Scumble (29 page)

Reaching the Cabot house, I stopped short, trying to catch my breath as I picked my jaw up off the ground. Mr. Cabot had decided not to rebuild his fence. But he had added something new to the yard—something big. Suddenly I knew exactly how Gus and Winona had paid off Mr. Cabot. For there, in the middle of the lawn, opposite the protective limbs of the tall white birch tree, stood the greatest of Winona's sculptures: the mythic jackalope she'd been working on when I met her, its branching antlers gleaming in the sun. I liked the newest addition to Mr. Cabot's collection.

I smiled as Bitsy sniffed the crazy sculpture, then looked up as an iridescent blue-green butterfly the size of a dinner plate stopped to rest on the tip of the jackalope's right ear. The escaped Queen Alexandra's Birdwing opened and closed its enormous wings slowly. Making me smile even wider.

I pulled a handful of small bolts out of the mailboxes across the street in one quick, easy motion and pitched them up to rap against Sarah Jane's window, hoping that if Hedda the Horrible hadn't yet left for outer space, she wouldn't come running. As I waited for SJ to appear, I bent to pick up the car antenna that had shot off Mr. Cabot's Lincoln months before. It had hidden itself in a crack between the walkway and the grass. Now, quickly and deftly, I reshaped it.

“What's your damage, Cowboy?” Sarah Jane demanded as she opened her window and leaned out, her hair hanging down in one long braid, her green eyes sparkling. She pretended to sound tough, but she was grinning.

“No damage today, SJ,” I called back. “Just this!” I held up my creation—a carefully sculpted antenna-wire flower—trying not to come off looking and sounding like a besotted buffoon. I wondered if this was the part when SJ would come down and kiss me, just as she'd written in her letter. Josh had told me what to do when this moment came. I had to act cool. I couldn't freak out, geek out, or run screaming.

Sarah Jane disappeared from the window. My heart began to pound, waiting for her to come down and . . . and . . .

Maybe I
should
run, I thought. I could always lie to the guys and say I didn't.

Only, Sarah Jane didn't come down to give me that kiss she'd promised in her letter. Instead, reappearing in her upstairs window, she dropped a single sheet of paper. I watched the paper whip and flutter to the ground, not sure if it was safe to read. It might tell me that Bigfoot was standing behind me . . . or that SJ was going to give me
two
kisses now, not just one.

“Oh, go on! Be a man, Ledge! A few alphabet bits don't scare you, do they?”

I swallowed, then bent and picked up SJ's paper. On it she'd written six words:

After that, I didn't know
what
to believe, aside from the fact that Sarah Jane and I were friends. The only kiss I got that day was the one in the tall tale I told the guys back at school—and that one would have made one super-duper,
humdinger
headline.

Many thanks to Lauri Hornik and the dedicated people at Dial Books for Young Readers and Penguin Young Readers Group. Thanks too to Chip Flaherty and my pals at Walden Media, especially Deborah Kovacs and Kellie Celia, who are always ready with a cheer. Additional thanks to the folks at Writers House who keep my stories moving around the world. I'd be lost in the jungle without my fabulous agent, Daniel Lazar, and missing the masterful e-mail haiku of his assistant, Stephen Barr.

To my family and friends, who all thought I fell in a hole while writing this book, thank you for your patience. Mom, Dad, Michelle, Luca, Phyllis, Christine, Rose—I love you all. Andy, you deserve a medal. Sean, your support and insight were brilliant and invaluable, as always—you and I learned long ago that not everything that comes apart is broken.

To the many people who took the time to answer my questions about butterflies, motorcycles, and more . . . I'm grateful. A special shout-out to Arthur Plotnik, whose book inspired me to take chances (and gave me the word
scumble
in the first place), and to the lovely and talented Laura Resau and Sarah Prineas, who have both given me so much. Counting down to lunch, Sarah. Yup, yup, yup!

Finally, for sticking with me, putting me up, sending brownies, listening to me cry, laughing with me, and helping me find this story, my editor, Alisha Niehaus, deserves big hugs, and even bigger boxes of chocolate—or better yet, more lavender air, black truffle explosions, and smoldering cinnamon sticks.