Penny Dreadful (12 page)

As Penny reached absentmindedly for the last cookie, Luella grabbed it away and gave her a gentle push. “Hey! You have to share the last cookie if nobody calls dibs. It’s a rule!”

Penny was taken aback. She didn’t know about dibs, though she was almost sure she’d read about it in a book. Maybe it had been a Ramona book? She handed over the cookie and said softly, “Here. You can have it. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Luella looked skeptical. “Why?” She examined the cookie closely, and then glanced back at Penny. “Did you spit on it or something?”

“No,” replied Penny. “Just—you can have it. I don’t want to fight.”

“Wow,” said Luella, biting into the cookie without another thought. “You’re kind of a doormat.”

Penny didn’t know what to say to
that
at all. She didn’t like to be called a doormat, and she hadn’t enjoyed giving up a perfectly good cookie that should, by rights, have been at least half hers. Luella had eaten more than her fair share already. She watched Luella munch the cookie and felt quietly angry, or sad, or something.

Luella noticed. She pushed Penny gently again, handing over the last bite but saying, “You know, Penny, that’s not playing fair, getting all mopey like that. You
should just say what you want, or call me a name or something.”

Penny considered this advice. “Why?” she asked. “What good will
that
do?”

“Well, it’ll make you feel better. Probably.”

Penny thought this over. It made sense. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll try. Here goes.”

Luella nodded at Penny in an encouraging way. “Good luck,” she said.

Penny screwed up her face, and when she opened her eyes, she yelled, “You’re a—a—a meanie!” She smiled hopefully. “How was that?”

Luella nodded slowly. “That’s
pretty
good, but only babies use words like
meanie
. Honestly, I might have laughed at you if you’d said that in a real fight. Try again.”

Penny thought for a second before she called out stiffly, but more loudly this time, “You’re ostentatious and didactic!”

“Wow, yeah. That’s better,” said Luella appreciatively. “Certainly not babyish, but what do
those
words mean?”

“I’m not really sure,” Penny admitted. “I just hear my dad say them sometimes. But I know they aren’t something you want to be.”

“Well,” offered Luella, “why don’t you try one more time, in words I know.”

“Okay,” said Penny. She thought of how much better she’d felt after her outburst at Momma’s Happy Land, screwed up her face, and took a deep, honest breath. Then, all in a rush, she yelled as loudly as she could, “Your clothes are dirty and so are your feet and I really think you need to comb your hair!”

This sentence felt interesting and forceful coming out of her, like a gust of wind. When she opened her eyes, she found that Luella looked hurt.

“What? What did I do wrong?” Penny asked.

“Well, since you were trying to call me names, I guess you didn’t technically do anything
wrong,
” said Luella, turning away. “You did a
great
job of hurting my feelings.”

“Oh,” said Penny. “Oh no.” Luella was so blunt and so tough. It hadn’t occurred to Penny that Luella
could
be hurt. Now Penny didn’t know what to do.

“Am I really
that
bad?” asked Luella. “I don’t understand what my hair has to do with the cookie. Or my feet.” She inspected her dirty feet.

“I don’t know,” said Penny, feeling terrible. This being honest thing was so difficult! Luella had called her a doormat. What was the difference? “I don’t think they do. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound so bad. You just—well,
you
called
me
a doormat. And your clothes
are
kind of messy, and I just never had a friend like you before.”

“A friend like what?” asked Luella, turning back around to stare at Penny. “Do you mean poor?” Luella’s tone was defensive, but her eyes looked sad and her voice was quieter than usual.

Penny wished she could go back in time and take back those words. Oh, why had she opened her mouth? Really, Luella’s clothes looked fine. Who said anything about money? Who even really cared about clothes, anyway? “I’m sorry,” she said. “Really. That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s okay,” said Luella, picking at a string that hung down from her cutoff shorts and sounding like it wasn’t okay at all. “You’re right. I
am
a mess, I guess. And you have such nice things. And your mother smells like a department store. But you don’t
have
to play with me. I don’t
need
more friends. There are plenty of kids around here for me to be friends with. Alice and Duncan and—”

Penny panicked. What had she done? This had been the most fun day she’d ever had, with her first worm fight, and her first fort, and she was dirty and sweaty and it had felt great. Better than in any book, even.

“No!” she said. “I don’t mean that at all. I really am sorry. I didn’t mean it. You don’t understand. When I say
a friend like you
I don’t mean what you think. I just mean—I’ve never—
never
had a friend before, I don’t
think. Not
any
kind of friend. Not a real one.” In one short afternoon she had done more with this tangle-haired, barefoot girl than she’d done in her whole life of being friends with Jane and Olivia. “Gosh, Luella. You’re—you’re my
best
friend!”

Luella slitted her eyes and grinned at Penny. “Oh yeah?” Her voice sounded louder again.

“Yeah,” said Penny honestly.

“Yeah?” asked Luella again.

“Yeah!” said Penny firmly, meaning it.

“Well then. You know what
you
need?” Luella asked, making a fist.

“No,” Penny said warily. “What’s that?”

“You need a noogie!” shouted Luella, teaching her very quickly what that particular word meant.

“Yow!” yelped Penny. Then she laughed and sank to her knees in a fit of giggles.

BOOK THREE
T
RANQUIL
H
ILLS

M
ESSY
G
ROWN-UP
S
TUFF

T
hat evening Penny got home at dusk, ready to burst with stories about Luella and Thrush Junction. When she stepped inside, she found the house full of a wonderful smell. “Mother! That smells
good
!” she said in a surprised voice, stepping into the kitchen.

But Delia was sitting at the table scribbling some numbers on a pad and punching angrily at a calculator. “Oh, I had nothing to do with it,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “That’s all your father’s handiwork. It turns out he can
cook
. Who knew?”

Dirk stood at the stove wearing an old apron and stirring a pot of soup. “It’s not so much, really. Nothing fancy. I just threw a bunch of stuff in a pot. It mostly came from Betty’s garden!
Our
garden. Why, we’re practically living off the fat of the land here.” He took a sip of the soup and added, “It
is
good, if I do say so myself. Makes me
think I
might
be a pretty good cook if I gave it half a try!”

He ladled out a bowl of the soup for Penny. He set the bowl on a plate and set a slice of thick-cut bread and butter beside it. Then he handed the plate to Penny and waved a spoon in the air with a flourish before slipping it into the soup. “Your dinner, milady!” he said with a bow.

Penny thought it was nice that her father was so proud of his soup. She set down the plate, pulled out a chair, and sat down at the table. As she lifted her first sip of soup to her mouth, Delia looked up distractedly and said, “Penny, why don’t you take that along into the living room and eat it there?”

“Why?” asked Penny. “I haven’t seen you all day. I have things to tell you! I have a
friend
!”

“Yes, yes, that’s nice,” said Delia, not appearing to have heard Penny at all. “But your father and I have a few more grown-up things to discuss,” she said, tapping the calculator.

Dirk rolled his eyes at Penny behind Delia’s back, but he nodded and whispered to Penny, “Go on ahead, chickabiddy. We’ll hear all about your day later.”

With a frown Penny stood up from the table and lifted her plate carefully, trying not to slosh. Then she changed her mind and set it back down. She looked at her mother, crossed her arms, and said, “No.”

“Pardon me?” said Delia, looking up from her numbers. “No
what
?”

“No, I
won’t
go into the living room,” said Penny. “I’m tired of being shut out of things all the time. I’m
not
leaving the room until you tell me what happened today with those lawyers. I have a right to know.”

“Oh, darling,” said Delia, sighing and pushing back her chair. “I’m sorry. But you really don’t need to bother yourself with thinking about money. It’s not pleasant to talk about.”

“Yeah, Penny,” said Dirk, munching a leftover celery stalk. “Plus, it’s boring too.”

Delia shot him a cross look.

“I don’t care,” said Penny with her chin in the air. “Even if it’s boring, or unpleasant, I
still
want to know what’s happening. You guys are
always
closing the door on me.”

Delia shot Dirk a questioning glance, eyebrows raised.

“She’s got a point,” said Dirk.

“You don’t have to tell me
everything
,” said Penny. “But you could tell me
something
. I’m not stupid. I can understand.”

“No,” said Dirk, looking at Delia. “She’s
not
stupid.”

Delia sighed, turned her chair toward Penny, and relented. “Okay, okay. If you really want to know—”