The Thing At The Edge of Blundertown: A Young Adult Novel

I FINALLY MET THE TOOTH FAIRY IN A DREAM. It was after my fourth lost tooth, a proud, vacant window in my grand smile. But I was a bit vexed. “Why didn’t you ever write back?” I demanded.

“Um,” she began. I studied her beauty, the smooth ebony contours of her face, the sparkly jewels woven through her hair. But the blank stare told me she had no response.

“Hey,” it dawned on me, “you’re not real, are you?”

“Busted,” she replied with a wry smile.

I found myself laughing, curiously satisfied. It all made sense now.

Dear Family,

Thank you for your letter(s) and / or gift(s).

I am doing very well. I enjoy two excellent meals a day, plus treats. We are bathed and groomed regularly and spend much of the day playing with other dogs in the yard. I’ve made a lot of new friends here.

See you soon. Woof, woof!

From your dog

Her mother held the card, her eyes teary with humor. “Isn’t that just the cutest thing?” Rae looked at her, inquiring. “That Daffy County actually sends out these little postcards. It’s adorable!”

To Rae, it had felt for a month and a half as if she were suffocating in a prickly wool sweater two sizes too small, tugging and scratching and reminding. As she looked at her parents’ reassuring faces and the printed card, the fabric transformed into silk, draping lightly over her shoulders in soothing layers. Penelope was alright, after all. And yes, she had received her letters and gifts and everything. No more of Dad’s teasing, “Our Gloomy Rae of Sunshine.” Things were looking up.

“Absolutely adorable!” her mother said again. “They’ve thought of everything.”

What’s more, after all those years the time finally came: Angie invited her to an opera starring her mother. Her timing was odd; they were hardly friends anymore, let alone best friends. They’d been estranged ever since Angie sabotaged the club and dove into her new friendship with Ginnie Harper. The two of them walked armband-in-armband around school—how nauseating—with Cierra and Megan always a step behind them. Rae swapped seats on the bus and sat with a girl named Monique. She learned that there was absolutely nothing wrong with Monique.

The theater invitation was a lame peace offering—too little, too late. But let’s face it: Rae had always wanted to see for herself “the magic of the opera.”

The performance was several hours away. They had excellent seats in the third row. She wore one of her only dresses, boring navy blue with a white collar. Angelica’s was a full-skirted rose taffeta with a wide bow in the back and a matching ribbon in her curled hair. How typical. Her father, suit and bow tie, was carrying a huge bundle of red roses on his lap. The lights went out, and hushes hushed the audience.

It was one of the longest, most boring experiences she had ever sat through. She knew opera was singing, of course, but not that it was nothing but singing. There was no story to follow, no dialogue, and even if there had been, it was all in Italian. The voices were annoyingly loud and frilly, as if racing up and down ladders. No sooner would a voice reach the top than it would trill its way down to the bottom again. Angie’s mother was on stage often—first with one man, then another, back and forth, and they seemed upset much of the time.

She glanced at Angie out of the corner of her eye, at the perfect curve of her spine, in rapt attention like her father. Rae day-dreamed through most of it. She focused on Jackson’s clues thus far: G, E, I. Then there was the as-of-yet unsolved Clue # 3 and the most recent, entirely baffling Clue # 5:

She’d gotten nowhere with these and, frankly, she was beginning to lose interest. The clues were too hard. Jack was too smart, and she wasn’t, and so much had happened since the game’s innocent beginnings. Still, his game was a welcome distraction from the pain of missing Penelope. As the musicalities carried on, she found herself pondering Clue # 3 for the hundredth time. “A lady’s fine porch display / for many years and a day / needs neither sunshine nor water / whether cold or much hotter / these blossoms are here to stay.”

What kind of blossoms don’t need water or sun? Surprisingly, the answer jumped out at her. Fake ones, of course! The basket of purple flowers on Doc Goodman’s porch—they’d been there forever, long before his wife died. Violet’s violets, duh! The plastic bouquet had been there when Raelyn bicycled to his house way back when, only to learn she was too late. G,E,I, and now a V. She played with combinations, V,I,G,E; V,I,E,G; V,E,I,G. Disjointed images floated up and down the ladder, mingling with the clues and the operatic voices: E. . . her English homework due tomorrow. . . . her Igloo project made from sugar cubes. G. . . Dad’s famous grape jelly pancakes. Jack’s Viola bow that Penelope ate once. Penelope. . .the postcard and her parents’ mega smiles: See you soon, woof, woof!

Her wanderings abruptly stopped. Did you miss that? What did it mean, See you soon? There was no mention in the postcard of a release date. There still were no visiting hours, yet six weeks had passed.

The theater went ice-cold. The postcard was a sham! The stage became a blur of color, and the voices scattered.

Suddenly, the place was hit by thunder. “Bravo! Bravo!” Angie was standing and shouting, her curls bouncing. The entire house was on its feet: “Bravo!” Then the endless curtain calls: dramatic curtsies, bows, and blinding color. Rae was lost in an eruption of deafening cheers, clapping, and whistling.

“So what did you think of my mom?” Angie asked, breathless.

“She was really good.” After a pause, she asked, “Did she die?”

“Of course she dies! Why else would she sink to the floor like that in the end?” She grabbed Rae’s arm, laughing. “Come on, Gigi. Let’s go see her back stage!” She acted as if they’d never stopped being friends. As VIPs, they were escorted down steps and through a hall where the star, Gloria Quinn, met them. Mr. Quinn handed the roses to Angie, who in turn gave them to her mother. This must be the way they did it. “Bravissimo, Mom!” Angie was beaming. Her mother was a fright close-up. She had an outrageous amount of make up on (particularly around the eyes), which made her look freakish.

Rae dreaded ever being asked to the opera again, but the very next weekend, she was: another skimpy olive branch from her former best friend. She’d have to work a little harder than that. Apparently, Angie was offering her another crack at the storyline, since she’d clearly missed it. Rae sought advice during a visit with Jack—not about the dubious friendship (no one seemed to notice), or the lack of visiting hours with Penelope (no awareness there either), but about La Traviata.

“I don’t blame you. Yech!” her brother cackled.

“Opera isn’t for everyone,” Dad agreed. “You could always decline.”

“I’ll tell you what!” Mom had a great idea. “You can tell Angie that you have other plans—and it will be true.” She raised her eyebrows with a mischievous smile. “You and I can go shopping that day. How’s that?” Peck, peck, give the young one a worm.