Zoe in Wonderland (3 page)

Quincy

A
fter I finished in the nursery, I headed over to the greenhouse. The rain seemed like it had stopped for good because the sky was filling up with blue and the sun was still out. It was beginning to get warm, the way it sometimes is in Pasadena in October. Already, the water on the walkways was evaporating and the bees were back at work, buzzing around flowers. A sprinkling of people wandered in and around. Birds chirped songs, and colorful butterflies fluttered, and I felt happy to live at the Wonderland with its trees every shade of green, a pond with a stone mermaid fountain resting inside, and rock-lined winding paths. Like me with my daydreams,
it's different. I know it's called Doc Reindeer's Exotic Plant Wonderland, but in my mind, I think of it as Zoe's Wonderland too, with its flowers that smell like perfume—especially gardenias and honeysuckle. And except for the birds' songs, it's very quiet in the morning, but once darkness comes, its night sounds take over.

Five Things I Love About the Wonderland

1. Studying a green velvety caterpillar inching slowly across a tree branch or having ladybugs land on me, which is sure to bring good luck—at least that's what Nana claims.
   
2. Staring at the lotus plants and lilies in the garden pond while the water ripples.
   
3. Watching cowardly lizards as they flee under rocks or logs as soon as a foot lands close by.
   
4. Spying a hawk landing at the pond's edge, taking a few sips, then flapping away. Me gazing upward as it spreads its wings and soars.
   
5. And at night, with beams of moonlight shining, hearing what sounds like more than a hundred crickets.
   

Five Things That Gross Me Out in the Wonderland

1. All spiders (except daddy longlegs).
   
2. Big beetles.
   
3. Red ants.
   
4. Anything that stings or bites.
   
5. Feeding the Venus flytraps, pitcher plants, and other carnivorous stuff.
   

As I stepped inside the greenhouse, I inhaled the smell of its flowers and wet soil and moss. The screen door shut behind me. As usual, it was cool inside, and the glass was still wet from the rain.

I was staring up through the greenhouse's glass roof when the door creaked open. It was Quincy—my one and only very best friend.

Quincy Hill and I have been best friends since kindergarten. He lives two blocks up the street, but unlike me, he doesn't have a brother or sister, and last year his parents got a divorce and his dad moved away to San Francisco. We've always gone to the same school and we're in the same grade, and this year, the first year of middle school, we're mostly in the same classes. We're exactly the same height and we both wear nerd glasses. His thick black frames take up most of his face. He's the only person I never, ever feel shy around.

“Hey, Prancer,” he said, and grinned.

Because I know he's not trying to be mean, he's the only person I never get mad at for making reindeer jokes. All day yesterday, he called me Cupid.

“Hey, Quincy.”

“You almost done?” he asked.

“Not even. I just got started.”

“That's okay. The movie doesn't start till two.” He glanced at his watch. “We have lots of time.” His camera, as usual, was dangling from his neck.

Saturday movies with Quincy are one of my most favorite things. They're better than red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese icing, rocky road ice cream—better than anything my wild imagination cooks up. When Quincy grows up, he plans to go to film school and become a director. He says he'll hire me as a producer. Lately, at the end of movies, during the credits, I've started to picture my name there.

He hurried over to the terrarium that has the carnivorous plants. “Do you need me to feed them some grasshoppers or beetles?” Unlike me, Quincy enjoys that chore. But today, he was out of luck.

“My daddy already fed them this morning.”

“I'm going to take some pictures of them, okay?” he asked.

“Like I would say no. You're my best friend, Quincy,”
I replied. Right then, I stopped what I was doing. “Hey, am I
just Zoe
?” I asked him.

“Huh?”

“You know . . . nothing special . . . almost a nobody . . . a zero.”

“You, a zero? No way. You are Zoe G. Reindeer, future spectacular movie producer.”

That made me smile. “Yeah, or maybe I'll be the Queen of the Wonderland, or both.”

He snapped a few more pictures and started yapping. “Did you know reindeer's eyes change colors with the seasons? They change from golden green in the summer to blue in the winter. And they're the only mammals that can see ultraviolet light. I read that online.”

“Yay!” I clapped my hands. “More interesting facts about reindeer that don't matter to most people, including me.” Quincy, who calls himself a master of trivia, knows entirely too much about all kinds of things, including reindeer. “You know I hate my name!”

“Once you're eighteen, you can always change it, Zoe.”

“I know this.”

“But if I were you, I wouldn't. Wish my last name was Reindeer—that way, when I become a director, no
one would ever forget my name. Quincy Reindeer. The name by itself would make me famous.”

“You can have it. We'll trade names. I'll take your last name. Zoe Hill. It sounds normal, huh?”

He scrunched up his face. “Ahh . . . who wants a normal name?”

“Me,” I replied.

Saving Tears

A
s soon as I finished up in the greenhouse, I made a beeline to the house to grab my backpack and jacket.

“Where're you goin' in such a hurry?” Jade asked. She and Torrey were in the kitchen, digging into a platter of nachos. Music blared and their bodies were moving with it.

“To the movies with Quincy,” I answered.

Jade snickered. “A little date?”

Like a mad dog, I snarled at my sister, then grabbed a tortilla chip from the platter. “Not a date . . . nowhere near a date . . . He's my best friend,” I claimed.

“Keep your dirty hands out of my food!” Jade ordered.

I examined my nails. While I was working in the
greenhouse, I'd forgotten to wear my gloves, as usual, so they were crusted black with dirt.

“It won't hurt you,” I informed Jade as I washed my hands. “It's organic,” I added, heading for the door.

Jade turned up her nose at me. “Thanks for the info, plant girl. Have fun on your little date.”

I glared at my sister. “Not a date!”

Jade and Torrey shared that look—that you're-a-goofy-little-kid-and-we're-not look.

Then, Jade gave me her absolute best queen-bee smirk. And that was when—

Zoe became a diabolical magician. She held a remote-control device with special powers—the power to silence irritating pests. Zoe aimed it at Jade and pressed the button. “You're forever on mute,” Zoe informed her. Jade struggled to speak but couldn't. Zoe cackled uncontrollably. “I can't hear you, sister dear!”

“Earth calling Zoe,” Jade said, snapping me back to reality.

“Huh?”

“BG, Zoe . . . be gone,” Jade said, and waved the back of her hand like she was shooing me away from her kingdom.

Jade has a lot of talents, and one of them is her ability to hurt my feelings without really trying, which gets me extremely mad and makes me feel as helpless as a prisoner with her hands and feet tied. I used to get so hurt that I'd cry. But that was like adding a log to the fire, giving her fuel. And the last thing a queen bee needs is more power.

A while back, Nana warned me that I was wasting my tears on silliness when I cried too much. Tears, she claims, should be saved for stuff that really matters. So I made a vow that Jade would never make me cry again, and instead I give her my mad-dog look. It doesn't shut her up, but it saves me lots of tears—tears I figure I'll need for the really sad things that could happen later.

I glanced over my shoulder, gave her my maddest dog look, grabbed my backpack, and did as I'd been commanded, but slammed the screen door as hard as I could.

Inside, Jade howled with laughter.

More than anything, I really hate it when people laugh at me.

Be quiet! I wanted to scream, but I didn't, because just then a thought came softly into my mind like a feather floating.

Be quiet = BQ.

Zoe Remembers

D
oing the same thing over and over, Saturday after Saturday, seems like it would get boring, but with Quincy, it never does.

We climbed aboard the bus and headed to Old Pasadena.

Quincy is mostly in charge of movie picks because he reads reviews.

“What's it about?” I asked as we stood in the ticket line.

“Two people who meet on an airplane and discover they have something in common . . . a secret.”

“Not a love story, I hope . . . I hate love stories.”

“Definitely not a love story.”

“Good.”

We bought popcorn and sodas and had just snuggled into our seats when the lights dimmed and the previews began.

But when the movie started, I frowned. “You promised.”

“What?” he answered innocently.

“No more movies with subtitles. If I wanted to read, I'd pick up a book.”

“It's highly recommended, Zoe. Give it a chance.”

“Okay . . . but next time a normal movie. Promise?”

He faked a yawn. “Normal . . . boring.”

I pinched his arm.

“Ouch!”

“Promise me, Quincy.”

“Shhhh,” said the lady beside us.

So, we shut up, watched the French film, read the English words, ate the buttered popcorn, and sipped soda.

“Now tell me you didn't like it,” he said as we walked down Colorado Boulevard, stopping now and then to look around in the shops. “The plot twists were amazing. And I know you didn't expect that ending.”

Sometimes I hate it when he's right, but this time he was. “The ending was pretty cool.”

Quincy grinned and raised his fist to the sky, as if he'd won a victory. “See? Does Quincy Hill know movies or what?”

“You really are a dork. Really are!”

On the bus ride home, we decided to do what the actors had done in a scene from the movie: they'd picked out a person at random and tried to guess what kind of work they did or, if they were old, what kind of work they used to do. I went first.

I nudged Quincy, then pointed to an old man wearing a plaid hat and two-tone brown leather shoes. Because he was carrying a book, I whispered, “I bet he works in a bookstore.”

We both stretched our necks to see the title of the book he was carrying. It said
A Mechanic's Guide to Classic Cars
.

“Hmmm.” Quincy looked the man over from head to foot and disagreed. “Maybe a mechanic.”

But before we could ask the man with the two-toned shoes if we were right, the bus slowed to a stop and the man stood up to get off. I fixed my eyes on his shoes and suddenly thought about the man who'd come looking for baobab trees.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” I blurted.

“Forgot what?”

“About the really tall man who came to the nursery this morning. He's an astronomer from Madagascar.”

“Huh?”

I gazed out the window at the sun. “He called the sun ‘the star of day.'”

Quincy's eyes bounced from me to the sun and back to me again. “The star of day? Awesome!”

“He was looking for something called a baobab tree, but we didn't have any.”

He shrugged. “Baobab tree? Never heard of it. I'll have to look it up.”

“He said they grow in Madagascar,” I told him. “Remember—that place in the movie?”

“Wonder what they look like?” we said at exactly the same time, then laughed.

As we stepped off the bus, I began taking long strides, trying to get home fast. I began to get ahead of him.

“What's the hurry, Zoe? Jeez!”

I slowed down and Quincy began blabbering. “Did you know a reindeer can't pee and walk at the same time?”

My elbow nudged him, knocking him slightly off balance. I wasn't mad, but I wanted to focus on other things. Things like baobab trees. “Not now, Quincy.”

He grinned. “Okay, Blitzen.”