Not now, not now.
The girl next to her stood and closed the nearest window, which had been open a crack. Her brow furrowed when the papers on the desk continued to rustle and she glanced at Red.
Red closed her eyes. Take time to reset! The voice of Dr. Teddy, Red’s state-appointed therapist, bubbled up in her brain. Dr. Teddy said that the best way to calm down was by controlling her breath. He called it resetting, and had taught Red how to do breathing exercises.
Of course, Dr. Teddy didn’t know about her wind. He didn’t know she’d knocked over The Mom’s youngest boy by breathing a little too hard once, or that sometimes the only way to keep a storm inside was to hold her breath for as long as she could. Red had to be careful. Breathing did help sometimes, but not every time. Not if she was too upset.
The last thing she needed was to lose control on her first day of school. Focus on your breath, not your stress. That’s what Dr. Teddy would say. She pressed her palms into the tops of her thighs, and counted backward from ten in her mind, slowly. Each number got a full breath.
In … and out. Ten.
It wasn’t a big deal that she didn’t have a costume.
In … and out. Nine.
She just had to get through the day. That was all. She could do that.
In … and out. Eight.
When she finally opened her eyes, the whoosh in her ears was quieter and the notebook across from her had stopped rustling. Ms. Bell was talking and everyone was turned toward the front, oblivious to Red. She relaxed a little.
“What are you doing?”
Red looked at the girl in the desk next to hers. She had a wide, square face and blond hair cut in a blunt line around her shoulders. Her cheeks had black cat whiskers drawn onto them. The right side was already smudged.
The girl raised her eyebrows. “What were you doing just now?” she whispered.
Red swallowed hard. “Nothing.”
“You were talking to yourself.”
Had she been? Red’s face burned. She saw Ms. Bell writing something on the whiteboard.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
The cat-girl with the smudged whiskers rolled her eyes, her mouth twisting into a little curl of disgust. Finally, she turned her attention back to Ms. Bell.
Red glanced at the other students in her desk cluster. The two boys who sat across from her and cat-girl were turned around in their seats, backs to Red, listening to Ms. Bell. One of them had on a pirate’s tricorn with fake dreadlocked hair tumbling out around his ears. The other wore a muscled Captain America suit. His glossy black hair stood up messily on his head. Red knew that hair.
Marvin.
She sank deeper into her seat.
“Journaling time!” Ms. Bell announced brightly. “Make sure you copy out today’s topic in cursive, please. Yes, I’m aware cursive is unpopular and archaic. My students will still learn to use it, thank you very much.”
A murmur of conversation floated up like freed balloons as the class started pulling spiral notebooks out of their desks. Red opened her backpack and unpacked the school supplies Celine had purchased for her. But even the novelty of shiny notebooks and sharpened pencils—notebooks and pencils that were all hers and brand-new—wasn’t enough to ease the tension in her chest.
She felt Marvin’s eyes on her, but his gaze darted away the second she looked at him. He focused on his journal, copying the topic in slow, curling handwriting. No matter how hard she stared at him, he wouldn’t meet her eye.
Like maybe she was invisible after all.
Chapter
13
The class costume party was the last thirty minutes of the day. After lunch, it was practically impossible for Red’s classmates to keep quiet and pay attention to the math lesson. Finally, Ms. Bell announced it was time for the party.
“Would the Weekly Star please collect the math worksheets? And while Amber does that—Marvin? Would you like to tell us about the treat you brought to share with the class?”
Marvin, who had been picking at the star on the front of his costume, lit up.
“Sure!” he said, standing.
His Captain America shield—which he’d fastened to his back by tying shoestrings around his shoulders—got caught on his chair. He grunted, struggling to unhook himself. A few people snickered. Finally, Marvin broke free and hurried to the snack table, where Ms. Bell and a mom helper were setting out paper cups filled with carrot sticks and crackers. He took a large glass bowl from Ms. Bell’s mini-fridge and set it on the table. There was some sort of purplish-gray pudding in it.
Marvin pulled the clear plastic wrap from the top of the bowl and crumpled it in his fist. He beamed at the class, totally oblivious to the worried looks a few kids were exchanging.
“This is poi. My mom helped me make it last night. It’s a traditional Hawaiian food. If you want to see how to make it, you should check out my YouTube channel, Kitchen Kahuna. I posted a video of us working on it.”
“What is it?” asked the boy in the french fries costume.
“It’s basically mushed-up taro root. That’s a plant. It’s still kind of sweet since we just made it last night. It gets a little tangier when it’s older, which I like, too. It’s good with vegetables or on rice, or even by itself.” Marvin gestured toward the cups of carrot sticks on the table.
Nobody looked convinced. But Marvin grinned at them, like he was waiting for them to leap from their seats and dive into his bowl of purple-gray pudding.
“Thanks, Marvin,” Ms. Bell said. “We appreciate that you like to share your Hawaiian culture with us! Don’t we, class?”
There was an unenthusiastic murmur of agreement.
“Marvin, would you please help me by serving the poi to people as they come through the line?” she asked, and he nodded happily.
Red joined the wave of her classmates as everyone hurried to the snack table. She hung back a little, letting people slip in front of her. They all eagerly took orange and black cupcakes, as well as fruit and cheese sticks. But when they got to Marvin and his purple poi, they made faces and declined.
After nearly half the class had refused to try the dish, Ms. Bell made everyone come back and accept a spoonful.
“Unless I have received notice of a poi allergy from your parents,” she said sternly, “then I’m making it mandatory that you each take at least one bite of Marvin’s treat. He worked very hard to share this with you.”
The cat-girl asked in a whining voice, “Did my parents tell you about my poo allergy?”
Giggles scattered through the classroom.
“Poi. It rhymes with boy, Amber,” Ms. Bell corrected. “And no. In fact, their email said they had some on their trip to Hawai‘i last summer, and they were excited for you to try it.”
Amber sighed, held up her plate, and rolled her eyes. Marvin’s smile faltered.
When Red finally made it up to the table, there were only two cupcakes left—one for her and one for Marvin—and all the other snacks were nearly gone. But Marvin’s bowl was still almost full of poi. The look on his face sent a hot, dry wind through Red’s bones. She bypassed the cupcakes and fruit and held her empty plate out to him.
“Can I have two scoops, please?”
For the first time that day, he made eye contact with her. She could see the ghost of their last conversation in his eyes and wished she could blow it away like dust.
“Please?” she said.
He tapped a blob of purplish paste onto her plate. She held it still, waiting for another spoonful. When he didn’t give her one, she jiggled her plate, her eyebrows raised. One of those ridiculous dimples of his appeared in his cheek. He scooped another serving out and gave it to her, a smile creeping across his lips.
“Thanks,” she said.
She looked around for a cup of carrot sticks, but they’d all been taken. Ms. Bell and the mom helper had moved on from the snack table and didn’t notice their counting error. Red could feel Marvin watching
her. She dipped a fingertip into the cold, goopy poi and slurped it into her mouth. Marvin’s laughter made wind dance warmly through Red’s hair.
“Technically, this is three-finger poi,” he said. He scooped some onto a plate and then demonstrated. Using three fingers, he shoveled poi into his mouth and grinned. “See? Easiest to eat with three fingers, not one.”
She mimicked him, taking another bite. The poi was cool and watery on her tongue. It tasted lightly sweet, with a note of sourness that she liked much more than she’d expected.
“It’s not bad,” she said.
“I know.”
Then, quietly, she said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
Marvin nodded, licking poi off his fingers. “I’m sorry, too. Mom says I have a tendency to come on a little strong.”
Red smiled and scooped another three-fingered load into her mouth. “Mmm. Better than cupcakes,” she said around the poi on her tongue.
Marvin shook his head. “No way. Nothing’s better than cupcakes!”
“That’s true,” she agreed.
They each grabbed one of the remaining cupcakes and returned to their desk cluster, grinning at the puddles of poi slowly soaking into the plates of everyone they passed.
Dear Mom,
Have you ever met a tortoise? Maybe when you get back, I can introduce you to Tuck. He’s an Aldabra tortoise, and he weighs 400 pounds. He likes bananas and cucumbers and even cactus, which is weird to me, but he loves them!
This might sound crazy, but Tuck likes to read. I mean, he likes for me to read to him. Since there aren’t any other tortoises here, I hang out with him in the barn a lot so he won’t get lonely. The other day I brought a book and he kept trying to eat it. I told him it’s not for eating, it’s for reading, and then I showed him how. He sat there and listened to a whole chapter!
When I told my friend Marvin about it, he wanted to film Tuck for his YouTube channel. He came over to film, and his parents and grandparents were here, too. I didn’t want to read in front of everyone, so Marvin tried instead. Tuck wouldn’t listen! He kept digging around in the straw and ignoring everyone. Marvin’s dad and his grandma both tried, but he only listens when I read to him.
I hope you can meet Tuck. I think you’ll like him.
Did you get my last letter? Please write back soon. I miss you.
Love you,
Red
I’ve been trying
two different things. And it’s impossible
to be two different things at once, isn’t it?
It rained today. But the funny thing was, there weren’t any clouds in the sky. It was bright and sunny … AND it was raining. The weather was definitely two things at once.
Did you know that Australia is the world’s BIGGEST island and it is the world’s SMALLEST continent? Did you know that a snail is MALE and FEMALE at the same time?
Sometimes I laugh when I’m sad, and cry when I’m happy.
Sometimes strangers feel like family.
And sometimes my family feels like a stranger.
Chapter
14
“If you keep the stitches loose, like this”—Celine leaned over to show Red the fabric of the small pouch she was sewing—“then the chicken feed can get out while Fezzik is playing with the beanbag.” She snipped off the thread and held the bag out on the flat of her palm for Red to examine.
“We tried this trick with Billie once.” Celine dropped the completed bag into a basket on the floor between them. “But she ate the whole thing.”
“The whole thing?” Red asked.
Celine nodded. “Bag and all.”
She showed Red how to fill each of the newly stitched bags with a quarter cup of chicken feed. Fezzik would shake the feed out during his next dancing-donkey trick at the last Groovy Petting Zoo of the year.
Red still hadn’t wanted to help with the zoo that morning, but she had stuck around to watch everything going on. Afterward, when Celine said she needed to make more bags for chicken feed, Red asked to learn how, and the two of them set up camp in Tuck’s pen. Empty fabric pouches were strewn around them like confetti. Red leaned against the tortoise as he munched on the veggies she’d put in his dish. The barn was golden with early-afternoon sunlight that poured in through the narrow windows along the ceiling.
Celine scooped another measuring cup of feed from a bucket. “I haven’t found a fence yet that will keep Billie out of my garden. She loves to get in there and bite the heads off my marigolds. She doesn’t eat them. Just decapitates them.”
Outside, Billie bleated indignantly, like she knew they were talking about her. Red bit back a smile as Celine laughed. Tiny bits of chicken feed floated in the air between them, glinting like stars.
“We better hurry,” Celine said, glancing at her watch. “The Kapules are expecting us in an hour.”
She threaded another needle and started to stitch up the last two pouches. Pausing, she pressed her fingers into the slope between her neck and shoulder again, her expression tightening with pain.
“Are you okay?” Red asked.
The pain cleared from Celine’s face. “I’m fine. I’ve just had a stiff neck lately. That’s what happens to old ladies.”
Red rolled her eyes. She knew Celine and Jackson were older than any of the foster parents she’d had before. Jackson was retired, even though he was still busy most days caring for animals at nearby farms. Celine worked three days a week at the library in Bramble, but technically she was retired, too. Still, Red didn’t really think of them as old.
“But you’re young at heart,” she said, thinking of Gamma.
Celine’s laugh was delighted.
“Marvin wants me to help him with a video for his YouTube channel tonight,” Red said, packing up the chicken feed and measuring cups.
Celine raised her eyebrows. “It’ll be a busy night! Kitchen Kahuna and a lū‘au. Sounds fun!”
Red planted a quick kiss on the top of Tuck’s hard, cool head. “Marvin always has time for YouTube.”
She’d already been to the Kapules’ house twice for dinner, and they came to the Grooves’ once a week. But Marvin had said that tonight, to celebrate Red’s three-week-iversary, his family was hosting a lū‘au, which he described as a party, “Hawaiian style.” Red wasn’t sure what the difference between the other dinners and tonight’s would be, considering Marvin had already cooked them one Hawaiian meal last week.
Tonight would be Red’s first time on his YouTube channel. She was worried she’d mess it up, but Marvin was confident she’d be great. Even though she was nervous, she was happy he’d asked her.
Marvin loved Kitchen Kahuna. She and the Grooves had watched a few episodes together. Red had to admit she was impressed. In each episode, he would make some kind of Hawaiian meal or food. He usually worked alone, chattering away about everything he was doing, just like on cooking shows on TV. Sometimes his mom or his grandma would come in to help him with more complicated things. Once, his dad grilled up chicken kebabs for him. During that one, Marvin managed to work in a complaint, at least once per minute, about the fact that he wasn’t allowed to use the grill unsupervised.
Red carried the bucket of chicken feed out of Tuck’s pen and put it away. She took the basket of beanbags from Celine, who was rubbing her sore neck again.
“Thanks,” Celine said. “Will you do me a favor and get the mail, please? I need to get the petting zoo smell out of my hair before we go to dinner.”
As Celine headed inside, Red said goodbye to Tuck, then ran around the house and down the long driveway. Gandalf and the other dogs appeared out of nowhere, following her, their tongues dangling and their ears flopping as they ran.
It was mid-November, but the afternoon sun was warm against Red’s back and hair. Frodo, Limerick, and Brontë started chasing a bunch of leaves that were spinning in the gentle wind. A sudden memory of before slowed Red’s steps and made her smile.
When Red was little, before her mot
her started taking pills, they used to go to a big park by the museum to fly kites. It was one of Red’s favorite things, but a lot of the time, the wind was way too gusty or not gusty enough for kite flying. Nobody could keep their kites up.
Except for Red’s mother.
While all the other kids’ kites would crash or get tangled in trees, Red’s always floated perfectly and peacefully above them. She’d squeal and stomp her feet in excitement, clutching the string spool in her chubby hands. Her mother stood back, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun, and the other by her side, fingers dancing gracefully, creating little currents of perfect, kite-flying air.
It was one of Red’s best memories with her mom.
She stopped walking. Could she do that, too? Could she make the air playful and gentle, like her mother used to? Her fingers began to tingle as she concentrated. For a minute, nothing happened. And then the breeze stuttered and stopped all together. Red frowned, pulling in a slow breath, and tried again.
A current, so soft she barely felt it at first, slipped from her fingers. Red smiled, squinting in concentration. A tickling sensation spread from her fingers up into her wrist as the breeze grew stronger. The dogs barked and hopped excitedly when Red’s wind lightly flipped some of the leaves over.
Red laughed, walking down the driveway again. The air came more easily now, and the leaves hovered just above the dogs’ heads. They yapped and jumped, trying to snatch the brown and orange patches from the sky. Red kept the leaves floating just out of reach for as long as she could, then sent them skittering along the ground. The dogs went crazy, chasing after them like they were rabbits.
Red grinned, tired from the effort, but her blood buzzing with a warmth she hadn’t felt before. Gandalf trotted back to her and snuffled her hand. Fingers still in Gandalf’s fur, Red opened the mailbox and took out a fat bundle of envelopes.
All the Impossible Things Page 5