4

INTRODUCING VIOLET DIAMOND’S KITTEN

The rain hit the street hard—thousands of bouncing liquid balls. And because I mostly used the umbrella to keep the backpack dry, by the time I made it home, I was sopping wet. My soaked feet were cold and my hand trembled as I turned the key in the lock. Luckily the house was toasty warm. I like toasty warm.

The house was quiet. I also like quiet. “Anybody home?” I asked.

“Up here!” my grandma called out. “Working on the computer.” My grandma works from our house during the day. “There are some snacks in the fridge!”

I laid the backpack on the floor and carefully lifted out the kitten. Thankfully, it was dry. “You okay?” I asked, and kissed its tiny head. “I love you,” I told it. “Do you love me, too?”

When it responded with a loud mew, I decided that meant yes. I gazed into its hazel eyes and stroked its furry head. I was definitely in love. “I’ll take good care of you,” I promised the kitten.

Quickly, I climbed the steps and sped to Gam’s office. “I found a cat,” I said, and proudly presented the loudmouthed kitten.

As usual, Gam was sitting at her desk, her reading glasses at the tip of her nose, her grayish blond hair hanging in her face. She glanced up, smiled, and stared at the kitty. “Cute,” she said. She started to get up from her desk, but when her business phone rang, she sat back down. “Get out of those wet things, V . . . Hello?”

“I will,” I told her, and headed back downstairs. My body shivered and I knew I should change into dry clothes, but the in-love part of me dashed to the kitchen, where I grabbed a bowl, poured in some milk, and scooted the kitten toward it. Patiently, I waited for it to do something, but it just stood still.

“Meow!” I supposed it wanted cat food.

“You have to understand . . . I never, ever get things I wish for. Plus I just wished for you two days ago. So I don’t have any cat food or a litter box or any of that stuff.”

I was thinking what am I doing, talking to it like it understands English, when the kitchen door swung open and Daisy burst inside, noisy and swirling, like a mini tornado. Daisy is tall and extremely pretty and, just like the flower she gets her name from, sunny and happy.

“It was so not supposed to rain today, was it?” she asked.

“Nope . . . but it did,” I replied.

Her long, wet blond hair, plastered to her head, looked dark, and her eyes were black underneath like a raccoon from runny mascara. She’s a high school junior and supposed to be saving for college, but every cent she makes from her part-time job is spent on makeup and clothes.

Daisy tripped over the bowl of milk, which spilled, and fell hard—right on her butt. Another thing about D is she’s one of the clumsiest people in the universe. Not even her yoga classes have helped.

“Ce que le diable!” Daisy said in French, then immediately translated into English the way she has a habit of doing. “What the heck!” Daisy is into all things French. She’s even considering going to the Sorbonne after graduation. Even her boyfriend is part French.

But even wet and clumsy, Daisy was still what her boyfriend, Wyatt, called her the other day—breathtaking—which I found out means “astonishingly beautiful.”

Will I ever be breathtaking?

I reached out my hand and helped her up off the floor. “You okay, D?” I asked.

Her eyes landed on the bowl of milk. “Explain, please.”

I grinned and pointed at the kitten, which had run to a corner of the room. “I got a wish, finally.”

“Le chat mignon . . . cute cat, V!” She picked up the kitten, which was only a little bigger than the palm of her hand, and kissed its head. “What’s its name?”

“I don’t know. It’s a stray. I found it on the way home from school.”

My sister wrapped a wet arm around me and we huddled together, staring at the small spotted cat. “I got a wish, finally,” I repeated.

Daisy and I may not look alike, but we are the same in some ways and different in others. Both of our fathers were medical doctors, but her father died of cancer when she was two years old and my father died in a car wreck two months before I was born, so neither of us has a dad. But my father adopted Daisy when he and my mom got married, so at least we have the same last name. We also both like traveling. One way we’re not the same is I like quiet—she likes loud. But the main difference is Daisy’s father was white and my father was African American. Mom, who calls her family a European conglomeration, has peachy skin and naturally blond hair, just like Daisy. So, my sister, Daisy, is white, but I am brown haired, brown eyed, brown skinned, biracial.

In some bigger cities, like Seattle, there are lots of biracial kids. But Moon Lake is mostly white. And there are only two other biracial kids in my school, a girl and her younger brother whose dad is black and mom is white. They look just alike—light skinned with green eyes and light brown hair. Lucky for them, they have each other. As for me, I sometimes feel like a single fallen brown leaf atop a blanket of fresh snow. Alone.

When some people meet my mom and me for the first time, they get that funny question-mark look in their eyes. Then their inner lightbulb goes on and I can tell that they’ve figured out that I’m biracial. Even when I’m with my mom’s parents, Poppy and Gam, people seem to understand. But for some reason, when Daisy’s along and introduced as my sister, it causes confusion. Poppy usually always smiles at the person and gives them the peace sign, but Mom or Gam usually always takes my hand, as if to say I belong to them, which I do. And even though I know they love me, at moments when people stare like that, I still wish I could vanish.

Stop thinking about things you can’t change, Violet.

The house was getting extremely toasty warm again and the kitty yawned.

“Boy or girl cat?” D asked.

I shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Did you tell Mom yet?”

“I was going to surprise her,” I said, but the truth was I hadn’t even thought about it.

“Well, make sure it doesn’t have fleas or any animal diseases,” she said as she headed to her room. “And you should take off those wet clothes and clean up that milk,” she commanded. Like most older sisters, Daisy is the boss.

“After I do, will you take me to the pet store? I have my own money,” I asked.

“It’s raining,” she replied.

“So?”

She had that look on her face that said she really didn’t want to, but for some reason, maybe because I’d finally gotten a wish, she said, “Okay, in a little while.”

I cleaned up the mess and was heading to my cave with the kitten when the back door opened again. This time it was Poppy, my grandpa.

Poppy and Gam live close by and they’re at our house or we’re at theirs so much, it’s sort of like we all live together. Either Gam or Poppy are always here when I get home from school because Mom has funny hours at the hospital where she works in the NICU—Neonatal Intensive Care Unit—as a doctor who takes care of teeny-tiny just-born babies.

Poppy is taller than six feet with skin that’s starting to get wrinkly, especially around his eyes when he smiles. He wears his gray hair long and sometimes in a ponytail.

“Hi, Poppy.”

Poppy kissed me on the forehead and asked, “How’s my girl?”

I was about to tell him about the cat when he started fussing about his umbrella. He couldn’t get it to close. “I swear they make umbrellas to break! They could make umbrellas to last a lifetime if they wanted! And this idiotic rain interrupted my golf game!”

Patiently, I waited for him to notice the kitten I was holding.

Finally, he did. “Whose cat?”

“Mine. Mom said I could have one this morning. And guess what—today I found one.”

“Serendipity,” Poppy proclaimed as he patted the kitten’s head.

Another new word to add to my book. That was two in just one day. But before I could ask what it meant, Poppy gave me the answer. “Means ‘getting what you want by what seems like chance’ . . . What’s its name?”

“I didn’t give it one yet. It’s a stray. Don’t know if it’s a boy or girl. I don’t have any food or a bed for it or anything. But Daisy promised to take me to the pet store in a little while.”

Poppy touched my shoulder. My clothes were still wet. He didn’t have to say a word. The look he gave me told me I needed to get out of wet clothes and into dry ones in a hurry. “I know,” I said. “Put on dry clothes.”

I gave him a peck on the cheek and handed him the kitten. “Thanks,” I told him, and rushed to my room.

On my way, I passed D’s door and knocked twice. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

“Yeah, yeah!” she yelled.

In my cave, I changed my clothes fast, grabbed my word book, and wrote down penchant and serendipity. The definitions would have to wait.

“Serendipity,” I said out loud, and smiled.

I hope I get some more of it.