When I woke up the sun was shining and the air was warm, but that was only the weather. My personal forecast was anxiety and dread. Today was crafts at the old people’s home, and I kept imagining a sea of old faces, and me having to shake everyone’s hand. It felt like a nightmare, only I wasn’t going to wake up and have it be gone—it was real and it was going to happen. I forced myself out of bed. Maybe there’d be some kind of minor disaster and we wouldn’t have to go. Nothing with injuries, but enough to keep us at home. It was unlikely, but I was hopeful, and that helped me get dressed and down the stairs. As soon as I walked into the kitchen, Claire ran over and jumped in front of me, blocking my way. I tried to push past her, but she wouldn’t move.
“Claire!” I grabbed her shoulders and moved her to the side. What was she doing?
She grinned and followed me over to the cupboard. “You recognized me! I knew you would.”
I pulled out the cereal box and smiled. Now it made sense. I grabbed a handful of cereal and walked to the table. Claire followed, waiting for me to be as excited as she was. She still didn’t get it, how it all worked. It was complicated, strange, and hard to understand, but I tried to explain it.
“Of course I know you. I’m expecting you here. But if I saw you next to some other kids in a store or something, and I wasn’t expecting to see you, then maybe I might not recognize you.”
Claire thought about it and shook her head.
“No. You’d know me. I know you would.”
I popped some cereal into my mouth and nodded. I wished it were true—everyone likes to be recognized.
Claire was the only one who had pancakes that morning. Mom was finally sick of them too. Was it even healthy to eat pancakes every day? Mom made Claire eat a couple of slices of pear, so she was maybe thinking about that too. Claire talked nonstop about the craft thing all morning. She had enough enthusiasm for a hundred people, which was good, because I didn’t have any. It was a nice thing to do, help old people, but that didn’t mean I wanted to do it. It was a hard morning—her wanting me to be as excited as she was, and me forcing myself to ignore the basement. I knew if I went down there and got caught, I’d be dead. I couldn’t risk it, so I worried about it instead. The wish jar was out in the open. What if Mom went down there and saw it? Would it all be over? I spent the morning hovering close to the basement door, ready to run interference in case she did laundry. It wasn’t easy—pretending to be normal on the outside, while being a wreck on the inside.
The craft thing was at two o’clock, but by one o’clock Claire was dressed and ready to go. We left fifteen minutes early, because Mom was tired of Claire asking, Is it time yet? every twenty seconds. I was nervous about giving up my post by the basement door, but Mom said she was going grocery shopping while we were at the craft event, so that made it easier. The wish jar would be safe until we got back.
The old people’s home was close by, only ten minutes away. Mom came in with us to check it out. I was still hoping we’d get to turn around and go home, but the minute we walked inside, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. The entrance was nice, the lady at the front office was friendly, and the craft room was perfectly fine. Claire was bouncing up and down; she could hardly contain herself.
Marjorie was the lady in charge of the crafts. She seemed kind of like a grown-up version of Claire. She was superhappy to meet us. When we got to the craft room, I could see why—she needed our help. It was almost two o’clock, and everything was still in boxes, waiting to be set up. Of course Marjorie fell in love with Claire—why wouldn’t she? The hand-shaking thing was a real icebreaker, and not something you’d expect from a seven-year-old. After we all shook hands, Marjorie showed us what to do. Mostly it was just setting out the supplies on the tables. The craft for today was painting ceramic tiles, so we put out markers, stamps, paints, brushes, cleaning supplies, and, of course, tiles. The door to the craft room was closed, but it had a window, and I could see people lining up outside. That made me a little nervous.
When it was time to start, Claire and I stood to the side, and Marjorie opened the door. It was hard to keep Claire still, but I did my best.
Suddenly Claire was shouting, “Look! Look!” She wriggled past everyone coming into the room and disappeared into the hall.
I called after her, but it was too late—she was gone. I had no choice but to chase her. I was furious. I stomped out the door. She was standing just outside the door.
As soon as she saw me, she pointed to a room down the hall. “It’s him! The boy Sam, from the thrift store. He’s here.”
I froze.
She grabbed my arm and pulled me down the hall. “Let’s say hi.”
Normally I would have said no and pulled back, but I was confused—still transitioning from furious to surprised—and not feeling anywhere near normal. Suddenly we were in front of the door, looking into the room.
“SEE! I told you, it’s Sam.” Claire pointed.
I wasn’t so sure. There were four people in the room: a boy, an old man, an old lady, and another man—probably not as old as the other two. They were standing around a table full of boxes, talking. Why would Sam be here? It made no sense. It couldn’t be him. It was just someone who kind of looked like Sam. The old man pushed by us and walked down the hall without saying a word. He seemed grumpy.
“HI, SAM!” Claire yelled and waved wildly. I froze. Claire really needed some kind of warning light or a buzzer, so I could be ready for her embarrassing outbursts. Everyone in the room looked over. The boy smiled.
“Hey,” he said. “What are you guys doing here?”
I recognized the voice. It was Sam! “We’re doing crafts down there.” Claire pointed to the craft room. She was bouncing up and down, excited. “You have to come see. We’re making things.”
I knew I should say something, but I was too shocked to speak. I nodded and tried to smile. A second later I was standing alone in the hall, and Claire was in the room shaking hands with everyone. I wanted to leave, but my feet wouldn’t move. Finally I got it together, leaned in, and grabbed her arm.
“We need to go back.” I pulled her into the hallway. My teeth were clamped down so hard, my jaw was hurting.
Claire shouted and waved to everyone.
“Bye Sam, bye Miss Sato, bye Mr. Fred.” She skipped down the hall beside me.
“That was lucky I saw Sam. You wouldn’t have recognized him without me.” She looked up for confirmation.
I nodded, but it wasn’t a yes-I’m-so-happy-you-helped-me nod, it was a you’re-making-my-life-miserable nod. On the outside they maybe looked the same, but their meanings were completely different.
Considering how everything had started, the craft event turned out pretty well. Except for the whole Sam thing. I had a good time. We didn’t have to do much. Mostly it was cleaning brushes, providing encouragement, and opening the paint containers when the lids were hard to get off. Near the end we even got to paint a tile ourselves. Claire painted a picture of Steve, and I wrote Lucy’s name in fancy script. We each had our favorites.
Once everything was cleaned up, we walked outside and helped Marjorie load the boxes into her car. Claire wanted to go back inside, but I made her stay with me by the front door. Mom would be by any second, and as soon as she pulled up, we were out of there. I wasn’t hanging around any longer than we had to. Claire leaned against the side of the building fidgeting.
“Why can’t I just go in and see if they have cookies?” she complained.
I shook my head. “They don’t have cookies.”
“But what if Marjorie’s wrong,” she said. “Maybe they normally don’t have cookies, but today as a surprise they have them.”
I ignored her, but she kept talking.
“I wish they had a cat. Why don’t they have a cat? This isn’t as good as the one by my house. They have cookies and a cat.”
I smiled; suddenly I had a feeling we weren’t going to be coming back.
“What are you so happy about?” said a voice.
I froze and spun around. It was Sam. Mr. Fred was with him; he nodded at me and walked over to talk to Claire. Sam stood in front of me, waiting for an answer. He didn’t need to know my private thoughts, so I answered his question with a question.
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s kind of a summer job,” said Sam. “I’m helping Miss Sato put some of her slides in the computer, so we can make a slide show for her anniversary party.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. He could tell—I probably had a blank stare on my face. I’d forgotten to fake understanding with a smile or a head nod.
He frowned. “Do you know what a slide is?”
I shook my head.
Suddenly he was animated and excited. “It’s an old-fashioned way of showing a photograph. Instead of the photo being printed on paper, it’s printed on a small piece of plastic that has a cardboard frame around it. And when you want to see the photo, you put the slide into a projector, and that projects the image so you can see it big on a screen.”
This time I nodded, even though I was still completely confused. Sam grinned and continued talking.
“I come here Mondays and Fridays to set up the projector, fill it with slides, and show them to Miss Sato. I’m transferring all the photos she likes onto my computer, so I can make a slide show with titles and captions.”
I probably should have said, Wow! That’s amazing, but enthusiasm is hard to fake when you have no idea what someone is talking about. So instead, I just said, “Oh.” I looked toward the driveway, but it was empty—no Mom. I wanted her to come save me.
Sam held up his hand. “Wait, I can show you.” He took off his backpack and pulled out a long skinny box. He opened it and held up what looked like a two-inch-square piece of cardboard. It was a big white frame with a smaller, dark square in the middle. He took a step forward and held it in front of my face. “Look in the middle, at the dark square. Can you see the picture?”
I didn’t want to step closer to him, so I just strained my eyes. It wasn’t easy to see, but he was right, there was some kind of picture there. Sam handed me the slide so I could take a closer look.
“Hold it up to the sky,” he said. “Just don’t touch the middle part. If it gets scratches on it, it ruins the picture. That’s a picture of Miss Sato’s special bag. It’s from Japan.”
I held the slide up to the light, squinted, and then covered my mouth. I couldn’t believe it. The bag was in the shape of a goldfish. It was a goldfish bag. What was the chance of that? Another goldfish thing.
“What’s wrong?” asked Sam.
I handed back the slide.
“Goldfish.” I shook my head. “Ever since Claire came, it’s been goldfish everywhere. Like it’s a sign or something.”
Sam put the slide away. “Why goldfish?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s her favorite animal.”
Finally Mom pulled into the driveway. Claire ran to the car and opened the door.
She yelled and waved. “BYE, MR. FRED! BYE, SAM!”
I started to get in but stopped and gave Sam a half wave. He was okay, different than I thought he’d be—maybe even kind of nice.
“See you Monday!” shouted Claire.
I snapped on my seat belt, and Mom pulled out into the street.
“It’s Friday,” I said. “The craft thing is just once a week.”
“I know.” Claire bounced up and down. Even a seat belt couldn’t hold her still. “But now we can come on Monday! Mr. Fred invited us to a concert, and it’s on Monday.”
“Wow.” Mom looked back at us and smiled. “That sounds fun. I’m glad you had such a good time.”
“We did.” Claire beamed.
I ignored her and looked out the window.
She didn’t care. She kept talking. “And Mr. Fred taught me a new word. Nifty! It’s old-fashioned. I’m going to use it a lot. Mr. Fred said that’s the best way to remember a new word.”
Monday? Really? We had to come back on Monday! I slumped back against my seat. There was no winning with Claire; just when you got a handle on things—bang! Suddenly there it was, a new surprise staring you in the face.