yum. I smell a home run,” she taunted, gripping the bat.
I tried to remember Dad’s advice. Watch your catcher. Listen to her. She can see things you can’t.
Kira adjusted her catcher’s mask, kicked the dust, and crouched down. She opened her mitt. I studied her signals. I twisted my shoulders, wheeled my arm around, and fired the ball.
Thwap!
“Strike!” Coach announced.
My heart leapt up. Two more to go.
Kira gestured. I scraped my cleats along the mound. I shifted my weight and threw the ball. It hurtled through the air.
Thwap!
“Strike two!”
The girls on the bench were hollering encouragements to Abigail. No one cheered for me, probably because I’d never cheered for them or even bothered to learn their names. But Kira nodded reassuringly and I felt the swarm of butterflies in my stomach settle.
She signaled. Just like we’d practiced in the orchard.
I looked at the batter. I shook my head. No way.
She signaled again.
I raised my arm. I lowered it. I raised it again. In that moment of hesitation, a million tiny doubts snuck in, scattering my focus. I released the ball. As soon as it left my hand, I knew it was bad.
Ping!
Abigail made contact with the ball. It flew behind the dugout.
“Foul!”
I rolled my shoulders back. Shook my head. I threw again. Off target.
“Ball one!”
I took a deep breath.
“Wait for yours!” the girls on the bench called. I tried to block out their voices, and Coach Naron’s eyes studying my every move. I looked at Kira. Don’t be stubborn, I told myself. We’re partners, just like Dad said. I dipped my chin to tell her I was ready.
She signaled.
This time I didn’t let a drop of doubt seep in. I lobbed the ball home.
T
hwap!
“Steee-rike! Outta here!”
Two more batters followed. I struck them both out. I almost fell over on the mound, toppled by happiness. Kira lifted her mask and met my eyes. She grinned, giving me a thumbs-up.
“Nice teamwork, ladies. Let’s switch this up a bit. Get some fresh blood out on the field. Dearborn! Hafiz! You’re up. Santos on deck. Let’s hustle! Hup hup!”
Kira and I jogged to the dugout. Over the next several innings, we got better and better. By the end of the practice, the rest of our team was rooting loudly for us. And I cheered back, calling my teammates by name. Whatever Coach Naron decided about the starting lineup, at least I had tried my best. And according to my parents, that’s all any of us could do.
***
“You should’ve seen us!” Kira crowed after practice. “We were a dynamic duo! Fitz and Ritts!”
“So proud of you, Pookie!” her mother gushed, steering the minivan onto Melwick Lane. There was no doubt in my mind that Mrs. Ritter would be at our opening game, and every game after that, even if Kira never made a single catch. I hoped I could say the same for my own parents.
“You two must be so pleased.”
“Tickled pink,” I said, looking up from the book Ms. Perdilla had given us. It was spread across my lap, the pages filled with illustrations of rosy apple blossoms. The flowers were pretty, but they were nothing compared to what the seedling could grow.
“We ruled the diamond!” Kira said, squeezing the life from another innocent juice box. “Right, diamond buddy?!” Her catching skills were great, but her winking skills still needed major improvement.
“Posolutely.” I reached into my backpack and wrapped my fingers around the watch, checking to make sure it was still there. The golden links were cool. The oval face, smooth. I wondered how many precious gems might bloom after I planted it. I envisioned oodles of diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. I tried to imagine the ticking sound hundreds of bejeweled watches would make once ripe and ready. It might even rival the bells.
I let go of the watch and closed the book. I sipped cold juice from my bendy straw. Everything in my life was still technically a mess, but at the same time, I felt like some puzzle pieces were settling into place. Softball practice had gone well. I had that business card from Muriel. Dad and Mom had even been noticing me a little more than usual.
Junie’s surgery would go well. It had to. And the tree’s jewelry harvest would more than cover all the bills. We might even have enough money left over to buy some fancy paper dolls, take gymnastics lessons, fix up our house, and give the neglected orchard the attention it deserved.
Chapter 25
“Do you want to come over?” I asked Kira as we pulled up to my house. “You could help me with our planting project.”
“I do, but . . .” She stole a glance at the clock on the dashboard. “My dad’s supposed to call me this afternoon.”
“No problem. I totally understand.”
She tugged her ponytail. “I’m excited, but also a little nervous,” she whispered.
“You’ll be fine.” I gave her a quick hug.
She seemed surprised but grateful. She squeezed me back. “Thanks.”
I gathered my stuff and opened the door. Fresh air flooded inside. I caught a faint whiff of honeysuckle.
Kira sneezed. The scent must have tickled her nose too. Her eyes watered.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s probably pollen. My allergies always act up this time of year. Good luck planting that seed.” She waved, then sniffled and sneezed again. “Bye-bye, butterfly!”
“See you soon, raccoon!”
***
I raced through the orchard. The apple trees hadn’t blossomed in over a decade, but dozens of bumblebees zipped through the air, buzzing hopefully. The scent of honeysuckle danced in the breeze. I couldn’t tell if the smell was coming from actual honeysuckle flowers, which had just started to bloom in a thick hedge beside Dad’s workshop, or if the seedling was releasing another blast of happy memory perfume. I didn’t particularly care; I was just glad to breathe it in.
I entered the clearing and stepped over the foundation stones. I hesitated. The tree had given me a pretty clear message to back off earlier that morning. But now the buds and thorns were gone. The bark looked brighter and more inviting. I retrieved the watch from my bag. The wind pushed the rope swing back and forth, as if nodding. Go ahead. Do it.
I knelt at the base of the tree and dug a small hole, just as I’d done three times before. A slight jolt of electricity hummed through my hand when it grazed the trunk. The branches creaked as they bent toward the ground, sweeping and curving around me like willow fronds. I had no idea the tree was so flexible. The blue-streaked leaves fluttered and murmured as if they were admiring the watch. Even in the shade, the gold shined.
I placed the watch in the warm brown dirt. I waited until I saw the roots slithering through the earth, toward the precious seed. I filled the hole back up and pressed both my hands to the ground, trying to communicate the importance of this crop to the tree in our unspoken way.
The branches trembled for a second, then stretched back up into their regular positons, forming the tree’s rounded crown.
“Did you understand me?” I said, rising to my feet. “After her surgery and her treatments, Junie will get better. She’ll come home. When she does, I’ll finally introduce you two.”
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, yet the bark darkened, as if a shadow had fallen across the entire tree.
“You’ll love her,” I said, confused by the tree’s reaction. “Everyone loves her.” The branches inched upward, farther away from me, like they’d done earlier that morning. “What?” I burst out. “Junie will get better! She has to! As long as you help. I can’t do this without you! We’re running out of time.”
The tree didn’t respond. How rude! Here I was sharing seriously important information and it just stood there like it didn’t believe me. Or like it knew something I didn’t.
“Fine,” I said, exasperated. “I’ll let you rest. I’m crabby when I’m tired too.”
It took most plants weeks and sometimes months to grow fruit. The tree had sprouted an entire bell crop in a matter of days, not to mention cookies and shoes before that. I needed to cut it some slack. It probably wasn’t giving me attitude. It was just tired. Nothing to worry about.
Yet for some reason, that song from the radio stuck in my head, repeating over and over. You can’t always get what you want . . .
***
A car pulled into the driveway just as I crossed the front lawn.
“Dad!” Seeing him twice in one day was a rare occurrence lately. I caught him around the waist, squeezing like a boa constrictor. “Where’s Mom?” I asked. Her car wasn’t there. I hoped they hadn’t sold it already.
“She’s still at the hospital. She’ll be home any minute. What do you say we have a quick catch before she gets back? My arm is pretty stiff from all that office work. I need to stretch it out. And I bet my star pitcher could use some practice.”
“Yes!” I squeezed him again.
***
When we returned from playing catch, an incredible smell wafted through the house.
“Nel?” Dad said, peering into the kitchen, his nose twitching. “What’s all this?”
“It’s called dinner,” she laughed, waving a spoon. “Eggplant parmesan, to be precise. Your favorite.”
Dad stared. I could tell he was as stunned as I was.
“Don’t just stand there gawking, you two!” she said, her voice warm and lilting. “Come help me set the table.”
I jumped to action, grabbing napkins and forks and plates.
“What’s the occasion?” Dad asked, wrapping an arm around Mom’s waist and kissing her cheek.
“A promising call from the insurance company.” She glanced toward the pile of bills on the counter. Maybe I wouldn’t need the tree’s help so desperately after al
l.
“That is worth celebrating.” Dad kissed her again. It usually grossed me out to see them act mushy, but considering the circumstances, I’d let a few smooches slide.
I set three places at the table. A familiar ache wracked my insides. “How’s Junie?” I asked, eying her empty chair. I missed her so much.
“She had a good day,” Mom said. “She was a little tired, but she was happy. She kept talking about our visit yesterday. And the latest bloodwork showed that her counts are up. Dr. Ebbens thinks she’ll be strong enough to have the surgery in a few days.” Mom’s eyes were bright. “I feel like this is a turning point.”
Dad moved across the kitchen and took my hand. He spun me around. Then he pulled Mom away from the stove and gave her a twirl too. Swept up in the moment, we skipped and whirled around the room.
When the kitchen timer dinged, we stopped dancing and gathered around the table to enjoy the delicious home-cooked meal.
“Who’s spending the night with Junie?” I asked between bites.
“I will,” Dad said.
“Can I go too? I haven’t seen her since . . .”
“Yesterday,” Mom said with a slight smile.
I squinted at my purple wristwatch and did a speedy calculation. “Technically twenty-two hours and seventeen minutes. But it feels like longer.” I looked at Junie’s empty chair again. “A lot longer. Sister withdrawal is a real thing, you know. Like an actual medical condition.”
Mom glanced at Dad. She tilted her head to the side.
“It’s okay with me,” Dad said. “But we have to leave early in the morning. I can drop you at school on my way to work. And I’m warning you, that couch isn’t very comfortable.”
“I don’t mind.” I’d sleep on a cactus mattress for my sister.
“Don’t stay up all night playing card games.” Mom narrowed her eyes. “Junie needs to rest and build up her strength.”
The Magic of Melwick Orchard Page 17