10

MONDAY MORNING, MOM WAVES A PIECE OF PAPER to get my attention. It’s one of her lists. She loves lists.

“Got any ideas for stuff Grampa might need? I’m going to pick up a few things, and then we can visit him together this afternoon.”

“What about his marble collection or the record player and his records?” I ask. Mom nods but I notice she doesn’t add them to her list.

“So, listen,” she says. “I was down over my second-place win, but that red satin ribbon gave me an idea. What about a red bandanna-print tablecloth? The theme at the Expo this year is Classic Americana, so I’ve been thinking country all along, but now I’m leaning toward a more farm-to-table inspiration. Keep it simple. What do you think?”

I think I don’t know what she’s talking about, but I mumble, “Mm-hmm,” and shove the last bite of toast in my mouth. She’s forgotten all about Grampa and her list. How can she go on and on about her tables with his whole life falling apart right in front of her?

Mom sighs. “I know I might not make it in, and it’s over a month away, but if I prepare for the best, the best just might come my way.”

I back toward the door and try to smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

Mom waves the paper again, this time as a goodbye.

The first day I was back at school after Grampa’s stroke, Ashley gave me a hug and said she was sorry and hoped Grampa was okay. Even Farrah said she was sorry, though she never even met Grampa and knows negative one thousand about the situation. But now they’re back to pretty much ignoring me and I’m pretending not to notice.

I’m a little late this morning, and by the time I get there, everyone else is already on the bus. I climb the steps and look down the aisle. Farrah is sitting in the fourth row on the left side by the window. My seat.

Ashley glances up at me from her normal spot. I sit in the fourth row on the right, aisle side, and it feels weird, like I’m wearing my jeans backward.

I look at Ashley, and she looks at me. Then I notice that she and Farrah have on makeup. First the matching outfits and now this. Suddenly, it feels like I’m wearing my jeans backward and they just shrunk three sizes.

“Did your mom have a competition this weekend?” she asks.

“What kind of competition, like a beauty pageant for moms,” Farrah says, and giggles. How does she know my mom used to be a beauty queen? Ashley won’t meet my eye.

I ignore Farrah and ask, “What’s on your face?”

“Blush, eye shadow, eyeliner, and mascara. Farrah showed me how to do it this weekend. Then we watched some YouTube tutorials. The eyeliner was sort of tricky. You like it?” They have the exact same shade smeared across their eyelids.

Even though I know I need to fix our friendship, my jealous feelings sneak out. “Not really. Your eyelashes kind of look like spider legs.” I actually think she looks good, sort of like a lemur, but a pretty lemur.

Farrah laughs. “You did get it on a little thick, Ash,” she says.

Ash? Ashley hates that nickname. And I hate that Farrah agreed with me, but I can’t take it back.

Ashley’s neck flushes with red splotches the way it does when she’s upset. I’m guessing she’s not upset about the nickname. More than anything I want to tell Farrah to get out of my seat. If I was sitting next to Ashley I could apologize, but the aisle between us feels too wide to say anything over. So I just stare straight ahead and think of all the puns I want to say but can’t.

Sorry I lashed out.

I owe you an eyeballogy.

But it’s not my fault your mascara is mascary.

The Ashley from this summer would shake her head at my bad jokes, then she’d bump my shoulder with hers, and we’d laugh together.

McKenna Higginbotham sits in front of me. She turns around and smiles. “Hey, Mabel.” I make myself smile back. We’ve never been friends really, but in second grade she did an experiment with two balloons, proving that air has mass. And I’ve always loved her last name. She has five different-colored hairbands, and her ponytail swings and bounces as the bus takes off.

Jasper gets on at Bolivar Street and waves as soon as he meets my eye. He high-fives McKenna, sits by her, then turns around to talk to me. “I’m in science club with McKenna. Meets every Wednesday after school.” He glances over toward my old seat. “You could join if you want. It’s something to do.”

“Maybe,” I say. It feels good to have him include me, but once we take off, some of the places Grampa and I go together flash by. Trying to push down thoughts of him seems to make them stronger. I look over at Ashley and she turns her back to me. Jasper and McKenna talk about the upcoming science fair. By the time the school is in view, I already wish the day were over.

So far, I haven’t managed to fix a single thing, not Grampa’s situation and not my friendship with Ashley. I’ve got a whole wagon full of baby stuff sure not to make me much cash, if I can resell it at all. It’ll take time to raise money for Grampa’s expenses, but Ashley seems to like me less and less by the minute. Treasure hunting takes patience and perseverance; maybe friendships do too?

When we get to class, Ashley slams her notebook on her desk. I get mine out too, the sorry I need to say about her makeup still stuck in my mouth. Suddenly all my feelings about Grampa and Ashley are mixing up together. I clench my pencil and try Mom’s strategy and remember I’m grateful that Grampa will be okay.

Mrs. Kirkpatrick lets everyone settle and says, “Over these next few weeks we’ll be studying energy, forces, and motion. To celebrate all we’ve learned we’ll do a fun project as an end-of-unit assessment rather than a test.”

Some kids cheer. One boy even stands and does a little dance.

Mrs. Kirkpatrick starts up the SMART Board and shows us a drawing of what looks like a comic strip—a man with a bushy mustache is eating soup with a contraption on his head, his spoon activating a lever that throws a cracker to a bird, who somehow fills a bucket, tripping an alarm that fires a rocket, setting in motion a windshield wiper holding a napkin to wipe the man’s mustache. It’s ridiculous and hilarious, like an illustration of a really bad joke; Grampa would love it.

“Does anyone know what this is?” Mrs. Kirkpatrick asks.

Behind me McKenna is practically hopping in her seat until Mrs. Kirkpatrick calls on her. “It’s a Rube Goldberg machine, a machine built to perform a simple task in an overly complicated way.”

“That’s right. So, you’ll be designing your own chain-reaction machine using two of the simple machines that we’ll study over the course of the unit, and at least three energy transfers. We’ll do most of the planning in class, but you’ll need to bring in your items to build a mock-up with your partner and prepare for your in-class presentation. Turn to someone next to you, and now you’re a team of two.”

Ashley stares straight ahead. So, I turn around to the desk behind me and say, “Hey, McKenna, would you want to team up with me?”

If McKenna’s surprised, she doesn’t show it. “Sure. I’ve got a lot of ideas I’d like to run by you.”

The shock on Ashley’s face makes me almost regret not asking her. It would’ve been a way to spend time together, but while I sit there and listen to McKenna, I remember the details. I remember the Shop-n-Save, how Ashley sat on the bus, sat right beside me and didn’t say a word. I remember how she shifted in her seat and wouldn’t meet my eye. I remember that day in the parking lot of the Tuesday Thrift, when David called Grampa the Junkman, and she pretended not to recognize me.

I look over at her, and she glares at me. I glare right back. Her face shifts from angry to confused. The fact that she has no idea what she’s done and it’s impossible to explain makes me even angrier.