I stomped to my bedroom, flopped onto my bed, and recapped everything that had gone wrong in the past few days. Green hair and detention were just two of the highlights. And now… Rafe revenge reversal. Mom is baking him a pie! I still couldn’t believe it.
There was a soft knock at my door. Rafe, I thought. He’s come to gloat. “Go away.”
“What did you say, Carolina?” Grandma Dotty asked as she opened the door. “ ‘Slow decay’?”
“No, I—never mind. Come on in.”
Grandma Dotty sat down at the foot of my bed and rubbed my back for a minute. Mom used to do that when I was little. I forgot how nice it could feel. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“Nothing.”
“Hmm. Then why are you lying facedown on your bed?”
Sighing, I sat up. “It’s just—Rafe got his progress report today. He got one lousy A, and Mom is acting like he just got into college. He even got a C! Do you know what would happen if I got a C?”
Dotty clapped. “An A is marvelous!”
“But I get straight A’s all the time!” I wailed. “And Mom never made me a pie!”
Grandma Dotty looked thoughtful. “She never made me a pie for my report card either.”
What? Mom wasn’t even alive when Grandma got her report card. Well, maybe that’s Dotty’s point—that life isn’t fair.
“I want pie too,” I grumbled.
“Well, maybe Rafe will let you have some.” Dotty smiled and took my hand in her wrinkly old one. I knew she was trying to help, but she wasn’t really getting my point. “It’s good that your brother is doing well in art school,” Dotty went on. “He’s never been the greatest student, you know.”
“Tell me about it.” I rolled my eyes.
“He’s like your mother in that way. They’re both born artists. They aren’t much good at regular school. They’re a lot alike, in good ways and bad.” Grandma Dotty smiled, and her brown eyes twinkled.
“Am I like my mom?” I asked. “Like she used to be?” I was hoping Dotty would say that both Mom and I were smart. Or musical. Or kind, maybe.
Dotty shrugged. “How should I know?” she asked. “I don’t know what your mother was like when she was your age.”
What? She doesn’t know my mom?
I wanted to say it out loud, but I thought it might be kinda cruel. I mean, Dotty’s memory is kind of Swiss cheesy. There are holes. There’s nothing she can do about it. Why make her feel worse?
Let’s face it: That’s what makes Grandma Dotty a little… dotty. Or more like completely dotty. And we all love her anyway.