“You’ll always be you,” Thea said. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t change.”
“But what if I change in one direction and Paz changes in another, and we move so far apart we can’t ever be friends again?”
Thea frowned thoughtfully and gave me a squeeze. “I don’t think that’s going to happen. You and Paz have a soul connection. But listen — there’s one big lesson I learned in middle school. You can’t force someone to be your friend. You can be nice and fun and try your hardest to make people like you, but either they will or they won’t. And if one person doesn’t like you, that’s okay. Someone else will. You’ll always have friends, Minty. You’re very likable.”
I lifted my head. Did Thea just call me likable? “I thought you thought I was a pest.”
“I do. But you’re a likable pest.”
I hoped she was right. I felt like a very unlikable pest.
“Why don’t you go over there and talk to her now? Maybe she only ran away because Isabelle told her to.”
“But that’s not very friendly.”
“No, but sometimes people are weak, and they do dumb things. Go talk to her, Mint.”
Honestly, I didn’t know why I was taking friendship advice from Thea. She had betrayed her best friend. But I had nowhere else to turn.
I could still help Paz. I could tell her who was cursing her, and why. She wouldn’t listen to me at the pool. But maybe she’d listen to me now.
Awa was in the kitchen shucking corn for dinner. “Paz is upstairs,” she told me.
I wondered where Lennie was. Maybe she was hiding from Paz, fearing her wrath. Little did she know I hadn’t told on her — yet.
Paz was lying on her bed, reading. She looked up when I stopped in her doorway.
“Oh. Hey.”
“Hi, Paz.” I sat down on Lennie’s bed. “I never got to finish what I was telling you at the pool.”
“Oh, right. The curse!” Paz put down her book and sat up. She seemed warmer now that Isabelle wasn’t around. Maybe Thea was right — it was Isabelle’s influence that made Paz do mean things to me.
“It’s Lennie,” I told her. “She has a voodoo doll that looks like you. She’s sticking pins in it and chanting spells or something, and that’s what’s causing all your problems.”
“Lennie? Are you kidding me?”
“She admitted it. She hasn’t forgiven you for losing Marcella.”
Paz rolled her eyes. “That was months ago! And how does Lennie know how to do voodoo anyway?”
“She has an instruction book,” I said.
“I don’t believe it,” Paz said. “She doesn’t have that kind of power. It’s got to be a coincidence.”
“Maybe it is,” I said. “But do you want to take that chance?”
“I do have a tiny headache.” Paz rubbed her forehead. “How can I stop her?”
“She says she won’t stop until she gets Marcella back.”
“But the Witch Lady has her!” Paz complained. “What am I supposed to do, break into the Witch House?” She shuddered. “After what happened on Halloween, I’ll never go back there again.”
“Maybe you could buy her a new toy cat and tell her you’re really, really sorry,” I suggested. “I think she’s mostly mad that you didn’t apologize.”
“I apologized,” Paz said. “Nothing’s ever enough for her. Maybe you can think of a way to get Marcella back. You’re good at this stuff, Minty. What’s the plan?”
“Try apologizing again.”
“That won’t work. Lennie’s merciless. I am sorry about it. I just don’t feel like saying it to her face. You know how it is with sisters.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“How did you find out about this, anyway?” Paz asked.
I swallowed. This was the part I felt kind of bad about. The part where I was spying on the Calderons. “Um, you know, I came over, and I just happened to see Lennie with the voodoo doll….”
If she was suspicious, she didn’t show it. “Thanks for telling me, Minty. I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything. But … will you tell me something?”
“Sure,” Paz said.
“Why did you run away from me at the pool?”
Paz picked at her pink nail polish. “That was just a joke. It didn’t mean anything. Isabelle thought it would be funny.”
“Oh.” I slid to the floor and leaned against Lennie’s bed.
“I guess it wasn’t that funny.”
“Not really.”
“It’s just that — I wish you’d act more grown up sometimes, that’s all.”
“I act grown up,” I insisted, though I didn’t feel grown up at all.
“All that talk about voodoo and curses —”
“But it’s true! You’re the one who’s cursed! I’m only trying to help you —”
“I know, it’s just … in front of Isabelle and those guys …”
From where I was sitting, I could see the bottom shelf of Paz’s night table. A fancy pink card lay on top of a pile of books.
I picked up the card. It said:
Pool Party! At Isabelle Barton’s house.
Saturday, August 7, 3 PM. RSVP —
Paz yanked the card away from me. “Hey! That’s private.”
I was so shocked I could hardly speak. “Isabelle’s having a party?”
“It’s not a big party — just a few people. I’m sure she wanted to invite you. Her parents said she could only have a few friends —”
“Are you going?”
“Well … I haven’t told her yet, one way or the other —”
“But are you planning to go?” I spied a new bikini hanging from her closet door. I had my answer. “You should go.” I stood up to leave with tears in my eyes. “I know you’d rather go to her pool party than hang around doing nothing with me. It’s okay. See you around.”
“Minty, wait —”
I ran out of the house. She called to me out the window but I didn’t stop, didn’t look back. I ran home and grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. I took them with me into the woods and walked to the Secret Tree.
I sat down and leaned against its wide, heavy trunk, and wrote down my secret.
I don’t want to grow up. Ever.
I fed the secret into the hole. “There you go, Crazy Ike. Please eat this secret and make the pain go away.”
The breeze kicked up, thrashing the treetops. My secret was out there now, on the wind.
I didn’t see or speak to Paz for a couple of days. Feeling lonely, I walked through the woods to see Raymond. I had lots of news to tell him. Phoebe had been found. Mr. Rogers and Wendy definitely liked each other. Troy was the one who sabotaged his dad’s diet. And Paz was going to parties without me.
On the way, I stopped by the Secret Tree and reached into the hole.
“What have you got for me today, Crazy Ike?” I asked.
I pulled out a secret. It said:
I made a special surprise lunch for my friend.
Ha! A happy secret for once. Wait till Raymond sees this, I thought.
I rang the doorbell of the model home. Raymond answered wearing a flowered apron over his jeans.
“I’ve got lots of news!” I said.
“Hooray!” Raymond let me in and shut the door behind me. “You can tell me over lunch.”
He led me into the living room. The coffee table had been shoved aside and a sheet had been laid on the floor. The sheet was set for a picnic lunch, with a plate of bologna and American cheese slices, a loaf of white bread, a bottle of ketchup, a bowl of potato chips, two cans of grape soda, and a tall glass filled with wildflowers.
“Surprise!” he said. “I made us lunch!”
“Wow! Thanks, Raymond.” I showed him the secret I’d just found. “So this is yours!”
He blushed. “Sit down at your place.” I sat down on the floor while Raymond passed me the bread.
“But how did you know I was coming over today?” I
asked.
“I didn’t. But I knew you’d come sometime. So I made lunch for both of us every day.”
“Oh.” I guess I should have been happy to know that he’d looked forward to my visits so much, but instead I felt sad. I wondered what he did all day in this strange house by himself.
“Tell me the news!” Raymond piled his sandwich with bologna and cheese.
“Well, I found Phoebe.” I took three slices of cheese for my sandwich. “She was in Troy’s basement! He’s the one who knew where she was all along and wouldn’t tell.”
Raymond nodded, his mouth full. He reached for the secret notebook and began to update it, pasting Troy’s secret under his picture.
“Also, Troy’s the diet sabotager,” I told him.
“Why was Troy doing all these weird things?” Raymond asked.
“Because his mother went away and he misses her,” I explained. “He’s afraid she won’t come back if his dad gets a new girlfriend. But it’s too late, because Mr. Rogers already likes Wendy. A lot.”
“Does Troy like Wendy?” Raymond asked.
“No,” I said. “Not very much.”
“Hmm.” He passed me the ketchup.
I made a face. “Ketchup on a cheese sandwich?”
“Try it. It’s good.”
I opened the bottle and squeezed. It spit out a few drops on a whoosh of air. I tried again. Spfft. Nothing.
“It’s empty,” I said.
“I’ll do it.” Raymond took the bottle from me and shook it, chanting, “Shake and shake the ketchup bottle — none’ll come and then a lot’ll.”
Splurt. It worked! A stream of ketchup twirled onto my sandwich.
“My turn.” I repeated the chant as I squirted ketchup on his sandwich. We topped them off with bread, then clinked our grape soda cans in a toast.
“Good lunch,” I said.
“Thanks. I made it myself.”
“When school starts, we can eat lunch together every day,” I said. “Oh — except I’m starting middle school this year. What grade will you be in?”
“Sixth,” he said.
“So we’ll be in the same school,” I said. “That’s great!” So I would have a friend, even if Paz and I never made up.
“Well, maybe …” He concentrated on spreading his ketchup around on his bread. “I’m not sure what school I’m going to.”
“When will you find out?” I asked.
He shrugged and picked up his harmonica. He started playing “You Are My Sunshine,” which I always thought was a kind of sad song — the idea that someone would take your sunshine away.
“I’ve been practicing — look.” I pulled my harmonica from my pocket and played along with him. We sounded very good together. I thought of those scenes in old movies where prisoners play the harmonica in jail as a way to pass the time.
After our harmonica break, Raymond fixed himself another sandwich. “What other news have you got?” he asked.
One of the secrets in the book caught my eye: I’m betraying my best friend in a terrible way. I couldn’t help thinking of Paz.
“Isabelle Barton is having a pool party,” I reported. “Paz is invited. But I’m not.”
“Yes you are,” Raymond said.
“No I’m not,” I repeated. “I saw the invitation in Paz’s room. I didn’t get one.”
“Well, you’re invited to a better party,” Raymond said. “A spy-on-Isabelle’s-pool-party party.”
“Yes …” An interesting idea. “We’ll spy on the pool party! Who knows what we’ll find out.”
“Exactly. When is it?”
“This Saturday afternoon.”
“Looks like we’ve got a new spy mission to plan.” Raymond picked up his harmonica. “But first, another song.”
We played our harmonicas the rest of the afternoon, until the bell rang and it was time for me to go home.
Dad was off on Saturday. He settled into a hammock in the backyard with a glass of iced tea and a book. Mom, Thea, and I brought lunch to the patio so we could eat outside.
Mr. Gorelick stood in his backyard, hose in hand, watering his flower garden, while Mrs. Gorelick lounged in the sun. She rubbed tanning oil on her legs but kept her face carefully shaded with a straw hat and her cat’s-eye sunglasses. Kelly, their dog, sat beside her with a blue ribbon in her hair, panting. All Kelly ever did was pant, pretty much, and yap once in a while.
“Ah,” Dad said. “Isn’t it a beautiful summer day? I’m not leaving this hammock until the mosquitoes come and get me.”
“They’ll eat you alive until you’re nothing but a skeleton — right, Dad?” I brought his turkey sandwich over to him so he could eat it in the hammock.
“Now that’s what I call service,” Mr. Gorelick said.
“Would you like some iced tea?” Mom called from the patio.
“Thank you, Laurie. I love your iced tea.”
“No sugar in mine,” Mrs. Gorelick barked from under her hat.
Mom poured two glasses of iced tea and handed them to me to take to the Gorelicks.
Mr. Gorelick thanked me and wiped his forehead. “Looks like the prowler has struck again. Someone stole a harmonica out of our garage!”
I stiffened. Did he say a harmonica?
“A harmonica, of all things,” Mr. Gorelick repeated. “With my two-hundred-dollar power drill right there for the taking.”
“Right there.” Mrs. Gorelick nodded and stroked Kelly.
“Not to mention Old Donna, who’s priceless,” Mr. Gorelick said. “I wonder if it happened during the Fourth of July picnic. I had the garage door open, and people were milling around all night.”
Mom shook her head. “That’s very strange. Why would someone steal a harmonica?”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Gorelick said. “It’s just about the best instrument ever invented, after the organ. Especially if you’ve got someone to play rounds with. But Judy doesn’t want to learn.”
Mrs. Gorelick sighed. “There’s too much spit involved.”
“You’ll never have any fun if you’re afraid of a little spit,” Mr. Gorelick said. “Hey, girls — you want me to set up the sprinkler for you after lunch? I’ve got to water the lawn anyway.”
“Thanks, but I’m going to a pool party,” Thea said.
“What? You are?” I cried.
“Sure,” Thea said. “At Martin Barton’s house.”
So Thea was going to Isabelle’s pool party too! Everyone had been invited except me. “Minty?” Mr. Gorelick prompted. “You know I hate to waste a sprinkler on plain old grass when kids could be enjoying it too.”
“Not today,” I said. “I’ve got things to do too.”
“What kind of things?” Mom asked.
“Oh, you know.” I tried to sound casual. “Just hanging around the neighborhood.” Just hanging around, spying on the neighbors.
I’d scoped out Isabelle’s house the day before, looking for good surveillance hideouts. The family who lived behind her, the Schwartzes, had a tree house. It overlooked Isabelle’s backyard and pool but was well shaded by branches, so Isabelle wouldn’t see me easily. Best of all, the Schwartzes were away on vacation.
“It’s that kind of day.” Dad swung gently in the hammock. He’d be asleep in half an hour, I could tell.
“Don’t go too far,” Mom warned.
“I won’t.” I knew the rule: Stay within the sound of the bell. And I would. I just might not come home if I heard it.
After lunch I stuffed my backpack with supplies for the mission — binoculars, a notebook and pen, water, juice, snacks, enough for both me and Raymond. He never had any good snacks, just that horrible bologna.
I picked up my harmonica from my night table and tooted a tune. Then I put it away in a drawer.
I should return the harmonica to Mr. Gorelick, I thought. Raymond must have stolen it.
But I didn’t know that for sure. I didn’t have proof.
And if I returned it, Raymond would
get in trouble.
I felt sad. Raymond had given me a gift. A gift that I loved. But it wasn’t much of a gift if it was stolen.
I shouldered my pack and set off to meet my partner in crime.
We sneaked into the Schwartzes’ backyard and climbed up into the tree house. “This is the perfect hideout,” Raymond said. “Good recon work, Minty.”
It was a very comfortable tree house, with cushions to sit on and a low table to eat at. One window looked right down at Isabelle’s pool and was close enough to hear a lot of conversation too. I pulled my binoculars out of my backpack. “In case we need to zoom in for detail.”
“I brought some too.” Raymond pulled a small pair of binoculars out of his pocket.
“Perfect.” I set our snacks out on the table within easy reach. Then Raymond and I settled onto our cushions, binoculars aimed at Isabelle’s house.
For a long time we didn’t talk. We just watched.
The party had just started. Music blared from outdoor speakers as Isabelle, Katie, Paz, and Lydia splashed in the water. Isabelle’s older brother, Martin, staked out his own mini-party near the diving board with Kip and Thea. Isabelle’s father lit the grill.
“Hey, Paz!” Martin called. “Where’s your sister?”
“You mean Melina?” Paz turned to him, shading her eyes. “She’s home watching my little brothers.”
“Too bad,” Martin said. “I was hoping she’d stop by.”
Paz shrugged and went back to practicing handstands in the water. The back door slid open, and two boys swaggered onto the patio. They wore T-shirts with long, baggy board shorts and seemed very sure that wherever they went, girls would be happy to see them.
“Who are they?” Raymond asked.
“Chris and Henry,” I replied. “Middle school boys from Isabelle’s class.”
Chris rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get this party started!”
Mr. Barton looked up from the grill. “Hey there, boys.”
Chris and Henry nodded politely at Isabelle’s dad as if they’d just realized he was there. “Hello, Mr. Barton,” they both said. Then they peeled off their shirts and cannonballed into the pool, crying out, “Cowabunga!” The girls screamed and laughed, deflecting the watery fallout with their arms.