Absolutely Truly (26 page)

“I should head back to the shop,” he told her. “The accountant is dropping by in a bit to go over the end-of-the-month financials.”

“I'll keep you company,” said Aunt True, linking her arm
through his good one. “And just because you're my favorite brother, I'll even make you dinner.”

My mother laughed. “Now, there's an offer you can't refuse. I'll see y'all later, then.” She waved at us and drove off.

I said good-bye to my father and my aunt, then headed over to find Cha Cha and Jasmine, who had disappeared around the corner of the swim center. I followed and quickly came upon Calhoun stuffing snow down the neck of Lucas Winthrop's jacket again, while Cha Cha and Jasmine tried to stop him.

I ran over to help. “Knock it off, Romeo!” I hollered.

Calhoun froze.

I did too. I hadn't meant to drop the R-bomb that way. Once again, I'd put my big foot in my mouth.

Cha Cha and Jasmine and Lucas gaped at us.

“Romeo?” said Cha Cha. “Who's Romeo?”

I pointed wordlessly at Calhoun.

“Your name is
Romeo
?”

Calhoun's face flamed.

“I always wondered what the
R
in ‘R. J.' stood for,” said Jasmine. “I figured the
J
was for ‘James,' like your dad, but I never would have guessed ‘Romeo' for the
R
.”

Calhoun abruptly let go of Lucas's jacket. “I'm outta here,” he muttered.

Thinking quickly, I realized that I could use this to my advantage. “No, actually, you're not,” I told him. “I've had
to put up with ‘Truly Gigantic' and ‘Truly Drooly' for weeks now. You can deal with Romeo. Which,” I added, “we won't tell a soul about, on one condition.”

He regarded me warily.

“Quit picking on Lucas. And while you're at it, see if you can get Scooter to stop picking on him too. And on me.”

Calhoun lifted a shoulder, then gave a reluctant nod.

“Good. Your secret is safe with us.”

“Promise?” he asked, darting a glance at me.

“Cross my heart and hope to . . .” My voice trailed off. “Whatever. Our lips are sealed.”

“Sealed,” said Cha Cha solemnly, holding up three fingers in the traditional Boy Scout salute. Then her dimple appeared and she grinned broadly. “Scout's honor . . .
Romeo
!”

I grinned back. “Guess what?” I told my friends. “I think I have a plan for getting us into the steeple.”

With two weeks to go until Winter Festival, there was a change in the air in Pumpkin Falls.

It wasn't the January thaw. That still hadn't arrived, even though the calendar now said February. It was more a sense of anticipation, a crackle of excitement you could feel around town, at school, and in the shops as people talked about “the big weekend.”

Aunt True says Winter Festival is Pumpkin Falls's answer to homecoming. She says people who grew up here or used to live here often come back for it, although if you ask me, which nobody ever does, I could think of better ways to spend a weekend than stuck in freezing-cold Pumpkin Falls, New Hampshire.

My math grade crept up a few notches, which pleased my father and made me feel a little more secure about my spot on the swim team. At practice, I did planks and push-ups
and sit-ups and swam endless laps in preparation for our first race. The Pumpkin Falls Youth Swim Team always kicked off its season with a face-off against Thornton during Winter Festival.

Everywhere I've ever lived, there's always an archrival, and for Pumpkin Falls, Thornton is it. And everywhere I've ever lived, it's always the coach's job to get his or her team whipped into a frenzy over this rival. Coach Maynard droned on every day at practice about how we need to do our best and believe in ourselves and get out there and show Thornton what we're made of, blah blah blah. I'd heard it all before.

Casting a shadow over all of this, at least for me, was the bookshop's make-or-break deadline. I wished I could be more like Aunt True, who sailed ahead thinking positively and planning for the future, but the spike in sales after Carson Dawson's TV feature on Pumpkin Falls had leveled off, and with no
Charlotte's Web
in sight, I didn't see how we were going to make it. I saw all the long hours my father still spent behind closed doors with the accountant, and how he worried constantly over things called “profit margin” and “overhead” and “cash flow.”

The other shadow was Cotillion. I was so not looking forward to the exhibition dance, even though Scooter and I were doing marginally better in class. This was mostly because Scooter had stopped goofing off. He'd caught wind of Calhoun's extra practice sessions—which he thought Calhoun
was paying for—and that had lit a fire under his competitive streak.

“Oh good, the kittens are here,” said Jasmine as she and Cha Cha and I took off our jackets and piled them on the bench by the bookshop door.

Ever since the remodel, Lovejoy's Books had become Belinda Winchester's home away from home. She and at least one kitten showed up pretty much every afternoon now, right around the time that Aunt True took her mini pumpkin whoopie pies out of the oven. When Saturday rolled around, though, the treats—and Belinda—arrived earlier, for Story Hour.

Cha Cha and Jasmine had volunteered to help Aunt True and me on this particular Saturday. Plus, my friends were eager to check out the new shipment of jewelry. They really liked all the new stuff that Aunt True had started to stock as part of her scheme to add more income streams.

The three of us helped ourselves to some of the whoopie pies that were waiting on the sales counter. My father emerged from the office to grab one too. He still complains about the expense, but I've noticed he's first in line when Aunt True brings them down from her apartment.

“She never leaves,” he grumbled, casting a baleful eye on Belinda Winchester, who had settled into an armchair over by the front window with her latest paperback from the mystery swap. “And she never buys anything either.”

“So? It's her happy place,” my aunt replied from her perch on a stepladder behind the counter. She fiddled with the clothesline she was anchoring to the ceiling. “Pass me a thumbtack, would you please, Truly?”

Cha Cha and Jasmine and I poked around in the pile of literary T-shirts (
EAT SLEEP READ! LITGEEK! I
MR. DARCY!
) that were heaped by the cash register, waiting to be strung up. The T-shirts were one of the new sidelines Aunt True had decided we should stock.

“You're turning us into the General Store,” my father said, picking one up and grimacing at its slogan (
SO MANY BOOKS, SO LITTLE TIME!
).

“If it brings in customers, why not?” Aunt True replied cheerfully.

Mom and I think the sidelines have really livened things up. Cha Cha and Jasmine agree. They drop in often after school now to check out the new stuff on display, from cool little notepads and pens and tote bags to stationery, mugs, jewelry, and locally made soaps and candles. We've started stocking maple syrup and maple candy from the Freemans' farm too.

“Have you girls seen Truly's new Valentine's Day window?” Aunt True asked.

“It's not mine, exactly,” I said. My aunt and I had worked on it together last night after dinner.

“You did the lion's share of the work,” Aunt True replied.

I followed Cha Cha and Jasmine as they went over to the front of the store to check it out.

“Sweet!” said Cha Cha.

Across the top of the window was a banner with
WE
HAPPY ENDINGS
on it, and I'd taped red construction-paper hearts and Cupids on the glass. The display table was covered in a floor-length red tablecloth and piled high with things that my aunt and I had gathered from the far-flung corners of the store: Valentine's Day cards; a red leather-bound copy of Shakespeare's sonnets; heart-shaped chocolates and soaps; a pink mug with white hearts on it, pink notebooks, pink sticky notes, pink pens—everything we could think of that celebrated love and romance. There were piles of books too:
Pride and Prejudice
,
Cinderella
,
Jane Eyre
, and a whole bunch more.

“I love happy endings too,” sighed Jasmine. “They're so romantic.”

Cha Cha and I looked at each other and grinned.

“Here are the new necklaces I was telling you about,” I told my friends. “The ones made of Scrabble tiles. See? There's a letter on one side, and a design on the other.”

“Cute!” said Cha Cha.

“I have a ballerina on mine,” said Pippa, emerging from her favorite hideout under the table. “And a
P
for ‘Pippa.' Aunt True gave it to me.”

Jasmine and Cha Cha fussed over her necklace, of course,
and Pippa let them each take a turn wearing it. Then she disappeared back under the table again.

“Ooh, look at this one!” Jasmine held up a tile with a picture of a bear on it reading a book.

Aunt True was wearing one just like it in honor of Story Hour.

“So, all systems go for tomorrow?” I asked my friends, and they nodded.

“I'm sleeping over at Jazz's tonight,” Cha Cha told me. “And my parents said I could go to church with her tomorrow.”

“Perfect. We'll all be there—Calhoun's coming too.”

Jasmine looked over at Cha Cha. “How are his private lessons going?”

“He's making progress, but he's not exactly Romeo on the dance floor,” Cha Cha replied, and the three of us giggled. It was going to be hard to keep the lid on Calhoun's real name.

The bell over the door jangled, and Mrs. Abramowitz came in with Baxter. I pointed to where Pippa was hiding and he dove under the table to join her. Mrs. Abramowitz took off her coat. She looked like she'd just breezed in from a dance competition. She often looks that way. She has thick, curly dark hair like Cha Cha's, but Mrs. Abramowitz's is always swept into an elegant updo, and unlike my mother, who dresses mostly in jeans these days now that she's a college student again, or Aunt True, who dresses like, well, a parrot,
sequins are a staple in Cha Cha's mother's wardrobe. Even her snow boots have high heels.

“I don't know about you girls, but I am ready for spring,” she said, unwinding her scarf. “Where is that January thaw when you need it?” She glanced around the store. “Is your mother here, Truly?”

I shook my head. “She's coming in later. We're driving down to Manchester this afternoon.”

“Let me guess—dress shopping?” Cha Cha's mother smiled at me. “Your mother told me you've grown another inch since your move to Pumpkin Falls.”

There really are no secrets in small towns.

“That's the best part of Cotillion, I think,” Cha Cha's mother continued. “It's such fun to have an excuse to get all dressed up.”

Um, not really
, I thought. I don't do dresses. They're way up there on the list of things I'm not good at.