“DOES COFFEE MAKE YOU STAY awake?” I ask Mrs. D. She is busy writing ONCE UPON A PUMPKIN on the chalkboard.
Amanda and Jessie just went to the bathroom to brush their hair and fix their bows and headbands. “You should come with us,” Jessie said. “Your hair is kind of messy.”
“That’s how I like it,” I told her. And I really hope they stay in there for a good long time. So I can tell Savannah about her new pretend puppy when she gets here. She better come soon. Because if Amanda finds out about my Jessie Dog and New Puppy Fib (okay, Lie), I’m guessing she won’t like me anymore, in permanent marker.
“Why, I suppose it does,” Mrs. D. says. That gives her a good idea, I guess, and she takes a sip from her travel mug. “And that thunderstorm we had last night.”
I give a big yawn. “Then I’m going to start drinking it.”
“Why are you tired, Lola?” Mrs. D. asks.
“I had to keep one eye open while I was sleeping,” I tell her. “On account of the ghost at my house.”
Harvey comes barreling into the room. “Ghosts? That’s nothing. I’ve got a werewolf in my backyard.”
Mrs. D. smushes her lips together. “Hmm, I can see we’re going to need a little discussion about Halloween myths.”
“What’s a myth?” Harvey asks.
“A myth is a make-believe story. It’s something that gets handed down from generation to generation,” Mrs. D. explains.
“So a myth is a lie story,” I say.
“Not exactly, Lola. For example, one Halloween myth is that if you dream of a white cat, you will be lucky. It’s not exactly a lie, is it? It’s more of a wish. And zombies and ghosts are not lies, but fears.”
“But I heard it hallooing in my backyard, and later on I woke up and saw it in my bedroom, and my mom and dad said it was just my laundry hamper but I think it was a ghost, so that’s why I never wanted to keep both of my eyes shut at the same time,” I say. My lip feels a little wobbly, like it wants to bike right off my face.
Amanda and Jessie crowd up next to me. They’re brushed back in place.
“We heard it too, Mrs. D.,” Jessie says. She shivers.
“It was scary!” Amanda says.
“I’m sure there’s a sensible explanation,” Mrs. D. says. “Maybe it was the rumbling from the approaching thunderstorm, girls. No need for concern. Did you ask Mom or Dad?”
“Yes. But Mom has too much on her plate right now to go looking for something that’s howling and invisible and just some figs in my imagination. And in Amanda’s. And Jessie’s.”
And speaking of those FRIENDS, Amanda and Jessie go to the back of the room to sharpen their pencils. Only they play Miss Mary Mack. Fishsticks. I want to go back there and get in the way. But first I have to tell Savannah about Jessie-the-dog.
I post myself at the door. Where is that Savannah Travers? Where in the ding-a-ling-ring-ding could she be?
Then she comes around the corner with Gwendolyn Swanson-Carmichael and she’s got on a Ye Old Cap from Old Sturbridge Village.
“Hi, Savannah!” I holler down the hall. She and Gwendolyn amble up to our classroom. Amble is when you walk so slow you might as well just sit down. “Savannah, have you ever wanted a puppy?” I ask Savannah when she gets close, but she’s too busy talking to Gwendolyn about apple pie recipes from the olden days.
“There’s apple-custard pie and cheesy-apple pie and green-apple pie and candy-apple pie and cran-apple pie and apple-meringue pie and caramel-apple pie . . .”
Finally, and that’s a really long time so that you could go back to bed and wake up again and you would still have to wait, Savannah is done telling Gwendolyn about all the different apple pies there were in the olden days.
“How about apple cakes?” Gwendolyn asks. She rubs her tummy. “I bet they had some tasty apple cakes.”
“Speaking of dogs . . .” I interrupt.
“Huh?” Savannah says.
“Well, how do you feel about dogs?”
Savannah smiles. “I like hot dogs with loads of ketchup and mustard.”
“I mean hairy dogs. The kind that bark and jump up on your bed.”
“Oh. I like cats. I have a cat named Arthur who we rescued from a shelter. Arthur sleeps on my bed and purrs me right to sleep.”
Fishsticks.
“I don’t like dogs or cats,” Gwendolyn says. “I’m allergic.” And she flounces off. Flounce is when you bounce away with flair.
“Wouldn’t Arthur like a puppy friend?” I ask Savannah.
Savannah opens her mouth. But before she can tell me Arthur would LUH-HUV a puppy friend, I see Amanda and Jessie barreling right for us. It’s the Miss Mary Mackers Attackers. Uh-oh.
Lickety-spit, I change the subject.
I pat Savannah on the back. “That IS a good-looking pilgrim cap. Maybe you could be a pilgrim lady for Halloween. Isn’t that a great idea?”
Savannah shakes her head. “Oh, no. I want to be Strawberry Sweetie Pie, the Cupcake Queen. She’s my most absolute favorite.”
I feel my mouth plop open. “But . . .”
“And I’m going to ask my mom if I can order the costume after school today, too! I’m going to wear it trick-or-treating. And I’m going to love it because I watch Cupcake Queens all the time and I did in California and it’s my favorite.” Savannah says all those words in one big gasp.
“But—”
“I had a real Strawberry Sweetie Pie cake for my birthday. And one more thing. Last year I got to meet all three Cupcake Queens at Sweet Surprises Play Park.”
I stare and stare at Savannah because that’s the most words she’s ever said in a row.
“How about you, Lola?” Savannah asks. “What do you want to be?”
“Er . . . ”
Amanda and Jessie nestle right up to us.
“Poor, poor Savannah,” Jessie says. “Are you mad at Lola? So, so mad?”
“Are you sad?” Amanda asks.
Savannah peers out of her jumbo-sized glasses. “Why would I be mad or sad?”
“Because of Jessie,” Jessie says.
“Jessie-the-dog.” Amanda helps out.
“Your dog,” I explain. “The one I lost and then you had to get a puppy. A really cute puppy.”
“Oh,” Savannah says. “And did I lose the puppy, too?”
“Nope,” I say. “You still have the puppy.”
Jessie folds her arms up tight. “Hey, what’s that all about? How come you don’t know if you have your own puppy or not?”
RING!
“Candy Corns, take your seats,” Mrs. D. calls. “We have a LOT to cover today.”
“Well?” Jessie leans in close to Savannah. “Is Lola lying?”
“Lola,” Amanda says in the most Who-Made-This-Mess Parent Voice you ever heard, EVER. “You pinkie-promised!”
Savannah looks at me, then at Jessie, then at Amanda.
“GIRLS!” Mrs. D. holler-reminds us.
“I did get a puppy,” Savannah zaps out. Then she hurries off to her seat. And guess what color her face is? Liar-Liar-Hot-Sauce-Fire Red.
