Tea parties are cruel and unusual punishment. But I’m stuck. Mom taped a giant note to the refrigerator that I couldn’t miss: “I’ll be back at noon. Take out trash and start some laundry. Tea party outside!”
Smart lady, my mom.
The trash and laundry can wait. I want to get this party over with. Maybe it will keep my mind off Trickster.
I move the yellow plastic picnic table to the front lawn and bring a folding chair for me. Ashley doesn’t really want tea, so I pour lemonade into one of her plastic teapots. I can’t find any teacups. They’re probably buried in the sandbox. Paper cups will do. Last but not least, I carry the entire cookie jar outside and bring a roll of paper towels, just in case.
All right, it’s party time.
“Ashley!” I yell.
My sister peers out the screen door, then opens it and studies the setup from the front porch. She’s wearing her Cinderella costume from last Halloween over a pair of Tweety slippers, and she has a dishcloth on her head for a veil.
“You’re not dressed right,” she says with a pout.
“What do you mean?” I ask, checking my Philadelphia Flyers jersey for stains. “What’s wrong with this?”
“I want you to be a clown,” she says. “Like you were at my birthday party.”
“No way, Ash. You didn’t say a circus. You said a tea party. Look!” I pour lemonade into one of the cups and pick it up with my pinky finger sticking out. “I made pretend tea.” I drink with my nose all scrunched up. I guess that’s what you do at a tea party.
Ashley’s lower lip sticks out farther, and she frowns. Uh-oh. Better do something quick or she’s going to blow.
“OK, I’ll be a clown. Give me a second.”
“And I don’t want pretend tea,” she commands. “I want punch.”
“Yes, your majesty,” I mutter, trotting obediently back into the kitchen.
I pour the punch mix into a pitcher, set it in the sink, and turn on the water … Trickster has been fed and watered by now. I wonder if he’s well enough to walk a bit. Is the swelling down? What if his leg got worse last night?
I have to stop thinking about him. Get a grip. It’s time to be a clown.
The clown costume is in the bottom of the toy chest in the family room. I stick on the nose and wig, and take off my sneakers so I can put on the big floppy shoes. There used to be a matching shirt and pants, but they’ve disappeared, thank heavens. I hope Mom appreciates this at allowance time.
“David,” Ashley calls from the front’ yard. “Hurry up!”
“Ta-da!” I shout, leaping onto the front porch.
Ashley looks skeptical. “Where are Baby Sally and Tigger and Oscar?”
“We’re not having a tea party with your stuffed animals, Ash,” I say. “It’s just you and me and a ton of cookies—chocolate chip!”
“I want my friends,” she demands, with her hands on her princess hips.
“I’m not going to eat cookies with a bunch of stuffed animals,” I say.
“I’ll tell Mom.”
Ooh. She’s getting tough.
Laughter erupts across the street. Maggie, Zoe, Brenna, and Sunita are standing at the end of the clinic driveway, pointing their fingers and laughing like this is the funniest thing they ever saw.
“Very funny,” I say loudly. “Laugh it up, go ahead. I’m just trying to be nice to my sister.”
They cross the street for a closer look.
“That hair is so you, David,” Zoe says.
“I like the shoes,” Brenna says, her shoulders shaking.
My face feels as red as this stupid wig.
“Would you like some tea?” Ashley asks her new guests in a dignified tone.
“I’d love some,” Sunita says as she kneels in the grass next to the picnic table. Ashley pours Sunita a tiny cup of lemonade and hands it to her. “Thank you very much,” Sunita says politely.
“Don’t encourage her,” I say. I explain why I ended up doing this dumb party. “I just want to get this over with as soon as possible.”
“Are you coming with us to the stables?” Brenna asks.
“When?”
Maggie takes another cookie out of the jar. “Mr. Quinn will be here to pick us up any minute now. I called you this morning and left a message. Didn’t your mom tell you?”
“No,” I say slowly. I bet she did that on purpose.
“Hey, where’s the entertainment at this party?” Brenna asks. “You know how to juggle. I’ve seen you do it in the cafeteria at school.”
“All right. One juggling clown, coming up.” I grab a handful of cookies from the jar. I toss three, then four in the air, moving my hands quickly to keep them all going.
Ashley and our guests applaud. I toss the cookies high and catch one in my mouth. The others drop to the ground.
“Thank you, thank you,” I say, bowing deeply.
A horn beeps as a blue pickup pulls into the driveway. It’s Mr. Quinn.
“You kids ready?” he calls. The girls scramble to their feet and pile into the truck.
I should say something—anything—to Mr. Quinn. “How’s Trickster?” I ask.
“Improving. A bit.” Mr. Quinn pushes up the brim of his baseball cap to get a better look at me standing here in my red wig, fake nose, and floppy shoes.
“Can I watch a video?” Ashley asks, tugging on my jeans.
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Seen your dad recently?” Mr. Quinn asks as he watches Ashley run into the house.
“Not for a while,” I say. “He travels a lot. For his job. His new job.”
“Hmmm. You usually wear that getup?”
“No, it’s for Ash. I’m baby-sitting. Pretty lame, huh?”
“Not really,” Mr. Quinn says. “It’s good that you help your mom. I bet she counts on you a lot.”
“Yeah, I guess she does.” My cheeks feel like they’re going to burst into flames.
Ashley opens the front door and screams at the top of her lungs, “The kitchen has a flood, David! You left the water on!”
“Uh … got to go, Mr. Quinn.” Why do I always look like such a loser in front of him?
Mr. Quinn looks like he might say something, but he keeps his mouth shut. Shaking his head, he turns the key in the ignition and drives away.
He thinks I’m a complete idiot.
The kitchen is mopped dry by the time Mom comes home. I’m trying to recover from all the work by eating the cookies left over from the tea party. Mom gets out of the car and joins me at the picnic table on the front lawn.
“You look so cute!” she squeals. “But where’s the guest of honor?”
“Ashley went to Jackie’s house. She dumped me. Want some lemonade?”
Mom shakes her head. “No, thanks. There’s some punch in the refrigerator.”
Great. If I had known that earlier, the kitchen wouldn’t have turned into a swimming pool. It took all the towels we own to clean up the mess.
“I washed the towels,” I say. “I’ll get the rest of the laundry going when they’re done.”
“It looks like you did a great job,” she says enthusiastically. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get home earlier. Do you want me to drive you to Quinn’s?”
“Yes—I mean, no,” I say. I want to visit Trickster, but I can’t get the disappointed look on Mr. Quinn’s face yesterday out of my mind. “Never mind.”
“Why not?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not going,” I say.
“Doesn’t matter? Horses don’t matter to you? Since when?”
Here we go, twenty questions.
“I saw Mr. Quinn a little while ago. He thinks I’m a goofball.”
“No, he doesn’t, David. He let you come back and help him again.”
I shake my bangs so they hang in front of my face. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Mom reaches for a cookie. “Something is up. I know it.”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it. Any of it. I’m going to the clinic.”