Bingo Summer, page 7
“Oh…sure.” Embarrassed, I looked away. Dink frowned at us while he smacked the baseball into his glove again.
“Is that a ‘yes’?” asked Sam.
Dink stuck his hands on his hips. “C’mon!” he yelled.
I couldn’t take my eyes off Dink. He tilted his head to hear us, but that was impossible.
“Sure, why not.” I heard myself say.
“Cool.”
He trotted back to his spot by Dink. They said something to each other. Sam laughed. Dink threw the ball at me extra hard. I wondered if it was because of what Sam told him.
CHAPTER 12
You know those big-as-a-castle houses that peeked over the treetops on Church Road, the ones that Dana and I rode by on the way to the pool? Suri lived in one. It looked like the county courthouse down in Murphysboro, only bigger.
“Just tell the guy at the gate house your name, and he’ll buzz you in,” Suri told me on the phone when she called to invite me over to make campaign posters.
Riding through the gates, I followed the brick driveway through a park-like yard to the house. I felt small and silly rolling up to a mansion on my bike with poster board tucked under one arm. The front door was open. Suri waved me in, all smiles.
“Did you bring pictures? Kate’s coming for them later, so she can work on our fliers tomorrow.”
“They’re here somewhere,” I said, digging around in my backpack. I’d grabbed my school picture and another that J.C. took on my last birthday, the day we won the lottery.
Suri’s smiled wavered when she saw them. “These don’t even look like you.”
“They’re from this year. That one’s only three months old.”
She brought them to the window where the light was brighter. That sure didn’t help. Her frown deepened.
“Where are you in this one? Wait, is that you?” She pointed at me in the photo, sitting at the kitchen table, about ready to start scratching the lottery ticket. “Omigosh, look at that stove!” It was the gold stove in our old kitchen; the one Mom had to kick three times until the oven light popped on to preheat.
“If you don’t think they’re good —”
“Is that your house?” She brought the picture closer to her face.
I snatched the picture away. She jumped in surprise. “Oh…uh…my house? No, it’s someone else’s,” I said. “One of my mom’s friends gave me a surprise party.”
“Oh…okay.” Then she shrugged and smiled brightly. “How about we take some more later, and I’ll print them off for Kate,” Suri said, handing the other one back. “We need better ones.”
A knot settled in my chest. “Whatever.”
Suri tilted her head sideways, her big eyes searching mine. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t nice. It’s just that you want to make the very best impression.”
“Sure,” I said. “I totally get it.” But I really didn’t at all.
I followed her into the dining room with a table long enough for a plane to land on. There were paintings on the ceiling and wall-to-wall stained-glass windows on my left. Giant wooden pillars the size of tree trunks separated the dining area from a greenhouse across the room and down some steps. It was the most beautiful room I’d ever seen. I chewed on my lip, so my mouth wouldn’t fall open in awe.
“We’ll work in here, so we can spread out.” She helped me lay out the two poster boards next to a carry-all of markers and poster paints. “Any ideas?”
“Actually —”
Suri snapped her fingers. “I’ve got one! Get this: Haas About Summer for Vice President?” Then she doubled over, laughing. “On second thought—
“Pretty corny.” I couldn’t help but smile.
“Yep. Let’s see.” She drummed her fingers on the table top. “It has to be something catchy with your name.”
I stared out the gigantic panes of glass. Someone worked outside in a circular garden, raking. Raking reminded me of fall. The words fall and summer tumbled around in my head. Somewhere, in my brain, a phrase started to take shape.
“How about: It’s Fall, but Summer’s Just Beginning! Summer Haas for Vice President?” I said.
“I love it! See, you’re a natural.”
We got to work, Suri drawing bubble letters while I filled them in with paints.
Suri tucked her hair behind one ear. “So you have a younger sister, right?”
“Yeah, her name is J.C.”
“How’d you guys end up here, coming from downstate?” The “s” in my name took on gigantic proportions, fat and distorted, as her marker swirled on the poster board.
I stopped painting. “We’ve always liked it up here. My mom thought it was time for a change.” It wasn’t really a lie, except the part about liking the north suburbs. I would never tell anyone about the lottery as long as I lived. My hand trembled.
“Is it just your mom and you two?”
I was slapping two much paint on a “t”. It seeped over the border.
“Let me get that,” she said, blotting it with a paper towel.
“Just the three of us,” I said.
“Where’s your dad?” Then she covered her mouth. “You don’t have to answer that if it’s too nosy.”
“No, it’s all right. My real dad died when I was a baby. My step-dad and mom are divorced.”
“I’m sorry.” Her forehead creased while she concentrated on capital “B”. “It must be really hard for your mom.”
I shrugged.
“What does she do?”
“Do?”
“For work.”
I gulped. “She’s a jewelry designer,” I blurted. Designer? Why’d I say that? She strung beads.
“How cool!” Suri straightened up. “Wait until I tell my mom. She collects jewelry. I bet she’d love to see your mom’s line, being a local artist and all.”
Line? Local artist? I got a mental picture of the rich ladies in Dorrance getting a look at Mom’s jewelry, made from plastic beads and clasps she’d picked up at Hewlett’s Drugs in Stanton. People living around here, living in houses as big as a city block, could buy real jewelry with diamonds and sapphires and gold. Goosebumps popped out on my arms.
“Uh, I don’t think she’d like it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s more experimental-type stuff. It’s very different.”
“She loves original stuff. I’ll have my mom call her for a private showing.”
My unsteady hand splattered more paint over the border. Maybe Suri would forget about Mom’s jewelry.
“So do you have your outfit yet?” she said, leaning over the table to dab her brush into a cylinder of red paint.
“Outfit for what?”
“For the election, silly.”
“Can’t I just wear my usual clothes?”
Suri gaped at me. “Summer, it’s an election!” I must have looked unsure because she said, “Trust me. You need something new.”
I looked down at myself, at my new purple hoodie. I’d taken forever this morning picking out a shirt to wear. Suri said she liked it when I wore it to school for the first time last week. “Like what?”
“I’ll help you. We’ll go shopping.”
All I could think about, as we worked on my posters together, was thank goodness for Suri. If she hadn’t turned into my new best friend, there’s no telling how I would have survived eighth grade at Dorrance Junior High.
CHAPTER 13
While Mrs. Rowe passed back our narrative essays in English the next morning, I scribbled down ideas for my election speech. What sounded good inside my head looked stupid on paper, though. I crossed out words as fast as they appeared. Giving up, I closed my notebook and doodled on the cover.
My essay floated down onto my desk — B+.
“How’d you do?”
It was Delane’s daughter, Anna. Until now, we’d never talked even though she sat behind me. She was as quiet as a church organ on Monday, so it wasn’t hard to pretend she wasn’t there.
I showed her my paper. “Not complaining. You?”
She shrugged and held out her paper. Not just an A but an A+.
“Hmm,” I grunted. “Nice job.” I bet she’d only asked about mine, so she could show me hers. Just like her mother, making others feel stupid and small. I turned away again.
“Do you like writing?” she asked.
“I guess,” I said over my shoulder. “When I can write about what I want.”
“I agree. Who wants to write about other people’s ideas?” She tapped me, so I’d turn around again. Her eyes looked eager and intensely blue. “I’m on the school paper. Mrs. Rowe is the advisor. You should join. We need more writers.”
“No thanks,” I said. Writing for fun wasn’t what I had in mind. Winning elections were more important. Suri and Kate and the rest of my lunch group didn’t write for the newspaper, so I wouldn’t either.
“Just thought I’d ask.” There was disappointment in her voice.
You shouldn’t have bothered, I thought.
My empty notebook haunted me for the next few days. I hated speech writing. After two nights of staring at an empty page, I went to the kitchen to make apple muffins. Maybe chopping up fruit would help me think.
“Whatcha making?” said Mom, looking over my shoulder when she came into the kitchen.
I tapped the picture on the recipe.
“Are you thinking? Or baking for fun? Because if you’re thinking, I won’t bother you.”
I sighed. “I’m trying to think about my speech.”
J.C. bounced into the kitchen. “Are you using apples from our tree?”
“Hush up, Sugar Pie. We’re thinking,” said Mom.
“About what?” J.C. stole an apple slice from the cutting board.
Mom dunked an apple slice into some cinnamon-sugar mix. “Muffins.”
“And don’t forget speech writing,” I grumbled.
J.C. noticed my blank notebook on the counter. “You’ve gotten far.”
I swatted at J.C. as she walked past me. She stuck her tongue out and settled at the table.
Mom snapped her fingers. “Apples always remind me of Halloween. You know, bobbing for apples, caramel apples for trick-or-treating, that sort of thing. I’ve really been in the mood for a party.”
J.C. clapped wildly. “A party? We’re going to have a party? Who should we invite?”
“I thought you and Summer would like some of your new— ”
“No way.” I said.
J.C. ignored me. “With food and music? Oh, can we get one of those chocolate fountains, too? And an ice sculpture!”
“Of course, Sugar Pie,” she said, turning to me. “What’s wrong with a party?”
“Nothing’s wrong with a party if it’s for J.C. I just don’t want one.” I popped the muffin pan into the oven. “And I’m leaving. I can’t hear myself think.”
“I’m sorry.” said Mom. “We’re going on and on about parties, and you need to concentrate. Do you have anything written yet?”
I held up the blank piece of paper.
She made a face. “I’ll watch the muffins. You go upstairs. We won’t bug you. Promise.”
Upstairs, I closed the door and flopped onto my bed. The soft mattress seemed to hug me, and I lay there a long time staring at the ceiling. Why couldn’t I find the words to sell myself as vice president?
I had stuck plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling when we moved in, which, in the daylight, were the color of watered-down lemonade. But they winked at me at night when I turned off my light. My room back in Stanton had the stars, too, a present from Dana for my eighth birthday. On moving day, Dana had tucked another package of stars into the shoebox full of gel pens, gum, and our favorite elastic hair ties, my going-away presents. “So you can pretend you’re still at home,” she had said.
I wondered if I would ever feel at home in this house, in this town. The first week of school had been crazy-busy. Scary, too, but once I met Suri and Kate, the days got pretty tolerable. Even fun. Would Suri and I become best friends, like I had been with Dana? Would we sleep over at each other’s houses and go bike riding and talk on the phone? I didn’t know. I didn’t like not knowing if I’d ever have a best friend like Dana again.
Running for council seemed exciting when they first talked me into it, but now I wasn’t sure. Why couldn’t I be honest and tell Suri that I didn’t want to do it? Or maybe writing a campaign speech made me nervous. Maybe once Friday came and the speech was over, all would be normal again.
I rolled over and looked at the blank paper. What could I write? What did people want to hear? Or, maybe a more important question was, what was I willing to say? I’d been too pumped up by everyone telling me what I should do instead of paying attention to what I wanted to do. How could I convince people that I was the best person for vice president when I wasn’t sure myself? Who was I exactly? I was Summer Haas, the poor girl from Stanton turned lottery millionaire. Oh, good grapes! That was the last thing I wanted people to know, that we’d won our money with a scratch-off instant.
But Suri and the others counted on me. Suri helped me with posters, Kate with fliers. How could I back down now? Easy answer: there was no backing down.
I fluffed my pillow and sat up against the headboard. I couldn’t think about the what ifs or the speech would never get done. Putting pencil to paper, I began to write.
CHAPTER 14
Suri asked me to go shopping a few days later. I needed something for the election, she said. Mom always said she somehow missed passing the shopping gene to me; that’s how much I hated it. But I agreed to go with Suri, if only to tag along with her and Kate.
She would pick me up at 5:00, so I rushed through homework, finished a Tupperware container of leftover pasta noodles, and spent the last half-hour fretting in front of the mirror.
“Fix your hair and put on some lip gloss. Maybe a little mascara, too,” Suri said in class that morning. “I always try to look my best when I shop. Then I know how I’ll actually look in the outfit when I get dressed up for real.” I didn’t understand the “getting dressed up to go shopping” thing, but Suri promised to help me find something election-worthy. So I snuck some of Mom’s make-up from her bathroom since I didn’t have any of my own, and hoped I didn’t look too much like a clown when I finished.
While I watched for Suri through the curtains, Mom sat cross-legged on the floor, belly up to the coffee table, with a hundred-zillion beads in plastic dishes on the table top. Her idol, Cynthia Sparks, the beading goddess on the REAL-TV network, poured out her jewelry-making wisdom every afternoon at 4:30 sharp. Cynthia’s spidery-lashed eyes filled up our 42-inch television screen every time she emphasized a certain technique. Then she’d blink, using her lashes as the punctuation mark.
“Today, you are going to master the odd count peyote stitch.” Blink. Or “Let’s make sure you have the right crimping pliers for this project.” Blink. Good grapes, that woman drove me bonkers. Mom hung on her every word like it was gospel.
“Someday, I’m gonna be a guest on her show, Sugar Pie,” Mom said, her brow knitting as she focused on sticking her needle into one of the dishes. “Someday Cynthia Sparks is gonna be oohing and aahing about my jewelry and asking me for tips.”
“Uh huh.” I said, distracted as I watched a black car slink into our driveway. It looked like one of the cars that dead people ride in on the way to the cemetery—only this one was longer.
“Did I tell you Bernie Day sold my stuff already?” She looked up at me when I didn’t answer. “Have you heard a word I’ve said?”
“I think Suri’s here. Gotta go.” I glanced at myself one last time in the mirror by the door and tucked my hair behind my ears. “See ya.”
Outside, a man in a black suit stepped out of the car and came around to open my door. I smiled at him, but he looked like a robot, all straight-lipped and serious. Suri waved at me from inside.
“Summer! Get in here!” Suri patted the spot next to her. Kate sat across from her on another long seat, a shiny, black-topped table with built-in drink holders between them. “Are you sooo ready to shop or what?”
“I guess,” I said, scanning the inside while I buckled myself in. “Is this your car?”
“Sure,” Suri said, looking around as if she noticed it for the first time. She adjusted the music volume on the console near the door. “What do you think? Katy Perry? Gaga?” She didn’t wait for my answer, instead cranking up the music until the air inside the car vibrated. She and Kate squealed and started bouncing in their seats to the music. My heart seemed to thump in perfect rhythm. I pasted a stupid smile on my face and bounced a little, too, when all I really wanted to do was plug my ears. A headache sprouted above my eyebrows.
The driver pulled up to the mall’s entrance ten minutes later. My headache was in full bloom by then. As our door opened, people walked slowly by the car. They wore the same expressions the people had that drove by our house the day we won the lottery. Did they think we were celebrities? Suri and Kate didn’t seem to notice as they hurried through the glass doors, arguing about which store to visit first.
“We definitely need to hit Wishes.” Suri looked over her shoulder at me. “Have you been there?”
“Uh, I don’t think so.” I sped up.
“Oh, you’d remember being there,” Kate said. “You’ll see.”
A sickly sweet smell grew stronger as we walked through the mall. They both hooked their arms around mine like they thought I’d escape. Funny, if this had been Dana and Lauren or Erica on either arm, it would have felt normal. I barely knew Suri and Kate. But here we were walking through the mall like the Three Amigos. I liked it.
“Here it is!” Kate let go of my arm and dashed into the store. Suri tugged me toward the busiest place in the mall. And I’ve never been in a store so colorful. All the tables and racks of clothes were sorted into sections of blue, red, green, and every other color on the color wheel. Then that sweet scent punched me in the nose. I sneezed.
