But the nicest part of the whole evening came at the end. We stopped at the corner near my house and just sang for each other.
“Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright….
Above us, stars glittered and faded in the clear sky. Colored lights blazed in the houses around us. And in just about every window was a curious face, listening silently.
Ben and I put our arms around each other.
I wasn’t worrying about Christmas spirit anymore.
Mrs. Bruen made me change that part about Dawn’s toast. She said it was okay to make fun of food but not of people. She was really bossy the whole day long.
And it was a dumb toast.
You know what else? There were NO KIDS at that party. I mean, some little kids were there — like, six and four and eight years old. Also some teenagers. But nobody the right age.
Grown-ups can be so boring. They kept asking me the same questions, about a thousand times. I felt like wearing a sign around my neck that said:
JEFF.
JACK’S SON.
TEN YEARS OLD.
FIFTH GRADE.
OF COURSE I’VE GROWN — I’M A KID.
I mean, what am I supposed to say to them? “And how old are you?” or “Well, you sure haven’t grown.”
I smiled a lot.
Anyway, Mrs. Bruen was in charge of the party. She snuck me an extra piece of cake, so I wasn’t mad at her for being bossy.
While I stuffed it in my mouth, she ate a piece, too. On a plate with a fork.
She grinned at me. A little hunk of icing was stuck to her lip.
I was going to miss Mrs. Bruen. She didn’t look too unhappy, though.
“Did you find another job?” I asked.
She laughed. “Trying to get rid of me?”
“No! But I mean, after today, with Carol moving in …”
“One person joining the household, one leaving. Sounds to me as if there won’t be any less work for me, does it?”
“You mean they’re not going to fire you?”
Mrs. Bruen looked shocked. “Goodness, no! Just between you and me, Carol makes your dad look neat. They want to double my hours!”
Yeeee-haaah! I was so happy. I wanted to jump up and down. “Good,” I said.
Mrs. Bruen gave me a sly smile. “Worried, weren’t you?”
“Me? Naaah.”
I was cool. She didn’t suspect a thing.
When the party was over and all the guests had left, Dad said he wanted to open presents.
“Aren’t you tired, Jack?” Carol asked.
“Never too tired for that,” he answered.
That’s just what I would have said.
Dad, Carol, Mrs. Bruen, Dawn, Kristy, Claudia, Mary Anne, and I all went inside. And guess what? Someone had put a Christmas tree in the living room! With lights and decorations and everything.
“Wow! Where did that come from?” I asked.
“Santa Claus,” Kristy said.
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s lovely,” Carol said.
Everybody oohed and aahed.
Dad sat on the couch. “Ohhhhhh, my feet,” he said.
He put them up on a box on the coffee table.
“Careful!” Carol said. “It’s fragile!”
“So are my feet,” Dad replied. But he took them down anyway.
Carol opened the fragile box. Inside it was a set of shrunken coffee cups. At least that’s how they looked to me.
“Ooh, demitasse,” Carol said. “How beautiful.”
I guess. Like, for a doll house.
Next, Dad opened a box and took out a bowl. Then Carol opened another box. It had a bowl, too. They opened four more boxes, and two of them had bowls.
“You could go bowling,” Claudia said. (She’s funny sometimes.)
Mrs. Bruen started picking up the empty boxes. “Sit. Relax,” Dad told her. “The party’s over.”
“I have to move them,” she said. “The movers won’t have any place to put Carol’s furniture.”
Yuck. I had forgotten about that.
Mary Anne was staring at this tall, narrow box. It said FRAGILE on the side, too. “What could this be?” she asked.
Carol opened it. She pulled out a shiny statue. It was a clown in a black-and-white polka dot costume. He looked like he was crying. A long electrical cord stuck out the back.
“I think it’s a lamp,” Claudia said.
Carol plugged it into the wall. She found two buttons on the side and pressed one.
The clown lit up from the inside. And his frown curved upward into a smile.
Then Carol pressed the other button, and the clown began singing an opera song.
Dad looked as if the clown were made of boogers. “Turn that thing off!” he said.
Kristy quickly pressed the button.
Nobody said anything for a few seconds. Then Carol started laughing. “I’m sorry…. Sorry. Let’s open another one.”
“What? What do you think of it?” Dad asked with a funny smile.
Carol tried not to laugh, but it didn’t work. “That is the ugliest gift I have ever seen!”
Everyone started laughing. Kristy was rolling on the floor. Claudia and Dawn looked as if they were holding each other up. Mary Anne’s eyes were watering. Even Mrs. Bruen was laughing.
Dad’s shoulders were bouncing up and down. Then he calmed down and patted the clown on the head. “Maybe we should keep him.”
“Aaaaugh!” Dawn screamed. “I will never ever visit you again if you do.” She pulled the plug out. Then she ran to Mrs. Bruen’s pile of throw-out boxes and tried to stuff the clown in.
“Go! Go! Go! Go!” Kristy called out.
Everybody joined in. Except me.
I thought the gift was kind of cool.
Dad and Carol kept opening. Most of the other stuff was, like, kitchen things. And a few more bowls. Zzzzzz.
When they were down to the last few boxes, the phone rang. Dad went into the kitchen to get it.
I could hear him yelling. Everyone got nervous.
A long time later, he came back.
“It’s gone,” he announced. “All of it.”
“Whaaaat?” Carol said.
“The furniture?” Dawn ventured.
Dad nodded. “The van was stolen. They found it in a lot just off the freeway, halfway to San Diego. It was stripped and completely empty.”
No one said a word. I looked at Mrs. Bruen. She looked at Carol.
Carol was totally still. Then she started laughing again.
“I — I’m not joking, sweetheart,” Dad said.
“I know,” Carol answered. “But … but it’s okay.”
“It is?” Dad asked.
“I never liked that furniture in the first place!”
“Really?” I asked.
Dad put his hands on his hips. “Wait a minute. You were dead set on bringing that stuff here. You said you … you came of age with the wall unit.”
“I know, but that’s just because you were trying to make decisions for me,” Carol said. “It was the principle, Jack. But let’s face it, this house has enough furniture, and it’s so much nicer than mine was.”
I imagined the lava lamp in the robber’s house. I hope he enjoyed it.
Dad smiled. He sat down next to Carol. They smooched.
“Ew,” I said. I couldn’t look.
Everyone else said, “Awwww.”
Grown-ups. Weird. What did I tell you?
Yes, she did say that. As she and the other guests were leaving, right before Mr. Schafer and Carol began opening their presents.
“What party?” Dawn asked.
“I — I meant at the airport!” Sunny stammered.
“But aren’t we all having brunch before then?” Dawn said.
“That’s what she meant,” Maggie stuttered.
“Oh.”
“ ’Bye!” I have never seen the members of the We Kids Club move s
o fast.
Very skillful, huh?
Oh, well. Dawn didn’t seem to get it. Or else she hid it really well.
This was our alibi: We were going to meet at Sunny’s, then go out to a health-food restaurant for brunch. (As if I would ever agree to do that.)
The night after the wedding, Dawn, Claudia, Mary Anne, and I stayed up late chatting. Mary Anne, of course, had packed her suitcase already (don’t ask me when she did it).
The rest of us had to pack in the morning. For me, that was no big deal. But Claudia — well, Claudia can make a production out of packing a lunchbag.
Have you ever seen a rabbit in the jaws of a snake? You know, like on an educational TV show? Gross, I know, but that was what Claudia’s suitcase looked like. You could not imagine it ever closing.
“How did I get all this stuff here?” she muttered.
“You didn’t,” I replied. “You went shopping at the mall.”
“I know, but it was only a couple of T-shirts for me and some books and shorts for Janine,” Claudia said. “Oh, and the California Angels windbreaker for Dad, and Mom’s hat.”
“And the sunglasses and a couple of Nancy Drews,” Mary Anne added.
“Which you could have bought back home,” I added.
Claudia gave me a puppyish look. “Kristy, do you have any room in your duffel bag?”
Guess who had to drag home a two-ton duffel bag later that day?
Anyway, we got off to a late start. That made me nervous. “Brunch” was supposed to be at ten-thirty. That meant we only had a couple of hours to party. Then we’d have to run back and get ready to go. The drive to John Wayne Airport was about half an hour (allowing for traffic), and our flight was scheduled for two-thirty P.M.
Cutting it close, I know. But I hadn’t figured in the Kishi Factor, so we were even worse off. We got to Sunny’s at 11:03.
We let Dawn ring the bell.
Rumble, rumble. Shhhhhh. Giggle, giggle.
Unbelievable. It sounded like an army of mice had taken over the house. I know Dawn heard that.
Then Sunny opened the door. She had this huge, unnatural smile. “Hiiiiiiii! Come on in. We’re just about ready to leave for brunch.”
Dawn took one step into the house, and then —
“SURPRIIIIIISE!”
Flash! went a camera.
Dawn gasped. The living room was full. Jill and Maggie were there, and Mr. and Mrs. Winslow, some kids from Dawn’s school, and a few of the WKC’s favorite charges.
I didn’t know Dawn’s school friends, but I recognized the little kids — Daffodil and Clover Austin (who are eight and five); the DeWitt boys, eight-year-old Erick and six-year-old Ryan (yes, another Ryan DeWitt, and no, not related); and Stephie Robertson, who’s eight.
Draped across the room was a huge piece of paper that said BON VOYAGE, DAWN! It was signed with a personal message from everyone.
“Did you know we were here?” Daffodil called out.
“No!” Dawn replied. “Oh, I can’t believe this! You guys!”
She hugged everybody, squealing and saying “I’ll miss you!” each time.
Mr. Winslow kept moving around, taking pictures of Dawn’s reaction.
“There’s a cake!” Erick called out. “Sunny won’t let us eat it till you have the first piece.”
A cake? Even I didn’t know about that.
Dawn went straight to the dining room. There, Whitney Cater was carefully unwrapping paper plates and setting them on a table full of food (most of which looked completely inedible). Whitney’s twelve and she has Down’s syndrome. Dawn was once hired to sit for her, but Whitney thought Dawn just wanted to be friends. She was hurt when she found out the truth, but she and Dawn talked it out and became very close. Whitney’s an honorary WKC member now.
“Hi!” Whitney called out.
“Oh, Whitney …” Dawn and Whitney threw their arms around each other.
Whitney began crying. “I’m going to miss you so much.”
“Me, too.”
It came out more like “Me too-hoo-hoo.” (Yes, Dawn was crying, too-hoo-hoo.)
I was sad, but I couldn’t cry. I mean, I was going to see Dawn in Stoneybrook the next week.
Mary Anne? Well, she wasn’t doing so well in the dry-eye department, but what else is new?
“Hey, Dawn, did you have any cake yet?” Erick the Persistent called out.
Dawn let go of Whitney and finally looked at the cake.
It wasn’t a cake, really. It was a work of art. It had been made to look like Dawn’s face — blonde hair, sunglasses, freckles, and a big smile, all made of frosting.
“Oh …” Dawn said.
“Awesome,” Claudia added. “Who made it?”
“Me and Joanna and my daddy,” answered a teeny voice.
Off to the side, practically hidden by all the people, was Stephie Robertson. She’s usually so bubbly, but that day she looked glum.
“Stephie, it’s breathtaking! I don’t even want to eat it, it’s so beautiful.”
“Oh, no,” Erick moaned.
Mr. Winslow handed her a Polaroid photo of the cake. “For your memory book,” he said.
Dawn was shaking her head in disbelief. “Well, I guess I should cut it, huh?”
“Yeeeeaaaahhhh!” screamed most of the kids.
“I’ll do it,” volunteered Whitney.
She began slicing pieces. Mary Anne and Sunny helped her put them on plates.
“Mmmmmm,” Dawn said as she ate the first piece. “I love banana cake, Stephie.”
Stephie nodded.
“Stephie, are you okay?”
She folded her arms and looked off to the side. Her eyes were red. “I’m mad at you.”
“Because I’m leaving?”
“Yeah.” Stephie choked back a sniffle.
Poor kid. She adores Dawn. Not too long ago, Stephie was this shy, asthmatic girl who hardly ever went outside. Then she and Dawn really hit it off. Slowly Stephie came out of her shell. Even her asthma improved.
“I’ll be back to visit, I promise,” Dawn said. “And I’ll write you tons of letters. Will you write me?”
“I already did.” She pulled a folded-up piece of looseleaf paper out of her pocket.
“May I read it?”
“Uh-huh.”
I couldn’t tell what the letter said, but it made Dawn cry again. Later she showed it to me:
Dawn had a great time at the party. But she said nothing beat that letter.
“Over — here — okay — Got it? Set it down — Easy — Auuugh!”
PLANNNNNK!
Franklin’s piano thundered to the floor. It was either that or destroy our backs.
Have you ever tried to lift an upright piano?
If you have, I feel sorry for you. If you haven’t, don’t.
Franklin does not play the piano. Neither do his kids, although Ryan likes to walk on the keys if someone is holding his hand. The Barretts do not have a piano, nor do any of them want to.
So why were we going through all this?
Because Franklin had the piano in his old house. The previous owner had left it there. Why? He didn’t want the hassle of moving it.
Did Franklin follow that man’s example? Noooo. He thought the piano would be “a good investment in the future.”
Some people have to learn their own lessons.
Anyway, my arms were falling off. I could swear they’d stretched. From now on I’d need a longer shirt sleeve size. “Is this the right place?” I asked.
Still panting for breath, Franklin stepped back and looked around the living room. We had put the piano near a side wall.
“I think so,” he said. Then he called out, “Natalie?”
Mrs. Barrett (or I guess she was Mrs. DeWitt now) appeared in the living room archway. She was wearing dusty, paint-stained sweats and her hair was pulled up in a bun. “Franklin, I said the east wall!”
Franklin fell to the floor on his back, as if he’d bee
n knocked out. “Newlywed middle-aged man dies in domestic piano-moving incident. Details at eleven.”
Mrs. DeWitt laughed. “I guess that means we leave it there.”
“Thank you!” Franklin said, springing to his feet. “You see how she and I think alike, Logan? I knew we were meant for each other.”
He threw his arms around her and started necking.
“Aaaaah! You’re filthy!” she screamed.
I turned away. This was embarrassing.
“Look! Pannano!”
Ryan came toddling into the room, followed by Madeleine and Suzi. Guess where they all went?
BANG! CLONK! FOOMP! PLINK!
Mozart it wasn’t.
“I’ll go unload some of the boxes,” Franklin volunteered.
“Logan, would you give the boys a hand in the basement?” Mrs. DeWitt asked. “Their bookcase needs assembling, and then I think the girls need some help upstairs, too.”
We both left the recital. Unfortunately there was no escaping the noise, but you got used to it after awhile.
Buddy and Taylor’s bedroom was in the basement (it’s a small house, and that was the room they picked). Mrs. DeWitt walked downstairs with me. We entered a room that had a bunkbed, boxes, and a bookcase with no shelves (the movers had taken it apart). Buddy and Taylor were rooting around in several boxes, throwing the books all over the floor.
“Now you two help Logan, okay?” Mrs. DeWitt asked.
“Okay,” they mumbled.
Mrs. DeWitt left.
Taylor yelled out, “Freckle Juice! I love that book.”
“It’s mine!” Buddy protested.
“How do you know?”
“See the box? It says BARRETT, B-A-R-R —”
“I can read.”
“Uh, guys?” I said. “You’re supposed to help, remember?” I pointed to a stack of shelves the movers had taped together. “Why don’t you untape those?”
Well, that took them all of two minutes. As I installed the shelves, they went back to their literary discussion group.
Buddy: “My Wizard of Oz has much better pictures than yours.”
Taylor: “Oh, yeah? Do you have Animalia?”
Buddy: “I did when I was a baby.”
Taylor: “I’m not a baby!”
“Yo, fellas!” I cut in. “Why don’t you start putting the books on the shelves, okay? Like, in alphabetical order or something.”