13. SORRY!

THE NEXT DAY EVERYBODY SAYS sorry to the head custodian, Mrs. Susanna Duff; and the lunch ladies, Pat, Tiny, and Amaryllis. After that, it is Silent Lunch. Nobody can say a word. Everybody blames me and Amanda Anderson.

Harvey Baxter gets a lunch detention all over again for passing me a smart-alecky note.

Principal McCoy wears a sling to school to hold up his sore elbow. He gives a talk in the auditorium about The Grasshopper That Threw Food and The Ant Who Didn’t Throw Her Food, but Saved It for a Rainy Day.

Sam yells out, “And don’t forget The Worm That Ate Garbage and Pooped out Dirt.”

He goes to sit in the hall.

Gwendolyn Swanson-Carmichael raises her hand. “I can’t believe he—” she starts to say.

“Put your hand down!” Principal McCoy says, really mean. Gwendolyn Swanson-Carmichael’s lips squish up.

“This is all Amanda Anderson’s fault,” some kid yells out.

“It’s Lola Zuckerman’s fault,” someone else yells.

Well, maybe.

Amanda is used to being good, and she’s not used to being bad. Amanda Anderson zips out of the auditorium crying. As she runs past me, she says, “I hate you, Lola! And I always will.”

And I am sad, tears-coming-out sad.

In the classroom, everyone is quiet. Nobody even wants to check on the worms in the compost bin.

Mrs. D. says, “I’m very disappointed, class.” We’re not Jellybeans or Jujubes or Lemon Heads. We’re not even People. We’re just Class.

At home I run up to my room. I shut the door and flop onto my bed. I remember me and Amanda throwing all my blankets straight out that window and into a tree. We were making a hotel for chilly squirrels. Why can’t we be friends again?

Friday morning Mom wakes me up early.

“It’s Granny,” she says and hands me the phone.

“Hi, Granny,” I say in a cold toast voice.

“Oh, my sweet little Lola,” Granny says. “Grampy and I have been hooting and hollering down here. We’re so proud of you! You won the contest. That’s wunnerful!”

“Thank you, Granny,” I say.

“It tickles me pink that you’re teaching your friends to make compost,” Granny says. “Maybe they’ll start up their own gardens, just like we did.”

I breathe into the phone.

“Lola? What’s wrong, sweetheart? Cat got your tongue?”

“You missed seeing the zucchini get big,” I say. I don’t hear anything out of the phone. “Granny, are you still there?”

“Why, yes I am, Lola Lou. And you’re right. We had to leave before it was time to pick the zucchini. That was a shame. Your mom told me the zucchini grew real nice. She told me you love zucchini soufflé.”

My voice wobbles like Jell-O. “Jack said you and Grampy were moving in for keeps. But then you left because you couldn’t take it anymore.”

And you know what that Granny did? She laughed. “Oh, Lola,” she said. “I wish I could stay there forever; Grampy, too. But we had to go home.”

“Because of your compost pile?” I ask.

“Well, yes, and our garden and our home, and all those cats that visit us,” Granny says.

“Jenkins and Peter and Moe?” I ask.

“Yes and a few more. But Lola Lou, we loved visiting you and Jack and your mom and dad, every minute.”

“Even when me and Jack played Blanket of Doom on the guest bed and broke your spare glasses?” I ask.

“Even then. I never liked those glasses much anyway,” Granny says.

I take a deep breath ’cause I was running out of air. “I love you, Granny.”

“I love you too, very much; you and Jack, that little stinker,” Granny says.

“And Patches too?” I ask.

“Patches, too. Why, Lola, did you know that I have a picture on my fridge of you and me in the garden in our matching hats?” Granny says.

“You do?” I ask.

“Sure I do! Every time I walk by, I say, ‘Hello, Lola Lou!’”

I think about that for a while. Then I say, “Granny? Does Grampy say ‘fishsticks’ or ‘fiddlesticks’?”

“Why, ‘fiddlesticks,’ I suppose.”

Shucks. Jack was right. Well, I like “fishsticks.”

After Granny and I hang up, I feel a little better, but not a lot. I still wish I I didn’t have to go to school.

But Mom takes my temperature and feels my glands. “You’re fine,” she says.

“No, I’m not,” I say. “I’m heartsick.”

“Well, why are you heartsick?” Mom’s forehead wrinkles up.

“’Cause Jack’s the best, and I’m the second best.”

Mom’s mouth drops open. I can see her fillings.

“Lola!” she cries. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I eez-dropped on you,” I say. “Eavesdropped? When?” Mom asks.

And so I told her that I heard her talking to Dad about building a special shelf for all of Jack’s awards.

“Jack’s award-winning, and I’m not.” And as fast as I can, I get out the hot words burning me up. “And I ate all of Jack’s Good Apple apples, not Patches! I’m sorry!”

Mom sits up straight. “Lola!” she says. “Well, it’s Jack you need to say sorry to.”

I gulp some air. “Okay.”

“And …” she says.

“I should buy him a bunch of apples with my birthday dollars that Granny gave me.” I reach under my bed and pull out the basket. “And stick ’em in here.”

Mom nods firm-like. “Good plan, Lola.” Then she smiles and I know she doesn’t hate me. She hugs me up. She says, “Oh, Lola, it’s not fair that some kids get a lot of awards and some kids don’t. But Dad and I love you just the same, awards or no awards.”

My lips are all blubbery. “Okay. But I still wish I had a special trophy shelf for my green captain vest.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Then Mom kisses me all over my face five hundred times, and I laugh.

“But my heart is still sick,” I say.

Mom takes a sigh-gulp of her coffee. “Why?”

“Because Amanda hates me,” I say.

And I tell her the whole story, about zooming toilet paper through Amanda’s Mick Mansion, and telling Mrs. Anderson that it WAS a Mick Mansion because Mom said that. And Mom’s face gets as pink as pink roses.

“Mom,” I say in a voice that even I can barely hear. “I should tell Amanda I’m sorry for running toilet paper around her house.”

“And I need to tell Penny Anderson I’m sorry for calling her lovely new home a McMansion.”

We drive over to Windy Hill Drive. Mom rings the bell. It makes a fancy sound.

Mrs. Anderson answers the door. She isn’t smiling.

Mom sighs. “Penny, I’m here to apologize for my unkind words. You have a beautiful new home. I never should have called it a McMansion. I think I was jealous! And life has gotten so busy with my Lola dress company.”

I can’t believe Mom said all those words.

Mrs. Anderson’s face unpinches, and she hugs Mom. “It’s okay! I’m so proud of your dress company. Amanda loves her Lola dress! She uses her special pocket for her hair ribbons. I miss Cherry Tree Lane and you!”

I don’t blame her. It’s REALLY quiet in the Mick Mansion, and big. I would tie a rope to the front door if I lived there so I wouldn’t get lost.

Amanda comes running. “Stop being mean to my mommy!” she yells at my mom.

“She wasn’t being mean!” I yell back.

“Girls!” the moms say.

“Lola,” Mom says, “didn’t you tell me there was something you’d like to say?”

I look at the floor. I wish I had my watermelon-smelling pencil to write my sorries.

Fishsticks! I WAS going to say sorry before Amanda came yelling at me.

I look at Amanda straight in her blue eyes. “I’m sorry for running toilet paper through your house, and other stuff, too.” But I don’t feel sorry.

Amanda says, “I’m sorry for milking you in the cafeteria.” But she doesn’t sound sorry.

“I’m sorry for juicing you back,” I say. My eyes go squinty.

Amanda looks as sour as a pickle. She says, “Oh, yeah? Well, I’m sorry I lifted the top off the composting bin so the worms would run away.”

Then she stops, and claps her hand on her mouth. I just stare at that ol’ Amanda Anderson.

“Amanda Susannah Anderson!” Mrs. Anderson yells. “How could you!”

I can’t believe it! Miss Perfect Amanda Anderson NEVER does anything bad, except she did. And that makes me smile. Maybe even when you move to a mansion, you might still get frisky and bad. So maybe we could still be friends, mostly good but sometimes frisky and bad.

Then I remember something, something worse than plain bad.

“We’ve got to get to school before Mrs. D. gets there! She’s afraid of worms!” I yell. “She’s going to have her heart attack her if she sees a worm!”