The Cupid Chronicles (11 page)

“But exactly how much do we need?” 1 ask, holding my ground.

“Too much,” Mr. Sivler snaps. He doesn't think this is funny.

“I'm sorry, young lady,” Mr. Langerhorn says. “But it's really already been decided. We've made an excellent arrangement with the town of Falmouth to consolidate the collections and—”

“But this is the town of
Bramble,”
I say. “And these are
Bramble
books.”

Nana and Gramp start clapping and the rest of my cheering section joins in.

“That's true.” Mr. Langerhorn's face flushes red. “But the bank is fore—”

“Okay,”
Tina says in a loud voice. She struts up to the podium next to me. “Okay,” Tina says again. “This is the
third time
my friend has asked you people,
‘how much money do we need'?”

“Fifty thousand dollars,” Mr. Sivler shouts.

“Okay,” I say. “Now we're getting somewhere.”

CHAPTER 15
 
Dancing for Dickens
 

What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet …

—Shakespeare,
Romeo and Juliet

“You and Tina make quite a tag team,” Sam says to us at Mama Java's Cafe. Stella had to hurry home, but Sam said we should celebrate. Tina ordered a double mocha cherry fusion carmellata cappuccino grande. Sam and I got hot chocolate.

“The scene was perfectly executed,” Dr. Swammy agrees, sipping his ginger tea. “Bravo, ladies. I expect you both to try out for the spring play.”

“Willa wasn't acting tonight,” Sulamina Mum says. “That was straight from the heart.” She pats her fist against her hefty chest. “Good job, little sister.”

“We're proud of you, honey,” Nana says. “And you too, Tina.”

Gramp Tweed winks. “Couldn't be prouder.”

Tonight was a huge success. I can't wait to tell Mrs. Saperstone. Mr. Sivler kept objecting, but Phoebe Slingerlands said “give them till winter's end” and the council agreed to table a final decision until February 15. If we raise $10,000 by then, they will petition the bank to extend the mortgage on the remaining $40,000.

Now all we have to do is raise $10,000. Ten
thousand
dollars.

Tina and I start writing ideas for fundraising events on a napkin.

“Did you know the Beatles wrote some of their best lyrics on napkins?” I ask.

“No, Willa, I didn't. That's fascinating.”

“Okay,” I say. “November.” When I tell Tina about the Turkey Tango I think she'll flip, but she says “are we stuck with the name?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, no problem. We'll find a way to make it fun. Now, December … Let's have a prom. We can call it the Snow Ball.”

“But doesn't it take months to plan a prom?”

“You're right,” Tina says, sadly.

“How about a winter carnival?” 1 suggest. “We could still call it the Snow Ball. We've got cross-country trails behind the inn and Sam's making an even bigger ice-skating rink this year. And maybe we could have a snowman-making contest …”

Mum's on board. Tina's miles away. “How does that sound, Tina?”

“Cold, Willa. It sounds cold. We've got to think fun. Wait … I know!” Her face brightens. “How about a winter beach party? We can dump sand on the floor, hire a DJ, get some grills going with hot dogs and burgers, wear our
bathing suits!”

I write down December Beach Party. “I still like the snowman idea.” I'd rather wear a snowsuit than a bathing suit next to Tina and Ruby.

“Sure, well, maybe we can do that too,” Tina says without conviction.

“Now, January,” I say. “How about a Rock 'n' Roll Bowl-for-Books night?”

“Sounds like fun,” Mum says, taking a sip of her coffee.

Tina crinkles her nose. “Bor … ing. We can do better.”

“What's wrong with bowling, Tina? I like—”

“We've got to think
boys
here, Willa,
boys.
In January every boy in Bramble will be thinking Super Bowl. The Pats have a shot this year.”

“Okay,” I say. “February's easy Valentine's Day. How about a fancy dance?”

“Now you're talking, Willa. We know who you'll be slow-smooching with.”

“Shhh,”
I say. Mum winks at me.

“At least by then you'll know if you're
compatible
or not.” Tina keeps it up.

Thankfully Sam and Swammy are discussing school. Nana and Gramp are talking to the Reillys at the next table about their trip to New York City.

“It's not all about compatibility,” I tell Tina in a low voice.

“Oh, that's right,” she says. “I forgot about the flying baby.”

Mum laughs. I roll my eyes. But what if Tina's right? What if JFK and I have nothing in common but cider doughnuts? I like soccer. He likes football …

“Wait,” Tina says, her eyes lighting like sparklers. “Let's test it out.”

“Test what out?” I'm confused. By the look on Mum's face, she is too.

“Let's see which works better, compatibility or Cupid.”

“How?” I'm not sure I want to hear the answer.

“Well, you know I've been working on ten questions like my aunt Amber's Perfect Ten. How about
if everyone who buys a ticket for the dance has to answer Tina's Ten? I'll get Aunt Amber to match up the most compatible couples and they'll have to dance a special slow song together. Afterward, we'll see if the matches stick. If they do, compatibility rules. If not … well, maybe Cupid's cool.”

“Sounds fun,” Mum says with a laugh. We both look at her. “Sorry, girls.” Mum stops smiling.

“Hey, Mum,” I ask. “Did you ever write that letter?”

“Well, I took your advice, Willa, about being a leaper. I called our old school, got an address and wrote to Riley, but I guess he decided not to—”

“What are you talking about?” Tina interrupts.

“Nothing, honey,” Mum says. “It's getting late. Thanks for the coffee, Sam.”

After Mum leaves, I tell Tina the story.

“Really?” Tina says. “Mum had a boyfriend! Wow…. Okay, enough about that. What should we name the February dance?”

“Let's see,” I say, shifting gears. “It's for the library. Maybe something about books?” I think for a minute…. “How about ‘Dancing for Dickens'?”

Tina looks disgusted. “That's a horrible name. We need something romantic. Something about the perfect matches we're going to make….”

“Don't forget Cupid.”

“Cupid's stupid, Willa. This is serious.”

“Well,” I say, “if you don't like Dickens, what about Shakespeare? How about
A Midwinter Night's Dream?
Remember how we read
A Midsummer—”

“I love it,” Tina says. “A Midwinter Night's Dream it is.”

“We still need to run all of this by the Community Service Committee,” I say.

“Whatever,” Tina says. She's writing on a napkin. I look over her shoulder.

What's your favorite pizza topping? What's your favorite Cape beach?

Later, when we drop Tina off, she says, “Don't forget tomorrow's a dud.” That's what we call a “dress uniform day.” Blazers and dress shoes required. “See ya later, dud.”

“See you later.”

After I get the whole happy story of my speech to the council in my journal, I raid the kitchen for leftovers. When I come back upstairs, I hear Stella talking.

“Fifty thousand dollars? Sounds fishy to me, Sam. There's something else going on here. I bet Harry Sivler's up to something.”

I want to keep listening, but I don't. I want to keep the good feeling of what I accomplished tonight. Just wait until Mrs. Saperstone hears!

I unwrap a lime taffy, pop it in, and open
Fahrenheit 451.
Big mistake. It sucks me in. I can't put it down. The wrappers pile up as I read.

Matchmaker Saperstone strikes again.

CHAPTER 16
 
Rain into Rainbows
 

How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

—Shakespeare,
The Merchant of Venice

Sam and Stella and I are in our usual seats at BUC. Nana and Gramp too. Sunlight is streaming through the prisms hanging in the tall paned windows, making tiny rainbows everywhere. Rainbows dancing on the walls, dancing on people's faces.

Mum enters in her crazy-colored robe, turns toward a window, arms stretched wide, smiling like, as Mum would say, she “just saw Jesus.” And then she sings:

Here comes the sun, hmmm, hmmm, hmmm, hmmm …

Here comes the sun, and I say … it's all right …

Mum faces us. “Good morning, sisters and brothers. Happy new day to you. Tomorrow, November 13, is World Kindness Day. Time to turn rain into rainbows.”

Mum passes out boxes of pencils and pieces of paper cut out in the shape of a hand. It's a big hand. Mum must have traced her own.

“I want you to write down one kind thing you are going to do for another person this week. And I mean do, sisters and brothers, do. Not just think about, or talk about, or offer to, or promise to, but one kind thing you are going to DO for someone.”

I put my hand on top of Mum's hand. Mine is so much smaller.

“And if the
someone
is a someone you've had troubles with, that's even better. Turn that rain into rainbows, my friends. Rain into rainbows, it's all in your hands.”

I sneak a side peek at Stella. I wonder what she's thinking about.

At the end of the service, Mum gets us all up singing and clapping together:

We've got the whole world in our hands.

We've got the whole, wide world in our hands.

We've got the whole world in our hands.

We've got the whole world in our hands.

Ruby Sivler and her parents are in front of us. Mrs. Sivler is swaying her black miniskirt hips like she's at a rock concert. Mr. Sivler is stiff as a goalpost. Ruby turns around and gives me her paper hand. It says, “beauty consult, your place or mine?”