OyMG (6 page)

CHAPTER 11

Got lost zinken, ober nit dertrinken
: God lets you sink but not drown.

It was one of Zeydeh's favorite Yiddish expressions—and he had a million of them. It kept running through my head—but only the first part. God lets you sink.

I'd said good-bye to Dad, Zeydeh, and Benny a few minutes ago, then snuck off to lick my wounds in private. I'd wandered down one of the spider-leg halls and discovered a window nook in a tiny alcove. Beneath shaded windows, a seat bench ran in a semicircle, topped with a thick red cushion.

I kicked off my sandals and rested my head on the wall. Just how far did God let you sink? I'd have to ask Zeydeh. It was one of those details I'd never worried about before.

I let loose a breath—and along with it, my brave face. I pulled up my knees and hugged them to my chest.
You got a minute, God? Because I could really use some help here.
I looked up toward the ceiling.
I hate to always bother you with my problems, and I know I ask too many favors, but for me, this is big. And I'm really looking out for your interests here, too. After all, you created me in your image, which means you must also love to talk. And it's no good to talk if no one hears you, and how can I be heard—really heard in this world—if I don't get this scholarship? Which is why a miracle would really come in handy right now.

“Ellie?”

I shrieked and jumped halfway out of my skin. Devon stood a few feet away.
Perfect—I ask for a miracle and get a nightmare.

“You scared me,” I said. I laid a hand over my chest. My heart slammed against my ribs.

“Sorry.” He'd taken off his suit coat, and his tie hung loose around his collar.

When he didn't move, I asked, “Is it time for class or something?”

He shook his head. “Mind if I sit?”

I squinted my eyes in a classic Zeydeh stare. “Yeah, I mind. You can gloat standing up.”

“I only gloat in front of a crowd.”

Then he gave me this sincere, nice-guy smile, so even though a part of me wanted to kick him, I had to move to let him sit.

I slid my feet back into my sandals. For some reason, my stupid heart started hammering again. It was his smile, I decided. A nice smile like that had to mean he was up to something. Devon wasn't suddenly going to turn into a decent guy. At least I hoped not. I planned to hate him forever.

He sat down across from me. His hands tapped the side of the bench as he looked around. “This is cool.”

I waited.
What did he want?

“Nice job today,” he said.

“If that's gloating, it's pretty weak.”

He ran a hand through his hair, spiking up the edges around his ear. In this light, his hair looked almost blue black. “The ceiling-fan thing was really funny.”

“Not funny enough, apparently.” I felt the hard edge of the star bite into my fingers, and realized I was fiddling with my necklace. I crossed my arms over my stomach.

“So why are you hiding out?”

“Who said I was hiding out?”

“Do you argue about everything?”

“No.”

“That's arguing.”

“Define arguing.”

He grinned and relaxed back against the wall. “Everyone was wondering where you went. Andrew and Ethan are still laughing about falling to pieces.”

“Too bad they weren't judging,” I said. But I couldn't help it—I felt myself thawing a little. “So what happened to you doing something funny with the cuckoo?”

“I tried,” he said. “I'm not good with humor.”

“Your impromptu on Monday was funny.”

“Yeah, but that was off the cuff. It just came out. As soon as I start writing, I turn into Mr. Term Paper.”

“I wouldn't complain,” I said. “You were good.”

“Good but boring. It'd be cool to really make people laugh.”

“Only if you're trying to be funny,” I said, dryly. “Otherwise, it kind of sucks.”

He laughed—a short burst that took me by surprise. Come to think of it, the whole thing was surprising. Me, sitting here with Devon Yeats.

“What?” he said. “You just got a weird look on your face.”

“I can't believe I'm talking with the enemy.”

“Me?”

“In case you missed it, you won. I lost.”

He draped an arm over one knee. “It was just an exercise.”

“It wasn't just an exercise. Your grandmother was there, remember? Dynamite Doris.”

“Dynamite Doris?” he repeated. “Is that because she's such a blast?”

I covered my face with a hand and groaned. “I can't believe I just called her that.”

“I won't tell.”

I snuck a look from under my fingers. “You're not going to turn into a nice guy, are you? Because I was getting used to despising you.”

He laughed again. It felt good hearing his laugh. Which was amazing, I realized, because I hadn't planned to feel good for at least a month.

“So why is she called Dynamite Doris?” Devon asked.

“She's got a rep for making quick decisions.” My smile collapsed as I thought about the scholarship. “Deadly decisions for some of us.”

“The scholarship, you mean?”

“That's the whole reason I signed up for this camp.”

“So?”

“So,” I said sharply, “you told me the only way to get her attention was to beat you.”

“What's with the necklace?” he asked, his gaze dropping below my chin.

I looked down, and realized I was twirling the Jewish star again. “My grandpa gave it to me to wear. It was my grandma's.”

“You're Jewish?”

I nodded, fingering the star. “You sound surprised.”

He shrugged. “You're at a Christian camp. And your name—Taylor's not a Jewish name, is it?”

“My dad isn't Jewish,” I said. “He was raised Lutheran.”

“Ohhhh.” He nodded. “So that's cool.”

I frowned, the muscles around my shoulders tensing. “What's cool?”

“Being half and half,” he said. “You get double presents in December, right?”

I had to smile—how many times had I heard that? “I get the same number of presents, just different colors of wrapping paper.” I straightened the necklace chain where it had gotten caught in my hair. “My grandpa says you can't be half of anything.”

“The grandpa who gave you the necklace?”

I nodded. “It's supposed to be good luck, but it didn't quite work that way.”

“Maybe it did.”

“I had to win today to get back on her list.”

“What list?”

“Letters went out, Devon. I didn't get one. If she's considering you, you get a letter. If you get a letter, you get an interview. She only interviews the top candidates, no matter what it says on the application. No letter, no interview, no chance.”

“Except,” he said, raising his eyebrows a half inch, “if you have no chance, why does she want to meet you?”

I froze in midbreath. “What?”

He grinned. “She wants to meet you.”

I stared into his eyes, looking for the truth. The truth was that he had gorgeous eyes. “She said that? She wants to meet me? Why didn't you tell me right off?” I kicked his shoe with my sandal. His grin widened. I wasn't sure if it was his words or the way he was smiling at me, but my arms prickled with goose bumps.

“That's not all she said.”

My eyes probably looked the size of planets, but I didn't care. “What?”

“Just that you have an expressive style. And, she thought you should have won.”

“Yes!” I said, pumping a fist. “I'm back in!”

He laughed. “You really want this, huh?”

“You have no idea.” I paused for a silent scream of happiness. Then I slid to the edge of the bench. “So when does she want to meet?”

“Now.”

My heart stuttered. “Now?”

“That's why I was looking for you.”

I gripped the edge of the cushion. “Now?”

“Unless now is bad.”

I swallowed. “No. Now is good.” I stood up.

He stood, too. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “It's just so quick. After I lost, well … I always say you can argue your way into anything. I guess I'd started to think I couldn't argue my way into Benedict's.”

“If anyone can, you can.”

I'd seen Devon smile politely at Mrs. Lee. I'd seen him smile with other kids during lunch. I'd seen him smile on stage. But there was something about this smile. Something so warm … I felt like a chocolate bar left on the dashboard. If he kept smiling like that, I'd melt into a gooey mess. I didn't want to know what Megan would make of that.

“Come on,” he said. “I'll walk you to Admin. My grandmother bought the speech department all new computers and printers, so they gave her the vice principal's office for the summer. She's supposed to be here supervising the install and interviewing kids, but mostly I think she likes dropping in on the classes.”

I followed him down the hall, smoothing my hair. “So what do I say?”

“Just tell her how impressive Benedict's is. She loves that stuff. And—” He paused. His feet trickled to a stop, the way his words had.

“What?” I stopped beside him, straightening my shirt. “Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong, exactly.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “It's just your necklace. You might want to stick it inside your shirt.”

I fingered the warm metal. “Why?”

“It's not a big deal.” His eyes shifted toward Admin. “She's just a little weird about the Jewish thing.”

“Huh?” The
Jewish thing
? I made myself take a breath.
Weird?
What did that mean? It couldn't really mean what it sounded like, could it? I stood there a second, off balance. My brain off balance.

“It's not a big deal. Really.”

“Oh-kay.”
Not a big deal
. I couldn't process anything else beyond the fact that her office was just up ahead, and Devon had started walking slowly in that direction. I took a few small steps while my mind raced. Maybe I should just get through this first meeting, and then I could ask Devon what he meant. For now, I should focus on Benedict's. On my expressive style. On my future.

So many thoughts swirled through my brain I wasn't sure if I nodded or not.

But I slid the necklace inside my shirt.

CHAPTER 12

Doris Yeats sat behind a heavy oak desk, one hand wrapped around a cup of coffee, the other scrawling something with a fancy red fountain pen.

Devon knocked on the open door and she glanced up. I wasn't sure what I was expecting—a swastika tattoo on her forehead? She looked like a normal grandmother. Short silver hair like a cap over a small face with high cheekbones and a wide mouth. When she saw who it was, her whole face seemed to soften. Her eyes were the same startling blue as Devon's, only a little faded. She stood and walked around the desk, looking very stylish in a cream suit and smelling expensive.

“How nice of you to come.” She smiled and lines fanned out from the corners of her eyes and mouth. The edge of one front tooth had a teeny tiny chip. I wanted to like her.

“Ellie, this is my grandmother, Doris Yeats,” Devon said.

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

She held out her hand. She was the same height as me, but tiny—even her fingers looked small. But her grip was strong, as if she had wire running through her. Her skin felt soft and smooth, not papery like Zeydeh's.

“Shall we sit for a minute?” she asked. She gave Devon a warm smile. “Not you. You've done your good deed, now get to class.”

“Yes, Grandmother,” he said in a fake obedient voice. Then he grinned my way. “I'll let Mrs. Lee know you'll be late.”

I nodded, telling him thanks with my eyes.

Doris Yeats watched him go, obviously proud. “He did a marvelous eulogy today, though I don't think he deserved first place.”

She gestured to the cream love seat set against the wall.

I carefully sat on one edge. Mrs. Yeats sat next to me, crossing her legs and folding her hands over her covered knees. I tried to copy the pose without looking like it.

“I imagine Devon told you I was impressed with your performance.”

“He did,” I admitted, then added, “I was really hoping you would be.”

She laughed lightly, her high cheekbones becoming more pronounced. “I have to say, after hearing your speech in class, I wondered if you had the skill for real humor. Too often content is lost in the quest for easy laughs. However, you did an admirable job today.”

“Thank you.”

“Humor in oratories continues to be successful in competition. As sponsor of the Benedict's speech team, I'm always on the lookout for students with talent in that area.”

I twisted my fingers together, trying to look intense but not desperate. “I would love the opportunity to go to Benedict's. I would work so hard, and with the coaching here, I could do amazing things.”

She smiled. “Benedict's is a very special school, which is why so many students must be turned away each year. I'm privileged to have the opportunity and the means to provide one or two scholarships each year to students with both need and talent.”

I nodded as she went on. Her expression had turned very serious. “Benedict's isn't just a school to me, Ellie, it's my extended family. My husband was a Benedict's graduate, as was Devon's father, and now Devon will be continuing the tradition. The school has given so much to my family; I feel honored to give something back.”

“Devon told me about the new computers you're donating.”
Please, please, let me be one of the kids who gets to use them.

“I try to do as much as I can. That includes helping to ensure that each new student fits in with our family. You understand?”

“Of course.”

She smiled as if I'd said all the right things. “Then you won't mind filling out a questionnaire I have for scholarship applicants. I find it's helpful for the interview process.” Then she stood. “If you'd fill it out, please, then have your parents sign the bottom.”

She went back to her desk, rummaged through a stack of papers, and pulled out a white folder. “You may return it on Monday, and we'll schedule an interview for, say …” She slipped on a pair of glasses and looked at her calendar. “Next Friday?”

I hugged the folder to my chest and nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Yeats.”

And thank you, God!

I floated my way toward class. Talk about a miracle.

I got an interview!

I flipped open the folder and took a quick look at the questionnaire. The front side had the usual questions about my previous experience and any awards or top finishes. There were questions about goals, areas to improve, and what I could bring to the speech team. I flipped it over. The back was mostly personal information—contact numbers, family members and—
oh no
. I stopped and tried to hold the paper steady, but my fingers were shaking. Still, it was clear enough to read:

#7: What is your religious affiliation?

I reached for my necklace, but it was still under my shirt. Where I'd hidden it.

She's a little weird about the Jewish thing.

Devon's words flashed through my mind. I'd forgotten all about that. I traced the outline of the star with my fingers. Slipping a necklace inside my shirt was one thing. But she'd see it on the application. There was no way around that.

Beneath the Star of David, my heart shivered.