Sammy Keyes and the Sisters of Mercy (18 page)

After that we get real busy talking about nothing, and the minute Monet sneaks off, Marissa starts laughing so hard she has to wipe the tears away. When she finally catches her breath, she says, “What a great idea—what a
great
idea!”

Holly whispers, “What is going
on?”

So I explain to her about Monet Jarlsberg, Spy for Hire, and when I’m done, she says, “I feel like I’m in the middle of a war zone. This is crazy!”

I laugh, “Welcome to junior high.”

It doesn’t take long for Marissa to get serious again, only this time we get down the
real
signals and then we all huddle in to hear her big idea for the game. And when we’ve hashed it through, she says, “I’ll talk to Ms. Rothhammer after school today and see if she thinks it’s legal.”

By the time lunch was over, I was actually feeling pretty good. I had a decent mitt to play with, we had a great secret weapon worked out, and Monet Jarlsberg was out there spreading the wrong information.

My good mood did a U-turn when I walked into science.
Heather was cocked and waiting, and when I came through the door she let fire with, “Meeeeeeeow!” And she must’ve been warming up the class before I walked in, because they didn’t just cover their mouths and snicker, they completely busted up.

So while my rosy little cheeks are burning a path to my seat, it hits me that the reason Heather’s back to being so cocky is that not only had Monet heard the stuff we’d wanted her to hear, she’d also heard Marissa ask me if I liked Brandon’s mitt.

Either that, or she’d gone and checked where she’d stashed mine and it was still there.

And thinking about Heather having my mitt—about Heather putting her sneaky little hand inside
my
mitt—made me so mad I could hardly breathe, let alone concentrate on Mr. Pence explaining the miracle of mitochondria.

When class was finally over, I got out of there as fast as I could, but does Heather just let me go? No way. She calls down the hall, “Poor little kitten, can’t find her mitten! Meeeeow!”

No one had to tell me to run along when school was over. I was down the steps and out the gate before the bell was done ringing. Holly and Dot came running up calling, “Hey, Sammy! Wait up!” but I couldn’t talk to them. All I could think about was Heather having my mitt—my
father’s
mitt—and how I might never see it again. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to
think
about it. I just wanted to get it back.

And all of a sudden my nose is running and my eyes are overflowing and I can’t see where I’m going, so I stumble
over to the curb and sit down. And while I’m burying my face in my arms, Holly sits down beside me and says, “Sammy, what’s wrong? What happened?”

I just shake my head and I can hear Dot whisper, “It’s her mitt. It was her dad’s.”

I slap off the tears. “She’ll never give it back. Never.” Then I get up and run all the way to St. Mary’s.

I guess I shouldn’t have used the side door, because Sister Mary Margaret jumped through the ceiling when I walked in. “Good heavens, child! Weren’t you taught to knock?”

I’m in the middle of saying I’m sorry when I notice that what Mary Margaret’s doing is counting money. Lots of money. Not hundred-dollar bills or anything, just lots of kind of rumpled tens and fives and ones. And I’m thinking that maybe it’s money from Mass offering or something, but I’ve never actually seen anyone give a ten at Mass before. And there are
lots
of tens.

So she’s standing there with her back against the table, spreading her arms out, leaning on her fingertips, trying to hide the stacks of money. And I’m trying not to stare or be too nosy, but it’s hard. I force myself to look away, and say, “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

She blinks at me like she’s completely forgotten she was laid up with the flu. “Oh. Yes, thank you.” Then she sighs, “Oh, this is ridiculous,” and turns back to the table to gather the cash. “It’s my bingo winnings, Samantha.”

I say, “
Bingo
winnings?” because Grams has played bingo before but she usually only goes up or down a couple of dollars.

Mary Margaret stuffs all the money into an empty cracker box and whispers, “Indian bingo. It’ll be our little secret, all right?”

I shrug and say, “Sure,” and in my mind I’m picturing Sister Mary Margaret with a fat wad of cash, putting on dark glasses and a big hat, sneaking over to the valley to play Indian bingo while the rest of her friends play quarter stakes at the parish hall.

Mary Margaret clears her throat. “So, shall we get to work?” Then she notices the time. “You’re over thirty minutes early. No wonder you caught me off guard!”

“I went over to the church, but it’s all locked up.”

“Oh, that’s right. The Sisters.” She shakes her head. “It should be interesting, to say the least. Are they ready, then?”

I shrug and say, “I guess so,” and as we’re going into the kitchen I kind of whisper, “You’ll be glad when they’re gone, won’t you?”

Mary Margaret laughs. “It’s like the circus has come to town and they’re using our church as the big tent.” She smiles at me and says, “I know they’re here to help, but, yes, I’ll be glad when they’re gone.”

We set up the food and clean up the kitchen, and when we’re all done, we still have about ten minutes to spare. Mary Margaret says, “Could you open the doors when it’s time, Samantha? I’ll be back shortly.”

“Shortly” turned out to be five minutes before the kitchen was supposed to close. And since Brother Phil never showed up and Sister Josephine was nowhere to be seen, I had to run the whole show all by myself
again
.

When Sister Mary Margaret finally does come back, she says, “Oh, Sammy, I’m terribly sorry! It was unavoidable. You run along—I’ll finish up here.”

When I walk by the church, I notice that the main door’s propped open. So I go over and stick my nose inside, and there’s Brother Phil at a card table with a strongbox and a stack of tickets. It looks like he’s concentrating real hard on writing something so I walk up kind of quietly so as not to disturb him. Then I see that he’s not
writing
anything, he’s drawing, and what he’s drawing on is money. I clear my throat. “How’s it going, Brother Phil?”

He jumps and practically breaks the table in two trying to cover up the beard he’d put on Andrew Jackson. When he realizes it’s only me, he rolls his eyes and says, “Give me a heart attack, why don’t cha?”

I laugh. “Sorry.”

He straightens out the table and says, “They giving you a comp?”

“A comp? What’s a comp?”

“A complimentary pass.”

“Not that I know of.”

“I thought maybe after all the work you’d been doing for them they’d slip you a ticket. I don’t think they’re giving out
any
comps. What do they think? They’re gonna sell this place out?” He squeaks around in his folding chair a minute trying to get comfortable. “Ha! That would be a first.” He leans forward and whispers, “I think Mayhew’s giving me this job just to see if the drawer’ll come up short. Have I got a big surprise for him—every penny’s going to be there. Every single one.”

Someone walks in the door to buy a ticket so I say, “You show him, Brother Phil,” and wave good-bye.

He winks at me like it’s our little secret that he won’t be taking any money from the box, and then says, “Tonight, tomorrow, or Saturday?” to the man waiting to buy a ticket.

I thought about Brother Phil and the rest of the St. Mary’s squad for maybe a whole block. Then I remembered Heather and her stupid meowing, and all of a sudden I just wanted to be home. Home with Grams.

I get back to the apartment building as fast as I can, and after I sneak up the back steps and past Mrs. Graybill’s door, I toss my backpack on the couch and run into the kitchen to give Grams a hug. When I’m done hugging her, she holds me out by the arms and says, “My goodness, Samantha. What brought that on?”

I kind of laugh, but she can tell what I really want to do is cry. She sits me down on the couch and says, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that homeless girl.”

“Her name’s Holly.”

“Of course. Holly.” She sighs, then holds my hand and says, “Is
she
the reason you were asking me what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been here to take care of you?”

I shrug and look down.

“Samantha, listen to me. Your mother would never have abandoned you. She would have taken you with her. At the time she just thought it was better for you to stay here with your friends.”

“Oh, right! This is all a big favor to
me
.”

Grams rubs my hand. “She’ll come back, Samantha, and I don’t think it’ll be that much longer.”

I jump up. “I don’t
want
her to come back. I never want to see her again!” I sit back down and say, “I just want my mitt back.”

“Are you sure Heather’s got it?”

I roll my eyes, “Oh, I’m sure.” Then I tell her about the meowing and how embarrassing it was, and how the thought of Heather putting on my mitt made me want to crush her into kitty litter.

Grams sighs. “I suppose you don’t want me to interfere?”

“It wouldn’t help. They’ve already checked her locker and Tenille’s locker, and since no one actually saw her take it, what else can they do?”

Very quietly Grams asks, “Why do you think Heather wanted to take your mitt?”

I shrug and say, “To get to me.”

“And why does she want to get to you?”

“You know why she wants to get to me! She
hates
me!”

Grams gives me a little smile. “And why does she hate you?”

I just shake my head. “I don’t know, Grams. I was trying to keep away from her. Really I was! I just want her to leave me alone.”

Grams pats my hand and says, “Samantha, Heather hates you because you always come out on top. You are a winner in spite of her.”

I let out a sound like a blown-out tire. “Oh, come on, Grams! Heather thinks I’m the world’s biggest
loser
.”

Grams just keeps smiling. “That’s what she
says
, but in her heart she knows it’s not true. Think about it,
Samantha—in all the run-ins you’ve had with her, who’s come out on top?”

So I think about it and say, “I have. But she always seems to turn it back around.”

“And that’s exactly what she’s trying to do right now. Don’t let her! I’m not saying stoop to her level—just get past Heather. And don’t worry about revenge. Things have a way of coming around all by themselves. Sometimes it takes longer than we want it to, but in the end it always does.” She pats my hand and says, “The way to rise above Heather is to play your best tomorrow
despite
what she’s done to you. You’re a winner, Samantha. Prove to yourself that she’s inconsequential in your life.” She gives me a mischievous little grin. “And if you want to hurt her more than she’s hurt you, that’s easy. Win tomorrow!”

I think about what she’s said and it’s like Grams has just put a little pocket of sunlight inside me. And the longer I sit there, the warmer I feel and the brighter things look. When she smiles at me and says, “Ready to help me fix dinner?” I get up and say, “Sure.”

At dinner I ate all my rice and peas and didn’t even try to slip Dorito any of my fish. And when bedtime rolled around I snuggled up on the couch and lay there in the dark, thinking about the things Grams had said. Then I reached over and pulled up my backpack, and just sat there for the longest time with it in my lap.

Finally, I zipped it open and took out Brandon’s mitt. At first I just stared at it, thinking. About my dad, about my mitt. About where in the world both of them were
while I was sitting up in the middle of the night thinking about them.

Then I thought about Brandon and how getting goose-bumps over his mitt was the stupidest thing my arm had ever done. Well, except for the time it went and waved at a guy stealing money out of a hotel room, but that’s another story.

I mean, Brandon had probably just tossed Marissa the mitt and said something like, “Here, she can use mine,” without even thinking about it. He’d probably lent it out lots of times—it was no big deal. Especially to a hotshot swimmer like Brandon.