“Delveeta,” he said again, too loud because of the music in the background, “is that you?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“It’s Mike. Delveeta, Tree asked me to call since he doesn’t have a phone.”
There was a shuffling sound and some giggling, and Mike mumbled a few words to someone else before getting back to me. The gigglers were a girl and a boy, and I was beginning to smell a rat.
“I’ve been trying for an hour,” Mike said, “but the number in the book has been disconnected, and nobody knew where you lived.”
“Then how’d you find me?”
“Old lady Cooper finally unlocked the office and looked in your file. This number was on the card.”
“But where’s Tree?”
“Oh, he said to tell you he had to baby-sit.... Look, Delveeta, Wanda’s pretty ticked off. I’ve got to go,” Mike said, and he hung up the phone.
Baby-sit. Baby-sit! I slammed down the receiver. Surely anybody who could dream up this whole scam could find a better excuse than that.
I ran back to my room and aimed for the bed. Was that Tree I’d heard giggling because Mike had mixed up “Delrita Velveeta”? I cringed, wondering just how many people were in on the joke.
Pulling the covers over my head, I curled up in a ball. I wanted to hide, like a worm in a cocoon.
Soon Aunt Queenie came in. “Was that about Tree?”
“Please don’t mention that name in my presence,” I said from under the covers.
“If you’d still like to go—”
“Forget it,” I mumbled. No self-respecting worm would go to a school dance by herself.
I woke up fighting my way out of a cocoon, but it was only the swirly skirt, tangled around my legs. I yanked off the blue outfit and tossed it into the clothes hamper. I wanted to throw it in the trash.
Last night’s makeup was smudged all over my face. My eyes were dark circles, and a pimple had formed on my chin. That figured. Delrita Jensen had nothing to show for her first date but two black eyes and a zit.
I climbed into my comfortable old jeans and a T-shirt and washed my face. It would be a couple of hours before anyone else was up, so I hauled my Barbie case to the family room. When I picked up another roughed-out swan, it reminded me of Dad. For a long time, I just sat and tried to figure out why God thought He needed my folks more than I did.
Pulling on my jacket, I wandered out to the patio and looked at the sky. It was a huge black dome, and I imagined Mom and Dad up there, waiting for the angels to open it, like raising the lid on a bread box.
When the eastern sky had turned pink, a light came on in the bedroom, and I realized Aunt Queenie would think I’d lost my marbles if she found me outdoors. I slipped back inside and down the hall to my room. Later, I pretended to stretch and yawn as I entered the kitchen.
Uncle Bert and Aunt Queenie gave me sympathetic looks, but they didn’t bring up the subject of Tree.
Punky came in, hiking up his pants and saying, “I’m starved.”
“You’re always starved, High Pockets,” replied Uncle Bert. He pulled Punky’s elastic down a notch.
“My pants, you old goat.”
“You’re the old goat.”
“You two better quit fooling around and eat, or we’ll be late,” said Aunt Queenie as she dished up the bacon and eggs.
“You heard her, Punk-Man. You don’t want to miss your chance at the free throw.”
Punky asked me, “Play ball?”
“Not today.” Maybe never. I didn’t want to have to look at Trezane Shackleford.
“We’d like you to come,” said Aunt Queenie.
I pushed the eggs around on my plate and shook my head.
Aunt Queenie said, “Then how about if we pick you up afterwards for lunch at McDonald’s? It’s their anniversary celebration, and Ronald McDonald’s coming to put on a magic show.”
“Wonald McDonald! Clown!” cried Punky. “Please, D.J.”
To him, seeing Ronald McDonald in person was the chance of a lifetime. How could I refuse? “Okay, handsome. I’ll go.”
“It’s a date,” said Uncle Bert. Then he clapped his hand over his mouth and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said, but I had the same awful taste in my mouth as I’d had the morning I’d mistaken Preparation H for toothpaste.
TWENTY-TWO
The Invisible Shell
At lunchtime, when my aunt and uncle came by to pick me up, Punky was in the backseat with Barney.
I climbed into the car, and Barney said, “My wife.”
“My girl, you old goat,” Punky answered.
They argued all the way to McDonald‘s, and as Uncle Bert pulled into the parking lot, Barney said, “My fwiend works here. My fwiend Pete.”
“Boss told us,” said Uncle Bert. “I wonder if he likes the McJobs program.”
“Yeah,” said Barney, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Lots of dough.”
When Punky removed his cowboy hat and saluted the flag, a man pumping gas across the street stared so hard I thought his eyes might pop out of his head.
Aunt Queenie cast him a withering glance and muttered, “Some people could use a few manners.”
The restaurant was crowded and noisy, but it was easy to spot Pete, because he had Down’s syndrome. I was astounded to see him taking orders and working the cash register the same as the other employees.
“Hi, Pete,” Barney called as we walked toward a booth.
Pete flashed him a million-dollar smile and went back to his customers.
Uncle Bert brought our food, and Punky started dealing out hamburgers and french fries like a card sharp. “Hurry,” he said. “Clown.”
“Take your time,” said Aunt Queenie. “The show won’t start for another half-hour.”
By the time we had finished eating, most of the crowd had drifted outside to a makeshift stage in the corner of the parking lot.
“Let’s go,” said Barney, standing up and sucking the last bit of his drink through the straw.
“Out,” said Punky as he tried to scoot Uncle Bert out of the booth.
Uncle Bert laughed and stood up, and Punky and I slid across the seat.
“You three go on and enjoy the show,” Uncle Bert said. “Queenie and I’ll stay here and have another cup of coffee.”
Punky and Barney raced each other out the door.
I followed them across the parking lot to the stage, which held mysterious-looking props for the magic show and a giant bouquet of helium-filled balloons.
Punky and Barney bellied up close, but I stood off by myself at the edge of the crowd.
Someone bumped against me and said, “I’m sorry.” It was Rudy, the blind man from the workshop. I watched, fascinated, as a vein pulsed in his caved-in forehead.
There was a burst of loud music, and Ronald McDonald stepped out of a motor home and ran up the steps to the stage. His mop of hair gleamed fire-engine red against his white-painted face, and his oversized ankle boots slapped the ground with every step.
He whipped a red bandana in the air, and it became a string of red and yellow kerchiefs. “Good afternoon, boys and girls and moms and dads,” he said. “I call my show The Big Red Shoe Review because someone here is wearing big red shoes.”
The crowd roared with laughter and yelled, “You are!”
“Ronald McDonald,” breathed Rudy beside me. “I see Ronald McDonald.”
Ronald juggled colored balls and made objects disappear in a velvet bag. He poured water from a jug that somehow never emptied. He asked a girl to hold his magic wand, but every time she took it, the wand broke.
Almost at Ronald’s feet, Punky stared spellbound, clapping harder and laughing louder than anybody else except Rudy. Few people noticed him, though, because everyone’s attention was centered on Ronald.
Finally, waving a huge white flag over the audience, Ronald said:“If I had Aladdin’s lamp and I could
make a wish,
I’
d wish not for a Big Mac or any
fancy dish.
I would not wish for money,
But I’ll tell you what I’d do.
I’d wish to have another bunch of
friends
Like you and you and you.
Bless you, and thank you for coming
to my show today.”
At Ronald’s invitation, children started filing across the stage for handshakes and balloons. When Punky and Barney got in line, I perched on the hood of a car to wait.
As the line snaked along, I watched the people who came into view from behind a row of parked cars. Most of them were strangers, but I recognized Marcus Gregory and our preacher’s three kids.
Then I saw Rudy, feeling his way carefully with his cane. At last he reached the edge of the stage and stood listening for a cue that he should move on.
Ronald posed for a picture with a little girl and sent her off with a balloon. When he saw Rudy, he said, “Hello, young fellow. My name’s Ronald McDonald.”
“Really?” Rudy stepped forward hesitantly. “Are you the real Ronald McDonald?”
“See for yourself.” Ronald took Rudy’s hand and ran it across his head, saying, “I’ve got lots of red hair. And a great big nose.”
“I see Ronald McDonald!” exclaimed Rudy, jiggling with excitement.
“Are you afraid?” asked Ronald.
“No. Why?”
“You’re shaking.”
Rudy laughed and said, “You’re funny.”
“I should hope so. That’s my job.” As Ronald put a balloon in Rudy’s hand and helped him across the stage, Rudy’s face was full of wonder at what he’d seen.
I looked back to check how Punky had progressed in the line, and spied four redheads in a row—Birdie, Randolph, Eddie, and Tree! Tree was walking backward, talking to Cindi Martin, who had a little boy by the hand.
Cindi’s cheeks were flushed, and her crinkly hair glistened in the sun. Tree bent down and whispered to her, and they both laughed. Something clicked in my brain as I remembered seeing them together on the wall. I knew now why they’d been laughing. Tree had stood me up to go with Cindi Martin to the sock hop!
I scrambled off the car, wanting to get away from him, but Birdie spotted me.
“Hi, Velveeta,” she called. “Guess what we got.”
I froze as Tree started toward me. Before I could force my legs to move, he was saying, “I’m really sorry about last night—”
“I’ll bet,” I said hotly.
He looked at me with a puzzled expression. “Didn’t Mike call you? He was supposed to as soon as he got to the dance. You see, it was an emer—”
“He called.”
“Then why are you mad?”
“For one thing, you set me up. For another, I thought we were friends.”
“We are.”
I tried to laugh, but it was an ugly sound. “Delveeta Jensen won’t fall for your tricks again. Now quit wasting my time.”
As I turned away, Tree caught my arm. “Delrita, what’s the matter with you? I couldn’t help—”
“Take your hands off me!” I screeched, not caring that Cindi Martin and half of Tangle Nook were staring at us. “Leave me alone! If I live to be a hundred, I never want to see your face again!” I stormed away from him and ran blindly across the parking lot.
Aunt Queenie and Uncle Bert were standing on the sidewalk, talking to Brother Hicks.
“Tell Delrita what you just told us,” said Aunt Queenie.
The preacher smiled. “Gardenia Shackleford had a baby girl last night.”
“That’s nice,” I mumbled.
“She went into labor pretty fast,” said Aunt Queenie, “and Avanelle was with Miss Myrtle Chambers. Tree had to baby-sit.”
Her words chilled me to the bone. Tree hadn’t played a trick on me. The anger I’d felt only moments before turned into pure shame. How could I have said those awful things to him? How could I undo the damage? You can‘t, said an inner voice. You can’t turn back. You’ve burned your bridges.
I must have looked as miserable as I felt, because Aunt Queenie asked, “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, but I—I think I’ll walk, if you don’t mind. I need some fresh air.”
I walked slowly, as if struggling through ankle-deep mud. I was a jinx. A weirdo. First I’d hurt Avanelle, and now Tree. I didn’t deserve to have any friends. Georgina Gregory had done the world a favor by warning people about me.
I would go back to being invisible. An invisible girl couldn’t have friends, but she couldn’t hurt anybody, either. By the time I reached the house, I’d climbed into an invisible shell. I snuggled down inside it, determined that nothing could make me come out. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever again.
TWENTY-THREE
Heartache
I just couldn’t face Tree the next day, so I pretended to be sick and missed church.
Afterward, Aunt Queenie came into my room and found me still in my pajamas, reading. “They named the baby Elmira,” she said, sitting down beside me on the bed.
“Elmira, New York.”
“What?”
“It’s a private joke.”
“Oh,” said Aunt Queenie, looking puzzled. “Well, Avanelle said her mother and the baby are coming home Tuesday. I think you and I should go see them. Maybe take a gift.”
“I couldn’t.”
“But why? Tree had a perfectly good reason for missing your date. Surely you’re not mad about that.”
“No,” I replied. “I’m just—mixed up.”
“Mixed up? About what? Can’t you talk to me about it?”
“It wouldn’t do any good. You see, I said some things. Hateful things.”
Aunt Queenie smiled. “You did that to me not too long ago. But you know what? You were right. I am too organized. I’m trying hard to be a bit of a slob.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Trying hard to be a slob. Aunt Queenie, only you would think of that.”
On Monday, I saw Tree coming up the hall toward me, and I did my best to hide in my locker. There was room only for my head and one shoulder, and when I came up for air, he was standing beside me with his arms folded. He looked mad.
“What’s the deal, Delrita?” he asked. “What made you scream like a banshee at McDonald’s and then leave me with my bare face hanging out?”
“I—uh—I—”
“You ran off, but I had to hang around with everybody staring at me like I had two heads.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, realizing just how much I’d hurt his pride. “When you didn’t come Friday night, I thought you’d... done it on purpose.”
“I wouldn’t pull a stunt like that.”
“I know,” I said in a small voice. I felt lower than a snake.
“So what’s next? Where do we go from here?” Tree’s anger had passed, and he was searching my face.
I wanted to say, “Let’s be friends again—pretend nothing happened,” but I’d already made up my mind to be invisible. If I wasn‘t, I’d only end up hurting him again. I swallowed hard and said, “Nowhere. I guess we go nowhere.”
A couple of days later, Miss Cooper took our class out to the softball field for PE.
The bases were loaded when I got up to bat, and naturally, with Georgina Gregory eyeing me from the shortstop position, I struck out. Ignoring the groans of my teammates, I went over to sit on the bench.
After the next batter hit a single, Avanelle ran from third to home plate. I couldn’t believe it when she kept running straight toward me.
She stopped in front of me, and panting she said, “Mom said I should invite you to come and see the baby.”
In my mind’s eye, I saw her house with its friendly old furnishings and homey atmosphere, and I was tempted to say yes.
“I got it,” yelled Georgina, and I looked up to see her snatching the next hit in her glove. “Three outs with the bases loaded,” she cried gleefully to the pitcher. “They’re a t
eam full of turkeys.”
Turkey. Weirdo. Jinx.
I kicked at the dust with my tennis shoe as I said to Avanelle, “I don’t think so. I’d only bring bad luck.”
From then on, all the days ran together as I moved about in my shell.
I knew Thanksgiving was coming because all the stores had put up Christmas decorations, and Aunt Queenie had made lists of who would be coming and what to cook for the family dinner. Every day she rolled out a different kind of pie and stored it in the freezer.
I went back to hiding in the bathroom so I could carve a Ronald McDonald for Punky for Christmas.
On Thanksgiving Day, the house overflowed with relatives I hadn’t seen since Mom and Dad’s funeral. They seemed too cheerful and asked too many questions to suit me. I even thought about writing my answers on cards and flashing the appropriate response:A. I’m fine.
B. Yes, Punky has changed.
C. School is okay.
D. I don’t want anything for Christmas.
As I helped Aunt Queenie set up card tables and lay out lace tablecloths, Punky flitted about happily, talking about a party.
At the dinner table, when my Great-uncle Raymond thanked God for the opportunity to gather together with loved ones, my eyes filled with tears.
“Lord,” finished Uncle Raymond, “help us to seek Your will for our lives. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”
“Bang!” said Punky. “I’m starved!”
Everybody else laughed, but I excused myself to blow my nose.
The next day, we decorated the Christmas tree, and Aunt Queenie bought some poinsettias to brighten up the family room.
“Punky Holloway,” she said, shaking a finger at him, “don’t even think about pruning these flowers. Remember, Santa is coming—”
“Santy Claus, presents.”
“Not if you touch my flowers.”
“Ohhhh-kay, you win,” said Punky, and I laughed.
Somehow, Aunt Queenie roped me in to help with the Christmas party her club was giving for the workshop in a couple of weeks.
“Take your pick,” she said. “You can either serve refreshments or help with the gifts.”