The Wondrous World of Violet Barnaby Page 8

  “Lucky you,” Penelope said. “I heard Miss Carter is way easier.”

  “She is,” I said. “And way nicer.”

  Addison and Penelope finished brushing their hair, and left. The toilet behind me flushed, the stall door opened . . . and Olivia walked out and began washing her hands.

  “Oh, hi,” I said. From the hard look in her eyes, I knew she’d heard everything, and surprisingly, I felt bad. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that I get tired of everyone talking about Dad and Melanie and—”

  “Don’t you think I get tired of it, too?” Olivia interrupted. She was scrubbing her hands so hard, I thought she’d rub the skin right off. “Don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one who gets grief for being related to the Hammer?”

  Um . . . total honesty? No, I hadn’t thought about it. Not even once. In fact, I tried real hard to think about Olivia as little as possible. But I couldn’t exactly tell her that.

  “Except for me,” she continued, “it started the very first day of class.” She spread her arms wide, “Welcome to Dandelion Middle—we all hate your mother.”

  That sounded terrible, and I was about to tell her so when she added, “You know, my mom was really unhappy before she met your dad.” She ripped a paper towel from the dispenser. “She used to hide in the kitchen and cry all the time.”

  Suddenly, I was mad. So mad I wanted to stomp my feet. Or take a swing at Olivia or slam the bathroom door, and I wasn’t even sure why. Maybe it was the thought of Melanie crying in front of a pile of dirty dishes or the fact that at lunch today Izzy, Sophia, and Daisy were talking about how much fun they’d had spending the night at Caulfield Farm.

  “Oh yeah?” I said. “Well, my mom used to cry a lot, too. Then she died.”

  I purposely didn’t look at Olivia as I brushed past her and slammed out of the bathroom.

  • • •

  When I walked into the Dusty Bookshelf, Scooter was at the cash register, helping customers. “Violet! I’m delighted to see you. I’ll be with you in a minute. Bob is in the back, and he is in desperate need of a good petting.”

  Bob is Scooter’s orange tabby cat—the hugest, fattest one I’ve ever seen—and he likes books. I found him in the literature section, where he was sitting imperiously on top of a bookshelf, staring down at a couple who were examining books by Ernest Hemingway.

  “Oh, what a cute kitty,” the girl said.

  In response, Bob twitched his tail and yawned.

  I sat down on a comfy couch, and as soon as the couple left, Bob jumped and landed on the ground with a loud thud, then climbed into my lap and started purring. I really like coming here, where it’s quiet and I can be by myself.

  I thought about texting Olivia and apologizing, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  The truth is, in the bathroom back there, I used Mom’s death as a bat and smacked it across Olivia’s stunned face. I knew if Mom really could see me now, she wouldn’t be proud. But I was so sick of people talking about Dad and Melanie, and I was embarrassed to admit that I hadn’t ever realized things probably weren’t always easy for Olivia, either.

  “Someone’s missed you,” Scooter said as Bob bumped his head against my hand until I started petting him. “Anything I can help you with today before I leave?”

  “Leave?” I said. “Where are you going?”

  Scooter grinned. “Got myself a hot date with Mildred. She has consented to letting me take her out for an afternoon slice of pie at the Kaleidoscope.”

  “That sounds nice,” I said. “Austin Jackson and I need to write an essay on the ancient Egyptians. Do you have any books I can buy?”

  “No—but I have a couple you can have, free of charge. Let me just go find them.”

  While he was looking through the shop, Austin arrived. “Wow, what a fat cat,” he said when he saw Bob.

  In response, Bob lifted his head to glare at him.

  “Geez—talk about a death stare.” Austin plopped down next to me. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You look kind of bummed.”

  “Nothing,” I answered. “Just family stuff.” My voice broke a little bit on the word “family.” On the idea that I was going to grow up; I was going to meet people who had never known Mom; and for years when I said the word “family,” they would think not only of Dad, but of Melanie and Olivia.

  I’d never thought about that before.

  “What’s it like, having a stepsister and stepbrother all of a sudden?” Austin asked. “I mean, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have siblings, since I’m an only child.”

  “I’m still an only child,” I said quickly, although I knew things were different now.

  “Okay,” Austin said. I think he could tell I didn’t want to talk about it. He drummed his fingers on the couch. “So . . . any ideas for our project?”

  “Scooter’s finding us books so we can do research for our essay,” I said as I continued to pet Bob.

  “Books?” Austin frowned. “Why can’t we get all our sources off the Internet?”

  “Because, young man,” Scooter said, returning with a stack of old textbooks, “the Internet is no substitute for scholarly research.”

  “Meow.” Bob agreed.

  “Oh,” Austin said, sitting up straighter, “you’re totally right.”

  After that, we stopped by Don’s Donuts so Austin could purchase a bunch of jelly rolls, which he ate on the way home. It felt strange talking to him face-to-face as we walked to my house; most of our conversations were usually via text. While we walked, I found myself telling him a few things about what it was like living with Olivia and Joey, how loud they were in the mornings, how mad it made me every time Mr. Vanderberg missed a phone call with Joey, how annoying it was that Olivia always blasted her iPod, especially since I can’t stand her music.

  At home, Joey was sitting in the rocker on the front porch, his lips puffed out in a pout. And all of a sudden I realized: It was Monday. I was supposed to go home right after school, because Melanie needed someone to watch Joey, and Olivia had an Eco Club meeting, and, of course, that was more important than whatever I was doing.

  “Where were you?” he demanded as Austin and I walked up to the porch.

  “Working on a school project.” I bent down till I was eye level with him. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me?”

  Joey seemed to consider. “Can I have a snack?” he asked.

  “Whatever you want,” I said, and he sprang off the rocker. “Who are you?” he asked Austin while I unlocked the front door. “Are you Violet’s boyfriend?”

  “Joey,” I said quickly, “why don’t you go into the living room and I’ll get you your food.”

  “I could eat, too,” Austin said.

  “You’re hungry? You just had a ton of doughnuts.” No wonder he kept growing, I thought as we headed for the kitchen. He never stopped eating.

  “How about some popcorn?” I asked.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Austin joined Joey in the living room while I stuck a bag of popcorn in the microwave. While I was waiting, I texted Olivia: I’m sorry.

  She texted back immediately: Whatever.

  I decided against texting her again. I put away my cell and pulled out Mom’s letter. I kept it on me at all times; I’d read it so much, it was starting to look worn. I wished I could talk to her about my fight with Olivia. I also wished she’d left me more than a Christmas to-do list.

  I wished she’d left me instructions on how to live life without her.

  “What’s that?” Austin said, coming back into the kitchen.

  “It’s a letter from my mother,” I said.

  Austin’s eyes widened. “How is that possible?”

  So far, the only person I’d let read Mom’s actual letter was Coco Martin, and right then I realized I wanted to talk about it with someone. “Dad was supposed to give it to me last year, but he forgot. Here.”

  I handed the letter to
Austin and concentrated on pouring the popcorn into two bowls while he read.

  “Wow,” he said when he finished. “This is awesome. But you haven’t crossed many things off the list yet.”

  “Yeah, I know. I just haven’t been into Christmas much this year.”

  “Do you have thread and a couple of needles?” he asked suddenly. “Let’s string popcorn garland together. We’ve already got the popcorn right here. Let’s just do it, and we can cross it off your list.”

  “Austin.” I sighed. “That’s really nice, but we need to study.”

  “We will! Come on, let’s do one small strand, cross it off the list, and then we’ll start on the project.”

  “Well . . . I guess one strand won’t take too long.” I found some thread and needles, and we got to work on making popcorn garland in the living room. Joey helped us, but it took longer than it should have—Austin ate four pieces for every one that he strung, and I had to pop another batch.

  “There!” he said, tying up the end of the string. “Popcorn garland, done! Check it out, and check it off!” He pumped his fist.

  I laughed and picked up one of Melanie’s red pens she uses for grading and crossed “String popcorn garland” off the list. It felt good.

  “Want to play basketball?” he said.

  “We really should start working on our project. And I don’t like basketball.”

  “No. I mean, popcorn basketball.” He tossed a piece into the air and caught it with his mouth.

  “That’s not a real game,” I said.

  “It’s definitely a real game. Open your mouth and see how many you can catch.” He grinned. “I’ll bet I can catch more than you.”

  He tossed three pieces into the air and caught them. “See if you can beat that.”

  We started competing to see who could catch the most. Austin hit a high of ten pieces in a row before shouting, “Teams! Let’s see how many we could do together!”

  He moved back a couple of spots and opened his mouth. I tossed a piece at him, and he caught it. Three more, and then he missed. “That was a lousy throw,” he said.

  “That was a lousy catch.”

  “We’ll see who’s a lousy catcher.” He grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Back up, Hotshot. Now it’s your turn.”

  I was a lousy catcher. Austin kept tossing popcorn at me, and I kept missing. He began throwing them underhanded, like pitching a softball, and then I started doing a better job. While we played, I felt like that wall of glass that always seemed to separate me from everyone else thinned out and went soft, like water. Like I could reach right through it, and grab onto the other side, where things were warm and shiny.

  “What’s going on here?” Melanie stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking decidedly unhappy. “The floor is a mess.”

  I looked down. Popcorn littered the carpet, like it had snowed inside. “We’ll clean it up,” I said quickly.

  “We were working on our Egyptian report,” Austin said.

  “I can see that,” Melanie said. “Looks like you got a lot done.”

  Austin looked down and my cheeks flamed up. “It was our first day working together. We were just trying to figure out what to do,” I said.

  “I also got a call from Mrs. Graves, the neighbor across the street,” Melanie continued. “She told me that Joey spent an hour sitting on that front porch before you showed up.”

  “I’m sorry, I just—I forgot.”

  Melanie stared hard at me a bit longer before waving her hand. “Fine. But your study session is done for today.” She spun on her heel and left the room.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said as I walked Austin to the door.

  “It’s okay. It’s not a successful day if I haven’t irritated the Hammer at least once.” We both laughed, and Austin added, “Seriously—it was fun hanging out.” He smiled at me, but it was a shy, weird smile. “Text you later, Wordnerd?”

  “Sure—text you later,” I said.

  It wasn’t until after I’d shut the door that I thought about his smile and the look in his eye when he called me Wordnerd that I wondered: Was Austin flirting with me?

  CHAPTER

  18

  THE BEST PRESENTS

  When I’m confused about something, I like to make a list and see if I can figure it out. So the next afternoon, when Joey and I were sitting at the kitchen table, instead of doing my homework, I made a list about Austin:

  REASONS WHY I THINK AUSTIN LIKES ME

  • HE TEXTS ME ALL THE TIME. SERIOUSLY—ALL. THE. TIME.

  • HE’S STARTED SAVING ME A SEAT NEXT TO HIM IN MISS MALLERY’S CLASS.

  • I’M PRETTY SURE I’M THE ONLY ONE HE’S TOLD ABOUT HIS MOM MAYBE GOING TO LIVE IN NEW YORK.

  When we were texting late last night, I asked him if he’d told Tyler Jones or Trent Walker, and he said they’re immature and he can’t talk to them. When I asked him who he can talk to, he texted back: Just You.

  At lunch, whenever I look over at his table, I notice him looking at me.

  I notice him in the hallways at school all the time now. I guess you could say we spend a lot of time noticing each other.

  Big Conclusion? I’m pretty sure he likes me.

  Potential Bigger Conclusion? I think I might like him back.

  Just then my cell pinged with a text from Austin.

  I’ve been thinking . . .

  I smiled—I liked the idea that Austin had been thinking about me, right when I was thinking about him. I waited, but when he didn’t send another text, I sent one of my own:

  You’ve been thinking? Congratulations, I KNEW it was bound to happen!

  Next to me, Joey had been coloring with his markers. On a yellow piece of construction paper, he’d drawn a picture of what I thought was supposed to be Dad and Melanie standing next to a Christmas tree.

  “That’s a great picture,” I told him. When he didn’t answer, I looked over and saw him sniffing. “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  He wiped his eyes. “I don’t know what to get Mitch for Christmas.”

  “I’m sure whatever you get him he’ll like. Dads are easy like that.”

  Joey shook his head. “Once I made my dad a necklace and he never wore it. I found it in the trash.”

  The more I heard about Olivia and Joey’s dad, the more I didn’t like him. And I knew my own dad would have proudly worn the necklace everywhere.

  “I only have six dollars. That’s not enough to get anything,” Joey continued morosely.

  “Morosely”—it means “characterized by or expressing gloom.”

  Gloom was descending like a black sheet over both of us, so I said, “Sometimes the best Christmas presents don’t come from a store.” I was pretty sure I’d heard that in a book somewhere, and when I thought back to the letters Mom used to write me, I realized it was true. “My dad would love anything you gave him,” I added. “Think about what you’d really like to give him. Something that doesn’t cost money.”

  While Joey thought about it, my phone pinged with another text from Austin:

  Sorry about that. My dad was asking me a question. . . . Anyway, I was thinking. I want to help you with your mom’s list. I have ideas for some stuff we could do.

  At that, my heart started spinning cartwheels.

  You’re on!

  It’s really true, I thought. Sometimes the best presents don’t come from the store. I think Joey agreed with me, because as I put my phone away and pulled out my homework, he said, “I think I have an idea for a good present.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “You’ll see” was all he’d say.

  • • •

  I found out what he meant later, at dinner. While we ate, he was squirming around, looking like he was going to burst with excitement.

  “Joey, stop playing with your food,” Melanie said after he’d used his mashed potatoes to build a snowman.

  “Do you have to wait until Christmas to give someone their present?” he
asked.

  “Not necessarily,” Melanie said. “I get presents from students all throughout December.”

  I found it hard to believe that students actually bought the Hammer presents, but Joey smiled widely. “Okay, then I’m going to give Mitch his Christmas present now!” He leaped out of his seat and faced Dad. “Starting right now, I’m going to call you ‘Dad’!”

  The table went silent. Dad’s eyes grew misty, and Melanie brought a napkin to her face. Her shoulders shook slightly.

  “You want to call me ‘Dad’?” Dad repeated, glancing briefly at Melanie. “Are you sure, Buddy?”

  Joey nodded seriously. “My real dad won’t care, and I’ve decided you’re a better dad than he is, anyway.”

  Melanie gave a muffled sob, and Olivia stared blankly at her plate. It felt indecent, almost, watching them. Little kids can say the most honest things. They don’t know they’re supposed to pretend everything is fine. That it’s perfectly normal that Joey’s dad is never available for Saturday morning or Wednesday evening phone calls.

  “That’s a really sweet idea,” Melanie said, a quiver in her voice.

  “It wasn’t my idea,” Joey answered. “It was Violet’s.”

  “It was? Really?”

  It felt uncomfortable, the way Melanie was staring at me. Like I was a rock star or an angel or something. Meanwhile, Olivia didn’t look too happy, and I had a funny feeling in my stomach, like I’d let her down somehow. After all, I knew she liked my dad—liked him a lot, in fact, judging by the way she was always kissing up to him—but I’d never heard her call him anything other than “Mitch.”

  “It wasn’t exactly my idea,” I said quickly. “I just said sometimes the best presents don’t cost money.” I wanted so badly to say something snarky, but I also knew I couldn’t mess this up for Dad or Joey. I knew Dad loved Joey, and in my own way, I was starting to love him, too. He deserved a good dad, and if his own dad couldn’t do the job, I was glad he had mine.

  Dad stared at Melanie, who nodded once. “Okay, Buddy, that’s a wonderful present. Thank you so much.”

  “No problem—Dad,” Joey said, and the two of them high-fived.