School of Charm Page 8

  It rained feathers. Black, speckled feathers. A body dropped from the sky.

  “What’s she doing?” I screamed to Mama. “Why is she shooting the birds?” Was she trying to add to her dead animal collection?

  Mama held her hands over her ears. “They’re starlings! Awful creatures!” she shouted.

  Ruthie crouched between Mama’s legs, and Charlene watched from inside. She looked at me through the family room window and put her hands to her ears.

  Grandma wasn’t letting up. She cocked the rifle and fired again and again and again.

  “Stop!” I yelled. “Stop, Grandma!”

  She fired one more time and set down the gun. “Out of ammo,” she said, wiping her brow.

  “Why did you have to kill them?” My hands were shaking. “They’re just birds!”

  Grandma looked at me and shook her head. “Starlings aren’t just birds, Brenda. They’re beasts. They’re loud. And they make a terrible mess.” She waved her hand in the air. “And they chase away the pretty birds, the cardinals and the blue jays.”

  We stood there, staring at Grandma’s lawn, now littered with seven dead birds.

  Grandma picked up her rifle and walked past me. “Your mother says you have a knack for taking care of injured animals, Brenda. I’m sure you’ve buried a few. Take care of these, won’t you?”

  I looked at Mama. She lifted her chin like she was going to tell Grandma I’d never had to bury an animal that’d been killed on purpose. But Mama’s shoulders slumped and she shrugged. “Use garden gloves, Chip, and a wheelbarrow. Just dump them out back in the woods, all right?”

  My jaw dropped, but Mama didn’t see it because she was leading Ruthie inside with one hand against the curls on her head. Ruthie glanced back at me, sucking furiously on her thumb. She’d started doing that again after Daddy died.

  I asked Grandma for her garden gloves, but she wouldn’t let me use them. “And touch those filthy creatures with them? I don’t think so.” She found me a pair of clear plastic gloves like you use for painting and a big black garbage bag. Then she went inside.

  “You know, every day hundreds of children across America get horrible diseases from picking up dead birds!” I shouted, even though everyone was already inside. But that couldn’t be true. I bet there wasn’t one other kid in all of America who had to do such an awful job.

  Flies buzzed around the mangled bodies as I stood over the birds, trying not to look at their dark, desperate eyes. I’d never seen anyone purposely kill another creature.

  And I’d never missed Daddy so much. Billy, either. My hands shook and I choked back a cry just thinking about them. They would have been just as sad and mad as me, and they would have helped me clean up that nasty mess. I was going to write Billy another letter and tell him all about this. He wouldn’t believe that I had a bird-killing grandma who I was supposed to get along with. This was the opposite of the Coolest Thing Ever. It was the Worst Thing Ever. And it was looking more and more like I’d never fit in this family. My heart was nowhere near being back in place. No wonder I hadn’t seen any sign from Daddy. I pressed my hands against my face as the tears finally came out, wetting the plastic gloves.

  When I finished bawling, I got to work. “Sorry,” I said to each bird as I picked it up and stuffed it in the bag. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.” Tears dripped off my face and onto their still bodies. I didn’t understand how she could hate animals so much. How could my own grandmother be so different from me?

  I carried the birds back to the woods and dug a big hole. I lowered the bag, covered it with dirt, and found enough rocks to set across the top. Then I said a little prayer, wondering if the birds would just fly right up to heaven since they already had wings.

  I sat on a tree stump and looked up at the sky. Had Daddy’s body grown wings like an angel right when he died so he could fly up and meet God? Maybe he was so busy settling into heaven, he hadn’t had time to answer my wish. Maybe I just needed to keep being patient.

  I got up and walked toward the house, leaving all those feathers spread across Grandma’s lawn as a reminder of what she’d done. I could hear laughter coming from the front of the house, and I thought about going up to my room for the rest of the day. But I wanted to know what was happening to make everyone giggle. Normally I would’ve run to see what was going on, but I trudged along the grass with my head down until I saw Mama laughing with the girls. Grandma was there too. I stood at the end of the porch, watching. No one noticed me.

  Ruthie pranced along the porch, her hands flipped out at her side and her nose tipped in the air.

  I stepped onto the porch.

  Mama looked over. “Look, Brenda. It’s the future Little Miss Dogwood!” She laughed, like nothing strange at all had happened out back.

  They all clapped for Ruthie and she took a tipsy curtsy.

  “So Ruthie’s definitely in the pageant?” I asked, leaning against one of the house’s big columns, feeling like a cold statue.

  “We signed her up today.” Mama kissed Ruthie’s head.

  “You’ll win for sure,” Charlene said. “Just like your big sister.” She scooped Ruthie into her arms and pressed her cheek against Ruthie’s. Ruthie squealed.

  “That’s real nice, Ruthie. You’ll do great,” I said. I could’ve told them I was joining too. But sadness held back my words. They thought I was the girl who cleaned up dead birds, not the one who put on a fancy dress and walked like a queen.

  “You’ll come watch me, right, Chip?” Ruthie asked.

  I looked up from my shoes. “Oh, I’ll be there for sure.”

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want, Chip,” Mama said. “I know how you feel about these things.”

  “No, I’ll be there, Mama.” Now, I just had to do good at the pageant to show them I could be part of their world, too. Because I didn’t want to feel like this anymore. Like the one person they should’ve left behind in New York.

  chapter eleven

  ONLY THREE PEOPLE WERE SITTING AT THE BREAKFAST table when I got up. “Where’s Mama?”

  Grandma tightened her lips. “Sleeping. She’s not feeling well today.”

  “Should I see if she needs anything?” I asked. “Like tomato soup maybe?” That’s what she always gave me when I was sick.

  “She’s not sick, just leave her be. That’s the best thing you can do for her,” Grandma said, while Charlene nodded. “Now I have a project planned for us today. I need help with some cleaning.”

  Grandma’s house was spotless. Nothing needed to be cleaned. Was it the locked room? I wondered. No, that couldn’t be it. I’d never even seen Grandma go into that room. Every time I walked by it, I tried to picture what could be in there. Dinosaur bones? Gold? Or maybe it wasn’t treasure; maybe it was a horrible secret, like bags of stolen money or more dead animals waiting to be stuffed. Chills raced through me just thinking about it.

  I fiddled with my fork so I wouldn’t have to look her in the eyes.

  “What I need your help with is dusting off my dolls,” Grandma said. “I do it twice a year, and it’s time.”

  I slumped in my seat.

  “You’re going to let us touch them?” Charlene asked, sounding way more excited than I knew she was. Charlene hated cleaning as much as I did.

  Grandma nodded like she’d just announced we were all going on a trip to the Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory.

  “I was thinking of exploring outside,” I said. I really needed to work on my talent for the pageant, not dust dolls. “It’s just that I’m so clumsy… .”

  “Exploring. Woo-hoo, what fun.” Charlene rolled her eyes and spun her finger. “Let her go, Grandma. Chip would probably just break the dolls, anyway.”

  Grandma thought about it long and hard. So long and hard, I started to worry she was coming up with a different, worse chore for me. “Very well,” she finally said. “You may go. But you be home in time for supper. And take an apple and some crackers with you for lunch.”
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br />   Charlene and Ruthie started right in, chattering about their favorite dolls and which one had the best shoes and the prettiest hair. Grandma grinned at them, while I ate my breakfast without saying a word. Like I wasn’t even there.

  When I was done eating, I grabbed the food like Grandma had said, and dashed out the door. I got Earl’s bowl from under the tree, then ran all the way to Miss Vernie’s. My heart loosened up once I stepped into her garden. I walked past the rosebush crawling over the arbor. Then I stopped and scratched my head, staring at the yellow flowers. “Weren’t those blossoms pink yesterday?”

  “Hmm. Might be that they were,” Miss Vernie said, not at all surprised. She was waiting for us with a record player and all sorts of props set out on her picnic table. She clapped her hands to get our attention. “Time to work on our talents, girls.”

  “I already know what I’m going to sing,” Dana said, folding her arms.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She looked at me like I had asked her what color underwear she was wearing. “I’m not telling you.”

  I took a step back. “Sorry. I was just curious.”

  Miss Vernie set her hands on Karen’s shoulders. “And what about you, dear?”

  Karen’s chin dropped to her chest. “I’m not good at anything.”

  I wanted to tell her she was real talented at feeling sorry for herself, but that didn’t seem too nice.

  While Miss Vernie consoled her, I walked over to the table to investigate the props. A baton rolled off the table toward me and fell onto my toes. “Ow!” I picked it up and ran my fingers down the cool metal, and then I tried spinning it. I liked the way it flashed in the sun when I managed to twirl it.

  Miss Vernie watched and smiled. “Keep trying,” she said. “That doesn’t come easy. I should know. The baton was my talent.”

  I dropped it again.

  “Is there anything else you’d like to try?” she asked me.

  I tossed the baton in the air and tried to catch it. I missed. “No, I don’t have any pageant talents. I’ll have to try this.”

  “Wait a minute. That’s not fair,” Karen whined. “What if I wanted to do the baton?” She held out her hand.

  I pressed it against my chest and shook my head.

  “I’ve got another one. Hang on, girls.” Miss Vernie scooted inside.

  Karen narrowed her eyes at me. “We can’t both have the same talent.”

  I started twirling the baton again, and I imagined the shiny metal flashing in her eyes.

  Miss Vernie came out and held up another baton like it was the Olympic torch. She handed it to Karen. “Girls, it’s okay if you both have the same talent. You think there will only be one singer? One piano player?”

  But Karen and I glared at each other.

  Miss Vernie showed us the basic moves: twirling it between our fingers, tossing it between each hand, then up in the air. Karen didn’t drop hers once; I dropped mine six times before we took a break for lunch.

  Dana was eyeing my turtle when we joined her on the porch. “What’s the deal with this thing anyway?” She pointed her fork at the bowl.

  “He’s not a thing. His name is Earl, and I found him last month.”

  Her mouth turned into a tight line. “Earl?”

  “Yes. Earl.”

  “Earl.” She spat on the ground. “Whatever gave you the idea to name a turtle”—she paused—“Earl?”

  I poked at the lace tablecloth, not daring to look at Dana. “I don’t know. I just did.”

  “You named him Earl? Last month? Right when James Earl Ray escaped?”

  “Who?” The name sounded familiar.

  She put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “You don’t even know who he is? He’s …” But she trailed off. “That might even be worse. Not knowing. But of course that wouldn’t be important to someone like you.” She gathered her purse and magazines. “Bye, Miss Vernie.”

  I looked up at Miss Vernie. Her eyes were wide and glossy.

  Karen ran down the stairs after Dana. “Aren’t you going to pull cattails with us?”

  Dana just kept on walking.

  “Why is she so upset about my turtle’s name?” With a pounding heart, I ran my finger along the rim of Earl’s bowl. My voice felt small. I could imagine Earl sitting in Daddy’s big hands, looking up at us like, What did I do wrong? How could this little turtle I loved so much make someone so darn mad?

  Miss Vernie shuffled through the magazines on the coffee table in front of her wicker couch. She opened one up and handed it to me. It was Time magazine, with a picture of an angry white man on the cover. “He’s the man who killed Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. James Earl Ray. And he broke out of jail last month.”

  With a trembling hand, I took the magazine from her. I thought my heart might crumble like an old newspaper. I knew about Dr. King. But not about the breakout.

  I read through the article, about the ladder a group of seven men used to climb over the prison wall and how they were caught in just a few days, and about the bloodhounds that finally found James Earl Ray on a mountainside.

  My breath was shaky. “She thinks I named my turtle after him? Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know. But some folks didn’t like Dr. King and were happy with what James Earl Ray did to him. Some say he had help breaking out of prison.” She rubbed my arm. “I imagine it’s something Dana and her father have talked about quite a bit the last few weeks. Just strong on her mind.”

  Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I couldn’t be friends with Dana. Maybe we were too different and I wasn’t a charmer like Daddy after all. I wanted to dive into Miss Vernie’s pond and burrow in the muck. This school was the only place I felt like I belonged, and I kept ruining things just by opening up my mouth. I picked up Earl’s bowl and ran down Miss Vernie’s driveway and past Grandma’s house, the water splashing out of the bowl.

  I ran until I couldn’t breathe. I ran until I couldn’t think. Then I stopped and looked down at my feet. I noticed my bracelet. My flower charm was missing. But I couldn’t imagine what lesson I’d possibly learned.

  chapter twelve

  I DIDN’T WANT TO GO BACK TO GRANDMA’S, SO I TURNED off the road and started walking into the woods, trying to forget all my troubles. The trees creaked and groaned overhead like they were talking to each other, wondering who was there. The big rhododendron bushes and willow trees made me feel safe and hidden from the street. I stepped on bouncy cushions of moss and crept back into the forest past a bubbling creek. I poked around a bit and watched a few crayfish scuttle away. Normally I would have caught them and jabbed a stick at them so they’d grab on with their claws. Sometimes Billy would take them home and keep them in a little tank until they ended up fighting each other.

  I turned over a few more rocks, and my hands finally stopped shaking. I shook away my bad feelings and tried to pretend it was a few months ago and I was back home and Billy was just around the bend, mad that I’d muddied the water downstream so he couldn’t see the minnows and frogs where he was standing. I wondered if Dana would be having fun if she were here with me right now.

  I picked up another rock in the creek, and jackpot! I found the Coolest Thing Ever. Ever! A long, sparkly rock with a hole right in the middle like it was meant for a key. Billy would have given me his Magic 8 Ball for that rock.

  I set the rock in Earl’s bowl and found a tree with a branch just low enough that I might be able to climb it. I left the bowl on the ground and jumped until my hand caught hold of the branch. I pulled myself up. I made it up two more branches until I settled on a long wide arm of the tree. I imagined it was holding me there like I was queen of the woods. Hovering above the ground like that felt right; I was up above the world, all alone. And I realized I was a little closer to Daddy up there. So I stayed in that tree, watching the sun move across the sky.

  It almost felt like I belonged there, all by myself in that tree where there was no one to fight with or say the wron
g thing to.

  “BRENDA? IT IS EIGHT O’CLOCK. IT’LL BE DARK SOON! Where have you been, young lady?” Grandma stood in the doorway of the family room with her arms crossed. She tapped her foot in her pointy white shoe.

  “I got lost in the woods.” I didn’t actually get lost-lost, but I did get lost in my thoughts, so I wasn’t lying. I coughed. My throat was dry and I was so thirsty, I would have taken a swig from a fishbowl. “I’m just going to bed.”

  “That’s right you are. If you don’t show up for supper, you don’t get supper.”

  “Okay.”

  “You say ‘Yes, ma’am’ in my house.”

  I waited for Mama to jump up and tell Grandma that sometimes I got so caught up in my adventures, I came home after dark, but she just sat on the sofa with sad eyes. I bit my lip and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” Mama was probably real disappointed in me. I wasn’t doing so good at getting along with Grandma, even after I had promised I would. I waited for Grandma to go back to her TV show in the family room, then dashed out to the porch to sneak Earl back inside.

  The familiar theme song from our Sunday night show floated out from the family room. I saw the blue light of the television glow against Mama’s face as she huddled on the couch with Charlene and Ruthie. Grandma sat in her rocking chair, with a bowl of popcorn on her lap.

  This is how we spent our weekends back home. Only, I would be on the floor in a beanbag chair watching too. Right next to Daddy.

  I ran off to bed without anyone even noticing me.

  THE NEXT MORNING, I WOKE UP EARLY, HUNGRY FOR breakfast. I peeked out the window. The sky was purple and the house was quiet. Then my stomach growled and I thought about Earl. He must be hungry too. I opened the closet door and pulled out his bowl.

  My stomach turned inside out. Earl was gone. The keyhole rock was propped up against the side of the bowl. He must have climbed up it and right out.

  I tore through the closet, pulling out bags and boxes, but I didn’t see him. My door was closed, so he had to be in the room. But then I looked more closely at the crack under the door. He could have slipped right under it. He could be anywhere. “Have you seen him, Deady Freddy?” I asked the owl. He was no help as usual.