13 Gifts (2 page)

Chapter Three

 

I pull my still-damp hair into a ponytail and climb
into bed, exhausted. The only good thing about today is that it’s over. While the lowest point of the day was definitely Mom’s announcement of my banishment to Willow Falls, further humiliations and annoyances included — but were not limited to — the following:

1. It took three showers over the span of twelve hours to get the sticky hawk poop out of my thick hair.

2. First I had to endure whispers of
that’s her
and
goat
and
principal
and
pepper spray
and
suspended
as I walked the hall of shame to the principal’s office with Dad. Then Shelby Malone (now my archnemesis) passed us in the hallway and said, “Wow, Sara, your father sure is tall.” And then DAD SMILED AT HER (even though she’d just called his only daughter by the wrong name) and said, “Thank you, young lady!”

3. Principal Murphy announced that since my mother informed him I will be leaving tomorrow to attend a camp for troubled teens, he doesn’t want to keep me from “doing the important work ahead of me there.” So he’s waiving my homework assignments and will have my teachers send my final exams to the camp for one of the counselors to administer. If the words
CAMP FOR TROUBLED TEENS
hadn’t come out of his mouth exactly as a stream of green pus oozed from his left eye, I would have focused on them more. As it was, it took a few seconds for the words to register and for my brain to start coming up with reasons why I’m totally NOT a troubled teen, whatever
that
means: I don’t compare myself to airbrushed supermodels. I don’t obsess over boys (only Jake Harrison, and who doesn’t love
him
?). I don’t hate my parents (well, maybe a little right now) or smoke behind the gym like those kids who think they look really cool but actually look ridiculous. Okay, so maybe I wear black a lot, but it’s not because I’m depressed or rebelling against society or anything; it’s just that I have an awful sense of style, and black matches black really well.

4. It took my father most of the car ride home to convince me that Mom let Principal
Murphy believe I was going to that camp because otherwise I wouldn’t be allowed to leave town before exams were over.

5. On the positive side, the principal clearly got at least
some
of his sight back because he flinched as soon as he saw me.

6. I got home to find Mom had taken the liberty of packing my suitcase for me, and I had to repack it with the right stuff. I then refused to take a last trip to the ice cream parlor with her for our favorite, bubblegum ice cream. We always pull out the gumballs and make them into a smiley face on our napkins, and I didn’t feel like smiling. Even via gumball.

 

“Are you still awake?” Mom asks, sticking her head in and unknowingly adding to my list of annoying things that are happening to me today.

I grunt.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Can you come into my room for a minute?”

I don’t even bother to ask why. None of Mom’s answers to anything lately have made any sense.

“Your aunt loves jewelry,” she says when I shuffle in. “I thought it would be nice if you picked out a few pieces for her.”

The bottom drawer of her dresser is already open. Even though she’s told Dad repeatedly not to buy her any more jewelry since she never wears any of it, he still gives her a small cardboard box for almost every occasion. Rings for her birthday, bracelets on Christmas, earrings on Valentine’s Day. Once he even gave her a necklace for Arbor Day. She made him take that one back.

I cross my arms. “How would I know what Aunt Bethany would like? I’ve only met her a few times.”

Mom doesn’t answer, just stares into the drawer. Then she storms out of the room and snaps, “Just do your best.”

I think Mom’s moodier than me, and I’m the one who’s almost a teenager. I take her place in front of the drawer and try to figure out the best plan of attack. The boxes are organized by size, so I figure I might as well start at the smallest: rings. Rings of all colors and sizes and shapes. I make a small pile of ones I’ve never seen her wear, then start on the next size up: watches and bracelets. Halfway through, I open a red pouch that doesn’t seem to have a box to go with it. I open the pouch and shake the contents into my palm. Two identical bracelets drop out. They’re simpler than the rest of Mom’s stuff — each one is basically just a piece of brown leather with two red beads in the center. A gold clasp hooks the ends together. I don’t usually wear jewelry either, but I really like these. Maybe she’d let me have one, especially since she has two and I’ve never seen her wear them. I slip the bracelets back into the pouch and set it aside.

Mom comes back as I’m putting away the last necklace box.
“How’d you do?” she asks, coming over to examine the large pile. “Looks like you found quite a lot.”

I’m about to ask if I can have one of the beaded bracelets, but then I do something I wouldn’t have done before my parents’ decision to send me away. While Mom’s focused on the choices for Aunt Bethany, I stuff the small pouch into my pocket. I’m sure if she saw me, she’d tell me something about how stealing the bracelets is my small way of asserting some power over her since I’m feeling powerless right now. It’s a lecture I can do without, so I’m glad she doesn’t notice.

“I’m sure Bethany will love these,” she says, dropping the jewelry into a small plastic bag and handing it to me. “I’m sorry I was snippy before. It’s not your fault that you don’t know your own aunt. It’s mine. How about I tuck you in and tell you a little about Bethany and Willow Falls?”

I hesitate. She hasn’t tucked me into bed all month. Still, I let her follow me back to my room. As I climb in bed I ask her to have Dad put the bike rack on the car so we don’t forget in the morning.

“No problem,” she says. But even in the dark, I can tell her eyes have flicked away from mine. I have a sinking feeling that my bike’s staying right here.

I was right! I’m not taking my bike with me! I know this because it’s now five in the morning (!) and we’re on our way to the train station (!!) so my parents can put me on a nine-hour
train ride BY MYSELF (!!!), where apparently I’ll be expected to make small talk about the weather with the stranger sitting next to me (!!!!).

Me = Never Talks to Strangers.

“But I just don’t understand,” I whine, rubbing the last bit of sleep from my eyes. “Why aren’t we driving? Why can’t you come with me?”

Mom turns around in the passenger seat. “Honey, we explained it all to you last night after we got the phone call.”

“I think I’d remember something like that, Mom.”

“Well, you did seem a bit sleepy. The airline called to say our connecting flight to Madagascar was rerouted through a different airport. We wouldn’t have time to get you to Willow Falls and then get there on time. But don’t worry; you’ll be perfectly fine on the train. They are very used to handling unaccompanied minors.”

While I try to process being an “unaccompanied minor,” Dad launches into an off-key rendition of
“I’ve been working on the railroad, all the livelong day,”
which doesn’t help me focus. “Are you sure this isn’t a trick and I’m really being shipped off to that troubled teens camp?”

“Promise,” Mom says. Dad just keeps singing. I put my hands over my ears and slide down in the seat.

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, we’re pulling into the station. Dad hops out to get my bags from the trunk, with Mom only two steps behind. The first rays of sun land on the side of the brick building. I watch as the light cuts through the branches of the only tree, briefly transforming
the dew-covered leaves into shards of green glass, then back to regular leaves. I am mesmerized by this.

Dad sticks his head in my window. “Coming?”

I shake my head.

He laughs. “Come on. We have a little going-away present for you.” He holds up a small blue backpack that I recognize as the freebie he got last month for opening a new checking account. He had grumbled about not getting a toaster, as though banks just normally give out small kitchen appliances. He dangles the backpack from his wrist and lets it sway back and forth.

I climb out of the car. “Fine. But you better show me quickly. Don’t I have a train to catch?”

“We still have time,” Mom assures me. Like I’d actually care if I missed it.

Dad flips open the top of the backpack and reaches in. First he holds up three granola bars and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. So far I’m not impressed. Then he pulls out a small Velero wallet. “There’s two hundred dollars in here. This should hold you over for the summer till we get home. Try not to spend it all in one place.”

My eyes widen.
Two hundred dollars?
That’s more money than I’ve ever had in my life! I could buy an iPod with that!

Mom steps forward. “You’re not thinking of blowing it all on an iPod or anything like that, are you?”

I swear that woman can read my mind.

“This should help with the temptation.” She reaches into the backpack and pulls out her own iPod, with its dainty little earbuds wrapped around it.

I squeal (which I normally
never
do) and grab for it.

“It’s just on loan,” Mom warns as I cup it lovingly in my hands. “I added some music and a few of your favorite TV shows. I don’t want you using it around the house when you get there, though. You don’t need another excuse to be antisocial.”

“Whatever you say.” I’d agree to pretty much anything in order to get those earbuds in my ears.

At the ticket window, the woman taking our information says, “Funny. Got a
Sara
Brennan due to leave here on the same train in a few weeks. She a relative?”

My mom shakes her head, but Dad laughs and punches me playfully on the arm. He’s the only one who thought Shelby calling me Sara was funny. Now, apparently, there really IS a Sara Brennan. I bet she’s been planning her trip for months, not hours.

The woman covers a yawn with her hand, stamps the ticket, then tears off the side. She hands it to me, then points down a narrow hallway. “Station manager. Second door on the right.”

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“For your interview. All unaccompanied minors gotta have one.”

Dad leads me away from the counter. “It’ll only take a minute. They told us you’d need one when we booked it.”

Mom walks ahead and has already knocked on the door by the time we arrive. I hang back, but Dad propels me forward in that gentle but forceful way of his. The man behind the desk is small, with red-framed glasses and a smile.

He points to the two folding chairs in front of his desk. “Please sit.”

Mom and I sit down and Dad stands behind me, his hands resting protectively on the back of my chair.

“You are Tara Brennan, age twelve?” he asks, typing into his computer. He looks up at me.

I nod.

He smiles. “You’ll be thirteen soon I see, on July thirteenth. Wait, is that a …”

I sigh. “Yes, it’s a Friday.”

“Well! Hope you’re not superstitious.”

I shake my head.

“Only believe what you can see with your eyes, am I right?” He winks.

I nod.

“I assume you are traveling of your own free will, Miss Brennan?”

I glance at Mom. Her eyes shoot me a warning. I turn back to the man. “Yes.”

He looks back and forth between Mom and me. “Are you certain?”

“Yes,” I repeat. “Sorry, I’ve just never traveled alone before.”

“Just a standard question. Nothing to worry about,” he says. “Our conductors are quite used to unaccompanied minors traveling the rails. You’ll have a fine time.”

“Is that it?” Mom asks, glancing at her watch.

“Just a few more quick questions I’m required to ask.” He pulls out a handbook from his drawer and flips to a dog-eared page. “Any life-threatening allergies?”

I shake my head.

“Are you prone to outbursts or tantrums?”

Dad chuckles behind me. I roll my eyes. “No.”

“Are you capable of using the lavatory by yourself?”

“The what?”

He leans over the desk and whispers, “That’s the bathroom. Sorry, gotta ask.”

Dad chuckles louder.

“Oh!” I feel my cheeks go hot. “I mean, yes!”

“And lastly, will someone be waiting to pick you up at your destination?”

I turn to look at Mom. No one went over that part with me. “Yes,” Mom replies. “Her aunt and uncle will be there. I wrote their names and telephone number on the release form. Tara has a copy in her backpack, too.”

“Excellent,” the station manager says. “Then we’re almost all set.” He reaches back into his drawer and pulls out a bright yellow rubber bracelet. “You’ll need to wear this for the duration of your travel with us.”

He hands it to me and waits while I pull and stretch it in an attempt to get it over my hand. “Is there a bigger size?”

He shakes his head. “Sorry, they make ’em pretty small so they don’t slip off the younger kids. I can give you this instead.” He reaches back into the drawer and pulls out a white sticker the size of a paperback book with the words
UNACCOMPANIED MINOR
in huge red letters. “You could wear this on your chest.”

I give one more yank and the bracelet finally lands on my wrist. “Thanks, I’m good.”

“Bon voyage,” he says with a salute.

Dad salutes in response. Mom shakes the man’s hand, and I tug at the bracelet. It really is very tight.

“Does my hand look purple to you?” I ask Dad as we follow the signs to the right track.

He takes hold of my hand and turns it side to side. “Not more than usual.”

“I’m serious. What if my circulation gets cut off and my hand swells up and has to be amputated?”