Serendipity and Me (9781101602805) (7 page)

 

I call Taylor.

You have to see her.

She's so amazing.

 

Taylor says
I'm supposed to be

keeping Mandy busy

while Mom fixes

the chicken coop. . . .

Her voice drops in volume.

We'll bike over real quick, okay?

 

It seems like Taylor's

my only easy friend.

Other girls still look away from me

whenever a mother is mentioned.

 

Taylor moved here

after my mom died.

Taylor never knew her

like these other girls did

 

these other girls who look at me

and what they see is

what could happen

to them.

 

Like motherlessness

is a disease.

 

 

 

Taylor rides up on an old blue bike

her little sister trailing behind.

We can't stay long.

Mom has plans.

 

She swings off her bike

and hauls Mandy wild-haired off hers.

Where is the cutie-pie?

 

I turn to show Serendipity's tiny face

peeking out of my sweatshirt pocket.

 

Taylor and Mandy both say
Aw

and hold their hands out.

I give Serendipity to Taylor

and she holds her close to Mandy

so they can both enjoy

the miracle of kittyness.

 

She sniffs their hands delicately

a bloodhound looking for clues

about these hands

that hold chickens,

bunnies and ducks.

Taylor's menagerie.

 

Taylor holds Serendipity like a baby,

wears the kitten on her head like a hat

then hands her to me.

I believe this is yours.

 

 

 

Dad pokes his head out the door

as Taylor and Mandy

get back on their bikes.

Taking a test-drive with the kitten?

he asks them.

 

Mandy looks confused

and wobbles on her training wheels.

Taylor rides between

Mandy's confusion and Dad's view.

Yeah, she's a cutie, Mr. James.

Gotta go, though.

See you!

 

Taylor gives Mandy's bike a shove

to get her started

and they ride off

then Taylor circles back

and hands me a paper

from her pocket.

Forgot to bring you

the assignments Friday.

 

 

We would fail as spies.

Someone paying attention

would notice the fishy vibe in the air,

Taylor's nonanswer

to the implied question.

But this one time

Dad's distraction with sadness

works in my favor.

 

He doesn't notice a thing.

 

 

 

Dad's already closed up in his room

by the time I go into the house.

 

I put Serendipity

on the back of the couch

and lie down.

I look at the note.

 

Sara,

• Start looking for an interesting picture of your family to use as a writing prompt—due Wednesday.

• Middle Ages unit: Read pgs. 131–133 in Social Studies book

• We'll get you caught up on the rest after you get back to school. Feel better!

Miss Conglin

 

It really is assignments

not the hoped-for sly note from Taylor

with more ideas on kitten-keeping.

 

I'm starting to get hungry.

I go into the kitchen

looking to see if Serendipity follows.

She scampers after me

like a puppy.

 

I open some cupboards

rattle some pans

 

hoping Dad will come out

and feed us some lunch.

 

 

 

I hear his door swing open

and his face appears near the fridge.

 

He's back—all of him

not just his sadness.

How does mac and cheese sound?

 

And because I spent so much time

in front of the TV this week

I say,
Super-duper.

 

I open the boxes for him

and fish out the cheese envelopes

while he cuts

apple slices for our fruit

and circles of hot dogs

for the macaroni.

 

A hot dog circle rolls onto the ground

and Serendipity pounces.

I reach down to grab

then decide to let her eat it.

On my way up,

something catches my eye

in Dad's room.

The book he took

is lying in his sheets.

I remember seeing the title

when he pulled it down—

Love Songs
.

 

Now I realize

I've heard that title before . . .

in Mom's fairy tale.

 

Sometime soon

I must get up the nerve

to ask my dad

a few questions.

 

 

 

The doorbell rings

while we're still eating.

 

I hop up to answer

wiping grease off my fingers

from sneaking extra bites of hot dog

to Serendipity.

 

It's Garrett

the one I was supposed to be

flying to Neverland with

last night.

 

He looks at me with Peter Pan eyes

as he hands me a DVD case.

Miss Conglin asked me

to bring this to you,
he says.

My dad recorded the play last night.

He looks down like he's reading a note

on the skateboard at his side.

Glances up sideways.

Sorry you couldn't be there.

 

I try to think of something clever to say

but I'm so nervous

the best I can come up with is

How did it go?

 

Garrett straightens

strikes a flying pose.

His stardust hair

swishes across his forehead.

We were awesome.

Too late, he tries to look modest.

See you tomorrow?

 

Tomorrow,
I say

offhand.

 

But I feel

the same lurch I felt

that first time in rehearsal

 

when he pulled the arrow

out of my heart.