11

The Movie

As usual, our next-door neighbor Mrs. Warner was outside, rearranging her creatures, as she calls them—mostly small statues and gnomes and stuff. From what I’ve seen, nothing ever gets added or subtracted, just moved from place to place. Supposedly, she’s more than a hundred years old, and Daddy says the inside of her house has so many piled-up newspapers and magazines that he doesn’t understand how anyone can live in there. Daddy claims it’s like a maze. And because I like mazes, I’m curious to get inside, but she’s never invited me. The only thing that separates her house from ours is a low wooden fence, and because my bedroom is closest to that fence, some nights the flickering lights from her candles dance on my walls and her old-time jazz music helps puts me to sleep.

Mrs. Warner, who has a very bad memory, said in her raspy voice, “How’re you, little Miss Jade?”

“I’m not Jade, I’m Zoe,” I reminded her for what seemed like the thousandth time.

“It’s so nice to see you on this beautiful day, little Miss Jade.” She smiled.

Some days her memory was normal and she made sense. Other times it was useless, like today.

She squatted, brushed a space in the dirt with her hand, and put down the statue. “You have a nice day now, little Miss Jade.”

I reached for her hand and patted it gently. “You too, Mrs. Warner.”

I felt sad as I walked away. No one ever came to her house except for the people from the senior-meals place or the van that takes people to the doctor. “Bye,” I told her, and headed to Quincy’s.

On the way, I tried very hard to push baobab trees out of my head. Even if we did have the money, it’s a dumb idea, I convinced myself.

I rang Quincy’s bell.

“Who is it?” his mom, Kendra, hollered from inside.

“Just Zoe!” I answered.

“Door’s open!”

I turned the knob and stepped inside.

Normally on Sunday—Kendra’s only day off from work—you’d find her sprawled on the sofa with the TV remote glued to her hand. Instead, she was in the kitchen doing something I had hardly ever seen her do before—cooking. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He eyes were red and watery, like she’d been crying.

“You okay, Miz Hill?” I asked.

Kendra, short and curvy, gazed at me with her hazel eyes, pointed to the onions she was chopping, and smiled. “Onions,” she replied. Then, she stopped cooking, wiped her hands on a dish towel, stepped toward me, and stretched out her arms. “Gimme a hug, girl. You know my rule. You can’t come in this house and not give Kendra a hug. Give it here . . . and make it a good one.” Kendra cooking was unusual, but Kendra hugging was not. She swallowed me up in her arms and I hugged her back.

Every now and then, I find myself wishing my mom were more like Kendra—the hugging stuff, anyway.

She motioned toward their den. “He’s in there, on the computer probably.”

Quincy and I bumped into each other in the hallway.

“I found out a lot more stuff about baobab trees,” Quincy said as we settled in front of his computer. “The bark is even used for making ropes, but the reason they’re endangered is because people have been cutting them down because they want the land to grow other stuff or they need places for their herds to graze.” Quincy took a deep breath and rattled on, “But the most interesting thing is that the fruit isn’t pollinated by bees; it’s pollinated by fruit bats. Interesting, huh?”

I wanted to tell him to BQ, be quiet, but instead I just shrugged.

“Whatsamatter, Zoe?”

“My daddy said no.” And instead of telling him about the bills and stuff, I added, “He’s heard of them, but he said he has enough plants for now.”

“But I had this idea for an amazing movie.”

Movie ideas were like vitamins to Quincy. He usually had one a day.

“What kind of movie now?” I asked.

“I thought we could buy some baobab seeds, which aren’t that expensive, maybe five dollars online, and I would make a movie from planting them and then videotaping them as they grow week by week, until you finally give them to your dad. I’m calling it Zoe and the Baobabs.”

“Hmmm? I didn’t even think about seeds,” I told him.

“We can buy them online.”

I flicked his shoulder. “With what? We need a credit card, genius.”

“We could ask my mom. She’s been nicer than ever lately, so I don’t think she’ll say no. It’s not that much money, anyway.” He bolted to the living room and returned in no time at all with Kendra. “See, told you.”

“Is this for a school project?” she asked.

“A movie,” he answered. “I’m going to make a video of everything from when we plant the seeds to when they start to grow, and turn it into a movie.”

“My baby, the director.” Kendra smiled and kissed the top of Quincy’s head. “Are you two hungry?” she asked. “Because I’m going to have a four-course meal ready soon.”

“I’ll just have a little because I’m having Sunday dinner at my nana’s.”

Once she’d left, he said, “My mom’s been off from work all week on vacation and cooking every day. It’s weird. Except for dessert, it mostly doesn’t taste that good, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings, so I’ve been eating and eating. I’ll be glad when she goes back to work and starts bringing home takeout again.”

Then he grabbed his video camera, pointed it at me, and began recording. “It’s October in Pasadena, California. We just bought the baobab seeds online, and this is Zoe G. Reindeer,” he said. “Smile, Zoe,” he directed.

I smiled, but it must have looked fake.

“Again, Zoe . . . like you mean it,” Quincy commanded.

I grinned from ear to ear.

“That’s more like it!”