This day started at the crack of 7:32 AM in the morning. Luckily, I am a speed dresser because at 7:38 AM there was knocking on the door and I had to slide down the banister for added quickness and when I opened it, there were Pop and Madam, who is my palindrome grandmother, and their maniac poodle named Gumbo, which is actually the name of a soup.
“We're here for the 1st Annual Back-to-School All-You-Can-Eat Family-Breakfast Extravaganza!” Pop said. He is one who loves an extravaganza. I am another one.
The other thing we go for is demonstrations. By the time my mom got downstairs Pop was doing egg juggling and singing a song to Madam called “Don't Go Bacon My Heart, You're Eggs-actly the Girl for Me.” That song is homemade by him and it had us laughing our lips off but it made Gumbo leap around in a poodle panic and that made Pop drop an egg on his foot and it broke. The egg, not the foot. That egg caused Gumbo to think in his brain, which Pop says is not the biggest, “Free food!” So he started licking Pop's toes and leg and wouldn't stop until there was only shell left and Pop's leg was slimy with dog spit.
“Luckily raw eggs make dogs have shiny hair,” Pop said.
“Maybe dog spit will make you have shiny leg hair,” I said.
“That has been my lifelong dream,” Pop said.
He might have been kidding.
Inside, Pop cooked pirate eggs while Madam cut up pineapple boats and my mom poured milk and I set the table. But then there was more knocking and more barking and my mom said, “It sounds like we'll need 2 more plates.”
“Yippee-yi-yo, cowgirl!” I said. “I bet it's Jonique and Melonhead!”
“Adam,” my grandmother said. She calls him Adam on account of that's his name.
Then my mom said, “That nickname has got to be bad for his self-esteem.”
Those 2 ladies are in love with self-esteem.
“If Melonhead gets any more esteem he'll be the Number 1 know-it-all in America,” I said.
Even though he's our friend, sometimes Melonhead acts like he's the only one in charge. Right away, one second after he came inside, he started rushing me like mad, saying, “Let's go-go-go, Lucy Rose!”
I think anybody would agree that is a bothersome attitude.
“We have time galore,” I said.
“That's what I already told him,” Jonique said. “It takes 2 minutes to walk 1 block, so it'll take 12 to get to school plus 2 more for red lights. If we go now, we'll be too early.”
“Jonique, you're a mathematical genius,” Pop said.
“I get it from my dad,” Jonique said.
Her dad's an accountant at the government. I don't know what he counts but it must be something important because he's the boss of some people. Once, when Pop and I were in private, I told him that even if I got to be a boss, I wouldn't want to account. Pop said he himself is a word man, which I say is lucky since he writes stories for a job.
Melonhead stopped his rushing the second he said, “I smell food,” and plopped himself down in Pop's chair.
Even though Melonhead already had 2 bowls of Lucky Charms at home, he ate 3 hunks of coffee-cake and so much pineapple that there was none left for Madam and she had to eat a nectarine instead. He is not the most polite.
When the extravaganza was done my mom took pictures of us on our front porch with our new backpacks that are full of 4th grade supplies including ballpoint pens that are something you are not even allowed to touch in 3rd.
Pop said, “Lucy Rose, that is a fine outfit!”
“I know,” I said. “I feel like a million dollars!”
“All green and wrinkly?” Melonhead said and started up with his hyena laugh.
I laughed too but Jonique looked huffy at him and said, “Lucy Rose's skirt is the best,” so I'd feel like I was defended.
“I believe it cost 1 ton of money,” I said.
“No doubt,” Jonique said.
Then, while we were walking to school, Melonhead said, “Of all the dopey ways to spend perfectly good dollars.”
“You would spend them on candy,” Jonique said.
“I would spend some on candy,” he said. “I'd spend the rest on baking soda and lime Kool-Aid and vinegar.”
“Why on Earth?” I asked him.
“One day I'll show you,” he said. “And you'll be amazed.”
At school, Mrs. Timony was waiting for us by the 4th grade line-up that is on the complete other side of the school from Grades 3 and Under. She has red eyeglasses and a smiling mouth and wildish hair that I told her is a thing we have in common. Then I said, “I can already tell that this year is going to be plenty delightful!”
“Of course it is,” she said. “I've been in 4th grade for 22 years and I always have a wonderful time.” We got settled down in Room 7, which is a room I like because it has 5 windows and a fan that hangs down from the ceiling and spins, plus it smells like spray cleaner. Then Mrs. Timony said, “Let's start by shaking hands.”
We had to stretch our arms because our desks are apart on account of we have more maturity than we did in 3rd when they were clumped into tables. On one of my sides is Clayton Briggs who is A-OK and on the other one is Ashley, who is P-U. I am sure about this because even though she is new at school and even though Mrs. Timony said we will all enjoy knowing her, Jonique and Melonhead and I have already been knowing her all summer and that experience has not been one speck pleasing to us. But Ashley said, “Hi, Lucy Rose,” and gave my hand a big shake like she was feeling thrilled. That was a shock to me, but I was also glad because at least she was trying. I said, “Hi, Ashley!” and shook back. It was probably because of her excitement that it felt like she was crushing my finger bones.
Then we had to tell about ourselves. Mrs. Timony started and here's the thing about her: She has a husband and a son and her daughter plays the guitar at a nightclub plus she's in love with insects. She picked me to go next, which I say is an honor and Jonique agrees. I said: “This was my 1st entire summer of living in Washington, D.C., plus I play the cello and my teacher says I'm advanced for my age, which is 9. Also I know how to make some things. My mom's an artist that works at Channel 6.My dad's a teacher in Michigan where I used to live but he comes to visit me.”
That made a new kid blurt out, “I just moved here from London.”
So Mrs. Timony asked her: “What have you found to be different about the United States, Hannah?”
“It's hotter here,” Hannah said. “And in America you call chips French fries and you call crisps chips.”
That is fascinating to me.
Hannah has brown hair that's short and her voice sounds like she's rich, which I'm pretty sure she is because her dad works at the embassy of England for somebody that's called Ambassador, and one time he met a real prince that was a kid, if you can believe it, which I do.
The second that she stopped talking, I waved my hand so fast that Melonhead said, “You look like a windshield wiper.”
Mrs. Timony said, “Do you have a question, Lucy Rose ?”
“I have a comment,” I said.
“Yes?” Mrs. Timony said.
“Hannah is a palindrome,” I said.
Hannah made a grin at me. She already knew that newsflash because it turns out when you have the name of Hannah, people are always telling you you're a palindrome. But none of the other kids had figured it out, which was pleasing to me.
When school let out, Jonique raced home and I kept going to my grandparents' house. Pop and my mom were waiting and drinking fizzy water on the side porch that has swinging baskets with purple petunias. Madam, who makes it her business to give people good advice, was taking a break from writing her newspaper column so she could hear my News of the Day, which she calls Scoop du Jour because she knows French from when she was a kid and lived in New Orleans, Louisiana.
“Robinson Gold has a pink stripe in her hair,” I said. “A kid at her camp put Easter egg dye in it and the only way to get it out is to cut it but she's not going to because she loves it.”
“That might be the Scoop du Summer,” Pop said.
Then I told about Mrs. Timony and about Hannah from England. “At recess Melonhead called her Hannah-banana, which I do not think she loved,” I said.
“I imagine if your name is Melon you get in the habit of calling people fruity names,” Pop said and then Madam gave him a look like he's impossible.
“Here's another Scoop du Jour: Ashley was nice to me at handshaking,” I said.
“That's an improvement,” my mom said.
“That's a miracle,” Pop said. “Now, how do you rate Day 1 ?”
“My rate is: great,” I said. “But the thing I can't believe is in 4th you get homework on the 1st day.”
Pop couldn't believe it either. He is against homework unless it's the creative kind and not from textbooks, either, because, according to him, they make kids' brains go dull. My mom did believe it. “You get to work and I will too,” she said and she kissed the tip-top of my red head. “I'm on the overnight shift so you get to spend the night here and I'll be back in time for breakfast.”
“The subway will be closed when you get off,” Pop said. “Do you want to use our car?”
“No, thanks,” my mom said. “I can catch a ride from a guy at work. He drives straight down Constitution Avenue, so he doesn't mind.”
Then Madam looked at the Pop clock, which is what we call the grandfather clock, and said, “Oh no! I'm ON DEADLINE. My column is due in an hour! My editor is waiting and a lady from Bethesda needs to know what to do with a teenage vegetarian who won't eat any vegetables except potato chips.”
Madam's column is in the newspaper and it tells parents what to do with their kids, especially if they have the kind that are disagreeable to others. The name of it is Dear Lucy Rose. That's because we have the same name only she has had it for longer. On Deadline means I can't interrupt unless I am bleeding.
“I'm On Deadline too,” I told her. “I have to write a paragraph called ‘My Summer Adventure.'“
But first, I wrote this e-mail on Pop's computer:
“Dear Dad,
“Since Michigan teachers had to go back to school today even though the kids are still lolling about on vacation, I have 2 questions. 1. Did they have coffeecake in the teachers' lounge? 2. Do you know if anybody I know is one of your students?
“I love you a bushel and a peck.”
At 6:22 AM this morning I got my cello, which I've been learning ever since I was 6, and for a treat, I tiptoed into Madam and Pop's room and played a wake-up concert. Pop said it was another sign of my original thinking because, he said, “an average thinker would just use the alarm clock but waking up to an unexpected cello recital is, in fact, much more alarming.”
“Thank you,” I said.
While they were getting up, I got my e-mail and it said:
“Dear Lucy Rose,
“Did I eat coffeecake on the 1st day of school? Did I? I did. Actually, I did not but ‘Did I? I did' is such a swell palindrome I had to use it. Unfortunately, there has been a health uprising in the teachers' lounge so we had bagels and fruit. 2: Your cousin Drew is in my 7th grade homeroom. Aunt Betsy brought him and your 2 youngest cousins to visit my classroom and in the time it took me to give my sister a hug, Geòrgie crawled across the room and unplugged the aquarium and Didi ate a piece of chalk. Aunt Betsy said, ‘They'll be in Drew's seat someday.'
“I told her: ‘I'm happy to teach all of your kids as long as they come 1 at a time because I don't know how you handle all 7 at once.'
“She said you get a minivan and you get used to it.
“I love you. You bet your pretty neck I do,
“Dad”
After school I told Pop that if Jonique and Melonhead and I didn't get cool drinks in 3 or less instants we'd perish from heat on that spot, which was the sidewalk. Perish means we'd absolutely die from it. Pop said he couldn't just stand there when simple limeade could save us, so he called for Madam and took us all to Jimmy T's restaurant.
After we got our ades Pop said, “Tell us who had the best summer adventure.”
“Pierra Kempner moved and now she doesn't have to share a room with any sisters,” Jonique said.
“That is the opposite of exciting,” Melonhead said.
“Kathleen Sullivan went paddle boating on the Potomac River with her dad,” I said. “They paddled right over to the Jefferson Memorial and waved at tourists and could practically touch the land of Virginia.”
“Sensational,” Pop said.
“Very sensational,” I told him.
“Marisol Fernandez was too shy to read her homework so Mrs. Timony did it for her,” Jonique said.
“Mrs. Timony did her homework for her?” Pop said. “Hot diggity-dog! That's my kind of teacher!”
That joke made Melonhead laugh so hard that limeade came out of his nose, which made Madam feel alarmed but I told her, “He is one boy who enjoys fizzing nostrils.”
“How did Sam Alswang spend his summer?” Madam said.
“He got to take a jet plane to Atlanta, in Georgia, so he could visit his grandparents and they let him eat dessert 2 times a day,” Melonhead said.
“What did you write about, Adam?” Madam asked.
“How I saved your apricots from disaster,” he said.
“Mrs. Timony said she felt impressed with that,” I said.
“I wrote about Parks & Ree and Vacation Bible School,” Jonique said. “And going to my family reunion.”
Then I said: “I told about my big adventure with my dad and doing my big project with my mom and about making a key chain out of Gimp. And that's when the miracle of yesterday was over because Ashley said, ‘Some key chain,' in her stinky voice. And I think she would have been in trouble but she said it so low that Mrs. Timony didn't hear her.”
“But I jumped up and said, ‘It WAS some key chain! It was a GREAT key chain!' “ Melonhead said.
“Mrs. Timony did hear that,” Jonique said.
“And she said I should take a seat,” Melon-head said.
“What did Ashley write about?” Pop asked us.
“Going to White Flint Mall with her dad,” Jonique said. “He let her pick whatever she wanted and she picked 9 outfits plus sunglasses!”
“My goodness!” Madam said.
“Today she was wearing sky blue pants,” I said. “And in my deepest heart, I wish they were mine.”
“Sky blue pants don't make the girl,” Pop said.
“These pants do,” I said. “They are fabulinity.”
“It's for when something is fabulous until infinity,” I said. “I made it up.”
“Are my pants fabulinity?” Pop asked me.
“No,” I said.
“Not at all,” Jonique said.
“Well then, I share your despair,” Pop said.
“Did you tell Ashley that you like her pants?” Madam asked. “I find it helps to share good thoughts.”
“No,” I said.
“Well, maybe she was also secretly wishing she had an outfit like yours,” Madam said.
“Definitely not,” Jonique said.
“She called my pink skirt CHILDISH,” I said.
“Nonsense,” Pop said. “It takes an original thinker to invent her own style. Lucy Rose, your look is unique.”
“Unique?” I said.
“Unique means THE ONLY ONE,” he said. “I feel certain there isn't another look like yours anywhere in the world.”
Pop has a good talent for making a person feel better.
Today was the last day of the 1st week of school and so far, I like everything except Ashley.
Tomorrow my mom and I have to do nothing but work and run errands because we need new fruit and we have to buy pots of flowers called mums that are yellow. According to Hannah, MUM means MOM in the kind of English they speak in England. The odd thing to me is that they do not call a DAD a DUD, probably because it would make him feel bad. I'm going to start calling my mom Mum, so she can be my 1st palindrome from over seas. The palindrome, not my mom. She'll still be from America.
Since I'll be planting mums, I'll be too busy to go to Madam and Pop's. That is lucky because Pop is going to put a new flusher in the toilet and that is not a thing I want to watch. Melonhead can't wait. He is one who loves to see the guts of things.
“Even toilets?” I said.
“Especially toilets,” he said.
When he asked if he could help, Pop said, “I'm counting on you to be my able assistant.”
“I'll be the plumber's friend!” Melonhead said and cracked himself up. “Let's take that toilet apart right now.”
“We'll start bright and early tomorrow,” Pop said.
Melonhead went so wild with excitement that anybody would think he won the Olympics.
Jonique and I planted the mums that my mum kept calling the moms and I told her: “Sometimes you are hilarious.” That was a pleasing thing to say because we are one family that loves hilarious.
Now our yard is almost as gorgeous as the McBees' even though we don't own one single lawn ornament.
After lunch Jonique and I got our scooters and scooted to Independence Avenue so our legs would get exercised. Then we had to lie down on the Presbyterian Church steps for a rest so we wouldn't feel utterly exhausted. Utter means the same as complete. That's when Melonhead ran up waving a red ball on a stick, yelling, “Look what I got!”
Jonique and I sat up and petted it. Then she held it up like a balloon and I asked, “What on earth is it?”
“It's the old float ball from inside the back of the toilet tank,” he said. “Pop said I could keep it for a souvenir.”
“P-U,” Jonique said and threw it down and wiped her hands on her shirt.
“Disgusting,” I said and I wiped my hands on Melonhead's shirt.
“It's only ever been where the clean water goes,” he said.
“We don't touch toilet parts,” I told him.
“Absolutely never,” Jonique said.
Melonhead was way too thrilled to care.
Tonight my grandparents came over for a cook-out but Pop was too tired to play Scrabble. “I told Melonhead we'd start work bright and early,” Pop said. “He arrived at 6.”
My mom, I mean mum, had a laughing riot at that.
“Then an alarmed Mrs. Melon called at 7,” Pop said. “Apparently, he forgot to tell her he was leaving the house.”
“She's the kind that worries,” I said. “And he's the kind that forgets.”
“That keeps their lives interesting, then,” Pop said.
“Does it ever,” I said.
This morning, I typed this e-mail:
“Dear Dad,
“Who ate the chalk? DIDI DID.
“Love, your palindrome-inventing daughter”
Here is what I got from my dad:
“Dear Lucy Rose,
“You are a brainiac and I love you.”
So I wrote:
“Dear Dad, I am a word person. And I love you back.”
This was supposed to be a great day because it's the labor holiday, which I used to think was for ladies who had babies. It actually is for people who work, which kids do a lot so we get the day off from school.
But it turned out to be one very bad day and now I am having a bad feeling and it's in my stomach and my brain. Here's why: My mom and I were doing spelling quiz practice and the phone rang and I got it because usually it's my dad. But it wasn't. It was a man and he said: “Is Lily there?”
I knew right off it wasn't Pop, or Uncle Mike or Mr. McBee who only calls when it's time for Jonique to come home or Mr. Melon who just about never calls on account of he's working every minute at his job for a congressman. Luckily for me, Madam taught me telephone manners because according to her you can't get through this life without them. So, in my most delightful voice, I said, “May I ask who this is calling her?”
And he said, “This is Ned Eastman.”
Who is one person I never heard of.
Unless he is that guy from work who drives her home because he doesn't mind.
Then my mom took the phone and said, “Lucy Rose, put on your pajamas and brush your teeth and we'll spell later.”
Which made me feel like she wanted me to leave the room.
I did go but I stayed on the other side of the swinging kitchen door so I could hear but right away my mom poked her head out and said, “I'll be off by the time you are in your PJs.”
Upstairs I got one of my sharp ideas and I picked up the phone in my mom's room. Then I heard Ned say, “Let's meet for coffee at 11 on Monday.”
My mom said, “Sounds great.”
Then she said, “Are you listening in, Lucy Rose?”
“No,” I said and I hung up fast.
I ran into my room and changed in a snap and brushed my teeth in a half snap and ran downstairs and stood 1 inch in front of her so she would have to get off which she did.
“Do you want to talk about this?” my mom said.
She has a love of talking about things. Especially feelings. Especially when they are mine.
“I do not,” I said.
“I do,” my mom said. “Eavesdropping is bad manners. It is not okay to go upstairs and listen on my bedroom phone. If I catch you doing that again I will be very disappointed.”
To me, disappointed is the worst punishment.
“Got it,” I said.
“Good,” she said. “Are you ready to spell?”
“Is Ned a date?” I asked her.
“Ned is a friend from work,” she said.
“I would say you have enough friends,” I told her.
“Lucy Rose, I know you know that Daddy and I will be officially divorced this month,” she said. “Is that what you're worried about?”
“You can be divorced,” I said. “But you CANNOT have a date.”
“Honey, when people get divorced they usually go out with other people,” she said, and she gave me a tight hug for a long time and then she said, “I hope that one day I will meet someone nice and I hope Daddy does too.”
“You are making me feel like I'm horrified,” I said.
And I left without spelling anything.
At recess, Jonique and I went to the little kid side of the playground for privacy so I could tell the terrible news. “A person named Ned called my mom.
And he's a man. And they are drinking coffee. I was listening in. My mom says he's her friend but I think he's a date. What if he wants to be her boyfriend? Or if he wants to marry her? If he marries her he will probably want to live with us. Then he'll think I'm his daughter, which I never, ever will be, no matter what he thinks in his Ned head,” I said and I was almost crying.
“Are you sure it's a date?” she said.
“Pretty sure,” I told her.
“Disgusting,” she said.
“That is the same exact way I am feeling,” I said. “Even though I don't want to think it about my mom.”
“Your mom is NOT disgusting,” Jonique said. “She is fabulinity. It's just that I'd hate to think of my parents on a date with somebody that wasn't one of them.”
“I do hate it,” I said.
“You should talk to Madam about it,” Jonique said.
I felt thankful for that good idea.
Jonique's excellent-O plan was a flop.
After school Madam and Gumbo took me out for a smoothie, which seemed like it was lucky on account of I could tell about Ned. But before I did, Madam said, “Your mom told me you eavesdropped on her phone call. I was so surprised.”
“How come?” I asked.
“Well, it's not respectful,” Madam said.
“Does everybody agree with that or do some people think it's okay?” I asked her.
“Almost everybody agrees,” she said. “But I have noticed that a lot of kids who are between 8 and 10 years old go through an eavesdropping phase.”
“I am between those years exactly,” I said. “I'm 9. I still have a year to go.”
“No you don't,” Madam said. “It's not respectful. Everyone is entitled to some privacy. Just think how annoyed you'd be if someone was eavesdropping on you and Jonique.”
By then we were at the smoothie store. “I utterly hope they have strawberry banana,” I said to make a subject change.
Yippee-yi-yo, cowgirl! I am the luckiest duck on Capitol Hill. Here's why: Madam and Pop have to go hear jazzy piano playing at the Kennedy Center on account of it's their anniversary of getting married. And my mom got called to work the overnight shift because they are having a news emergency. So, even though it's a school night, Mrs. McBee invited me for dinner and a sleepover. That is one combo I adore like anything. McBee food is divine and it was tonight because we had BBQ and greens plus macaroni and cheese plus cherry pie with a la mode. A la mode is my Word of the Day. It comes from France and means with ice cream on top. I told the McBees, “I even like my ice cream with a la mode.”
After we cleared the table, Jonique and I started dancing in the living room and when Aretha Franklin who is Mrs. McBee's dream diva started singing “R-E-S-P-E-C-T, Find Out What It Means to Me,” Mr. and Mrs. McBee danced too and if you ask me they could win a contest on TV and get $100. When we were danced out, Mrs. McBee gave me a softy pink towel so I could have a shower in their ultra-deluxe bathroom, which is so gorgeous it could be in a hotel, plus they have soap that's called gel and makes you smell like a Peppermint Pattie. After I was clean, Jonique and I lazed about on the fuzzy yellow rug in her room that is a credit to Mrs. McBee and her excellent style because she's the one who picked out the flower wallpaper and pajama hooks that look like butterflies. Then Jonique asked me, “Did you find out more about the date?”
“Nope,” I said. “Madam and my mom are against eavesdropping.”
“Did they say, I forbid you?' “ Jonique asked me.
“No. My mom said I can't listen in on her bedroom phone,” I said.
“That's bad,” Jonique said.
“But she didn't say anything about the kitchen phone or the one in the basement,” I said.
“That's good,” Jonique said. “What did Madam say?”
“That eavesdropping is not at all respectful,” I told her.
“NOT RESPECTFUL is different than HAVE TO STOP,” Jonique said.
“And she said how would I like it if somebody eavesdropped on us,” I said.
“I wouldn't care so much,” Jonique said.
“Me either,” I told her. “Unless it was right now.”
Pop and I were on a walk to Roland's Market to buy a New York Times because he has a devotion to doing cross words, and I asked him, “What do you think about eavesdropping?”
“I'm all for it,” Pop said. “When I'm on the Metro, I try to sit near people who are talking, just so I can listen.”
“Really?” I said.
“Sure. I hear all kinds of interesting things I never knew before. Last week I sat behind a lady who was cranky because her husband gave her a hedge clipper for her birthday.”
“Now you know wives don't like hedge clippers,” I said.
“I learned that many anniversaries ago,” Pop said. “But I enjoyed hearing about this other husband. I find eavesdropping helps me learn how people think and what they talk about and that helps me be a better writer. Also, it's fun.”
“This is information I have been needing to know,” I said.
“You should try it,” he said. “You're a natural writer.”
“I'm a natural eavesdropper, too,” I said. “Do you think it's fine if I practice on my mom?”
“No,” Pop said. “I'm sure it would be fascinating but there are 3 Rules for Happy Family Living. 1. Do not open anyone else's mail. 2. Do not snoop in a lady's purse. And 3. Don't eavesdrop on the people you live with or their friends.”
“I've never opened anybody's mail,” I said.
Pop said he was proud about that.
The greatest thing happened and that is that the water main broke and made a huge flood in the street that made school get out at 11 o'clock AM. Since my mom was off, she picked me up.
“Where are we going?” I asked her.
“You'll see,” she said. “Here's your Metro card.”
“I like to call it the TUBE,” I said.
“Okay,” she said. “Here's your TUBE card.”
“Hannah says that's what they call their subway in England,” I said. “Tube's the 2nd word in my vocabulary collection that's from a foreign land. I decided it counts because it's different than the American kind of tubes that come with toothpaste inside.”
“Jolly good,” my mom said. I don't know why.
We got off at Gallery Place and went up the escalator and under the fanciest arch with golden designs and Chinese writing. I could not believe there is something this gorgeous in Washington and I had never heard of it before. Don't ask me how I knew the writing was Chinese, I just did. I was right too because my mom said, “What do you think of Chinatown?”
“I think it smells delicious in the extreme,” I said.
“Me too,” she said. “Let's get Dim Sum.”
I had no idea what in this world Dim Sum was but we found it in a puny restaurant that had chopsticks and food on teacarts that they roll around and you can pick what you want. The first cart had nothing but sweet-looking buns. “They have pork inside,” the waiter said. “And they are good.”
“Excellent-O,” I said, so I would be polite.
I ate a bite and my mom said, “What's it like?”
“A little sweet,” I said. “And a little porky.”
My mom got Sticky Rice in Lotus Leaf that sounded P-U but wasn't. Then another waiter said, “Steamed Octopus Ball?”
I said, “NO, thank you,” before my mom could say, “Yes, please.” She is wild for new experiences and thinks I should have as many as she can find. I am one who agrees with that idea except when it's the experience of eating octopus.
I did say, “Yes, please,” to fried cakes that looked like Chanukah latkes but weren't. It was the first time I heard of taro root and also the first time I ate it.
Dessert was between Mango Pudding and Sesame Rice Dumplings. We played rock, paper, scissors and pudding won. When we were stuffed up to our necks, a waiter came to our table and counted our plates. That's how they know how much Dim Sum customers have to pay. There are 3 sizes of plates.
The things on the littlest plates are the cheapest. After we paid, we walked around the town holding hands and wearing out our eyeballs looking at Chinese things. One store had cooked ducks hanging in the window with their feet still on. Another one had red cloth shoes with golden dragons on the toes that are made of embroidery. We bought those gorgeous shoes for Jonique's birthday present and we got Mrs. Timony a cage for keeping crickets so she'll have luck. My mom got a jar of Tiger Balm in case anybody in our family gets a neck ache.
Then my mom said, “It's almost rush hour. We'd better shake a leg if we want seats on the Metro.”
I gave her the look of one eyebrow going up.
“I mean the TUBE,” my mom said.
“Thank you, my mum,” I said.
This is what I call a glory day.
Madam is fond of family walks on account of they get oxygen in our blood, which she says is good for our hearts and, according to my mom, also good for her thighs. I never knew that thighs need oxygen.
On our walk today my mom asked me, “Have things gotten better with Ashley?”
“Not so much,” I said. “Mostly she ignores me and Jonique and Melonhead and tries to get everyone else to like her and not like us.”
“That's annoying,” she said.
“Maybe she'll be kinder when she feels more secure,” Madam said because she is one who goes for the bright side of things.
“I doubt it,” I said.
“Me too,” Pop said. “I'm afraid Ashley will always be the bane of Lucy Rose's life.”
“What's a bane?” I asked him.
Pop laughed. “It means she's a big pain in your—”
“Elbow,” Madam said and I think she interrupted.
“She's my bane, all right,” I said. “A bane in my butt.”
My mom and Madam are not fans of that word but Pop and I could not stop laughing.
Good thing: Mrs. Timony calls her cricket cage a treasure.
Not a good thing: I got the idea of putting my ear on the kitchen door so I could hear Madam and my mom because I felt like I absolutely had to even though my whole family feels like I absolutely don't have to. But I leaned too hard and the door swung open and I tipped over and landed on my side and smashed my knee and my thumb plus my face turned red but that was from embarrassment.
My mom said, “Oh dear, are you okay?”
And Madam said, “Whenever your mom had a growth spurt, she'd bump into walls and trip over doorjambs until she got used to her new size.”
“I've probably been on a spurt myself,” I said.
And I rushed right out of that room.
When my dad called I told him about Jonique's dragon shoes and he told me that our dog named Ellie Mae that lives with him in Ann Arbor went to the Purr-feet Pet Parlor and he said, “When I went to get her, her hair was so short I didn't recognize her at first.”
“I would hate to not recognize her,” I said.
“It'll be grown out by the time you see her but I'll take a picture and e-mail it to you,” he told me.
“Good idea,” I said. “A person should know what her dog looks like.”
“She won't be the only one in the picture that has had a haircut,” he said. “Tell me what you think.”
All I do with my entire life these days is practice. First I do cello, which is fun. Then multiplying, which is not. I am fine at the 1 tables because who isn't? And I'm snappy at 2s and 5s and 10s. I'm okay at the low 3s and 4s but when they get high my nerves jangle and I can't remember what anything equals.
Even though Pop is against memorizing, he makes an exception for times tables. He says they are a must-learn.
I say they are P-U.
Our weekend homework was the creative kind and it was to write a poem about a bug. Here is mine:
A lady praying mantis is not polite.
When she sees a man mantis she eats his head in one bite.
When I saw Ellie Mae's photo I was shocked to pieces and had to e-mail to my dad: “Ellie Mae looks like she's cute but when you said you got your hair cut, I never in this world thought you meant your mustache hairs. But I am interested because in my whole life I had never seen that space under your nose.”
This is not eavesdropping because I did it with my eyes, which I believe is called eyedropping. I read my mom's list called To Do and it said: Buy yogurt.
Return library books. Paint front door red. Call Ned. Pinch dead blooms off mums.
Here is what I did: Erase Ned.
Mrs. Timony is a fan of fashion. Today she wore a necklace made out of tiny pencils that can really write. Our reading aide named Mrs. Washburn is not one for style because she mostly wears smocks. Also, she is not one bit cheerful and she has the kind of lips that automatically pinch themselves into wrinkles. Plus her vocabulary words are so easy that anybody who is not an absolute newborn infant knows them already. Plus the stories she likes people to read are dull in the extreme and never funny, which is the exact opposite of what I like in a book. The only pleasing thing about her is that she likes my poem. In front of the whole class she said, “It's very unique.”
“Thank you,” I said, and to be a big help, I told her, “By the way, it's impossible to be VERY unique.”
Mrs. Washburn looked at me and her lips got even pinchier and her eyes looked like they were curious, I think because she wanted me to explain. So I said, “VERY unique is like saying VERY ONE OF A KIND but either you ARE one of a kind or you ARE NOT one of kind and, according to my Pop, I am. That's because there is no one else like me in this world.”
It sounded like she said, “I'm thankful for that.”
“You're welcome,” I said. “And don't you worry about getting unique wrong. Grown-ups do it all the time.”
Hannah and Jonique came with me to my grandparents' and Madam gave us apples that are organic for our health but I pulled her ear down and whispered, “Do we have scones?”
“Only on Christmas morning,” Madam said. “Why?”
“For Hannah,” I said. “That's what they eat for snack in England only they call it having tea.”
“I have tea,” Madam said.
She made us some that's named Decaffeinated Green and put it in her silver teapot on the dining room table with teacups that have violets painted on them and napkins and cinnamon sticks for stirring and lemon chunks plus sugar with a spoon that's shaped like a shell and cake on a plate that's precious because Mrs. Greenberg brought it to Madam from Israel.
When Madam left to go upstairs, I ran after her and hugged her middle and said, “You saved my day.”
“I'm glad,” she said. “Sometimes you save mine.”
I did not know that before and when she said it, I felt joy.
After we drank our tea that only tastes good with 6 or more spoons of sugar in it, we put our cups in the kitchen sink. “You're lucky, Lucy Rose,” Hannah said. “At my house we just have Chips Ahoy and tea in mugs.”
I am feeling panic plus anxiety plus my stomach is swirling and not in a good way. Here's why: I was lying on the window seat in the living room, reading the comics, when my mom and Madam went in the kitchen. I did not want to be disappointing but then I thought, “What if they are talking about the Ned that I dread?” That made me feel like I had to listen through the crack of the door. When I did I heard Madam say: “I saw Lola and Leon McBee walking out of the real estate office this morning. I hope they're not going to move.”
“Oh! I hope not,” my mom said. “But I know Lola misses her sister in North Carolina.”
Then they were quiet like they were thinking to themselves until my mom said: “Lucy Rose would be devastated if they left Capitol Hill. Let's keep this a secret until we know for sure.”
Devastated is a new word for me but I automatically know what it means: feeling like your heart is broken.
Now I am upstairs in my red room, scrunched under my pink bedspread, not telling what I heard on account of I don't want to confess about eavesdropping and wondering if Jonique knows she might be moving and feeling nothing but misery.
This morning was so roasting that I wore shorts to school and my mom wore her pink shift dress to work and I hope that Ned does not like pink. This afternoon, it was raining like dogs and my cowgirl boots got sogged. Luckily, Madam came to pick Jonique and me up in her purple station wagon. Melonhead wouldn't come because he wanted to get soaking with Sam. Madam said he should suit himself and took us home to eat soup that she made herself from a chicken.
“Do you think you'll ever move?” I asked Jonique.
“Never in my life except for when I go to college,” she said.
I was quiet on account of I don't want her heart to feel devastation too.
We were lazing about on the lounging chairs on the McBees' back porch and eating Mrs. McBee's oatmeal cookies and talking about the greatest thing that happened today and Jonique said, “I want to be an orphan.”
Then we heard gasping and there was Mrs. McBee, holding cups of pink lemonade and looking like she was feeling distress.
“Not in real life, Mama,” Jonique told her.
“What other kind of life is there?” Mrs. McBee asked us.
“Stage life,” I said. “We are having the musical of Annie at school and try outs are in October. And I already know all the songs but I am going to practice singing ‘Tomorrow' every single minute of every single day until then.”
“What part do you want?” Mrs. McBee asked me.
“Annie, of course,” I said.
“Of course,” she said. “You're our Broadway baby.”
“I'm no baby,” I told her. “But I when I grow up I'm going to be a Broadway woman and be an actress for my job.”
“Who else is trying out to be Annie?” she asked me.
“I don't think anybody is but even if somebody else does a tryout, I'm pretty much sure I'll get picked,” I said.
“You are?” Mrs. McBee asked me.
“Yep,” I said. “Because: 1. I am in love with musicals. 2. I have red hair like Annie. And 3. It's the desire of my life.”
“I wouldn't like to be the one on the stage that everybody looks at,” Jonique said.
“I do like to be that one exactly,” I told her.
“I know,” Jonique said. “You'll be even better than the Annie in the movie.”
“And you'll be the greatest orphan,” I said.
I have nothing but Annie on my brain so there's no room for other stuff. That's good because I don't want to think about the McBees moving but bad for multiplication memorizing. Yesterday, when I asked Melonhead how many tables he knew by heart, he said, “Most. But some of the 8s are hard.”
“I would rather eat paste than do the 9s,” I said.
“Who wouldn't?” he said. “I've eaten plenty of paste. I'd definitely pick paste over times tables.”
“Paste is not an option,” Mrs. Timony said. She can really creep up on a person in those softy shoes of hers.
“I can't keep the answers in my head,” I told her.
“I'll tell you the secret,” she said.
“Excellent-O,” I said. “Tell me!”
“Practice, practice, practice,” she said.
That's not the best secret, if you ask me.
“They are a bane to me,” I told her.
“They are a bane to everybody until they learn them,” she said. “After that, they're just a handy thing to know.”
Today, when the phone rang, my mom answered upstairs, so I picked up in the kitchen and held my nose so they couldn't hear my breath but I could hear my mom say, “How are you?” in a friendly way that made me think it was Ned.
Instead, a lady said, “Dan's away on business, the washing machine is broken, the baby has a rash, and the school called because Harry spit on the playground, apparently on purpose and directly at someone, so I've had better days.”
All this tragedy made my mom laugh her head off, which I thought was rude in the extreme.
“Molly,” my mom said. “From one M.O.T.H. to another, how can I help?”
Then I figured out that Molly is Mrs. Mannix from the Moms on the Hill club.
“I'm off tomorrow,” my mom said. “If nothing else, I could teach Harry to spit discreetly.”
Mrs. Mannix started laughing and said, “Harry needs no help. He was born spitting. But could you pick him up from kindergarten tomorrow? I've got a doctor's appointment.”
“I'm happy to do it,” my mom said. “Are you taking Emma to the pediatrician for her rash?”
“No,” Mrs. Mannix said. “I'm going for myself. I just found out I'm going to have another baby!”
“Congratulations!” my mom said. “That's wonderful!”
I kept right on listening until they started talking about Mr. Mannix's lawyer job because, let me tell you, that is one tedious topic. Tedious is my Word of the Day. It means tiresome, according to Madam, who thinks the most tedious thing is income taxes. Pop is right. Eavesdropping is a good way to learn the Scoop du Jour. Also new words. I figured out that discreetly means long distance. So spitting discreetly must mean my mom can spit a long distance. That's one talent I never knew she had.
Ashley brought a double-Dutch jump rope to recess and since she's the rope owner, she got to pick the jumpers and she picked Marisol and Kathleen and Jonique and not me.
“Lucy Rose is a great jumper and turner,” Jonique said.
“That would be too many people,” Ashley said.
Jonique's the champion of the sport of double-Dutch, so even though my feelings were hurting, I said, “You go ahead.”
But Jonique said, “No thanks,” and walked away.
She is my truest, blue-est, unique Jonique.
After school I practiced singing “Tomorrow” for 4 hours or more and I would have kept going but my mom said I should give it a rest. She is probably worrying that I will wear out my throat.
At recess I was practicing my eavesdropping on Mrs. Washburn who was telling Mrs. Timony that she was missing Mr. Washburn because he is visiting his married sister in Cleveland who can't hold on to her money. And, since I know about missing far away people, I gave her a recommendation. “Mrs. Washburn,” I said, “you'll feel better if you talk to your husband discreetly.”
She gave me a look that anyone would say was as odd as blue toast. I don't know why. I talk to my dad long distance all the time and it always makes me feel better.
