by Kate Klise
“Good, because I’ll probably forget. A lot.”
Ugh. A lot sounded like Lotty. I had to start watching every word I said.
“I mean,” I amended, “I might goof up and call you Teddy a whole bunch of times before I get used to Ted.”
“Really, it’s okay,” he said, sniffling. “Maybe I’ll start calling you Ive instead of Ivy.”
“I’ve? Like I’ve got a broken leg?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You’ve got a broken leg. And I’ve got a broken heart.”
What I learned from that:
Heartbreaks are contagious. You can catch one from a phone call, if it’s your best friend calling with the world’s worst news.
FOUR
Room to Wonder
Teddy didn’t want to come over the next few days, and I didn’t blame him.
On Saturday morning, my dad was making his traditional weekend waffles. I was sitting at the kitchen table, feeling depressed.
“Let’s take Winthrop to Forest Park,” Dad said. “After breakfast. You, me, Mom, and Winthrop.”
“Uh,” I said. “No thanks.”
I wanted to stay home in case Teddy called. Neither of us had cell phones yet, so we were both tied to our landlines.
“We could pack a picnic,” Dad said, checking on the waffles.
“That sounds fun,” Mom called from the hallway. She was rearranging the gallery of framed photos. “We could ask someone in the park to take a family picture of us with Winthrop.”
A terrible thought occurred to me as I looked at our dog, snoozing under the kitchen table.
“Why?” I said. “In case Winthrop dies?”
Mom stepped into the kitchen. “No,” she said calmly. “Because I don’t have any good family pictures of us with Winthrop.”
“Yeah, right,” I said.
I knew I sounded like a brat, but I was just so sad for Teddy. And because I didn’t know how to be sad without crying, I was acting grumpy and mad. Mom had explained all this to me. She said we sometimes express one emotion (anger) when we’re feeling something else (sadness).
“I don’t feel like a picnic today,” I said. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Dad said, setting a plate of waffles in front me. “We can do whatever you’d like today.”
I poured syrup over my waffles and watched the thick amber liquid disappear into the tiny squares.
“We could go to the art museum or to a movie,” Dad said. “Or, hey, you know someplace I’ve always wanted to go? Scott Joplin’s old house. It’s a museum. We should check that out. Or the planetarium?”
“We could take an online masterclass,” Mom called from the hallway. “Maybe pick up some new coding tricks?”
She was trying to make me laugh, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t feel happy when I knew Teddy was so sad. It would feel like a betrayal.
“Can we just hang out here today?” I said.
“That’s good, too,” Dad said. He was putting a plate of waffles at Mom’s place at the table. “I have a million emails to answer.” He called to Mom in the hallway. “Waffles, hon.”
Mom joined me at the table. “Mmmm,” she purred. “I’m heading over to Mr. Hobart’s house at ten for coffee.”
This was one of Mom’s rituals. Every Saturday morning at ten o’clock, she had coffee with our neighbor across the street and three houses down. Mr. Hobart was by far the oldest person on Magnolia Circle and certainly the crabbiest, but Mom liked to visit him every week and make sure he was okay.
“After that,” she said, “I might stop by the neighborhood meeting. People are gathering at the Morgans’ house to organize an effort to stop the dead-end sign.”
“What’s up with that?” I asked, chewing.
“Well,” said Mom, “I know Mr. Hobart has strong opinions about it. He told me last week he’s convinced a sign that says dead end at the entrance to Magnolia Circle will bring down the value of all our houses. It could be a problem.”
Dad turned from the stove and made a sour face. “I had a patient yesterday who needed quadruple bypass surgery. Twenty-nine years old and he has the heart of a ninety-five-year-old. That’s a problem.”
“Still, if we ever want to sell our house, a dead-end sign could be a problem,” Mom said.
“Wait,” I said. “We’re going to sell our house? And move?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Mom said. “I’m saying if we ever did want to sell our house, we’d want to get the highest price for it. And if a sign that says dead end could hurt our chances of selling this house for the highest price, that would be a problem.” She turned to Dad. “A first-world problem, yes, but a problem nonetheless.”
“I’ll be eager to hear what you find out at the neighborhood meeting,” Dad said. He had joined us at the table with his plate and was drowning a stack of waffles in melted butter and syrup.
Mom raised her eyebrows while looking at Dad’s plate. “Speaking of quadruple bypass surgery.”
“It’s my one indulgence,” he said, dissecting his waffles into bite-size mouthfuls. He paused to pat his belly. “I promise I won’t let it bring down my property value.”
* * *
On Monday afternoon, I was sitting in a living room chair, facing Magnolia Circle, with my cast resting on an ottoman. I was rereading the first book in the Narnia series, with the phone in easy reach in case Teddy called.
Between chapters, I happened to look up and glance out the window. I saw Melvin Moss. He was the boy I was supposed to do my Trojan War project with, but he’d stopped coming to school. Nobody knew why.
I’d asked my teacher, Mrs. Seifert, about Melvin, mainly because I wanted to know if he was going to help on the Trojan War project. She said she’d spoken with Melvin’s mom.
“They move around a lot,” Mrs. Seifert told me.
“Because of his parents’ work?” I asked.
“I think it’s more complicated than that,” Mrs. Seifert said.
She seemed sad when she talked about Melvin, so I didn’t ask her anything else. I knew Melvin wouldn’t be back to help with “our” Trojan War project.
But there was Melvin now, across the street, in front of Teddy’s brown-brick apartment building. Even from the window, I could tell it was Melvin by his hair. It was deep red, like the color of Lotty’s fur.
Melvin was wearing a hoodie pulled up over his head, so only the front of his scraggly hair was visible. I could see he looked shabby. His hoodie was stretched out and ripped. His jeans were too short—and not in a stylish way. He was holding a notebook.
I grabbed my crutches and hopped to the window. Melvin didn’t see me because he was on the opposite side of the street. Now he was standing still and writing in his notebook. I had to smile, because Melvin was not exactly a good student. I’m guessing that’s why Mrs. Seifert paired him with me. She probably knew I’d do most of the work on the Trojan War project and maybe I’d be a good influence on Melvin. (This is why I hated group projects.)
But now I was happy to see Melvin outside my window. I wanted to tell him we got a perfect score (100) on “our” Trojan War project. If he was interested, I’d show him the Trojan horse I built using a shoebox, and the timeline of “Important Trojan War Events” I printed on a piece of yellow poster board.
I used one of my crutches to knock on the windowpane, hoping to catch Melvin’s attention. He didn’t hear it. So I used my knuckles to knock. I even yelled through the glass, “Melvin! Hey, Melvin! Hey!”
But the thermal glass was too thick. Or maybe Melvin was too far away. Whatever the reason, he didn’t hear me.
Minutes later, a white van pulled up in front of Teddy’s building. It looked like a delivery van. There were two windows for the driver and the passenger. The back of the van was paneled. Melvin climbed inside.
And then he was gone.
What I learned from that:
I should’ve hopped over and opened the front door to say hey to Mel
vin, but sometimes you don’t think of the right thing to do until it’s too late.
FIVE
Second Sighting
Seeing Melvin Moss gave me an excuse to call Teddy.
“You’re not going to believe who I saw yesterday.”
“Lotty?” Teddy asked.
I was trying to avoid the topic, but there it was.
“Not Lotty,” I said. “Melvin Moss.”
“Oh,” said Teddy. “Is he still short?”
Teddy was the second-shortest boy in fourth grade. Melvin was the shortest. The two weren’t close friends, mainly because they were in different homerooms. Teddy was in Mr. Frothingham’s room. Melvin and I were in Mrs. Seifert’s room. But Teddy knew Melvin. I think Teddy always appreciated that Melvin was shorter than him.
“Melvin looked the same,” I said. “Only messier.”
“Where’d you see him?” Teddy asked.
“He was standing in front of your building. I wonder if his family is moving into Magnolia Manor.”
“We don’t have any vacancies in our building. And I haven’t heard anybody’s moving out.”
Teddy would know. He knew everyone who lived in the twenty-four apartments at Magnolia Manor.
“Anyway,” I said, “I just thought you’d be interested. How are you, um, feeling?”
“Miserable,” Teddy said.
I didn’t want to mention Lotty, but I couldn’t ignore it.
“Are you thinking about getting a new dog?” I asked.
“Too soon.”
“I get it.”
A beat of silence passed.
“How’s Winthrop?” Teddy asked.
“Depressed,” I said. “He misses Lotty. And you.”
“Have you been taking him for his daily walk?’
“No. It’s no fun without you.”
Teddy sighed loudly. “I’ll be over in ten minutes. If I cry, just ignore me.”
* * *
I was getting better at using my crutches, but I still moved at a snail’s pace. Teddy didn’t seem to mind. As we made our way down our favorite path in Forest Park, I told him what I’d learned about the dead-end sign.
“My mom says they’ve collected enough signatures to convince the city not to put up the sign.”
“My parents will be upset,” Teddy said. “They’re in favor of the sign.”
“Because they think it’ll mean more parking places on the street?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “The whole thing is ridiculous. How much power can one street sign have? And why do adults worry about stupid stuff, like street parking, when they could and should be solving canine leukemia?”
Teddy was doing the same thing I always did. He was feeling sad about Lotty but acting mad because it’s easier to get mad than feel sad. I wasn’t about to give him a lesson in emotional transference. I knew how annoying it was when Mom tried to teach me this stuff.
We walked for half an hour and then sat on a bench at the dog run for another thirty minutes while Winthrop ran around without a leash. As we were leaving the park, I saw a white van pulling out of Magnolia Circle.
“Look!” I said. “I think that’s Melvin Moss.”
“Where?” Teddy asked, turning around to look back at the park.
“No, there,” I said, pointing at the white van driving away from us. “That’s what Melvin was riding in yesterday. I think he really must be moving to our street.”
“As long as he’s still shorter than me,” Teddy said. “I’ll be furious if he’s grown even one-eighth of an inch taller.”
What I learned from that:
I’m not the only person who acts mad when they feel sad.
SIX
Turn It Around
The following week, I had an appointment with Dr. Ames. It had been three weeks since my surgery. I had to get another X-ray to see how my leg was healing under the cast.
“Hello, hello,” Dr. Ames said as he walked into the examining room. He was holding the X-ray in one hand and shaking Mom’s hand with the other.
“How’s the leg look?” Mom asked.
“Well,” Dr. Ames said, frowning, “the alignment’s looking good, but I’m not seeing new callus formation. Not enough periosteal reaction.” He turned to speak directly to me. “In plain English, that means the bones aren’t healing as quickly as we’d like. I’m going to keep you in the long-leg cast for another three weeks.”
I sighed heavily. I was sitting on the exam table, trying to balance the crutches with two fingers.
“What’s your top speed on those things?” he asked.
“Zero miles per hour,” I grumped.
“That’s not true,” Mom said. “She’s doing quite well on them. The hardest part is getting up and down the front stairs at our house. But she’s managing just fine. Right, Ivy?”
“I guess so,” I said. “Mom and Dad help. And my best friend lives across the street. He helps me, too.”
“Good, good, good,” said Dr. Ames, nodding thoughtfully.
“But I can’t go over to my friend’s apartment because he lives on the fourth floor—no elevator.”
“Mmmm,” replied Dr. Ames. “I remember. Stairs are your enemy. But I’m glad you’re mastering the art of walking with crutches. It’s important to feel empowered and not like a victim.”
He knocked on my cast for emphasis. I couldn’t help but smile.
“So now, let’s see,” he said, reading from his computer screen. “Last time we talked about the importance of having a project or a goal; something you might like to accomplish during your recovery journey. I’m curious to hear what you decided to do.”
I’d totally forgotten about that conversation. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Um,” I said. “I’m basically just trying to get better, y’know? Oh, and my best friend’s dog died. So I’m trying to cheer him up about that.”
Dr. Ames made his sad-clown face. “Right. Good. That’s important. A dog and a best friend. Hmm.”
He poked around my cast for a minute, asking if it felt too tight or too loose. It didn’t.
“All right, then,” he said. “Make the most of this journey, Ivy. Write down what you learn. I think you’ll be surprised by the insights you can gain during difficult times.”
* * *
On the drive home, Mom turned off the music to talk.
“You could be in a cast for two more months,” she said. “Until the middle of August.”
I sighed loudly. “School starts on August twenty-fourth. Jeez. The whole summer— wasted.”
“Not necessarily,” she said.
“How can you say that? This is the worst summer in the history of summers! First this stupid cast. Then Lotty. Then—”
“Turn it around, Ivy,” Mom said, not taking her eyes off the road. “Turn it around.”
It was one of Mom’s favorite sayings. I bet her patients hated hearing it as much as I did.
“How can I possibly turn this terrible summer around?” I asked.
“You might consider taking Dr. Ames’s advice,” Mom said. “Make the most of your convalescence. Set a goal. Do something you care about. That’s how you make it a good summer.”
It was annoying how Mom made everything sound so easy and cute.
The mood in the car shifted when we turned down Magnolia Circle and saw two police cars parked in front of Teddy’s apartment building. Another police car was arriving behind us. Its siren was blaring.
“What in the world?” Mom said, pulling into our driveway.
She helped me hobble up the stairs to our house. As soon as we were inside, I called Teddy.
“What’s going on over there?” I asked, almost out of breath.
“Burglary on the third floor. Ms. Hiremath’s unit.”
“Oh no. What’d they take?”
“Jewelry, silverware, three hundred and fifty dollars in cash.”
“Wow,” I murmured, secretly delighted by the drama. “Any sus
pects?”
“No, and Joel feels terrible.”
“Why does your doorman feel terrible?”
Teddy explained. “This morning around ten o’clock, some delivery guys came to Magnolia Manor with a new sofa. It was dark green. They said Ms. Hiremath ordered it. But she was at work, so the delivery guys asked Joel if he could let them into her apartment to drop off the sofa.”
“Joel has a key to everyone’s apartment, right?” I asked.
“Right,” said Teddy. “So the guys delivered the sofa. Joel stayed with them the whole time.”
“For security?”
“Exactly,” said Teddy. “Then they went downstairs with Joel, and he called Ms. Hiremath to say her new sofa had arrived. The delivery guys were just about to leave when Joel said, ‘Hold on a second. Ms. Hiremath says she didn’t order a new sofa.’”
“She didn’t?”
“No. So the guys went back upstairs. Joel unlocked the apartment and the delivery guys got the sofa. They carried it downstairs and left with it in their van. When Ms. Hiremath came home from work today, she discovered some valuable stuff was gone.”
“Call the delivery guys,” I said.
“They didn’t leave a phone number. Or a business card.”
“But surely they did it.”
“Joel was with them the whole time,” Teddy said.
“But…,” I started to say.
“But what?”
“I can see why Joel feels terrible.”
“I know,” said Teddy. “It wasn’t his fault, but maybe it was a little? Who knows? I hope he doesn’t quit. Do you think we should be nervous about living on a street where people are stealing stuff?”
“We have to solve this,” I said quietly, like it was a prayer.
Teddy laughed. “You want to solve this crime?”
“No,” I said. “I want us to solve this crime.”
“Why?”
“Because,” I replied calmly, “I need something to take my mind off this stupid cast, and you need something to take your mind off Lotty.”