But for now I laze just a little bit longer in the sun, breathing in spring. I catch a whiff of lilacs. There’s a huge bank of them growing alongside the porch below me. Syringa vulgaris. Not a very pretty name for such a pretty flower. Lilacs are my favorite flower. Mom’s, too.
I open my eyes and look up at the clouds. Cumulus, nimbus, cirrus, stratus. The names float through my mind in a stately procession. Mom taught them to me. She used to come out here and join me sometimes, when she wasn’t too busy. We’d watch the clouds, and she’d tell me their proper scientific terms, and then we’d decide what they looked like. Dragons and sailing ships, mermaids and movie stars and flocks of sheep. Mom never told anyone about my secret hiding place, not even Dad. I made her promise she wouldn’t, and she kept that promise.
I wonder if she’ll keep her promise to Dad. “Just a few months, Michael,” I heard her tell him, the night before she left. “Just give me a few months to figure this all out.”
It’s been nearly a year.
I decide that the cloud over the barn looks like a teapot. Definitely a cumulus. Cumulus congestus, in fact, because it’s so massive and puffy. I love science, and the way it names and orders and classifies everything, from clouds to plants to stars. Even bones. Tibia, fibula, scapula, patella. Science makes everything so official-sounding, and so tidy. Unlike real life, which is often a mess.
Next to science I like math, for the same reason. Music, too. Mom was the one who pointed out to me how much math and music have in common. The orderly arrangement of notes, that sort of thing. But the sense of order is not the only reason I like music. I like it because—well, because it’s like it’s a part of me, a part of who I am. I feel alive when I sing.
Reading is okay, but it’s not my favorite. I’d rather actually do something than just read about it. But I have to admit I like Little Women. I didn’t think I would, but I do. I like feisty, independent Jo and her sisters, and especially Marmee. Marmee is so dependable. Marmee would never leave her family, no matter how confused she was about life.
Which reminds me. Book club is meeting here tonight at Half Moon Farm for the very first time. How could I have forgotten? I scramble up and climb back into my bedroom, lifting Sugar through the window after me. I glance at the clock on my bedside table. Nearly an hour before the twins get home from T-ball practice. There’s still enough time to straighten up the house and bake some cookies before I have to start my chores. I want to be sure and leave time for a shower, too. Even though Megan’s no longer one of the Fab Four, I still don’t want to give her any reason to think of me as Goat Girl. Or Princess Jess of Ramshackle Farm.
Downstairs, I’m surprised to find that the house is already tidy. There aren’t any chicken droppings on the kitchen floor, and everything’s been dusted and vacuumed and neatened. Not only that, but there’s a platter of cookies—snickerdoodles, my all-time favorite—on top of the fridge out of my little brothers’ reach, and inside there’s a jug of homemade lemonade. Taped to it is a little note: “DO NOT TOUCH! FOR BOOK CLUB!” I smile. Nice try, but a note’s not going to stop the twins. A bouquet of lilacs is on the kitchen table, and now that I look closely, I can tell that even Sugar has had a good brushing. Dad’s been busy today.
The back door swings shut with a loud snap.
“Hi, honey,” my father says. His eyes are red and he looks like maybe he’s been crying.
“Hey, Dad,” I reply, pretending not to notice. “Thanks for picking up the house. It looks nice.”
He smiles. “Special night tonight.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. Book club’s not that special. But I nod and head out to the barn to start my chores.
After my shower and dinner, everyone arrives all at once.
“What a wonderful old house!” says Mrs. Sloane, looking around curiously This is the first time she’s been here.
“Thank you,” my father replies. “It’s been in my family since the Revolutionary War.”
“That’s what Jess told me. Amazing.”
As I start to herd everyone into the living room, my dad holds up his hand. “Ladies,” he announces. “In view of the fact that it is such a delightful spring evening, may I invite you to accompany me to the lilac arbor?”
Megan Wong shoots me a glance that clearly says “You Delaneys are so weird” and I feel myself turning red What arbor is my dad talking about? We don’t have an arbor! I reluctantly follow him outside and everybody else follows me as he leads us around to the far side of the house.
“Welcome,” he says proudly.
Standing there is a contraption made of white plastic pipes from the sprinkler system he’s been working on. My dad has curved long pieces over like arches, then lashed the ends down to old tent pegs. Onto each arch he’s woven branches of lilacs. It’s pretty, actually, but definitely odd. I can only imagine what Megan is thinking. It looks like something you’d see at an outdoor wedding. A very funky, hippie wedding.
“Michael, it’s lovely!” says Mrs. Sloane. “So quaint. Whatever gave you the idea?”
My father shrugs modestly, but he looks pleased. “I thought it fit with the whole Louisa May Alcott theme, you know? Didn’t she write a book called Under the Lilacs?”
Mrs. Hawthorne nods approvingly. “She certainly did.”
There are eight lawn chairs set up in a circle beneath the arches of flowers. We take our seats and Mrs. Hawthorne gives us the handouts.
Cassidy laughs aloud at this month’s “In Her Own Words” quote: “I’d rather be a free spinster and paddle my own canoe.”
“Louisa May Alcott is my kind of woman,” she says.
“Hush,” says her mother. “Just you wait. Someday you may change your mind. Life’s more fun on a bicycle built for two than traveling solo in a canoe.”
FUN FACTS ABOUT LOUISA
Louisa May Alcott never married.
She modeled Meg’s wedding in Little Women after that of her sister Anna.
In later life, after her sister May’s death, Louisa became a foster parent to May’s little daughter Lulu.
We talk for a while about this month’s assigned reading, when Amy and Laurie surprise everyone by getting married in Europe after Beth dies. Pretty much everybody has something to say, even Cassidy, who is usually grumpy. She tells us about the time she went to Europe, too, just like Amy. Only it was for a hockey tournament, not to study art.
“And I didn’t fall in love, either,” she says belligerently.
Megan’s been too, of course. Only Emma and I haven’t been. Except for my trips to New York this year to visit Mom, I’ve barely been out of Massachusetts.
“Would you ladies care for some refreshments?” asks my father, when there’s a pause in the conversation. I’m not sure what’s gotten into him. He’s talking like someone out of a book. So formal.
“That would be lovely,” says Emma’s mom, sounding equally formal.
“Jess, would you do the honors?” he asks me. “There’s something I need to get from the barn.”
Wondering what surprise he’s going to produce next—hopefully not a goat, as Megan and I are still on slightly shaky ground where goats are concerned—I fetch the tray of lemonade and cookies.
As I’m passing it around, my dad returns with a long pole draped with ribbons and a huge paper bag. He hands the paper bag to me.
“Is it your birthday, Jess?” asks Mrs. Sloane curiously.
I shake my head no. I look over at my dad. He just folds his arms across his chest and smiles. Something very strange is going on.
“Well, go ahead,” says Cassidy. “Open the bag.”
Inside are four lilac wreaths and a tambourine. I pull them out and we all stare at them, puzzled. Before anyone can say anything, my dad takes one of the wreaths and holds it above my head.
Megan’s wearing her you-Delaneys-are-nuts expression again, and Cassidy and Emma are both watching us, wide-eyed. My father places the wreath on my head, then reaches for the tambo
urine and gives it a shake. He motions to Emma, Cassidy, and Megan and they stand up reluctantly and move over next to me. My father puts a lilac wreath on each of their heads too. Then he pulls a notecard out of the back pocket of his jeans and clears his throat.
“Today we celebrate springtide,” he announces, jangling the tambourine again. “The springtide not only of the year, but the springtide of life for these four maidens as well.”
Cassidy, Emma, Megan, and I look at one another in horrified silence. Under the arbor, Mrs. Hawthorne’s lips are pressed tightly together. Megan’s mother is suddenly very busy patting Sugar. Mrs. Sloane has covered her mouth with her hand. They’re trying not to laugh.
My dad doesn’t notice. He’s too busy fitting the beribboned pole into a hole in the ground that he’s obviously dug for that specific purpose. He turns around, beaming triumphantly, hands us each one of the long ribbons dangling from it, and gives the tambourine a prolonged rattle. “Let the celebration begin!” he cries.
None of us move an inch. Under my lilac wreath, my face is beet red.
“What celebration?” asks Mrs. Hawthorne, finally.
The tambourine falters. “The, uh—you know—” My father looks over at Mrs. Wong and Mrs. Sloane, who are shaking with silent laughter. “What’s so funny?” he asks in an injured tone.
He pulls something else out of his back pocket. It’s a magazine. I cringe when I see the title. Motherhood Monthly. He started subscribing to it after Mom left. It’s some dumb hippie thing with all sorts of lame advice on raising kids. And really terrible recipes that only Mrs. Wong would like. My dad points to the cover. “I read about it in this month’s issue,” he explains. “See? It says right here: ‘The Dance of the Maypole Maidens.’ I thought it sounded—” He looks at us all reproachfully. “I thought it sounded like fun.” His voice trails off.
My eyes well up with tears. Our first chance to host the book club, and my father has to ruin it with some stupid ritual. Everyone’s right—my family is weird!
There’s a rustling in the bushes behind us. We all turn around to see Ryan emerge. He’s been spying on us. He grins. There’s a gap where his two front teeth usually reside. “Aren’t you going to dance, Jess?”
Mrs. Hawthorne and Mrs. Wong and Mrs. Sloane explode with laughter. So do Megan and Emma and Cassidy.
I let out a sob and rip the lilac crown off my head. Shut up!” I scream. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut UP!”
I race toward the house. I’ve never felt so totally humiliated in my entire life, not even after the fiasco with Sundance.
Behind me I hear my dad calling. “Jess!” he says. “Come on, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to—I just I thought—”
The back door slams shut behind me and I never find out what he thought. I don’t care. I hate him and I hate this stupid book club and I hate lilacs and most of all I hate Mom for not being here. I pound up the stairs to my room and throw myself on the bed, sobbing.
I’m still sobbing a few minutes later when I hear the door creak open. “Go away!” I cry.
“It’s just us,” says Emma. “Well, and Sugar.”
Sugar leaps up onto the bed beside me and starts to lick my face. I know there’s a scientific explanation for this, that it’s only the salt from my tears that she wants, but right now I prefer to think that she’s licking me because she loves me. Sugar is the best dog in the whole world She’d never humiliate me in front of my friends. I put my arm around her and bury my face in her soft fur.
Emma and Megan and Cassidy are still standing in the doorway.
“Go away,” I repeat.
“Jess, your father didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” says Emma. “He’s just, well, you know. Trying to be a good parent. While your mother’s away, I mean.”
I lift my head and glare at her. I don’t need Emma or anyone else reminding me that my mother’s not here.
“C’mon, Jess, it’s not that bad,” says Cassidy.
“How would you know?”
“You think you’ve got it bad, just imagine what it’s like being related to a supermodel!” she replies. “Everywhere we go, people point and whisper. Or ask for her autograph. Or stare at me like I’m some kind of freak because I don’t look a bit like her.”
“And don’t you think my mother embarrasses me sometimes?” Megan’s dark almond eyes are serious. She sits down on the edge of my bed. “How about all her stupid causes? And remember the carrot crunchies at last month’s book club meeting?”
“Those horrible cookies?” Cassidy shudders at the memory. “Cheer up, Jess. At least your dad serves decent snacks.”
“My mother says it’s every parent’s job to embarrass their children,” adds Emma.
“Great,” I mutter. “My dad sure succeeded.” I roll over onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. “I just can’t believe he did that.”
“You have to admit, it was kind of funny,” says Emma. “Those weird lilac wreaths and everything, I mean.”
“A crown for Princess Jess of Ramshackle Farm,” I reply bitterly. “I’m just glad Becca Chadwick wasn’t here to see me. I’d never hear the end of it.”
Cassidy strikes a pose and pretends to jangle a tambourine. “The Dance of the Maypole Maidens,” she intones.
Megan lets out a little snicker, and pretty soon the bed is shaking because I’m giggling too.
I sit up and blow my nose. Sugar barks. I’m starting to feel a little better.
“So were we really supposed to hold hands and dance around the maypole and everything?” Emma asks.
Cassidy leaps up into the air in a clumsy pirouette.
“What’s a maypole?” asks Dylan, crawling out from underneath my bed.
“You little CREEP!” I holler, grabbing him by his hair and hauling him to his feet. “Get out! And quit spying on me!” I throw him out into the hallway and slam the door shut and lock it. “Little brothers are the worst!”
I turn around. My friends are laughing. At first I don’t think it’s funny, then all of a sudden I’m laughing too. The four of us join hands in a circle ands whirl around the room. Sugar barks ecstatically, leaping and wriggling as she tries to join in our wild dance.
We collapse on the bed in a breathless pile, still laughing. There’s a knock on the door. My dad pokes his head into the room.
“Um, could I talk to you, Jess?” he asks.
My friends file swiftly out of the room. Emma gives me a thumbs-up, then closes the door behind her.
I busy myself stroking Sugar’s soft fur. My dad hesitantly takes a seat at the end of the bed.
“Jess, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I know, Dad. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” he says. “It’s just that, with your mother away and all, I’m having to do things I never had to before. Not just run the farm by myself, but try to take care of you and your brothers properly too.” We’re both quiet for a moment. I know that what he’s telling me is true. “I’m just so sorry that I embarrassed you,” he continues finally. “I should have known better, but that blasted magazine made it sound so matter-of-fact. Like something all girls your age do. The Dance of the Maypole Maidens, I mean.”
A smile creeps across my lips. My father looks at me hopefully. “But I guess it’s not, huh?”
I shake my head. A giggle escapes. “Dad, what were you thinking? A tambourine?”
He whips the magazine out of his back pocket. “It says so right here!” he cries, eyes widening in mock indignation. “See? Items needed: floral crowns, one maypole, one tambourine.”
We both burst out laughing, and I throw my arms around him.
“I love you so much, Jess,” my father whispers, hugging me tightly. “I wish your mother were here to help you through all these growing pains, but she’s not, and I’m doing the best I can.”
“I know you are, Dad,” I whisper back. “I love you, too.”
He hands me a tissue and I blow my nose, an
d then we go back downstairs to where our friends are waiting for us under the lilacs.
SUMMER
“Mothers may differ in their management, but the hope is the same in all—the desire to see their children happy.”
— Little women
Emma
“You can’t say nothing pleasant ever happens now, can you?”
I love the last day of school.
This year I’m doubly happy—first, that sixth grade is almost officially over and that means I don’t have to start worrying about seventh grade for nearly three whole months, and second, that today is my birthday. I’m finally twelve, just like Jess and Megan and Cassidy. I think I was the last person in the whole sixth grade to turn twelve.
The bus is late. Darcy picks up a stick and practices his baseball swing. I take out my Mother-Daughter Book Club journal and work on my latest poem, which is not about Zach Norton.
Finally, the bus lumbers into view. I climb aboard behind my brother. Becca Chadwick looks me up and down, as usual.
“Nice sundress, Emma!” she calls, her voice oozing sarcasm. Ashley starts to snicker. I could practically set my watch by those two lame-brains.
I find myself wishing Cassidy were here. “Buzz, buzz, buzz,” she’d say, and laugh it off. It’s not so easy for me, though. I slide into a seat and automatically start to hunch down. Then my gaze falls on the bookmark in my notebook. “I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship.” Louisa May Alcott would not let a moron like Becca Chadwick spoil her birthday. Neither would Jo March. I straighten up, turn around, and look Becca right in the eye. “Thanks for noticing,” I call back. “Nicole Patterson gave it to me. Wasn’t that nice of her?”
For once, Becca doesn’t know what to say. So for once, she doesn’t say anything at all. I turn around again and look out the window and smile. My birthday is off to a good start.
The bus trundles past meadows fresh with the promise of summer and eventually comes to a stop in front of Half Moon Farm. Jess slides in beside me. “Happy Birthday, Em!” she says, giving me a hug. “I can hardly wait for the party.” The Mother-Daughter Book Club is throwing me a party this afternoon at the Wongs’. I’m hoping Mrs. Wong isn’t in charge of the cake.