The Cupid Chronicles (4 page)

“Mommy and I went to Spangles for the weekend, our favorite spa in Boston. Daddy flew us over in the new CJ.” I'm assuming CJ is a plane. Ruby flashes her fingers so we can admire her manicure.

“Oh, so
glam,”
Tina says.

“And Mommy's favorite yogi, Albee Senile, was there. At first I was like, ‘yawn, yawn, look at that scraggly old dinosaur,' and then at Satsung that night Senile started mumbling something about ‘blossoming, blossoming, letting your inner bud bloom …' and all of a sudden I had this, I don't know …
awakening …
sort of like I finally woke up. Right then and there I decided to break out and do something dramatic, you know, make a personal statement, something to demonstrate my passionate personality, and so I made an appointment at the salon and …”

I am absolutely without words. Tina manages another “glam.”

The bell rings and Ruby reluctantly sheds her red leather, stuffs her backpack in her locker, checks her makeup in the mirror, and slams the door shut.

I jump.

“And guess what?” Ruby says. “Big news! Tanner McGee just winked at me in the hall and said, ‘see you at the game, Ruby.' And I said, ‘okay Tanner. See ya' then.' Our first conversation. And he knows my
name!”

Tina's body stiffens. She folds her arms. Uh-oh.

Tina and I are painfully aware—and constantly reminded—that Ruby made the cheerleading squad, the Bramble Burners. Tina was tragically disappointed. I didn't try out. I'd rather play ball than bounce on the sidelines.

The Burners wear skintight matching tops and short red skirts. Their favorite cheer is “hot, hot, hot.”
Puke, puke.
But wait, in a few weeks, when the weather gets colder, the Burners will be freezing their you-know-whats off.

“And did you hear?” Ruby drones on. “Joey Kennelly's back!”

Now Ruby's got my attention. Two for two. Ruby's on a roll.

“He's gotten taller and his hair is longer and curly now. And that dimple …”

His name is Joseph. JFK to me.

“I'm into older boys now, but Joey is still such a cutie …” Ruby rambles on.

I look at Tina. She looks at me. Tina sends me a
raised eyebrow “do we still ask her?” and I send her back a scrunched-nosed “I don't know, what do you think?”

Tina decides. That's one of the things I like best about her. She has no trouble making quick decisions. Tina was born without the worry gene. I got the giant size.

“Hey Rube,” Tina says, “we've got big news, too. Willa's parents said we could have a Halloween party in the barn at the inn. Want to help?”

“Oh, how sweet,” Ruby says, smiling at us like we're Munchkins from Oz. She twirls a red curl. “But the Burners are having a bonfire on the beach. All of the cute boys are coming and—”

“Not Joseph K …” I start, then stop.

“Oh, that's okay.” Ruby stares at me. “I mean all of the
big boys
are coming.”

“Well then, you better have lots of
big
marshmallows—” I start, but a ripple of giggles interrupts me. Two Bramble Burners are coming out of the bathroom.

“Got to go,” Ruby says, and rushes to catch them. “Hey girls, wait up!”

Tina and I watch the Burners play with Ruby's red curls, squealing their approval, doing their dumb club signal, shaking their butts, fingers
crooked on their heads like devils. Puke, puke.

I give Tina some gummy bears. I toss the rest in my mouth and chew.

“So what?” Tina says. “We don't need her, Willa. We'll plan a party that will make their stupid bonfire look like a Cub Scout weenie roast. Got some paper?”

Do fish have fins? I pull out a notebook and pen.

“Okay,
one:
Food. You get Sam going on the grub. Stuff
boys
like … chicken wings, ribs, pizza, nachos …”

This is definitely not Bramblebriar Inn cuisine, but Sam's a guy, he'll understand.

“Two:
Decorations. I'll get my mother to send over Betty to sweep out the place and Daddy'll fork up funds for prizes.”

Tina and Ruby are rich. I don't hold it against them. Stella and I used to be sort of rich, too, back when she was a wedding planner, but now that we are innkeepers, and Sam's not so into making money, we're just regular middle class.

“Three.”
Tina's on a roll. “Entertainment. I bet Luke and Jessie would appreciate a barn gig. They usually play in garages.”

Luke and Jessie are the hottest boys in our class. They just started a band.

“They're not very good,” Tina says, “but, who cares? They're ice cream.”

“What?” I stop writing. “What do you mean,
ice cream?”

Tina smiles like Garfield the Cat. “I thought you'd like that. Willa the word lover. You know how they say a cute guy is ‘eye-candy'? Well, I invented ‘eye-scream.' Get it? Eye-candy, eye-scream. Ice cream's just as sweet as candy, right?”

“Right, Tina.” I'm digging my nails in. “Good one.”

“You're not kidding it's good.” Tina flips her hair, end of story. “I think I should get a patent on it or something.”

“Speaking of patents,” I say, “how's your aunt Amber's business doing?”

“Awesome. She's already talking about franchising. See, Willa. I told you. It's all about compatibility. I'm working on my own list of questions. How hard can it be? Anyway, Luke and Jessie's band pukes, but all of the freshmen girls will come to see them. We should charge admission, five bucks or so, to pay them. Got that?”

“Yep.” I'm writing as fast as I can. If Tina's brain clicked like this in class, she'd be in honors. “I'm good. Keep going.”

“Okay,
four:
You plan the games, Willa, some sort of Halloween stuff.”

“Like what?”

“I don't know. Use that wild imagination of yours, Willa, just be sure they're
fun.
No word games or anything. Think fun, Willa. Fun, fun, fun.”

I'm going to have to work on that one.

“And don't worry.” Tina winks. “I'll bring the right music for the last dance, when the party's over and it's getting late and all that's left is that stairway to heaven.”

“What?” I'm confused.

Tina's face takes on a dreamy glow. “Tanner McGee may get lured off to that stupid bonfire, but I bet your boy will show up. Joey Kennelly's a team player.”

“What stairway to heaven?”

“Oh, Willa,” Tina says, shaking her head. “You've got to ditch Shakespeare and get to the
movies
more often.”

I'm still in the dark.

“The
ladder,
Willa,” Tina says. “In the barn. The ladder up to the loft.”

CHAPTER 5
 
This is America
 

Knowing I loved my books, he furnished me …
with volumes that I prize above my dukedom

—The “Bard of Avon,”
The Tempest

After school, I bike to the library. The sign is still up, the door is locked. I put
Gilly
and Dickens in the returns box and walk around back to the courtyard. The whale spoutin'-fountain is off. The pennies are gone. I need to talk to Gramp.

The chimes overhead jingle as I enter Sweet Bramble Books. The smell of saltwater taffy makes me want to do a Snoopy dance.
“Mrrrrah,”
Muffles greets me from her perch in the window. I wonder what she's keeping warm today.

Gramp Tweed and I have this tradition. Every Friday he puts a new book for me on the window ledge. Muffles sits on the book, like a furry mother bird on an egg, until I arrive. “Hey, Muff.” I scratch her and she leaps, ever the coy cat.
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
I grab some fudge, plop on the couch, and open it. “Serene was a word you could put to Brooklyn, New York. Especially in the summer of …”

“I'll be interested to hear what you think,” Gramp says, coming out of the Cape Cod Authors aisle with my Shakespeare teacher, Dr. Swaminathan.

“Thank you, sir,” Swammy says. “I appreciate your recommendations.”

When Swammy leaves, Gramp makes us some tea. Lemon, no sugar, the way we like it. “Where's Nana, Gramp?”

“Out walking Scamp. I promised your Nana if she walks everyday, I'll take her to New York City in December. Do you know she's never seen a Broadway show?”

I'm glad Nana's exercising. Her doctor changed her heart medication again and said to lose some weight.

“What do you know about the library, Gramp?”

“Nothing's been decided yet. It's on the agenda next council meeting.”

“Can kids talk at that meeting?”

“Well, you have to be eighteen to vote, but there's
no rule against talking. This is Cape Cod. First place the Pilgrims stopped, freedom of expression and all that….”

“Great,” I say. “I've got an expression for that council.” I get up to leave. “Thanks for the book, Gramp. It looks good. Tell Nana I said hello.”

“Wait, Willa. Your candy.” Gramp comes toward me with a bag.

That's the other Friday tradition. Candy.

Books and candy. What's a weekend without them?

I head toward the beach eating Swedish fish, but then something tells me to try the library again. It's getting windy anyway, feels like it might rain.

The old brick building looks deserted. Green ivy hands wave sadly in the wind,
Willa, Willa, Willa.
I stare at the sign on the door.

That door seemed so heavy when I was a little girl, but I always insisted on opening it myself. Summer was Stella's busiest wedding season and so she'd ship me here to stay with Nana on Cape. That's what we locals say, “on Cape.” If you say “the” Cape, people will know you are a wash-ashore, or worse yet, a tourist. Nana had the library story-time schedule posted on the refrigerator and we'd go to every one.

Mrs. Saperstone dressed like characters in the books and surprised us with treats like honey on scones the time we read
The Bee Tree.
It was always so much fun. After, Nana and I would walk out to the courtyard and I'd pat the smooth back of the big gray whale. I'd close my eyes and make a wish and toss a penny in the water.

And I'll never forget the day I got my own library card. Mrs. Saperstone presented it like it was a college diploma. I checked out twelve books, “the limit for a new patron.” Nana took me for ice cream to celebrate, but I couldn't wait to get home and read. No way are they closing my library.
Wait, that's it. That's what we'll do. We'll save the Bramble Library!

Just then, the door opens. Mrs. Saperstone steps out. I can't wait to tell her my plan.

Mrs. Saperstone starts down the stairs slowly, a bag of books in each hand. She once said she reads three a day so she “won't miss any good ones.” Although she's probably older than Nana, Mrs. Saperstone is always so excited talking about books, she always looks young to me. Until today. Today Mrs. Saperstone looks old. There's a swath of gray hair on her forehead and dark circles under her eyes.

“Hi, Mrs. Saperstone. I'm glad you're here.”

“Hello, Willa.” Her face brightens. She sets her bags down. The tan one says “Librarians are Booked for Life.” The green one says “Got Books, Let's Read!” She notices
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
“Good choice,” she says.

“Gramp picked it out for me.”

“Well, at least I know Alexander will point the good ones your way. You always were one of my best customers, Willa.”

“Don't worry, Mrs. Saperstone. I've got a plan.”

Mrs. Saperstone pulls a piece of lint from her coat. She fixes the yellow scarf around her neck. She doesn't look at me. “I think it's a done deal, Willa.”

“No,” I say so loudly that it startles Mrs. Saperstone. “I won't let it happen.”

Mrs. Saperstone looks quickly at me, then away. She clears her throat. “No, Willa. I'm certain the council will sell the building. The roof is leaking, the brick is crumbling. We need a complete technology upgrade—”