The Summer I Saved the World ... in 65 Days (7 page)

“People are already talking about groups,” Jorie says. “I'll have to see if Eli wants to go with my group or his. Either one's fine with me.”

Eli likes her; she likes him.… So why is there a lump in
my
throat?

“If Eli's friend Tyler asks someone, maybe we could go with him and his older brother. How cool would that be? We wouldn't have to get our parents to drive us then.”

“Right.” I nod. She has it all worked out.

“If I got the red dress, which shoes would I wear? Black is always good, but it can be boring, you know? Maybe silver.”

“Yeah, silver is good.” My face feels hot. “Silver is
terrific
.”

She flips through a few more pictures of dresses, holding up each one—turquoise, yellow, and sickening Barbie pink. “I can't even decide if that one is
the
dress. It's an important choice. It sets the tone for, like, your whole high school image, you know?” She glances at me, hesitating. She knows fashion has never been my thing. “What do you think?”

“They're all really beautiful.” I look at her.
She
is beautiful. Always has been. “You'd look amazing in every single one of them.” Completely true.

In my heart, I count this as number twenty-four even though it wasn't exactly anonymous.

She squeezes my arm. “Aw, thanks. Guess what? I've picked out a dress for you.”

“Me?”

She shows me her phone. “Green, to go with your eyes.”

“Jor, it's pretty, and of course I'd love to go to homecoming, but I don't think there's anyone who would ask me.”

She stands and crosses her arms. “Leave that to me.” She waves to the kids from her class, starts walking toward them. “We'll talk about this later.”

“Wait, Jorie—”

She doesn't hear. She's showing her phone to Antarctica, then pulling her hair back, like she's describing a style. Jorie has her plan, and I have mine. How can I love and not love her at the same time?

W
hen I get off the bus (Jorie went to Antarctica's), Mrs. Bennett is pacing in her driveway and Thomas is running around her in circles, cape on, sword in hand. She's in her royal-blue nursing scrubs and keeps checking her phone.

“Hi, Mrs. Bennett,” I say. She looks completely stressed out.

“Oh, Nina.” She glances up. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Where
is
he?” she says, and sighs heavily. “Nina, could I ask a huge favor?”

“Sure.”

“Eli was supposed to be home to watch Thomas by now. I have a double shift today, and I'm already late. Do you think you could keep an eye on him until Eli gets here? I know you're probably running somewhere with your friends.… ”

Um. Not really.

“No problem,” I say.

Mrs. Bennett's face lights up. “You can? You're sure?”

“Yes. It's fine. Of course.”

She runs into their garage and grabs her purse, then digs inside. “I don't have a lot of cash right now.… ”

“You don't have to pay me.”

“No, that's not right.”

“You said you were late. We can figure it out later.”

She lets out a long breath. “You're a lifesaver.” Then she catches Thomas by the arm. “Stay with Nina, okay, until Eli gets home.”

“Okay!”

I take his hand while she backs the car out. He jumps and waves. “Bye, Mommy!” Then he looks up at me with the same dark brown eyes as Eli. But a lot more freckles.

“So, what do you want to do?” I ask him.

He drops my hand and marches into the garage.
“Ride!” He climbs onto a beat-up tricycle. I smile; it's Eli's. I remember when he got it and learned to pedal. He was so proud of himself. He went around the cul-de-sac about a hundred times.

I wheel Thomas to the sidewalk. He starts pedaling furiously.

“Wait! Don't cross without me!” I yell, running to catch up, although there's not a car in sight.

I walk next to him as he rides across the street, then turns left in front of the Dixon house.

He stops and points. “Scary house.”

“It sure is.”

He pedals to the Cantalonis'. “Baseball house.”

I laugh. “Do you have a name for every house?”

He nods, serious.

“Do you ever play with the Cantalonis? Isn't the youngest kid your age?”

“Jordan? He's four. But he's always playing with his brothers.”

“Oh.”

Thomas points to the Millmans. “Doggie house.”

Of course. The Millmans have the only pet in the neighborhood. Jorie used to have a hamster, and I had a goldfish, but well, you know how that goes. My fish didn't last long. Five-year-old traumatic experience. Dad helped me bury it in the backyard.

Thomas pedals to Mr. Dembrowski's. “Night house.”

I peer at the windows. “Why night house?”

“The man there drives away in the night.”

“How do you know?”

“When I dream something bad, I wake up and look out my window. Sometimes I see the man in his car.”

The house looks as quiet as usual. I start imagining the worst: He's a criminal? Leads a double life? When the police finally catch him, we'll all say he used to grow flowers but we never really knew the guy. Wait—what if it's something normal, like Mr. D. works at night and sleeps during the day?

Thomas goes to Jorie's. “The funny house.” He smiles and covers his mouth.

“Because?”

“The girl here is funny with Eli.”

Absolutely true.

“And this one?” I gesture to Mrs. Chung's.

“The broken-leg house.”

I look at the Christmas lights. “I wonder how she broke her leg.”

“She falled off a ladder.”

“You know everything, don't you?” I grin.

We stop at mine, and Thomas nods. He has the whole neighborhood summed up. “You are the nice house. Because you're nice.”

“You're a pretty smart little guy, Thomas.”

“I'm not little!”

“Sorry. So, what do you call your house?”

He gets off the tricycle and pushes his hair out of his eyes. “Mixed-up.”

I kneel in front of him. “Why?”

He shakes his head. “Can't tell you.”

We pull the tricycle into his garage. Eli's still not back.

“Thomas, want to go to the park?”

“Will you take me in my wagon?”

“Sure.”

He climbs in, and I pull it out into the driveway. I should tell Eli, but I don't have his number. I get a sheet of paper from my sketchbook, scribble a note to him, and leave it by the door. Then I shut their garage door and run under as it's closing.

There's a pathetic little park nearby with three swings, one jungle gym, and a small climbing wall. But to Thomas, the park will be a whole new place to fight crime.

As soon as we get there, he starts making up all these complicated scenarios with bad guys and heroes, including sound effects of explosions and battles.

He's running across a bridge connecting two of the climbing towers when his cape catches on a pole and rips.

“Oh, no!” he yells. I hoist myself onto the bridge and untangle the cape. There's a gash down the center. He starts to cry.

I'm not sure what to do, but he folds into me, and I'm hugging him and stroking his soft hair. “It's okay.”

“No, it's not.” He pulls away. “You can't fight bad guys with a broken cape,” he says sadly.

“What if I know someone who can fix the cape?”

He wipes his cheek with the back of his hand. “Who?”

“Just someone. Will you let me borrow it?”

He blinks. “Maybe.”

“C'mon. Let's head back.”

Thomas gets into the wagon, broken cape and all. He looks up at me. “But what can I use when it's fixing?”

“We'll think of something.”

When we get back, Eli still isn't there. My stomach flutters. What if something happened to him?

Thomas comes into my house, and while he's busy matching his foot to Matt's size-eleven shoe, I untie the cape from around his neck. Even I have to admit, he doesn't look right without it. I find an old pillowcase and tie it loosely around Thomas's neck. He seems satisfied. Then he lets out one of those exhausted
kid breaths, goes over to our sofa, and falls asleep.

There are so many good things to count today.

25. Watched Thomas. 26. Took him to the park. 27. Comforted him. 28. Found a replacement cape.

I'm way ahead.

M
y grandma taught me to sew. Simple Truth: Sewing comes in handy.

To me, Grandma was this plump, sweet old lady who showed me how to wet the thread in my mouth so it's easier to slip through the eye of the needle. But to Mom, she was a constant aggravation. They never got along. How could they, a content homemaker and a tough divorce attorney? They were like two opposite ends of the history of women. Maybe Mom was adopted and never told anyone.

She kept Grandma's sewing basket, though. This
gives me hope that Mom loved her mother in some small way. It's way back in a kitchen cabinet; hasn't been used in a long time. When I take it out, it's like Grandma is in the room. The basket is filled with stuff no one else I know has—shiny silver thimbles, lace wound around a cardboard wheel, a rainbow of thread colors, different-size needles stuck in the pincushion on the inside lid. And the buttons. A whole removable top tray of them. They're fascinating to me; simple but so essential. Small and round. Fabric, metal, plastic. Two holes, four holes, and some with a little hook under the button, which is the hardest to sew.

Mom never uses the basket. If she needs pants hemmed or a button sewed on, she drops the clothes off at the cleaners. Grandma told me she tried to teach Mom to sew when she was little, but Mom didn't have the patience for it.

I look over at Thomas, still sound asleep. There's a wet spot on the sofa where he drooled.

I get a needle ready with black thread and spread the cape across my lap. I knot the end of the thread and pull the needle through the fabric, hiding the knot on the inside. Then, small, even stitches, like Grandma showed me. In, out, again. I work my way up the rip, and it slowly mends with every stitch. I have to stop for a second as I remember Grandma sitting in her armchair, sewing, a carrot ring in the oven. Nutmeg.
Brown sugar. Cinnamon. The smells filling her apartment. ST: Carrots are good for the eyes. And the heart.

We went there a lot for Sunday dinners. For me, it was like being wrapped in a soft, warm blanket. Dad and Matt were always thrilled. Grandma was a good cook. But Mom always had her lips pressed together the whole time. While we drove home, she'd comment on things Grandma had said, or hadn't said, or should have said, and I didn't get any of it.

When I'm done sewing, I tie a small double knot in the thread and hold up the cape. It looks like it has a scar. I hope Thomas will be okay with it.

He breathes through his mouth as he sleeps. His cheeks are pink, and his eyelashes are a little clumped together from the crying. I rub his back softly. His skin feels warm through the pillowcase. He makes a sound, a hum-sigh. For the first time in my life, I feel a little motherly.

Number twenty-nine.

This was a huge day.

I close the sewing basket. When Grandma got weak, she stopped being able to do normal things by herself. Like write. Hold a spoon. The worst was when she couldn't sew anymore.

I don't know I'm crying until a tear drops onto the pillowcase.