by Wendy Mass
I get a sinking feeling. “Do these people even know you want their things?”
She shakes her head again. “Nope. That’s where you come in. You get to convince them to hand over the goods.” “How am I supposed to do that?”
She shrugs. “You’ll have to offer them money, or charm them with your winning personality. Stealing the goods, I feel the need to point out, is not an option.”
She bends down and rummages under the counter. All I can see is the top of her shoulders. I assume she’s digging around for the money to give me, but when she resurfaces, she plunks an old-fashioned tape recorder on the counter instead. “I don’t trust making lists on paper,” she says, sliding the tape recorder closer to me. “Paper burns, it drifts away. These babies will last forever.”
Honestly, the thing must be forty years old. Inside the scratched window lies a single cassette tape. Whatever words had been written on the label faded into blue smudges long ago. “What do I do with this?”
She rolls her eyes. “You take it home and listen to it. The list of objects is on there. I’d start tracking them down right away if I were you. It might take you some time to find them.”
My jaw drops. “You mean you’re not going to tell me who has them?”
“Don’t know myself. They’re here in town somewhere.” She waves her arms around as if that’s helpful in any way.
I grip the edges of the counter. “But what if I can’t find everything?”
She leans over the counter and puts her hand on mine. It is surprisingly comforting. “If you can’t get everything on that list, you will simply return the money. Oh, and either you’ll tell your uncle about the comic or I will.”
I yank my hand away. Obviously I’ll have spent all the money by that time. Where would I get another two hundred to pay her back? I couldn’t. And of course I don’t want Uncle Roger to know about the comic. Which means I have no choice but to find everything on that list.
Quick as a flash, she presses a combination of buttons on her cash register and the drawer shoots open. She counts out ten twenty-dollar bills and hands them to me. I zip them up into my bag, then check the zipper twice. There’s no way I’m losing ANY money this time.
“Um, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” I say, forcing myself to make direct eye contact, “but maybe there’s something I can do here instead? I’m really good at organizing things. Or I could sweep or dust. I mean, no one knows me in Willow Falls, so wouldn’t it just be easier if you asked them for these items, instead?”
“Believe it or not,” she says, “some people have been known to lock their doors when they see me coming.”
“Why? Because you’re always asking for their stuff?”
“Sure, we’ll go with that explanation. And now that you mention it, you’d be best off not telling them it’s for me.”
“But people must sell you stuff all the time, the shelves are full of—”
“No need to come back until you have everything on the list,” she says, cutting me off. “I’ll see you here in a month, let’s say July thirteenth.”
“But that’s my thirteenth birthday,” I blurt out, although saying it makes me sound like I’m about two years old. And it’s not like I have other plans that day.
She peers closer at me. “You know what happens when you turn thirteen, don’t you?”
“You become a teenager?”
She scoffs. “Much more than that. At thirteen your soul becomes settled in your body. You become the core of the person you will be for the rest of your life. And thanks to me, you’ll have paid off your debt to society by completing this job. You can enter your teen years free and clear.”
I’ve had pretty much enough of this. “Honestly, isn’t ‘debt to society’ a bit much? Selling the comic book would only have affected one person. If he even noticed.”
“You truly believe that?” she asks.
I nod, more confidently than I feel.
She shakes her head. “Our actions have long-lasting consequences, of which we often have no knowledge. They ripple far out into the universe.”
“I know that.” After all, me being sent to Willow Falls is proof of how well I know that. “But trust me, I’m a sit-this-one-out kind of girl. I don’t get involved for that exact reason. I don’t want to ripple anyone’s universe.”
She puts her hand on mine again and, again, I relax a tiny bit. “Well, you’re off the sidelines now, kid. Welcome to the game.”
Then she steps into her office and closes the door behind her.
I rock back on my heels. This is sooooo not how I thought my morning would go. My brain is swirling. Souls solidifying? Me, in the game? How can I be in the game when I don’t know any of the rules?
After five minutes of her not returning, I see no other choice but to accept her terms. I slide the comic into my backpack and reach for the tape recorder. I can barely lift it! It must weigh thirty pounds! How did Angelina make it look so effortless? She must be stronger than she looks. I lug the old machine out of the store, clutching it to my chest with both arms. There’s gotta be a dozen better ways to make a list of something.
By the time I get back to the house, I’m exhausted from the effort of balancing the tape recorder on top of Emily’s wicker basket, which I’ll now have to replace due to it being totally squashed. I’d had to keep a hand on the machine at all times, which meant leaning over the handlebars and riding at a really awkward angle.
Thankfully no one else is home or else it would have been hard to explain the sudden appearance of a giant tape recorder from the days before people walked on the moon. I can tell that Aunt Bethany has come and gone again, because there are shopping bags piled up on the stairs.
The first thing I see when I get up to the bedroom is a large red and white shopping bag on my bed. I rest the tape recorder on the desk and peek inside the bag. Clothes. A lot of very colorful clothes that are way too big for Emily. I dump out the bag until it looks like a rainbow exploded on my bed. Had Emily told her mom about my lack of wardrobe? Or maybe Aunt Bethany saw it for herself when she put me to bed that first night. It was really nice of her to do this, but everything’s so … bright.
Leaving the clothes where they are, I return to the task at hand — returning the comic. Even though I didn’t see any cars, I still put my ear up to the door of the Collectibles Room. Satisfied that all I hear is the hum of the central air-conditioning, I turn the knob and push. But the door doesn’t budge.
It’s locked! How could it be locked? I feel the panic rise up in me. Uncle Roger would have had to lock it sometime between midnight last night and now. Why would he do that? Did he know someone had been there? Did he know it was me?
I feel way too obvious standing here in the hall. Someone could come home at any minute and see me holding it. I need to hide the comic somewhere really good. It can’t be in my suitcase, since both Emily and Aunt Bethany seem to have no hesitations about going in there. I stare down the hall. The lab! All those piles of magazines that couldn’t have been looked at in five years. If I slipped it in between them, it would blend right in.
So I listen at the lab door, then push it open. Everything looks just as it did that first night when I stumbled into the room by mistake. I head right for the magazines and slip the comic inside an issue of Inventors Digest from seven years ago. I stack a few more issues on top of it, then stand back. Looks good. And if Uncle Roger did happen to come across it, maybe he’d think he left it there himself by mistake. Until I can get that other door open, this will have to be a good enough option.
Now, on to the tape recorder. I sit at Emily’s desk and examine it from all sides. I press the little button that’s supposed to release the tape cover, but nothing happens. I try to wrench it open to get at the tape underneath, but it won’t let me lift it enough to get my fingers in there. It would help if there were a button that actually said PLAY SO I could tell if the tape still worked. I rub my finger over the large black butt
ons and can feel the symbols carved into them that must have been white once. I choose the one with the triangle on it and press it down. Nothing but a click as it releases back up. I try the one with the circle. Then the one with the arrows pointing right. Then pointing left. Finally, the square. Why would Angelina have given me a broken tape recorder?
“You should check the batteries,” Uncle Roger suggests from the doorway. I jump up so quickly that my knee bangs against the underside of the desk. The pain shoots through my leg, but I’m too busy trying to block his view of the tape recorder to pay it much attention. Darn that plush carpet that I had been so thankful for when it was ME sneaking around!
“Sorry to startle you. Just got home and wanted to see if you’d had lunch.” He steps over to the desk and peers around me. “Is that one of my old tape recorders?”
“Um, I …” How can I lie to him after everything that happened today? But how can I tell him the truth? So I compromise and say, “Actually, I got it in town today.”
He lights up. “You like old machines, too, eh? Wait’ll you see all the junk I’ve got. C’mon, I’ll show you.”
So I follow him back to the lab, where I have to pretend I’ve never been before. “Wow, you sure have a lot of stuff.”
He nods, grinning like a little kid. “You never know when you’ll need a little knob or a tiny piece of wire, or when two totally different objects will inspire a brand-new invention. That’s how the Sand-Free Beach Towel came to be.” To my horror, he goes over to the piles of magazines and says, “You’re welcome to look through any of these for inspiration of your own. Some of them go back from before Emily was born.” He is literally standing six inches away from where I hid the comic. The universe is seriously playing games with me.
He chuckles and nudges one of the piles with his foot. “I should probably clean this room more often. Emily gets her messy habits from me, I’m afraid.”
I force myself to laugh along when really I just want to sink into the floor. I need to get him away from the magazines. “Hey, would you happen to have some extra batteries I could try in the tape recorder?”
“You mean you don’t want to take it apart?” He looks disappointed.
“Actually, I’d rather just get it to play.”
He sighs and points to a set of plastic bins in the back corner. “Batteries of all sizes and shapes. Help yourself to whatever you need.”
“Thanks.” I grab handfuls of all different types and shove them in my pockets.
“Hey, have you seen the Collectibles Room?” he asks, practically giddy at the chance to show it off. “Your aunt organized it, so it’s nice and orderly.”
Once again, I’m stumped for an answer — do I say I’ve been there, or that I haven’t? Fortunately, once again, he doesn’t wait for one. “C’mon,” he says, “you’ll love it.”
I hesitate before following him. Does he know about my trip last night? Is this a setup? I trudge along behind him promising myself that if I survive this, I will be a much better person in the future. We reach the door, and to my surprise, he turns the knob rather than reaching for a key.
He tries the knob again, pulling and pushing at it. “That’s strange,” he says. “I never lock this door. I don’t even have a key.” He tries it again. “Hmm. The only way to lock it is from the inside. Someone must have turned the latch and then shut the door behind them.”
I wonder if they have tornadoes in Willow Falls. I wouldn’t mind if one swept me up right about now. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m the “someone.” I must have done it in my hurry to beat Emily back to the bedroom.
“That’s okay,” I say, slowly backing away. “I can see it another time.” I leave him muttering about which tool would be the best to open it.
I close the bedroom door and make a decision. I’m going to do this impossible job for Angelina as quickly as possible, so I can pay off my debt to society, as she so dramatically put it. Then the money will legitimately be mine, and I can have a (semi) normal summer in this (semi) normal little town.
It takes five minutes to wrestle off the cover of the battery compartment since I refuse to go ask Uncle Roger for a screwdriver. I pull out four corroded C batteries, and replace them with new ones. This time when I press the button with the triangle, the tape moves around the little plastic circles with an accompanying whirring and crackling sound. I lean closer, but that’s all I hear. No list, no anything.
I pace back and forth in front of the desk. To calm myself down, I start folding the clothes from Aunt Bethany. Some kids throw stuff when they’re frustrated; I fold things. I’m about to start on the shorts when I hear a baby crying. I step over to the window, but the house is too far from the neighbors for the sound to travel all the way here. I cross to the door. No, it’s not coming from outside in the hall.
Now, along with the crying, a woman has started to sing a lullaby. Her voice is very pure and sweet. It finally dawns on me that the sounds are coming out of the tape recorder! The woman gets through the first few lines of “Hush, Little Baby, Don’t You Cry” when the tape clicks and a man’s voice comes through. “All right, let’s try that again,” he says. A woman — a different one from the singer — replies, “Do you really think this will work?” The man says, “As long as we don’t tell her he’s coming. She’ll be too nervous.” Then another click and the singing returns, without the baby crying. Then the tape cuts to a group of people laughing. Then Angelina’s voice comes on and she starts reciting a list of random objects. Finally! My guess is that whoever sold the tape recorder to Angelina’s store a zillion years ago left the tape in it. Angelina — and a lot of other people before her — taped right over it.
After a few tries, I figure out how to rewind the tape so I can write down the list from the beginning.
One wicker basket with handles in the shape of hearts
One gray wool blanket with two-inch red stripes around the border
One brass candlestick in the shape of a fish
One large white shawl with the initials ER on the left corner
One knife with a black handle inside a red sheath
A 2-ounce purple glass bottle with a silver stopper
One long strand of pearls with a gold clasp
One leather-bound copy of the Bible, black, Book of Genesis repeated twice
One wooden key with the words Made in Willow Falls 1974 carved in the shank
One black steamer trunk with gold latch
One violin, silver plating on back reads Sam, 1902
One bottle of apple wine, 1925, brewed by Ellerby-Fitzpatrick Brewers
One wooden cane, handle shaped like a duck’s beak
The list finally ends, and soon after, so does the tape. I play it twice more to make sure I’ve gotten everything down correctly. Then I climb into my bed, throw the covers over my head, and pray for a miracle.
Chapter Eleven
I’m about twenty minutes early to the diner to meet Rory and Leo. Rory already texted me that Amanda has band practice and David’s mom dragged him to the tailor to get his bar mitzvah suit fitted. I’m kind of glad it’s a smaller group.
While I wait, I ogle the desserts in the glass case by the counter. Having (much) more freedom than at home is all well and good, but I need to actually remember to do things like eat and drink now and then. The chocolate cakes and pies in the case look so good that I’m afraid my mouth is going to water.
“Can I help you?” a waitress asks, appearing at my side. Her name tag reads HI, MY NAME IS ANNIE. ASK ME ABOUT THE CHOCOLATE-CHIP PANCAKES. “Everything here is homemade, you know.”
“No, thanks, I’m —”
She waits for me to finish, but I’ve suddenly lost the ability to speak. All I can do is point frantically behind her at the umbrella stand, where, since it’s not raining, there are no umbrellas. There is, however, a wooden cane with the head of a duck on top.
She looks where I’m pointing and turns back to me. “Are you all ri
ght, hon? You’re getting kinda pale.”
“That … that cane. Did you see who came in with it?”
She laughs. “Honey, I wasn’t even born yet when that cane showed up. My dad owns the diner, and he’s convinced one day the owner will come back to claim it.”
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “Do you think there’s any chance he’d let me have it? I, um, know someone who’s looking for it.”
Her eyes widen. “You do?”
I nod, hoping she won’t ask for details.
“Let me go ask. He’s in the kitchen.” She slips behind the counter, and when she pushes through the swinging doors, a blast of warm air fills the little waiting area. I can see the corner of the griddle where pancakes and fried eggs sizzle in straight lines.
I take this opportunity to inspect the cane up close. It’s gotta be the one from the list. How many wooden, duck-headed canes could there be? This one is definitely old, with most of the paint chipping off the wood. I can tell the duck’s bill used to be white, and there’s still a smudge of green on each eye.
The doors swing back open behind me and the waitress comes out, followed by a white-haired man with a sweaty forehead and twinkling eyes. He wipes his hands on his apron and sticks one hand out toward me. I shake it, not sure what else to do.
“I’m Joe Milazo. You’re the young lady asking about the cane?”
I nod.
“That thing showed up one day thirty-five years ago. Been waiting for the right person to come for it, I expect. Whatcha want it for?”
My brain freezes. I only got the list a few hours ago. I’ve been too busy feeling sorry for myself from the comfort of my bed to come up with a plan of action. I scan through the options. I can’t use Angelina’s name since she told me that would likely backfire on me. I can’t steal it when the person’s not looking because my days of stealing things are seriously over. Which leaves making up some kind of story.