13 Gifts

by Wendy Mass

  “You must be Emily’s cousin,” he says.

  I nod.

  “I thought she told me you weren’t coming for a few weeks.”

  I want to tell him he misunderstood her, but then I’d have to explain how I only pepper-sprayed the principal a few days ago, and I have no desire to share my life story with a strange boy. I look around for a ladder or rope, but don’t see any. Changing the subject I ask, “Did you, um, fall into the hole?”

  He shakes his head. “Good acoustics down here. Nice echo effect off the dirt walls. And more privacy than at my house. I live across the street. Your aunt lets me practice over here.”

  “Practice for what?”

  “For my bar mitzvah. It’s in a month. I’ll, you know, become a man. According to tradition.”

  That explains the foreign language. There are a few Jewish kids in my grade, but I hadn’t been invited to any of their bar mitzvahs. “Well, I should, uh, let you get back to it.”

  “Wait,” he says. “You don’t have to go. I mean, if you don’t want to.”

  Considering this has been the longest conversation I’d probably ever had with a soon-to-be-thirteen-year-old boy outside of science lab, I figure I shouldn’t push it. I shake my head and say, “I’ve got to take a shower.” Then I cringe. Did I really just tell him I needed to shower? Head down, I scamper away before I can further embarrass myself.

  Uncle Roger has taken Ray’s place at the table, the newspaper half-obscuring his face. “Eggs?” Aunt Bethany asks me, holding out a skillet. Oil sizzles and pops all around the pan. I can’t help noticing she’s wearing makeup even though it’s early on a Sunday morning. Maybe she sleeps with it on. I thought only women on soap operas did that.

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

  “Not at all,” she says. “You’d had a long day. We saved you some pizza; it’s in the fridge.”

  “Thanks.” I’m waiting for her to ask where I’d gone, but she doesn’t say anything. I clear my throat and say, “Um, I was just out riding my bike, I mean, Emily’s bike. I should have left a note or something.”

  She cracks an egg over the pan. The oil sizzles louder. “Ray told us,” she says, tilting the pan so the egg spreads evenly. “We want you to feel comfortable here, so feel free to do whatever you’d normally do at home.”

  I’d rather not admit that at home my mother makes me tell her every time I step out of her sight. And I have no desire to wear body armor while biking in a strange town.

  She glances at my outfit. “Perhaps you’d like to shower and change before the barbeque?”

  I redden. “I was just about to.”

  “Towels are in the hall closet,” she says, then lifts the pan off the stove. With a flick of her wrist, the fried egg jumps out of the pan, flips in the air, and lands in the center of the pan. She beams in satisfaction.

  “Cool,” I say.

  She waves her hand. “Don’t be too impressed. Eggs are the only things I know how to make that don’t taste like burnt bricks.”

  The head behind the newspaper nods in agreement.

  I’m halfway out of the kitchen when Aunt Bethany calls out to me, “Wait a sec.” She leaves the pan on the stove and picks up my arm, the one with my mom’s bracelet. “This looks familiar.”

  I can’t think of what to say without admitting it was my mother’s, so I blurt out, “I have a whole bag of jewelry for you from Mom. It’s upstairs.”

  She lowers my arm and smiles. “I saw the bag last night. I figured it was either your mom’s or you’re an international jewel thief posing as my niece. Speaking of your mother, you should call her now, before the plane takes off.”

  She’s probably right. But I really, really don’t want to talk to my parents. Mom can always tell when I’m hiding something. Even over the phone. She’s truly gifted that way. I’m still not ready to tell them I lost everything they gave me.

  “Darling?” Uncle Roger asks, calmly resting the paper on the table. “The eggs?”

  We both turn to look at the stove. Black smoke pours from the pan. Aunt Bethany groans and runs over. I take the opportunity to run the other way.

  I find Emily sitting up in her bed highlighting a section of her math book. This must have been the one she was reading under the covers.

  She grins and points out the window. “It’s sunny now! I was afraid your party was going to get rained out.”

  Too bad my alarm clock doesn’t have the magical ability to make real rain. “You guys don’t have to throw a party for me, seriously.”

  “It’ll be fun,” she insists. “You’ll get to meet my friends, and I invited Rory and some of her friends, too.”

  I can’t figure her out. Yesterday she didn’t want to hang out with me, now today she wants me to meet her friends.

  “Great,” I say without any actual enthusiasm. She turns back to her book, and I grab clothes and shampoo from my suitcase. My Jake Harrison poster is still folded exactly like I had it, so that’s good. The hatbox looks undisturbed, too, which means Aunt Bethany didn’t find my letters and the bag of broken glass. I’m not sure which would be harder to explain. I wedge the suitcase under my bed between a stuffed lizard and a plastic pumpkin filled with Halloween candy wrappers.

  Halloween = Eight Months Ago.

  The bathroom window looks out onto the backyard, where Bar Mitzvah Boy is still chanting. He never told me his name. I guess I didn’t tell him mine, either. The echo from the hole makes his voice sound deeper and richer than it did in person. More confident, too. I stand and listen for a few minutes until I begin to feel like I’m eavesdropping on a private moment, which is silly of course since he’s singing outside for anyone to hear.

  The air vent under the window pumps the odor of bacon into the room, and it smells like home. Not my home, because Mom almost never cooks bacon, but someone else’s home that I’m not a part of. I turn on the shower, eager to drown out the strangeness of everything. The sound of the pounding water does drown out the boy’s voice, but the steam only heightens the bacon smell.

  I probably should have called my parents before their flight left. Even though Aunt Bethany told them I arrived safely, they’re probably worried that they haven’t heard from me directly. Although if they were so worried about me, they wouldn’t have sent me here. Now they’ll just have to wait till they get their weekly phone access.

  By the time I’m done showering and dressing and drying my hair, the chanting has stopped. In its place is the hustle and bustle of party preparation. I peek out the bathroom window. Balloons have been tied around the trunks of various trees, adding color to the yard. Aunt Bethany, in a pink flowery dress, directs Uncle Roger to place a tray of burgers on the patio table.

  I back away from the window and return to the bedroom. Emily has moved to her desk and is scribbling an equation in her notebook. Once again I’m afraid to disturb her. She erases, scribbles again, chews on her pencil, then sees me at the door. “Hi, cuz,” she says, closing her books.

  “Don’t stop whatever you’re doing because of me.”

  She makes a face. “Mom only lets me work on my math theorem for an hour a day. Time’s up.”

  I wonder if Aunt Bethany knows that Emily works in the middle of the night, too. “Hey, I just saw your dad carrying out plates of food. I thought your mom only made eggs.”

  “She does,” Emily replies, plucking a skirt and top from various parts of the floor. “All the food is catered from a restaurant in town.”

  “But I saw that big grill outside?”

  “That’s only for decoration. Dad took out all the moveable parts a long time ago. I’ll have to show you his lab later. You should see what he’s able to make out of a rubber band and a bar of soap.”

  I don’t tell her I already had a middle-of-the-night peek. I leave her to dress and go back across the hall to watch the action outside the bathroom window. The backyard is filling up quickly with partygoer
s of all ages, crowding onto the patio. I watch as a boy with black curls and a pretty blond girl walk in together. Seeing the top of their contrasting heads isn’t what catches my eye, though. It’s the fact that they’re wearing what look like chalkboards around their necks. Sure enough, a few seconds later the girl yanks hers a bit to the side, picks up the end of a long string attached to the top, and begins writing. I can’t see the chalk from here, but I can see the white words beginning to appear on the board.

  The boy reads it, nods, and scribbles something on his own board in response. None of the other kids around them seem the least bit fazed by their behavior. I don’t get it. Are they not able to talk, like, they’re mute from some traumatic experience? That’s so sad. I watch for a few more minutes until Emily joins me in the bathroom.

  “You ready to go downstairs? I’m sure people are looking for you. You’re the guest of honor after all.”

  I shake my head. I honestly don’t think I can go down there. I don’t even think if I’m dressed right for a barbeque in Willow Falls.

  She leans over, pinches my cheeks (hard), and fluffs my hair. I stare at her. “What was that for?”

  “My mom does that when I’m about to do something social. ‘Gotta have pink in your cheeks!’ ” Emily’s imitation of her mom is spot on. Then in her normal voice she says, “Um, do you have anything more, I don’t know, colorful to wear?”

  For the second time this morning, I look down at my outfit. Black shorts, brown T-shirt, brown and tan striped sneakers. I shake my head. “This is pretty much as colorful as I get. I probably shouldn’t go down there. You know, dressed like this. And your clothes would be too small so don’t even offer.”

  She sighs dramatically. “You’re going. Remember, I got out of camp because I promised to help you acclimate. Now let’s go down there and acclimate!”

  “I don’t know what that means,” I say, trying to stall.

  She rolls her eyes. “It means mingle. Adjust to the new environment.”

  I sigh and grudgingly follow her downstairs. I stumble a little as we near the back door and the noise filters in from the party. A little voice in my heads whispers, “Just smile and nod and it’ll be over before you know it.” It takes a second to realize that little voice is actually Emily whispering in my ear.

  So I put on a smile and start nodding as we step out onto the patio.

  “Maybe skip the nodding,” Emily whispers. “You look like a bobblehead.”

  I stop the nodding.

  Emily immediately heads over to two girls, dragging me along by the elbow. “These are my friends, Emily C and Emily B.”

  The Emilys say hello in unison. I wonder if they practice that or if it comes naturally if you have the same name as someone. I’ve never met another Tara before, so I wouldn’t know.

  “So let me guess,” I ask my cousin, “you’re Emily S?”

  Emily shakes her head. “No, silly. I’m Emily A.”

  “But your last name starts with an S.”

  Emily C leans over like she’s telling me a secret and says, “It’s about class rank, not last names.”

  Emily B adds, “We’re not supposed to talk about class rank. Our school is all about fostering a sense of self-worth in a noncompetitive environment.”

  “We don’t think that accurately reflects the real world, do you?” Emily A asks me.

  “Um, no?” It must have been the right answer because all the Emilys nod in approval. B and C excuse themselves and head off to the soda table as the boy and girl I saw earlier wearing the blackboards come over. Up close I see that the girl has a lot of freckles and her blond hair is a little puffy. She keeps trying to smooth it down with her hand. I expect them to start writing on their boards, but to my surprise, the girl turns to me and says, “Hi! I’m Amanda!”

  Okay, so maybe only the boy can’t talk and this Amanda girl is such a good friend that she uses a board to talk to him. I stare at her open, smiling face. Emily elbows me. “Tara,” I say. “My name is Tara.”

  “And this is Leo,” Emily says, stepping aside so the black-haired boy can join the circle.

  I give him a little wave. Should I say hello? I’d feel weird talking to him when he can only write. But maybe the wave was rude? While I’m trying to figure it out, he says, “Hi, Tara. Welcome to Willow Falls.”

  I take a step back, looking from one to the other in surprise. I don’t get it. They can both talk. A woman with hair the exact yellow shade of Amanda’s calls to them from the other side of the patio. She’s kneeling in front of a little boy with four hot dogs sticking out of his mouth.

  “Coming, Mom,” Amanda replies. Then to me she says, “That’s our friend Rory’s little brother, Sawyer. We’re supposed to be watching him until she gets here.”

  The two of them hurry off and I turn to Emily. “Um … what’s with the blackboards?”

  “Oh, right! That must seem weird to someone who isn’t used to them.”

  “Just a little.”

  “It’s pretty simple, really. They can’t talk to each other. I mean, not out loud.”

  “Why? Are they in a fight or something?”

  Emily shakes her head. “Not this time, but Rory told me that when they were all in fifth grade Amanda and Leo were in a huge fight and didn’t even go near each other for a whole year. Then something happened that they won’t tell anyone, some big secret, and they’ve been best friends again ever since. Then last summer they started using the blackboards to talk to each other. Or they text. But that’s rude to do in a group.”

  I watch the little boy, Sawyer, spit his half-chewed hot dogs into Leo’s hands. Leo makes a face, but I can tell he isn’t really grossed out. “How long are they going to stop talking for?”

  She shrugs. “Who knows? Those two are weird.” The other Emilys return and my Emily tells them (with way too much enthusiasm) that she thinks she found “an inconsistency in the XY coordinates” in the math homework. This is my cue to exit.

  I wander over to the pool pit and look down, half expecting to find Bar Mitzvah Boy. Instead, I see a stuffed green bunny lying at the bottom, one ear flopped over its face. A minute later the owner of the bunny announces himself with a howl and a wail. WHEREISMYBUNNY?! reverberates through the backyard as the boy who tried to eat too many hot dogs bursts into tears.

  I want to tell him the bunny is in the hole, but there are so many people and they would all be looking at me. I do manage to sort of point into the hole, but no one really notices. Bar Mitzvah Boy appears from the side of the house, heading right toward me. He reaches the edge and looks over. “He’s here! I’ll get him!”

  “The Hamburglar to the rescue!” a girl standing next to him declares. I hadn’t noticed her at first, but she must have been running alongside Bar Mitzvah Boy the whole time. It’s like she blended into the background or something. She’s wearing a brown and white sundress with brown sandals, which is sort of the perfect outfit for a summer barbeque and makes me feel even more underdressed. Drat my utter lack of fashion sense.

  Then she turns and looks straight at me. Our eyes connect for only a second, but it’s enough to give me a strange sort of jolt. I’ve never seen eyes like that before. I don’t think it’s the color, which is your basic green. But as soon as she looked at me, I got this weird déjà vu feeling. Like I’ve met her before, while knowing absolutely that I haven’t. How could I not have noticed her right away?

  The little boy runs over to her and wraps his arms around her waist. She laughs and says, “Don’t worry, Sawyer. David Goldberg’s going to rescue your bunny.” I realize the girl must be Rory, Emily’s babysitter and sister of the little boy.

  Bar Mitzvah Boy = The Hamburglar = David Goldberg?

  David thumps his chest and says, “I shall return.” He crosses to the other side of the pool and starts climbing down. The rocks sticking out of the side make almost as good a ladder as a real one. Except that the rungs of a real ladder don’t fall off with no warning. David
slides down about a foot, joined by falling pebbles and dirt on either side of him. The crowd that has now gathered lets out a collective gasp.

  “I’m fine,” he calls as he regains his footing. He straightens his glasses and continues the rescue. Soon he’s on his way back up, stuffed bunny clamped between his teeth.

  “You could have just tossed it up to us,” Rory says, pulling the bunny’s ear from David’s mouth.

  He shrugs and dusts the dirt off his knees. “Wouldn’t be as dramatic.”

  Rory holds the bunny up by the opposite ear, kind of distastefully. She shakes off the dirt before lowering it into Sawyer’s waiting hands. She gives one last shudder as he hugs it.

  She must really not like dirt.

  I’m starting to feel a little weird standing here like I’m a part of their conversation. Then David says, “Rory has a thing against bunnies.” It takes a few seconds to realize he’s talking to me. I guess it wasn’t the dirt, after all.

  Rory stomps her foot. “The bunny tried to kill me, David. He would have gone after my whole family next. Or he might have followed me here one time while I was babysitting Emily. And then after he destroyed her whole family, he would go across the street for yours!”

  He rolls his eyes. “So you keep saying.”

  I have this fear that if I don’t talk to Rory soon, she’ll walk away. And even though I don’t know why it matters to me one way or another, I only know I don’t want her to go. So I ask, “Your brother’s stuffed animal tried to kill you?”

  David chuckles. “It was a pet bunny,” Rory explains. “I only had him for a few weeks. It’s very frustrating because no one believes me about the evil that lurked within him.” She glares at David as she says that last part.

  “That must have been scary,” I say, because I want to be on her side.

  “See?” Rory says. “Even a stranger believes me.”

  “She’s not a stranger,” David says. “Her name’s Tara, and she’s Emily’s cousin.”

  Rory beams at me. “You’re the guest of honor, then!”