13 Gifts (14 page)

“I don’t think she knows where they are.”

“Oh, it’s a lady?” he asks.

I nod, purposefully not glancing at the others in case I shouldn’t have given that much away.

But David is persistent. “Why does she want this stuff in the first place?”

“I guess for whatever collectors collect things for. Maybe to resell it?”

“Or maybe to put on display somewhere,” Leo suggests. “Like in a museum.”

David looks at the cane in his hand. “I’m not sure this is museum-worthy. And that basket looks old, but not, like, old enough to be on display somewhere.”

I know Leo is just trying to get David off track so he doesn’t think of Angelina’s store, but I don’t blame David for being confused.

Leo jumps up. “I know what we can do! We can put up a sign in the community center, on that big bulletin board. Everyone reads that thing when they come and go. Or at least the grown-ups do. We can list all the items and ask people to contact us if they own one of them.”

Amanda writes
That’s a great idea
on her blackboard.

David stops pacing. “And we can post it on the Willow Falls website! Everyone checks that at least once a day.”

“Definitely!” Rory says.

“Um, don’t take this the wrong way,” I say, “but your town has a website that people actually look at?”

They laugh. Amanda says, “Every day, one of the businesses or restaurants in town gives something away to the people who logged on that day. It also lists town activities, things like that. We don’t have a town paper anymore — saving the trees and all — so that’s where you go to find things out.”

“But wait,” Leo says. “What if posting the list jacks up the prices? Like when Tara asked for the other stuff, she had the element of surprise on her side. But if people see ahead of time that we want it, maybe they’ll ask a lot for it.”

Good point,
Amanda writes.
But what other choice do we have?

Amanda and Leo’s concerned faces tell me something I should have figured out earlier — they’re really worried about what might happen if I don’t get all these items in to Angelina on time. I’m worried, too, of course, and now I’m even
more
worried. Could they know something
I
don’t? Are there bigger consequences that I haven’t suspected?

“Amanda’s right,” I say. “We’re just going to have to take that chance. At least we’ll know where things are, and that’s the hardest part, right?”

No one answers for a minute. “Just promise me,” Leo says with mock sincerity, “no matter what people want us to do, that you’ll never make me wear shorts that tight again. I think I’m traumatized. Physically, and emotionally.”

“I promise. And whatever happens, whether we get all the stuff or not, I really owe you guys one.” I’m pretty sure this is a basic rule of friendship.

“Oh, we already have plans for how you’ll repay us,” Rory says. “That’s why we’re helping you.”

The flicker of panic her words inspire must show on my face because Rory quickly says, “I’m just kidding, silly!”

I smile weakly. I’ll figure this stuff out sooner or later. Let’s hope it’s sooner.

David lifts the cane above his head like a leader trying to convince a crowd to follow him into battle. In a deep voice he declares, “We will obtain everything on Tara’s list. And let us hope we will not have to do anything embarrassing, degrading, or illegal along the way. Onward and upward!”

“Onward!” Leo says, lifting his fist in the air in solidarity.

“And upward!” the rest of us shout.

Outside the family room’s large window, a branch creaks, leaves rustle, and the unmistakable
kreeee, kreeee
of two hawks in love fill the room. Only this time it sounds like they’re laughing.

Like they’re laughing at
us.

Chapter Fifteen

 

By the time I let myself into the house, it’s almost
nine o’clock. I don’t think I’ve ever been out this late alone. I hear Aunt Bethany in the kitchen on the phone, so I duck my head in to let her know I’m back. She waves for me to come in while she finishes up her call. I’m glad I stashed the cane and basket in the shed with the bike. It would be very hard to explain why I have them. I’m going to have to come up with a better hiding place than that, but for now it’ll have to do.

Aunt Bethany hangs up the phone and opens her arms. “Tara!” she says, giving me a big hug. I have to admit, it’s kind of nice. For a few seconds it allows me to forget the events of the day. “Did you have fun with Rory and her friends?” she asks.

“They’re all really nice. Thank you for inviting them over yesterday.”

She smiles. “That was your cousin’s idea.”

“It was?”

She nods.

I haven’t seen Emily since that morning. I hope she doesn’t think I’m avoiding her. I wonder if I should have invited her along for the pancakes. But if I had, she’d just be dragged into
this whole mess, and having her a part of it is just too close to home. I remember all the clothes on my bed. “Oh, I meant to thank you for the clothes; you didn’t have to do that.”

“I hope they fit.”

“I think they will.” Although I’m kind of hoping that they won’t. After wearing yellow and orange all day, I’m feeling especially fond of my drab browns and blacks.

She gestures for me to sit at the table. “I’ve been feeling guilty all day,” she says. “There’s something I didn’t tell you.”

I stiffen, unable to imagine what I’m about to hear. Whatever it is, it can’t possibly compare with all the things I haven’t told
her.

“That e-mail from your teacher? Well, I read it. I didn’t mean to, but your mother told me the school would be sending me your homework assignments, so I figured it was your first assignment.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her, relieved that it was something so minor in the scheme of things. “I don’t mind. I know Mom told you what happened with the principal and everything.”

“Okay, good. I just want you to know that respecting each other’s privacy is big in our family.”

Of course I’m the one who feels guilty now, for keeping so much from her when she’s being so nice to me. And snooping around the rooms upstairs is pretty much the opposite of respecting their privacy. Guilt isn’t an emotion I have much practice with. I’ve gotta say, I’m not a fan. I can’t even look her in the eye, so I face the desk and ask, “Can I use the computer to write my teacher back? I didn’t get a chance yet.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, are you going to take her up on her offer to write the essay?”

I nod, forcing myself to face her again.

She smiles. “I thought you might. Be sure to tell them the cabins are drafty and the juice is watered-down.”

I laugh, feeling the knot of guilt in my stomach begin to unravel. My aunt is pretty cool.

She leaves me alone to write back. After I accept my teachers’ offer, I type in the address for the Willow Falls website. There, on the home page, is my list with the heading
Any of this stuff sound familiar? Taking up room in your house or business? If so, we’d love to talk to you.
David even created a new e-mail address so no one would recognize his regular one. We’d gone back and forth on the wording. David thought writing “love” sounded too mushy, but Rory insisted it sounded friendlier than “we want to talk to you,” which was David’s initial idea.

It feels weird to have the list be so public like this. I have a flash of regret. What if Angelina gets mad? Is this cheating somehow? She said it didn’t matter how I got the items (other than stealing them), so, hopefully, it’s okay. Well, it’s got to be okay because it’s already up on the Internet. And in the morning, Leo will be posting it at the community center. And then we wait.

I’m halfway up the stairs when my phone beeps. I’m so surprised at the noise that I almost don’t recognize it as the sound of a text arriving. My first text from someone other than my parents! At least, I assume it’s not from Madagascar.

One name is flashing on the short list of contacts Amanda programmed in.
Bee Boy.
I smile. To Amanda, it seems, David
will always be Bee Boy. I click on his name, nervous and excited to see what he has to say.

We got a response already!!! Call me!

Call him? I’m supposed to call a boy? Late at night? I thought texting was invented so people didn’t actually have to talk to each other.

Emily’s door is closed, but some shuffling sounds tell me she’s not sleeping yet. I duck across the hall into the bathroom and close the door. Drat that Angelina for making me “be in the game,” as she put it! I take a deep breath and click on his number.

He doesn’t even ask who it is, just jumps right in. “Bucky Whitehead has the violin! Can you believe it?”

It takes me a second, then I say, “You mean that guy from the community center? The one who bought the first box of cookies?”

“That’s him!”

“Wow! Even the second-oldest person in town goes online! My grandparents can’t even find the power button!”

“Hey, when there’s a chance to win a free spoon rest from the Creative Kids Pottery Studio, people can’t pass that up!”

“Was that today’s prize?”

“Nope. Today was a free haircut. My English teacher won it. Too bad he’s totally bald!”

“You’re making that up.”

“Maybe. Anyway, I couldn’t believe it when I got Bucky’s e-mail. He says he can meet at the community center in the
morning. What should I tell him? Should we ask him to wait till the afternoon, when school’s over?”

“No, don’t do that. I’ll go by myself.”

“Sure?”

“Yup.”

“Okay.”

And with that, we seem to have run out of things to say. I’m starting to feel weird about talking to him alone, anyway. Like, what if he and Rory
are
a couple? Not that this conversation is in the least bit romantic, but from what I’ve overheard at school, you don’t talk on the phone with another girl’s boyfriend.

“Well, I’ve got some homework,” he says, much to my relief, “so just text me after and let me know how it went, okay?”

“Okay.”

And that’s it. My first phone call with a boy and it wasn’t even too painful.

I still hear shuffling in Emily’s room. I knock, not wanting to surprise her. She doesn’t answer. I knock again, but still no response. So I slowly turn the knob and push the door open.

At first I think she’s practicing her fencing moves, but then I notice the wireless headphones on her ears, the laptop on her desk playing
High School Musical,
and the fact that she’s leaping and twisting in a way that I’m pretty sure you can’t do with a sword in your hand. Or whatever it’s called that fencers use. Emily’s dancing! And she’s really great!

I stand there for another full minute before she notices me. Her eyes widen and she yanks the headphones off, pulling out a few strands of long hair in the process. “Hey. I didn’t see you there.”

“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I knocked, but you must not have heard.”

“It’s all right,” she says. “I’m just glad my mother wasn’t with you.”

“Because it’s so late?”

She shakes her head. “Mom doesn’t like it when I dance.”

“Huh? Why?”

“It’s because of Grandma Emilia,” Emily says, shutting down the laptop. “I don’t know the whole story, but from what I’ve pieced together, she was a really great dancer and wanted to be a real actress, like on Broadway, and this famous producer was coming out to see her perform in a play here in town. But then my mom was born and Grandma dropped out of the play and stopped dancing and acting. Mom said that she always felt like her mother thought she’d made the wrong decision and was bitter about it. Our moms had to fend for themselves a lot. Once when I was little I said I wanted to be an actress and Mom freaked out. So now I just play around in my room at night sometimes. I know all the words to every one of Jake Harrison’s movies!”

“Wow. That’s impressive. And you’re a really good dancer.”

She blushes. “No one’s seen me dance except for Rory.”

I sit on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t know any of that stuff about Grandma. All I knew is that she used to be an actress and that she loved hats. Mom never told me anything about what she was like as a mother.” I guess I never asked, either. Thinking of Mom having to fend for herself as a little kid makes me really sad. And to think that now Emily can’t even dance in her own house without upsetting Aunt Bethany is really sad, too. I climb
off the bed and reach underneath. “C’mon, let’s hang Jake’s poster. I bet he’d like to see you dance.”

After Emily performs a special dance routine for me and Jake, and after she works on her math problem again under the covers, she finally goes to sleep. Once again, I wait until her breathing is even before I tiptoe out of bed and into the hall. This is getting to be a nightly routine. I’m so exhausted, but I can’t pass up the chance to see if Uncle Roger had found a way to unlock the Collectibles Room.

The handle to the room turns easily, and I push the door open an inch. Hurrah!! Now all I need to do is get the comic from his lab and slip it back in the correct folder. I tiptoe down the hall, happy to hear the gentle snoring coming from the master bedroom. I open the door to the lab to find the desk light on again. Even though it’s a waste of electricity, it does save me from trying to navigate all around the piles of junk in the dark. I’ve just crouched beside the magazine pile when I hear, “Hi, Tara! Couldn’t resist the lure of all those wonderful products yet to be invented, eh?”

My heart leaps to my throat. Uncle Roger! I turn to find him standing across the room behind the airplane engine. Or the thing that
looks
like an airplane engine but could just as easily be a giant toaster. “I’m really sorry to barge in like this. I didn’t, um, see you back there.”

“Not a problem,” he says, making his way over to me. “Stopped by for some late-night reading?”

“Yes, exactly.” I grab the magazine on top. For a second, I debate trying to find the comic so I can slip it inside the magazine. But I don’t have the nerve to try with him in the room. I hold up the first one I picked. “This one looks good.”

“Can’t go wrong with
Inventors Digest.
You’ll come away very inspired.” He smiles warmly at me. “I’ve gotta tell you, it makes me happy that someone in the family might follow in my footsteps. Making things for people that they don’t even know they need, things that make their lives easier, or better, well, there’s just nothing like it.”

“Cool,” I say. I’m way too tired to think of anything more intelligent. “Thanks. I better get to bed.”

Uncle Roger follows me back out to the hall. He continues to expound on the joys of creating something out of nothing, while all I can do is stare in horror at the fact that I left the door to his Collectibles Room open an inch. If he so much as
glanced
in that direction, he’d see it. I begin slinking away down the hall, trying to block his line of sight. Finally he waves good night and goes back into his lab.

I breathe a sigh of relief and practically leap toward the door in my hurry to close it. I’ll have to remember not to be fooled by Aunt Bethany’s snoring again.

Bucky Whitehead is in the same spot on the same couch as yesterday. Even if he hadn’t been, it would have been easy to find him. There’s something regal about him that makes him stand out. Even sitting down, it’s clear that he’s tall and straight.
And his hair is somehow whiter than the other old people’s hair. Almost silver.

“Mr. Whitehead?” I say, approaching slowly. It’s probably not a good idea to sneak up on someone that old. Instead of a newspaper, he had a blanket folded in his lap today. It’s very warm out, so I hope the blanket doesn’t mean he’s sick or coming down with a cold.

“Call me Bucky,” he says. “Mr. Whitehead always makes me look over my shoulder for dear old Dad.” He gestures to the chair beside him. “Sit. I’m curious what would interest someone in this ol’ gal.” He pulls the violin out from under the blanket, which I now realize was protecting it. “She hasn’t been played in thirty-five years.”

After posting the list last night, we’d practiced what we were going to say if people contacted us. But I’m not sure it applies to an old violin that clearly has sentimental value, along with monetary value. Still, I can’t give up now.

Swallowing hard, I say, “Well, I have a friend who collects things, like violins, and if you’re not using it, I mean, if it hasn’t been played in so long, maybe you’d consider selling it, or bartering for it?”

“A barter you say, eh? Interesting. What would we barter?”

“Well, um, we could mow your lawn, walk your dog, pick up dry cleaning, bring food from the market, any errands really.”

“Don’t got a lawn or a dog or dry cleaning,” he says. “But I could use someone to fetch some things from the drug store, say, once a week for two months?”

“Yes, sure! We could do that.”

“Then she’s all yours,” he says, and places it in my lap.

“That’s it?” I ask, stunned. “That’s all you want?”

He smiles. “Honey, at my age there ain’t no use holding on to things. If I haven’t played it in thirty-five years, what are the chances of me playing it now?”

I smile in return. “Thank you. This means a lot to me.”

He pats my knee. “I can see that it does.”

I sit with the violin on my lap, feeling the grain with my fingertips. It must have been a really special instrument in its day. I can’t imagine that Angelina will make any money off it now, but who knows. I turn it over to make sure the silver plaque is there. It is.

“Oh, you might as well take this, too,” he says, handing me the blanket. “I lost the case ages ago.”

“Thanks!” I begin to wrap it up when I suddenly stop, my hand in midair. The blanket is old, very old, and has long since faded into a nondescript blend of brown, tan, gray, and black. But it clearly has a thick stripe around the border. “Does this look red to you?” I ask, pushing a corner of the blanket as close to Bucky’s face as I can reach. “Here, around the border?”