The Cupid Chronicles (7 page)

“Well, we'll figure out something.” I am feeling confident at the moment. Tina and I just pulled off an awesome party. “Where there's a will there's a way, right?”

“Speaking of Will,” Sam says. He runs his hand over the thick black
Complete Works of Shakespeare
on my nightstand. “What are you reading next?”

Sam is a great innkeeper, but I know he misses teaching. Sam was the best English teacher I've ever had. Although I must say Swammy is no swimmy minnow either.

“A Midsummer Night's Dream.”

“Nice,” Sam says. His face lights up. “Aren't Quince and Bottom hysterical?”

“Speaking of dreams,” Stella interrupts, “time for bed, Willa. Rosie's got a family wedding and Daryl called in sick, so you and I are on breakfast duty.”

“Okay, sure. I'll set my alarm.”

After they kiss me good night and leave, I lay there thinking about how to save the library. How I'm definitely going to talk at that meeting. I look over at my stack of library books. I pick up
The Education of Little Tree.
Mrs. Saperstone recommended it.
Gramma said when you come on something good, first thing to do is share it with whoever you can find; that way, the good spreads out
… Mrs. Saperstone always knows the good books. Mum says I'm a matchmaker. Librarians are matchmakers too. They match people with books.

No way are they closing my library.

I'm wide awake now. I pick up old Will and find my place in
A Midsummer Night's Dream.
The language is so beautiful. The sounds roll off my tongue.

… once I sat upon a promontory,
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath
That the rude sea grew civil at her song
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres
To hear the sea-maid's music.

So lyrical, poetic. I wonder how Shakespeare would sound in rap?

“It's like poetry except it's music,” JFK had said.

CHAPTER 9
 
Ben Franklin
 

Be not afraid of greatness:
Some are born great, some achieve greatness,
And some have greatness thrust upon them.

—Shakespeare,
Twelfth Night

I'm up early. There's much to do. I help Stella make apple muffins and cut vegetables for the omelets. Outside, the sun is shining. I sweep leaves off the front porch steps and get the letters I need to change the Bramble Board.
“B, E, N, O, T …”
I see the cherry tree I planted when we first moved in is finally starting to grow.

“Good morning, Willa,” Mama B calls out. The Blazers are heading up the driveway, in matching pink velour warm-up suits, all rosy-cheeked from their walk. “We wanted to thank you again, honey, for a lovely evening.”

“I'm glad you had a good time.”

“When's the next dance party?” Papa B asks.

“Oh, that was the only one.”

“No.” Chickles chin drops. “I was just telling Papa I hoped you'd have another for Thanksgiving. We had a ball, didn't we, Bell? More fun than the time—”

“Willa!” Stella shouts from inside.

Thanks, Stella. Saved by the yell.

“I'm sorry, but I've got to go. Mother and I are on breakfast duty.”

“Certainly, honey,” Mrs. Blazer says. “You run right along.”

Phew.
I hurry in and wash my hands.

“Here, take the honeydews,” Stella says. She adjusts a few of the strawberry garnishes and hands me the tray.

As I walk out to the breakfast porch I look at the green melons and giggle. I'm imagining Mama B saying “put a barn in the backyard for dance parties on the honey-do list, Papa. No, make that barns for
all of our backyards.”

The Blazers are amazin'ly rich. I overheard Stella telling Sam that they own four houses. The “mother
home,” another on each coast, and a “château d'amour” in France. Maybe they would make a donation to save the Bramble Li—

“What did you two chefs cook up last night?” Tina pops her head in through the window. “Things looked pretty hot.”

“Shhh.” I look behind me for Stella. “We had a nice talk. That's all.”

“Come on,” Tina teases. “Dish it up, chef.”

“We talked. That's all.” We head out to the barn.

“I hope Ruby kept her red nails off Tanner last night,” Tina says.

“I wouldn't worry, Tina. The rain probably ruined the bonfire anyway …”

“Did you see
Jessie
last night?” Tina has already moved on.

“Well, I certainly heard him.”

“Who cares if he can't play the guitar?” Tina says. “His hair is so yummy. And that earring? He looks British or something, sort of a cross between Beckham and that hunk from the Harry Potter movies, or maybe that boy from Better Date Than Never.”

I'm not following most of this, but I just nod along.

“Wait,” Tina says. “Hold everything. How much money did we make?”

“Let's check.” I unscrew the mayonnaise jar and empty it on the table.

Tina sees it first. “A hundred bucks! Someone put in a
hundred bucks.”

“Let me see. It was probably a trick.” Nope. That's Ben Franklin all right.

“Who would put in a hundred bucks?” Tina swipes Ben from my hand.

It's easy to connect the dots. “The Blazers,” I say. “Our new rich guests.”

“Wow,” Tina says, “that was nice of them.”

“No, wait, Tina.” I take Ben back. “I've got to give them change.”

“Why, Willa? They can read English, can't they? It said ‘five dollars' right on the jar. I'm sure they were just trying to support the cause.”

“What cause? We didn't say anything about a cause.”

“I know, Willa, but why spoil their fun? Let them feel proud about helping out the younger generation, you know, community service.”

Tina's good, really good.

“No, Tina. It's not right. I have to at least offer them change.”

“Oh, all right, Willa.” Tina huffs. “You're such a goody-do-shoes. But don't twist their hammy arms too hard. If they say ‘keep it,' let's keep it.”

Tina counts out the rest of the money. “I'll pay the Buoys,” she says. “It'll give me a reason to stop by Jessie's. And let's just split the rest. We did do all the work.”

After Tina leaves, I mix up some tuna, pack a lunch, and bike out to Sandy Beach. When I come up over the bluff, the wind whooshes hello and the waves swim in to meet me. I breathe deep and smile.

At the bottom of the stairs, I ditch my sneakers and sink my toes in the sand.
Hmmm.
May be the last barefoot day until spring. I walk out to the end of the jetty and back, then spread out my towel for lunch. A fat gray gull lands next to me. He gives me a quick beady eye as if to say, “are you throwing me a crumb or what?”

I don't. He caws off annoyed. Silly bird.

There are three sailboats out by Cotuit. I bite into a McIntosh apple. JFK was such a good sport getting the bobbing going last night. I wipe the apple juice off my chin, remembering the feel of JFK's fingers as he brushed the sugar off my face.

After lunch, I walk along the ocean side of Poppy Spit. It's a narrow strip of beach, ocean on the right,
bay on the left, about a mile long. Out near the end, there's an area roped off to protect the nests of endangered birds. Tiny terns and piping plovers, crazy little endangered birds, are scampering ahead of me right now. Each time my dark shadow gets closer, they sweep up in a noisy flourish, fly up the beach a bit, then settle back on the sand. When they see me again, they swoop up again, playing the same game all over. Silly birds.

I start thinking about community service and the Bramble Library. Well, I found a cause close to my heart. Hopefully, my class will like the idea. But how can we raise the money? And how much money do we need?

As I walk, the wind and waves wash my worries away. Cool water laps against my feet. I look for beach glass and orange jingle shells.

We made money last night, more then we expected. And everybody had fun. Maybe we can do more events like that. Stella can't object to saving the library. And I'll have all those chances to be with JFK. That's it. Yes.
Thank you.

I sprint around the tip of the spit. The strong ocean currents converge with calm bay ones here, making a dangerous whirlpool. A boy drowned here once. I turn left, in toward the bay side. There's the
spot where JFK and I sat that day we walked together. He kissed me quickly on the cheek. He smelled like peppermint gum.

“Caw, caw.”
A gull swoops in and another takes off like a relay. I head back down the beach. I saved the best part of lunch for last. Sam's famous chocolate-chip cookies with toffee-candy-bar chunks.
Mmmm.

There's a patch of rugosa by the stairs. The sweet cinnamon-smelling pink beach roses grow wild all over the Cape. I pick one, probably the last of the season, and stick it in my hair. I wonder what JFK is doing today?

CHAPTER 10
 
Ruby's Revelation
 

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn,
good and ill together.

—Shakespeare,
All's Well That Ends Well

It's an “outie,” out-of-uniform day, in honor of the annual student-faculty soccer game. Outie days are causes for great rejoicing at Bramble Academy. We get a chance to dress like ourselves and ditch the drab uniforms.

I put on orange Bermudas and my favorite striped rugby shirt. I grab a juice and a cranberry muffin and bike to school early. No one is in the hall when I tie the five-pound bag of candy on JFK's locker.

Dear Joseph,

I meant to give this to you at the party. Thanks for coming. It was fun.

Willa

At lunch I tell Tina about my idea to hold events in the inn barn to raise money for the library. Tina doesn't care very much about the library, but she doesn't need two invitations for fun.

“Fun, fun, fun,” she says.

“Tanner McGee's a jerk,” Ruby announces, slamming down her books so hard my vegetable soup sloshes on the table. “Lana Sharkey can have him.”