“Really?” I haven’t thought too much about the auditions. For one, they might not mean anything if tomorrow never comes, and two, I might have been awful.
Both boys nod. “We need a good drummer for next year.”
“Thanks,” I say, beaming. “You guys were really good, too.”
“C’mon, Little Drummer Girl,” Leo says, dragging me inside. We pass on the lemonade this time, and both reach for the iced tea.
“To friendship, forgiveness, and tiny apple trees!” Leo says, holding up his cup.
I tap my cup hard against his, almost sloshing the iced tea over the edge. We both drink and grab our throats.
“Ack!” Leo chokes. “Bitter!”
I cough. “Your mom really has something against sugar!”
We force ourselves to finish the cups, not willing to take any chances. Even though this version of our birthday has been one of the best, I’m SO ready for it to be over.
As we place our cups down on the counter, both sets of parents walk in, talking and laughing. “So,” my dad says, clasping us both on the back. “When are we going to hear about how you two made up?”
Leo and I turn and grin at each other. I can feel my own eyes twinkle as we happily shout, “Tomorrow!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I wake up to a white-haired woman shaking me. “Wake up,” she says. “You’re going to sleep the whole day away!”
I rub my eyes, but they’re still bleary from sleeping and I can’t focus them. Why is Angelina in my bedroom? This can’t be good. Replanting the tree must not have worked. My stomach sinks.
“Seriously, Amanda, it’s almost ten o’clock! Don’t you want to go to Leo’s and open your gifts?”
Her words clear the cobwebs from my brain. I see now that only half her head is white, the other is black. The voice was Mom’s, not Angelina’s! I quickly assess the situation. It’s light in my room, which means it’s way past the time my alarm usually goes off. Mom is here, wearing her Cruella de Vil costume instead of her business suit. The middle of my room is empty of any and all balloon figures. This can only mean one thing. It’s SATURDAY!!! I throw off the covers and almost knock Mom over.
“It’s so good to see you!” I tell her. “Even looking like that!”
She laughs. “It was your idea. Might as well get some use out of it before I have to return it to the costume shop. I laid out yours, too. I bet you’d look adorable in it.”
I follow where she’s pointing and shudder when I see the all-too-familiar Dorothy costume on my dresser. “No thanks!”
“Suit yourself. I’d like you to get up soon, though. The Fitzpatricks are expecting us for brunch.” She turns to leave, then stops. “By the way, did you put my cell phone in the kitchen drawer?”
“Um, I don’t remember?”
She looks doubtful, but doesn’t press it. “When I found it this morning, there were quite a few messages on it.” I don’t say anything.
“One in particular was quite distressing. Seems that I lost my job. Fired after ten years of dedicated service.”
“Wow, Mom, I’m really sorry. Are you okay?” She’s handling it much better this time than all the other times, but I’m not sure why.
She nods. “Surprisingly, I’m okay. What you said yesterday was very wise. I do have other dreams. I’ve always wanted to be an interior designer. I could work out of the house so I’d be around more. Maybe this is just what I needed to get moving on that.” She looks across my room and frowns. “In fact, I can start my new job right now. That plant is awfully scraggly.” She heads over to it and starts to lift up the basket. “Why don’t we plant it outside. I’ll get you a nice small fern for your bookshelf.”
“No!” I say too loudly.
Startled, she lets go of the basket and it falls back onto the shelf. “Whoa, okay, sorry. I didn’t know you were so attached to it.” She peers closer. “Is that the same plant you used to have?”
I nod, holding my breath that she won’t notice that instead of the handmade pot, it’s planted in the wicker basket that’s supposed to be returned to the costume shop.
“Odd,” she says. “I don’t remember seeing it in here for a long time.” Then she shrugs it off. “Downstairs, half an hour.”
Once I’m alone, I steady the plant on the shelf and then do a little dance around my room. It’s Saturday! It won’t be my birthday again for a whole year! What an amazing feeling! Before I go downstairs I wrench open my piggy bank and pull out some bills. I need to make a stop on the way to Leo’s house.
All our presents are piled on the hall table when we walk into the Fitzpatricks’ house. It’s a tradition that we open them together, which probably explains why I was never in any rush to open mine all week.
When Leo comes into the room he says, “Is it okay if I steal Amanda for a few minutes? I want to give her my gift in private.”
Our parents wave us away, too busy gushing to each other over what a fun party it was last night. We hurry down the hall to Leo’s room. I stop at the doorway. I haven’t been in his room since our tenth birthday. Leo walks right in, oblivious to my hesitation. I take a deep breath and follow him. His room looks different. The wallpaper with the race cars on it is gone, replaced with light brown paint. Instead of his floor being covered with pieces of toy dinosaurs, I only see two, and those are on shelves. His apple tree plant is front and center on his desk, still in its original pot with his little purple handprint on it from when we were five.
Leo clears his throat to get my attention. With his hands behind his back, he says, “This gift serves two purposes. First, it’s something you need, and second, it will remind you of our adventure.” Very dramatically, he presents me with a gift bag like he’s serving it on a platter. It’s small, no bigger than a lunch box, but heavy.
I reach in and pull out an alarm clock. A bright yellow SpongeBob SquarePants alarm clock! I start laughing. “Where did you find this?”
“My mom took me to the mall this morning. I remembered seeing it in the window of the toy store when we were there.”
“It’s great, thank you!”
“Aw, it was nothing,” he says, trying to be modest.
I reach into my back pocket and pull out a brown bag wrapped with a rubber band. “I have something for you, too.”
He snatches it from my hand and eagerly pulls the bag open. “Postcards?” he asks, holding up the contents in his hand.
I nod. “They’re for later, when we’re grown up. To make sure we’re never out of touch, we can just mail each other these postcards every six months. That way a year will never go by.”
Leo looks confused. “But aren’t the little apple trees supposed to protect us from it happening again?”
I shake my head. “Only until we’re eighteen, remember? We’re going to need to keep in touch till we’re really old, or else we’ll be stuck in the same day again.”
“Would that be so bad? To have a day out of time again?”
I stare at him. “Really? Are you serious?”
“Sure! This time we’d know all the rules, and we’d know how to break out of it.”
Imagine doing this on purpose! It’s almost unthinkable! Then again … it’s not like we asked for this enchantment in the first place. And there were some really great parts.
“We wouldn’t do it any time soon,” Leo insists, his eyes shining. “Since we’d have to stop talking for a year before. But maybe like, twenty years from now or something.”
“Okay,” I announce. “Twenty years from now. It’s a date.”
“It’s a date,” Leo repeats, and we shake on it. Leo’s mother sticks her head in the door. “You guys are much too young to be dating!”
“MOM!” Leo cries, turning bright red.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick puts her arm around me and leads us out of the room. “Of course, when you ARE old enough, I’d love it to be you.” She squeezes my shoulder.
From behind us Leo groans. I just laugh. And ou
tside the window, an old woman with a birthmark in the shape of a duck, looks on and smiles.
About the Author
Wendy Mass is the author of the award-winning books for young readers A Mango-Shaped Space, Leap Day, Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life, Heaven Looks a Lot Like the Mall, Every Soul a Star, and the Twice Upon a Time series. She tells people her hobbies are photography and hiking, but really they’re collecting candy bar wrappers and searching for buried treasure with her metal detector. Her eleventh birthday wasn’t as eventful as the one in this book, but she wishes it was.
Wendy lives with her family in New Jersey. Visit her at www.wendymass.com.
Copyright
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
This book was originally published in hardcover by Scholastic Press in 2009.
Copyright © 2009 by Wendy Mass.
Cover art by Digital Vision (RF)/Getty Images
Cover design by Lillie Mear
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
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e-ISBN 978-0-545-41490-6
Wendy Mass, 11 Birthdays
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