“Oh, I don’t know, Buddy,” Mary Anne started to protest. “She’s so small, and —”
“Yeah! Yeah!” Suzi yelled. “It’s a small wagon. It’s a teeny tiny wagon. Really. I’ll get it!”
Before Mary Anne could reply, Suzi had disappeared into the garage. She came out pulling a small, red-slatted toddler-type wagon.
“Wagga! Wagga!” Marnie cried.
“See? See how small it is?” Suzi said.
“All right, all right,” Mary Anne replied. “Come on, Elvira.”
She took Elvira’s leash and pulled her toward the wagon. But Marnie had chosen that moment to play “chase-me” with Elvira. Unfortunately for Mary Anne, Elvira had decided she was in love with Marnie — and she had grown stronger over the ten days of her high-protein garbage diet.
Each time Mary Anne would start to hitch the leash to the wagon, whoops! Off went Elvira, and off went Mary Anne with her.
Finally she managed to tie the knot. Elvira moved forward, and the wagon rolled along.
The Barrett kids laughed and clapped their hands. “I know!” Buddy said. “We can charge kids a quarter for a ride with Elvira!”
“Yeah!” Suzi cried. “Let’s go get Claire and Margo and —”
“Just a minute,” Mary Anne said. “Let’s see if Elvira can do it first. She’s just a baby, you know.”
“She can do it!” Buddy insisted. “Come, Elvira! Come to Buddy!”
Well, at first Elvira didn’t take to that wagon at all. Each time she felt its tug, she’d stop and look confused. Then she’d try to shake it off. Then she’d turn and butt it.
After awhile, though, she seemed to get used to the idea. Marnie was chosen to be the maiden passenger on the goat-cart.
But with the added weight, Elvira could not move it an inch. “Beeeahhh!” she complained.
“Sorry, Buddy,” Mary Anne said. “I’m afraid it’s not going to work.”
But Buddy was deep in thought. “I know! We can charge kids a quarter for their picture with Elvira.”
He ran into the house and emerged minutes later with a Polaroid camera. “See? We can use this!”
“Buddy,” Mary Anne said patiently, “the film in that camera costs a lot more than a quarter per picture.”
“That’s okay,” Buddy replied. “I’m allowed to take pictures with it whenever I want. Right, Suzi?”
“Right,” Suzi said.
“White,” Marnie agreed.
The cards were stacked against her. Mary Anne had to say yes.
Buddy led them through the neighborhood, like the Pied Piper (the Pied Photographer?). Lots of neighborhood kids were willing to pay a quarter for a photo. Buddy ended up making two whole dollars.
And Mary Anne ended up worrying that Mrs. Barrett would be mad about the film.
Oh. Guess who was one of Buddy’s customers? Charlotte Johanssen. And she was full of news for Mary Anne. She had finally decided to declare her love to Bruce Cominsky. She had written him … a poem!
And can you guess what his reaction was? He fell hopelessly, madly, in love with Charlotte. He started writing her poems. At least three a day. He called her at night to recite them to her. In fact, he wouldn’t leave her alone. Now Charlotte wasn’t so sure she liked him anymore.
Now, you know how I feel about Char. I dearly love her. I always will. But I couldn’t help thinking that some girls have all the luck.
I was going out of my mind.
It was Thursday. I had given Wes the poem a whole week ago. I sat in math class, trying to work out the problems he had written on the board, but I could not concentrate.
Had I missed something? Had he tried to give me a sign? If not, then why hadn’t he said anything? Did he hate my poem? Had he forgotten about it?
I needed to know how he felt. Even if he felt nothing. The not knowing was eating me up inside.
The paper on my desk was a blur. I blinked once, twice. It became clear.
Over and over, on the lines, in the margins, around the holes, I had written Wes. And I hadn’t even been aware of it.
This had gone way too far. Wes was going to be teaching for another entire week. At this rate, I’d be a vegetable by then.
I decided I had to tell him. Face to face. No matter how he felt, I had to make my feelings known. It was the only way I could feel like a person again. A poem could be taken many ways. A poem was vague. I had to be direct.
When the bell rang at the end of class, I stayed in my seat. I waited for everyone to leave. Soon Wes and I were alone. He was busily erasing the blackboard.
“Oh! Stacey!” he said as he turned around. “I — I didn’t know you were still here. Sorry.”
He was so cute. I tried to speak, but my lips wouldn’t move.
“Do you have a question about the assignment?” he asked.
I managed to shake my head.
He shrugged and began to look uncomfortable. “Do you … um, have another poem?”
“No,” I said. My voice was thin, and I had to swallow. Thoughts were tumbling around in my brain. At least he remembered the poem. But what did he mean by that question? Did he really want another poem? Was he hoping to get one? Was he making fun of me? I was so confused.
“No, I don’t have another poem,” I said. “I usually don’t write poems. I sort of … put everything I had into that one.”
Wes was just staring at me. That same blank stare he’d had when he read the poem.
“You know,” I went on, “I meant every word of that poem. It was about you and me. It was about my feelings. In case you haven’t noticed, I have a crush on you.” I took a deep, deep breath. “No, that’s not it. I — I think I’m in love with you, Wes.”
There it was. I had said it. Finally it was off my chest. I felt light-headed. I felt relieved.
I felt sick to my stomach.
Wes turned about three shades of pale. His eyebrows shot up. He looked at the floor.
It was the worst thing I could have expected. He was shocked. He hadn’t known. Obviously he didn’t feel the same way about me. All this time, I was just a smart math student to him. Nothing else.
Nothing.
I couldn’t stay in the room. I didn’t want him to see me cry.
I picked up my books and ran out the door.
* * *
Thank goodnesss for Claudia. I called her when I got home that day, blubbering like a baby. She came over and comforted me. She made me some tea and told me jokes. I am lucky to have such a great best friend.
I vowed to myself that the next day, Friday, I would wear pants to school for the first time in two weeks. Who cared if Mr. Wesley Ellenburg liked dresses? Besides, how did I know how he felt about clothes, anyway? I had completely misjudged his feelings about me, hadn’t I?
By the next morning, I had begun to have second thoughts. Maybe I hadn’t misjudged Wes’s feelings. Sure, he was a twenty-two-year-old man, but that was still young. Everyone knows boys mature more slowly than girls. Maybe he was confused. Maybe he found it too hard to talk about feelings. Maybe he liked me so much he couldn’t find the words to say so.
I wore the polka-dotted tank dress to school that day.
I didn’t see him until math period. To tell you the truth, walking into class did make me feel happy. I was embarrassed about my emotional display, but I really did feel a huge burden had been lifted. And poor Wes seemed much more uncomfortable than I felt. He could hardly look me in the eye.
At the end of class, minutes before the bell rang, he made an announcement. “Well,” he began, “this has been my last full week with you. I truly have enjoyed it.”
There was some applause in the room. I joined in.
Wes grinned shyly. “Thanks. Just so you know, I’ll teach through Wednesday, then Mr. Zizmore will take over till the end of school, which is the following Tuesday. But I’ll probably see some of you on Friday night, because I’ve agreed to be a chaperone at the Spring Dance.”
The Spring
Dance! I’d forgotten about it.
What a bummer. I had no date. Wes was out of the question, and I’d blown it with Sam. Amanda Martin, a girl in my class, had asked him — and he’d accepted!
I slumped home after class. Later on, at the BSC meeting, I hardly said a word. I could tell Claudia had told the other club members what had happened. Everyone was very, very gentle with me.
* * *
I had a chance to think a lot about Wes that weekend. Here’s what I thought: After Wednesday, I might never see him again. I might never know if he liked me. After all, I had walked out on him Thursday. He hadn’t said anything. I needed to give him a chance to open up. Who knew? I might be surprised.
At any rate, I didn’t have anything to lose.
On Monday morning I spotted him entering the building. “Hi, Wes!” I called out.
“Oh, hi, Stacey,” he replied.
He was smiling. He wasn’t avoiding me.
“Ready for your last three days?” I asked. A dumb question, I know, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Yeah,” he answered. “But I’m really going to miss you — you know, your class.”
I’m really going to miss you. He said it. He may have meant the class, but something made him say those words.
“Well, see you in class,” I said.
“Okay, see you.”
Hold on, Stacey McGill, I thought. There’s hope.
Sure enough, Wes seemed much more relaxed in class that day. I made sure to ask him for help from time to time, and he was cool about it. He even smiled at me twice.
Tuesday was even better. When I ran into him after lunch (okay, I admit I looked for him), he was smiling from ear to ear.
“You look happy,” I said.
“I am,” he replied. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Sure!”
He leaned close and lowered his voice. “I found out from Mr. Zizmore that I’m getting the highest recommendation possible!”
“Yay! Oh, that’s fantastic! You really deserve it.”
“Well, it helps to have great students in the class, like you.”
“No, you’re just good, Wes. Congratulations!”
“Thanks. See you in class!”
“ ’Bye!”
Wes had confided in me. Told me a deep secret.
Hope. Hope. Hope.
Finally Wednesday came. Do-or-Die Day. I didn’t know what to expect. I wasn’t sure what I would say to Wes.
I saw him in the hallway that morning. “Wes!” I called out. “Hi. How do you feel?”
“A little nostalgic, a little happy,” he replied.
“I — I wonder if I’ll see you … after this,” I said. “You know … around?”
Ugh. Very weak, Stacey.
“Uh, well, maybe!” Wes replied, suddenly looking as if he were late for something. “Anyway, I’ll see you at the dance on Friday!”
As he jogged away, I just stood there and beamed.
Yes. Yes. It might happen.
It just might.
Remember when I said that Mallory Pike has seven brothers and sisters? A few of them had been at the Newtons’ on the day Elvira was temporarily lost. But there are plenty more. I’ll mention them in order:
You know Mal. Then there are the ten-year-old triplets (Adam, Jordan, and Byron), Vanessa (who’s nine), Nicky (eight), Margo (seven), and Claire (five).
As you can imagine, sitting for them is a big job. Which is why Dawn was sitting with Mal that Thursday, the day before the Spring Dance.
Dawn had not planned to bring Elvira with her to the Pikes’. Looking after all those kids would be work enough. But Mary Anne was sitting at the Prezziosos’, and there was no question of bringing Elvira there (Mr. and Mrs. P are very fussy). The poor little goat had spent the day all cooped up, and Dawn felt sorry for her.
Besides, the Stones were due to come home the next day. Elvira would have to go back to the farm. Dawn didn’t want to spend any more time away from her than necessary.
And that was how Elvira ended up at the Pikes’.
As usual, the kids went wild. As usual, Elvira was in top form, butting and playing and running around.
Everyone had an idea for Elvira. “Let’s dress her up!” Margo said.
“Let’s hitch her to a wagon!” Nicky suggested. (He’s friends with Buddy Barrett.)
“Let’s bring her to a movie!” Claire exclaimed.
But it was Vanessa who came up with the idea of the day. “I know!” she said. “I’ll write a special version of The Three Billy Goats Gruff, and Elvira will be the star. Then we can put the play on this afternoon for all the kids in the neighborhood.”
This was met with instant approval.
“Wait a second,” said Mal the Writer. “Are you sure you can write this by the time Dawn has to leave?”
Vanessa nodded. “Sure!”
“And set up a stage, and rehearse?” Mallory added.
“No problem,” Vanessa assured her.
“We can help,” Byron said.
“I’ll tell the neighbors,” Adam added.
“Me, too,” said Jordan.
“Nicky and I can make a stage,” Margo volunteered.
“Okay, okay,” Mal said. “Let’s set a time. Dawn has to leave at five o’clock. Vanessa, when do you think the play will be ready?”
“Um … four-thirty?”
“Okay. Adam, you’ll remember to say that to everyone?”
“Yup!” Adam, Byron, and Jordan sprinted off to spread the word.
Vanessa disappeared into the house to write.
Nicky and Margo began dragging lawn chairs out of the garage.
And Claire was happy to have Elvira all to herself.
Dawn and Mal sat back and watched the preparations.
Margo and Nicky spent a long time figuring out what to use as a bridge. First Nicky brought out a sled from the garage, but Margo thought it was too low. Then Margo suggested a ladder, but Nicky pointed out that they’d never get Elvira to climb on it.
Finally they decided to use a small, wooden ladder-slide that Claire had played with as a toddler. At the top of the ladder was a platform with handles, and under the platform was a hiding place big enough for a troll.
At three-thirty Vanessa emerged from the house with a pencil behind her ear and a pad of legal paper in her hand. “Okay,” she said. “I’m ready! Let’s choose parts. We need a troll and two goats.”
All three triplets wanted to be the troll. Margo, Nicky, and Claire each wanted to be goats.
“Whoa,” Dawn said. “Can we double up some parts?”
Mal read the script. She came up with a perfect casting solution. Since the troll comes out three times, once for each billy goat, she suggested that Adam, Byron, and Jordan take turns playing the troll. Elvira could be the smallest billy goat, Nicky could play the bigger billy goat, then Margo and Claire could team up to play the biggest billy goat.
“Okay, get in place for rehearsal!” Vanessa snapped. She pulled a visor out of her back pocket and put it on, backward.
“I guess she’s the director,” Mal said to Dawn.
“I call being the first troll!” Jordan yelled.
“I call second!” Byron said.
“Hey, no fair!” Adam cried. “Let’s go alphabetically.”
“You always say that,” Jordan complained.
Vanessa’s first job was to organize the trolls. She decided on reverse alphabetical order, so Jordan did get his way. He ducked under the platform.
“Lights, camera, action!” Vanessa said. “Bring in Elvira!”
As Dawn pulled Elvira toward the slide, Vanessa held up the script. “ ‘Once upon a time,’ ” she read, “ ‘there were three billy goats who lived by a stone bridge, and their last name was Gruff. They ate all the grass on their side of the bridge, so they had to cross to the other side. But a gross, ugly, slimy troll lived under the bridge —’ ”
“Hey!” Jordan said.
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“It’s only a play, stupid!” Vanessa shot back. Then she continued, “ ‘So one day the smallest billy goat, Elvira Gruff, started over the bridge, trip-trap, trip-trap —’ Okay, Dawn, that’s where you bring in Elvira.”
“All right.” Dawn began pulling Elvira toward the slide.
Well, you’d think the slide was a ring of fire. Elvira would not go near it. Finally Dawn picked her up and gently placed her on the platform. “Beeeeeeahhh!” Elvira bleated.
“Ssshh, it’s okay,” Dawn said.
“Come on,” Jordan called from below. “It’s getting hot down here!”
Elvira seemed startled by the voice. She tried to scramble away. Dawn lifted her again and calmed her down. “Uh … I don’t know if this is going to work,” she said.
“She’ll be fine,” Vanessa insisted. “I have an idea. Let’s make her the last billy goat. That way if she messes up, most of the play will be over.”
“But she can’t be the biggest billy goat, dumbhead!” Adam said. “She’s the smallest of us all.”
Vanessa turned and stuck out her chin. “Who’s the director, you or me?”
Grumbling, Adam backed off. The Pikes ran through the play, with Vanessa yelling out the lines. The kids did pretty well — and Elvira was a little better. She still had to be lifted onto the platform, but that was all right. All Elvira really had to do was stand there. The neighborhood kids would be thrilled just to see her.
At four-thirty the audience began to arrive: Marilyn and Carolyn Arnold, Jenny and Andrea Prezzioso (with Mary Anne), Haley and Matt Braddock, and several of the Hobart boys. At the last minute Charlotte Johanssen came by.
“Hi, Char!” Mal said. “What are you doing in this neighborhood?”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Trying to hide.”
“Hide?” Mal repeated.
“Yeah.” Charlotte looked over her shoulder. “From this boy named Bruce. He came over to my house, but I told my dad and mom to tell him I was out.”
“How come?”
“He’s a pest! He keeps following me. You know what he did after my mom told him I was gone? He stood under my window and started yelling, ‘Roses are red, red’s the same as scarlet; Sugar’s sweet, and so is Charlotte,’ over and over at the top of his lungs!”