But there was still one more thing. “Grandpa, there’s one more thing. I’m in a fight with Max and everybody’s mad at me.”
“What happened? Max is nice boy.”
I hesitated. “Well, Max wanted me to be his valentine.”
“What you mean, valentine?”
“Max wanted me to be his girlfriend,” I explained.
“Girlfriend? You are too young to be somebody’s girlfriend. You gotta be free,” Grandpa said, shaking his head. “You told him no thank you?”
“Not exactly. I told him no, and he said he wanted his necklace back, but I didn’t want to give it to him. So I kicked him out of the seat and he fell down.” I said the last part very quickly because I was hoping Grandpa wouldn’t understand me.
But he did. He shook his head again and said, “Ah. That’s not nice.”
“I know,” I whispered. I felt like the crummiest crumb of a friend ever.
“When boy likes you, you say no thank you. You don’t kick him on the ground.”
“I know,” I said. “Even if he did break my necklace.”
Grandpa gave me a stern look, so I added, “But you’re right, Grandpa. I still shouldn’t have kicked him. I know that now.”
“What you gonna do now?”
“Say sorry?”
“Good girl.”
I felt better already. Grandpa always knows the right thing to say.
At bath time that night, Mom said, “How about we make it a bubble bath tonight, buddy?”
I figured Grandpa must have told her about our talk. I also figured I could use a bubble bath.
I sat on the toilet lid with my favorite brown bear towel wrapped tight around my shoulders like a superhero cape while Mom got the water running, making sure it was hot and bubbly enough. She tested the water and poured in some more bubble bath. “So, have you given some thought to your big speech?” she asked casually.
“A little,” I said.
“Just think about what you love most about Bramley,” she suggested.
“What do you love most about Bramley?”
Mom turned the faucet off and sat on the edge of the tub. She blew her hair out of her face and thought it over. “Hmm. Let’s see. Well, I love that Bramley is safe for my two girls. I love that you can play out in the yard all day and I don’t have to worry. I love that we can drive to the ocean, or the mountains, or the city and then come back home to Bramley. I love the people too. We have great neighbors.”
Mom got up and wiped her bubbly hands on her jeans. “Get in that tub and start thinking, girl.” She kissed me on the top of my head and left me alone with my thoughts.
I got in the tub and started thinking about what makes Bramley so special. I guess everybody thinks their town is something special, but I think our town is something super special.
I’ve lived in Bramley my whole life, so I don’t have anywhere else to compare it to. But it’s not like you have to compare chocolate-caramel-marshmallow-brownie ice cream to something else to know that what you’ve got is pretty great.
As I played with my rubber frog, I thought about the town barber shop, which doesn’t have a name, just a sign that says BARBER SHOP. My grandpa and I go there together. It’s our special thing, no Emmeline. She came once and couldn’t sit still and now she doesn’t want to go back. Which is her loss. Grandpa always buys me an Eskimo pie at the market next door and then I sit and watch him get his hair cut. It doesn’t take that long; he doesn’t have a lot of hair. What he does have is gray and soft and like a kitten tail. Mine is long and black as night and we do it all different kinds of ways. Sometimes two braids, sometimes one, sometimes two ponytails, sometimes one. I have the longest hair in my family. My mom’s is above her shoulders and Emmeline’s is like a little bowl around her head.
Only Grandpa and Daddy get their hair cut at the barber shop though. Us ladies go to Colette’s in the middle of town. It is pink, pink, pink. Daddy says it looks like someone upchucked Pepto-Bismol at Colette’s, but I think it’s beautiful. Just like Miss Colette herself. By the way, Colette is not her real name, it is Colleen. But she says Colette sounds fancier and Frencher and I agree.
Not only that, our town has Cooper’s Drugstore. At Cooper’s Drugstore, you can sit at the counter and order a tuna fish sandwich and an ice-cream soda, and Mr. Cooper will take out his glass eye and let you look at it. There’s also Sweetie Pie Bakery next door, with the prettiest cakes around.
We also have a bookstore called Books & Books & Books, where there is a whole separate kids’ area with beanbags and you can sit and read for as long as your mom will let you. They have maybe a million books, and I plan on reading them all before high school. I think I’ve read about two hundred and fifty-one, so I have a ways to go but I’m getting close.
Our library is nice too. The librarians Mrs. Shelby and Mr. Kleinfeld help you with whatever you need help on. They never shush.
The more I thought about it, the more I was sure. Our town really was special. I doubted other towns had a Mr. Cooper or a Miss Colette. I stayed in the bathtub thinking about this stuff for so long that my fingers turned pruney and Emmeline banged on the door saying she had to go.
“Use Mommy and Daddy’s bathroom,” I yelled back. “I’m thinking in here.”
When I finally got out of the tub and dried off, I wrote down all the stuff I’d been thinking about.
On the bus that next morning, I tried to catch Max’s eye, but he would not look at me. Georgina was giving me the silent treatment too. The only person who would give me the time of day was Shayna. I was glad I had her as a best friend.
When you want the day to go by quick, it goes as slow as a ketchup drip. When you want it to go by slow, it’s like somebody hit the Heinz right on the 57 and it happens all at once. Ketchup, ketchup everywhere.
It was like that with the assembly. I wanted the day to drip by slowly but the assembly came up so fast.
Dionne and I were the only girls from the third grade trying out to be Little Miss Apple Pie. The other girls were in fourth and fifth, and they went first, oldest to youngest. A fifth grader mentioned how almost everyone in Bramley recycled, and how we were a very green town. One fourth grader talked about how Bramley was special for its delicious apples and how everyone in America wished they had apples as good as ours.
I took a quick peek around the auditorium, and my heart started to beat triple, quadruple time. The whole school was here.
Dionne went up before me. She was wearing a red dress and white tights with little red hearts. It looked like a new outfit. She already looked like Little Miss Apple Pie. I wished I was wearing red too.
“Bramley,” she began, “is a town with great tradition.”
Then she went on about how her great-great-great-uncle was a founding father, how her mother was Little Miss Apple Pie a long time ago, and how she, Dionne, was keeping tradition alive.
Her speech sounded really good. She told a lot of facts about Bramley, and I wished I’d thought of that. I could tell she’d practiced a lot. She paused and smiled in all the right places.
When Dionne finished, everyone clapped. Then Mr. Charlevoix went to the microphone and said, “Next we have Clara Lee.”
I felt like I was gonna barf all over Georgina, who was in the seat in front of me. Shayna grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Good luck,” she whispered.
She gave me a knowing nod, and I gulped and nodded back at her. As I walked up to the stage, I tried to walk tall, the way Grandpa told me.
When I got to the platform, I took a deep breath and looked out into the crowd. Everyone stared back at me. Shayna mouthed good luck again. I saw Emmeline with the first graders, and she waved, so I waved back.
I licked my lips. I’d practiced this on the bus. I could do this. “Bramley is special to me because of the people and the places.” I took another deep breath. “We have a library where the librarians Mrs. Shelby and Mr. Kleinfeld don’t shush at you. They help you fin
d whatever book you need. We have a bookstore where you can sit all day and read. We have Barber Shop, where the haircuts are fast and cheap, and we have Colette’s, which is the pinkest place I’ve ever been in. And we have Sweetie Pie Bakery, where they always give you a free rainbow cookie if you tell them their cakes are pretty. Which they are. We have Cooper’s Drugstore, where Mr. Cooper will make you an ice-cream soda and then show you his fake eyeball.”
Some of the kids laughed; some teachers too. It made me feel braver. “That is what makes Bramley so special. The people. And that includes me and you.”
I turned around and pointed at Mr. Charlevoix. “Mr. Charlevoix, you too. And Ms. Morgan. And my sister, Emmeline. And my friends Shayna and Georgina and Max. We are all special. Thank you.”
Everyone clapped. Then I gave a little bow, and I walked back to my seat with some swagger and just a touch of attitude. Star attitude. Getting up in front of people wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was kind of fun.
I sat down and looked over at Max. He was looking back at me. I’m sorry, I mouthed.
He shrugged. He still looked a little mad.
I’m really sorry, I mouthed.
He shrugged again. And then he mouthed back, It’s okay.
I breathed a big sigh of relief. We were friends again.
Let’s take a vote,” I said on the bus that afternoon. “Who do you guys think is gonna win?”
Georgina said, “Dionne was really good… but so were you, Clara Lee.” Georgina is a very loyal person.
“I vote you too, Clara Lee,” Max said. He smiled at me. It felt nice to be forgiven.
“Thanks guys,” I said. “Shayna, what do you think?”
“I think you guys were both really good, and so was that fifth grader who talked about the environment,” said Shayna.
Well, that was good enough for Georgina and Max, ’cause they went right back to talking about Georgina’s new kitten, Pony. Georgina named him Pony because a pony was what she really wanted and a kitten is what she got. Max wanted to train Pony to hiss at people, and Georgina wanted to enter Pony into a kitten modeling contest she heard about on the Internet. But I didn’t care about Pony at that moment, because I really needed to know what Shayna’s true thoughts were.
I whispered to Shayna, “Best friend to best friend, do you think I’m gonna win?”
Shayna whispered back, “Yes. You really were good, and plus, you’re the only one with the good luck, remember?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think my Good Luck might have gone away. Yesterday I had that fight with Max. That doesn’t sound like Good Luck to me at all.”
“But maybe Good Luck will come back,” Shayna said.
I thought that over. I mean, it was possible. Maybe it would come back to me! I was pretty sure Dionne hadn’t had a special Good Luck death dream this week. It wasn’t like she had a special Korean dream genius for a grandfather. That I knew of, anyway.
For dinner that night, we had my not-so-favorite fish soup. Well, everyone except Emmeline. That picky eater Emmeline got hot wings. She got hot wings while the rest of us ate Mom’s fish soup. Grandpa says Emmeline is a true dragon because that is the year she was born and because she only likes spicy foods: kimchi and hot wings. I don’t know why she gets to be a dragon and I have to be a cow.
As soon as I saw that soup on the stove, I got worried. Did my Good Luck really up and leave? Did it decide to go be with someone else? Someone like Dionne Gregory? Good Luck couldn’t really be gone, not when I needed it most.
When we sat down to eat, I could tell everybody was very tired and not in the cheeriest of moods. Daddy came home from work late, and he forgot to pick up the dry cleaning, which Mom muttered about.
I took a bite of fish soup and watched Emmeline chew on a hot wing, and I thought, Now is the perfect time to cheer everybody up and tell them about Little Miss Apple Pie. I couldn’t hold in my big news a second longer. I was a stuffed piñata ready to pop! And even though I hadn’t technically won or anything, I figured I might as well announce it.
“Guess what, everybody? I tried out for Little Miss Apple Pie today. I gave a speech about how special Bramley is. I think it was pretty good,” I added, trying not to sound too braggy.
“Really, Clara? That’s wonderful, buddy,” Mom said, putting another hot wing on Emmeline’s plate.
Grandpa beamed at me and said, “I’m so proud of my brave Clara.”
“Well, I didn’t win yet, guys,” I said. I was so happy I ate a big bite of fish soup and rice. “But if I do win, I’ll be on the float on Saturday.”
“Your speech was good, Clara Lee,” Emmeline said. Then she said, “In music, Mr. C told me I sing like a bird.”
I gave her a dirty look. It was just like her to try and steal my shine.
“Mr. C said I was a star,” she went on. Mr. C was what all the little kids called Mr. Charlevoix because they didn’t know how to pronounce it the French way—Shar-luh-vwah.
“He said you were a star?” I repeated.
First graders were too little to sing. They were just babies! They were practically kinder-garteners! They didn’t have any business onstage. What did they know about star quality?
“Uh-huh,” she said, gnawing on a wing. “We sang ‘Rockin’ Robber.’ ”
“It’s not ‘Rockin’ Robber,’ it’s ‘Rockin’ Robin,’ ” I told her, shaking my head.
“Nuh-uh,” Emmeline said.
“Yuh-huh,” I said, snatching one of the hot wings off Emmeline’s plate.
She glared at me. “You better give me back my wing, Clara.”
I bit into her wing. It was hot and juicy. “Sharing is caring, remember? Isn’t that right, Mom?”
Before Mom could answer, Daddy said, “Clara, sharing is not the same thing as taking without asking. Taking without asking is called stealing.” He took a bite of soup and looked at Emmeline’s hot wings like he wanted to take one too. “Emmeline, how would you like to share one of those hot wings with Daddy?”
“No thank you,” said Emmeline. “Now please make that thief give me back my hot wing!”
“I’m no thief,” I told Daddy. “I just thought my own sister wouldn’t mind sharing her wing with me.”
“Give me back my wing, you thief!” Emmeline yelled. Her face was starting to get red like she might cry.
What a baby. What an absolute crybaby.
“Em, don’t yell,” said Mom, rubbing her forehead like she had a headache. “Clara, if you want wings, I’ll heat up a couple for you, but don’t go taking your sister’s. Now give her back her wing.”
“But I already bit into it,” I said. “See?” I held up the wing for everybody to see.
“I WANT MY WING!” Emmeline screamed. She reached over and pinched my arm, my wing-eating arm.
Ooh, that really burned me up inside. I was so mad I couldn’t help it—I threw the wing at Emmeline and it bounced off her head and onto her plate.
“CLARA LEE!” Mom yelled.
“Uhmma, I thought you said no yelling,” I said, looking at her with big, confused eyes. I call her Uhmma when I know I’m about to get it. And by it, I mean trouble.
Then Grandpa said, “Clara-yah, you are very bad girl tonight.” The corners of his mouth turned down and he looked like a sad old man. More than anything else, he looked tired. Like maybe he wished he lived in his own house.
My eyes filled with tears. I hated to be the one who made Grandpa’s mouth turn down like that. Why couldn’t Emmeline have been the one to make him look sad and tired? Why me? It was all her fault; she was the one who interrupted my story about Little Miss Apple Pie.
“You can finish your dinner in your room if you keep at it,” Daddy said.
“I don’t want to finish my dinner in my room,” I said. “I barely even like fish soup.”
Mom said, “Kid, you’re stretching my patience here. Don’t press your luck.”
Yikes. No more buddy. I was kid now. No use pressing my l
uck. I shut my mouth and took a bite of fish soup to show how sorry I was.
Then Emmeline licked hot sauce off her fingers and grinned a toothy grin at me. She looked like a scary jack-o’-lantern with her missing front tooth. “Rockin’ robber, tweet, tweet, tweetly-tweet,” she sang.
I stood up. That was it. I’d had it. “It’s ‘Rockin’ ROBIN’!” I yelled.
“UPSTAIRS!” Mom and Daddy yelled.
I glared at them. “Just so you know, you’re both yelling now too.” And because I was still hungry, and not because I liked it, I grabbed my bowl of fish soup. “And I’ll be taking this with me!”
Then I scooted off before I could get into any more trouble.
It was very clear that Good Luck had left the building. It was also very clear that I could forget about Little Miss Apple Pie. So much for my crowd-pleasing speech.
I didn’t speak one word to Emmeline all night. I was giving her the silent treatment. But she didn’t even notice.
When we were brushing our teeth, I decided to end the silent treatment. I hissed at her, “Because of you, I had to eat alone in my room!”
I hissed because I didn’t want to get in trouble with Mom and Daddy and Grandpa again. But my mouth was full of toothpaste when I hissed it, and Emmeline said, “Huh? You sound like a snake, Clara Lee. Talk right.”
So I spat out the toothpaste and hissed it again. “Because of you, I had to eat alone in my room!”
“So-rry,” she said, not looking one bit sorry. “But you shouldn’t have taken my wing.”
“I’ll take what I want,” I grumped, stomping back to my bedroom. Well, it used to be my bedroom. Now it was our bedroom.
I was tempted to lock the door on Emmeline, but the last thing I needed was another sad face from Grandpa. So instead I put on my pink polka-dot pajama dress and climbed into bed. But even my pink polka-dot pajama dress didn’t cheer me up. I was un-cheer-up-able.