The Education of Ivy Blake (18 page)

The house lights
dimmed and the purple velvet curtains slid back. There was the flicker and clatter of an old-style movie reel—Ivy had loved that effect when Jacob showed it to her on his computer, which was a whole lot nicer than Aunt Connie's—and then the title appeared in cursive:
Heather Lake Investigates.
Ivy grabbed Prairie's hand and squeezed. There was her movie. Her clunky little movie, up on the screen.

• • •

They filled the sidewalk walking to the ice cream shop afterward: Ivy and Prairie and Jacob and Tate and Kelly; Mom and Dad Evers and Daniel and Grammy; Mrs. Grizzby and Beryl and Ms. Mackenzie and Ms. Mackenzie's date, the man with big ears, whose named turned out to be Thomas.

Ivy pulled on Prairie's arm to stop her for a second; everyone moved around them like water around rocks. “So you do really understand, right? Why I'm staying with Beryl?”

Prairie rolled her eyes. “Because you have a
turret.
Who can compete with a turret?”

“No—”

“No, I get it, I'm only teasing. I know you like town, and Ms. Mackenzie, and the film club and everything. I know you and Beryl get along, that she kind of—needs you, in a way. I mean, not
needs
—”

Ivy nodded. “She does, though. I mean, she doesn't, but she does. We kind of match. I fit there. I matter—”

Prairie started to say something, but Ivy knew what it was going to be. “Not that I don't matter to you guys, that's not what I mean. But I can
do
things for Beryl, and, I don't know—”

“I know,” Prairie broke in. “I do.”

Ivy puffed out her cheeks. She was glad they were back to understanding each other's garbled, unfinished sentences.

Prairie pulled Ivy's braid gently. “It's okay. I mean, I miss you, I do. But I understand.”

“Thanks.” Ivy tried to put everything she felt into her eyes.

Prairie grinned. “You're welcome. But they're leaving us behind.” She grabbed Ivy's arm to drag her along faster.

• • •

Beryl clanged her spoon against her sundae glass to get everyone's attention once they were all sitting squeezed at one table in the ice cream shop's front window. “To Ivy!” she said, when everyone was looking at her.

“To Ivy!” everyone cried.

Ivy bit her lip; her grin got bigger anyway. Her movie hadn't placed or even won an honorable mention, but that didn't matter. She felt like the queen of the world. She pushed back her chair and stood up. She cleared her throat and looked at each person for a second. Then she said, quietly, “I couldn't have done it alone. So—to everyone.”

“What did she say?” Mrs. Grizzby asked, frowning.

“Shout it out, Ivy,” Grammy called.

Ivy took a deep breath. “To everyone!” she said, loud and clear.

The train
Ivy rode on rattled steadily down the track.

“Where do you think she is?” Ivy bounced the postcard from her mother on her palm. It had arrived in Beryl's mailbox a few days before, right at the end of September. There was a picture of Niagara Falls on the front.
It's a lot of water,
her mom had written.
Wouldn't want to go over it in a barrel. How'd that contest go?

Grammy shook her head. “Maybe Detroit, like she told you.”

Ivy peered at the postmark, but she already knew it was smudged and impossible to read. She tucked the card back into her sketchbook and looked out the window.

They were headed for the city. Grammy was taking her to a weekend filmmaking workshop for kids at the New York Public Library, and it was just the two of them. Prairie had gone to the creamery with the 4-H club.

“I hope she's okay,” Ivy said when the train passed Sing Sing prison, out on its rock in the Hudson River.

Grammy cleared her throat like she had a frog in it. Then she said, “Well, me too. Of course I do,” She squeezed Ivy's hand.

A few more miles went by. A ray of sunlight fell in Ivy's eyes and she squinted. She smiled, her hand still held lightly in Grammy's.

It was strange to think how scared she'd been about the Everses knowing the bad things about her life with her mom. She'd been so angry at them, and so sure she had to hide the truth. She felt differently now. Something about making the movie, not giving up even when it seemed hopeless and dumb, and asking everyone to help—had changed her. That hole inside herself felt mended enough that she could see: the Everses hadn't looked down on her and pitied her. They'd only wanted to be part of her life, and to help.

“You'll hear from your mom again,” Grammy said. “I really think you will. And who knows, maybe someday she'll get her act together. It
is
possible. She's not all bad, she couldn't be or there wouldn't be you, hanging around plaguing us with your interesting ideas and your movie projects and your flat-out blind determination to get the things done that you want to do.” She poked Ivy's ribs in exactly the same way Prairie would've and Ivy giggled.

Grammy took her hand again and squeezed it, and Ivy went back to looking out the window. She might hear from her mom again, like Grammy said. Her mom might get her act more together. Right now though Ivy had something else to think about: this moment, this train ride, which was the best part of her day so far. She drew her braid over her shoulder and tugged at it and went back to her work, looking out at the world and taking it in.

For their contributions to Ivy's story, my thanks go to:

Kathleen Ernst, who listened at a crucial time.

Carly Miller, who thought I should draw my way into the story. Thanks for the pencils and sketchbook.

Joe and Lonnie Heywood, for always offering a comfortable lawn chair and good conversation.

Phil and Gavin Downs, who helped me with my pitching. Go, Boilermakers.

Terri Poliuto, First Reader. Thanks for demanding more chapters. (You know I was afraid not to comply.)

Robin Ryle, fellow writer and wonderful friend.

Mariann Airgood, Mark Airgood, Laura Bontrager, Maria Cantarero, Pamela Grath, Lisa Snapp, and Karen Wolf. More dear and valued readers. Thank you all for being in Ivy's corner.

John and Genie Hayner and Gary Michael. Thank you for being such great friends.

Joy Harris, my agent. Many
x
's and
o
's.

Nancy Paulsen, my editor. Thank you for your careful and patient attention to Ivy's story.

All at Nancy Paulsen Books who helped create this novel. Special thanks to the copy editor, Chandra Wohleber, whose comments were so apt, and to the designer of this perfect cover.

Matt and Peg Airgood, for their constant, loving interest in my endeavors.

Jean Guth, my mother-in-law, for her hospitality during an intense week of work on the manuscript. Thanks for understanding that I had to work, and for the Mint Klondike bars, too.

Our crew at the West Bay Diner. Their good cheer, hard work, and flexibility help make it possible for me to do two crazy jobs instead of just one.

Our customers, so many of whom are also dear friends and— hurrah!—book buyers.

The readers who were so enthusiastic in their response to
Prairie Evers.

My parents, Henry and Anita Airgood. Both were voracious readers who filled our house with books. I couldn't have had better champions in life.

My husband, Eric Guth, who gets it.

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