Georgie's Moon (16 page)

“No, sir.” Georgie laughed. “Lisa wouldn't know how to get into trouble.”

He looked relieved and began stacking cans of paint on a shelf. “Georgie, let's get down to brass tacks. What's on your mind?”

He seemed so direct, but Georgie liked that. “Lisa is pretty upset that you moved out.”

He looked surprised. “That's personal, young lady.”

“Yeah, it would be except that she's my friend and I don't want to see her so sad.” Georgie sat on a crate. “Mr. Loutzenhiser, I know you're mad at Alan.”

“Georgie, I'm sure you mean well, but you're skating on some mighty thin ice,” he said. “And you can tell my daughter to talk to me herself if she wants to know anything.”

Georgie didn't budge. “I'm not sure she has anything to say to you, but I do. I want to tell you about my dad.”

Still holding a can, Mr. Loutzenhiser stopped moving.

“His plane was shot and went down in flames last July. Witnesses didn't see him eject. They never found the plane wreck, so he's listed as missing in action. I didn't want to believe it for a long time, but now I know he's dead.”

Mr. Loutzenhiser sat down heavily on a crate.

“The way I see it, sir, is that if I can accept Alan's choice, then I think you ought to do the same.”

Georgie got up and hurried toward the door. It still hurt too much to talk about Dad, and she was afraid she would cry. When she reached the handle, she looked back. Mr. Loutzenhiser's face was buried in his hands.

*   *   *

Classes were suspended on Tuesday afternoon to give the Good Deeds for Glendale partners an opportunity to finish their reports at school and turn them in. Georgie was relieved, because it meant she wouldn't have to go to Mrs. Donovan's office. Georgie had figured out weeks ago that Mom had told Mrs. Donovan about Dad's death. Even though she knew Mrs. D. had tried to help her, Georgie wasn't ready to face her just yet.

The Good Deeds reports were to be graded and hung in the halls by the end of the week. Georgie worried that she would be writing Lisa's and hers alone because Lisa had been absent that morning.

After lunch, she brightened when Lisa showed up in their homeroom and scooted her desk over beside Georgie's. “Boy, am I glad to see you! Were you sick?”

“Nope,” Lisa said. “And I can't go with you to the Sunset Home on Saturday.”

“But you're the one who wanted to go.” Georgie scratched her head. “And why do you look so happy about it?”

“My dad came back last night!” Lisa said. “He came just to see Mom, but then they both talked to Denny and me. We stayed up late crying and talking things over, so Mom let us sleep in this morning.”

“So he's home to stay?” Georgie said.

“We're going to see how things go, but, hopefully, yes. The great news is he said Carla can come home on weekends, so we're all going to pick her up on Saturday, which is why I can't go to the Sunset Home.”

“Wow!” Georgie said. “I'm happy for you. But what about Alan?”

“Well, legally Alan can't come home.” Lisa's smile faded a little. “But Dad is willing to talk to him if Alan tries to reach us again. So that's something.”

“That's great, Lisa!” Georgie said.

“Yeah, it is great.” Lisa's glow faded. “I'm sorry things didn't turn out well for you.”

“Don't.” Georgie held her hand up. “I'm truly happy for you.”

“Thanks, Georgie.”

“Who knows? Maybe if things get back to normal at your house, Denny will stop driving you crazy.”

“Now,
that
would take a miracle!”

Georgie laughed.

Lisa reached for her notebook. “I just wonder what made my dad change his mind. He wouldn't say.”

Georgie put her head down and began writing so Lisa couldn't see her face. “Geez, Lisa, I don't have a clue.”

*   *   *

Two hours later, Georgie threw down her pen and sat back. “Finally! So much writing and all we really had to say was the project worked.”

“Don't forget to include this.” Lisa held out a paper.

Georgie took it and read:

WHAT I LEARNED FROM OUR PROJECT
by Lisa Loutzenhiser

One type of person

is like driftwood,

either torn from a tree

or wrenched from a ship,

just floating, adrift.

Another is like the sea,

with tides pushing and pulling,

waves pounding the shore,

seldom quiet,

rarely calm.

But when a piece of driftwood

gets caught up in the sea,

it will be tossed about,

worn and sanded,

battered and thrown.

After a bit, the driftwood changes,

it becomes polished, even beautiful.

The driftwood takes on new life

that wouldn't have been possible

if it weren't for the sea.

It was a good poem, but Georgie chewed her lip.

“What's wrong?” Lisa said.

“It's perfect, Lisa. But are you sure you want to?” Georgie asked. “They're hanging these in the hall for everyone to read. I'd hate for your feelings to get hurt.”

Lisa said, “I need for Kathy and Angel to know I'm not afraid of what I write anymore.”

Georgie smiled at Lisa. She looked at the clock, anxious to get home. She had promised John she would take him to the park. She still had ten minutes before school was dismissed. Just enough time to do one more thing. Pulling a sheet of notepaper from her binder, she wrote:

Dear Jack,

Remember that girl I told you about who was too different from me? I guess we kind of grew on each other. Anyway, I wanted you to know that I do have a best friend here.

Her name is Lisa.

20

Late Friday afternoon, Georgie waited at the line of poplar trees that ran between the faculty parking lot and school. Finally, she saw Mrs. Donovan come out, hiking her purse strap onto her shoulder. The trees were too young to hide Georgie, so she crouched beside a parked bus while Mrs. Donovan fumbled with the keys, slipped into her car, then pulled away from Glendale Middle School. Georgie picked up the sack at her feet and strode toward the office.

Mrs. Sanders had her head down, typing. Georgie watched as she plunked each key firmly on the old typewriter, then, with her right hand, pushed the carriage return to the left to begin the next line. Georgie cleared her throat. Mrs. Sanders looked up. When she saw Georgie, she gave the return a hard slap.

“Mrs. Donovan is gone for the day,” she said, and went back to typing.

Georgie flashed a brilliant smile. “Mrs. Sanders, I feel we got off on the wrong foot.”

Mrs. Sanders sat back and crossed her arms. “What is it you want?”

“For us to be friends?” Georgie said.

Mrs. Sanders snorted.

“Okay,” Georgie said. “I need two minutes in Mrs. Donovan's office.”

“You must be out of your mind,” Mrs. Sanders said. “No.”

“But—”

“No buts.”

“Mrs. Sanders…”

“Georgie, I will report you if you do not leave immediately.”

Georgie took a deep breath, then blurted out, “Mrs. Sanders, didn't you ever make a mistake?”

“Of course I've made mistakes,” she said. “After all, I'm human.”

“Well, I'm human, too,” Georgie said.

Mrs. Sanders's face softened just enough to encourage Georgie.

“I have something to give Mrs. Donovan and I won't hurt anything and you can come with me and I won't be in there more than two minutes. I promise!” She caught her breath and added, “Please.”

Mrs. Sanders scratched her nose and looked out the window. After what seemed like forever, she looked at Georgie. “If you touch anything…”

“I won't!” Georgie said.

Mrs. Sanders heaved herself out of her chair and pulled a ring of keys from a filing-cabinet drawer. She unlocked Mrs. Donovan's door and stepped inside.

Clutching her sack, Georgie followed.

Mrs. Sanders planted herself firmly in the middle of the room. She reminded Georgie of a sentry.

Georgie walked over to Mrs. Donovan's desk. Mrs. Donovan's satchel lay in the center of the desk. Remembering her promise not to touch anything, Georgie said, “Mrs. Sanders, would you please move the satchel?”

Mrs. Sanders reluctantly scooted it to the side.

Georgie gently lifted a small box from her bag. She flipped the lid up to reveal a bronze-colored cross hanging from a ribbon that was blue and white, with a red stripe down the center. She rubbed her finger over the cross, then reverently placed it in the center of the desk.

Mrs. Sanders rushed to her side, as if she thought Georgie might have planted a stink bomb.

Georgie reached back into the sack and pulled out the red book Mrs. Donovan had given her.

She had torn out the pages with the nonsense she'd been writing for the last five and a half weeks. All that was left was the page that Georgie had written that day. She read it one more time:

My dad died July 2, 1970. For a long time I didn't want to believe it but now I have to. In my heart it feels like he died this week. It hurts and I don't think it will ever stop hurting.

This is one of his medals. It's called the Distinguished Flying Cross Medal and is awarded for “Heroism or extraordinary achievement while participating in aerial flight.” I'm sorry I broke your dad's ship. This medal means as much to me as the ship meant to you. I hope you'll keep it instead.

She propped the open book next to the medal for Mrs. Donovan to find when she came back to work on Monday.

She turned to go, but Mrs. Sanders said, “Not so fast.”

Georgie's hopes plunged. In the last few days she had thought a lot about how she could make it up to Mrs. Donovan for destroying her father's ship and realized she couldn't. Her remorse and the pain of losing her dad were so raw that Georgie decided leaving the medal and book would show Mrs. Donovan how she felt. Now it seemed that Mrs. Sanders wasn't going to let her.

Mrs. Sanders reached past Georgie and picked up the medal. “You've gotten fingerprints on it,” she said as she pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and gently wiped the medal. “There, now. It's nice and shiny.”

Mrs. Sanders set the medal back on the desk. She put her arm around Georgie's shoulder. “Much better, don't you think?” She gave Georgie a rare smile.

“Yes, it is,” Georgie said, and together they left the room.

Georgie walked down the hall and had almost reached the front doors when Mrs. Donovan came bursting through. “Mrs. Donovan! I—I thought you were gone,” Georgie said.

“It's been one of those days,” Mrs. Donovan said. “One step forward, two back. I left my satchel on my desk.”

Georgie swallowed hard. She thought she'd have the weekend to prepare for Mrs. Donovan's reaction. “Oh, well, gotta go!” Georgie called.

The crisp autumn air smacked Georgie in the face when she ran out the door. What kind of dumb luck was this? What if she'd taken just one minute longer in Mrs. Donovan's office? The thought sent a chill through her.

She rounded the corner and tried to quicken her steps. But Mrs. Donovan's office was right there; Georgie felt herself being pulled to the window.

Mrs. Donovan already held Georgie's red book in her hand. Despite the cool afternoon, Georgie's hands were sweaty. Mrs. Donovan's back was to her and Georgie couldn't see her face. Mrs. Donovan laid the book down and stood there, still as stone.

Georgie steeled herself. She would just have to take whatever happened next.

Mrs. Donovan picked up the medal. She held it a moment, then carried it to the bookcase. She set it on the shelf in the exact same place where the ship in the bottle had been. Then she turned on the small spotlight.

Mission accomplished, Georgie headed home.

Acknowledgments

Once again, I'm indebted to my agent, Steven Chudney, and to my editor, Beverly Reingold, for their hard work and faith in me. John J. Bonk, Lisa Williams Kline, Lee P. Sauer, Manya Tessler, and Laura Backes gave help and guidance throughout the writing of
Georgie's Moon.
Thank you, all.

I owe special thanks to Walter R. Griffin (2nd Battalion, 26th and 7th Marines, Vietnam, July 4, 1969–July 4, 1970) for sharing his firsthand knowledge of the Vietnam War.

Thank you to Wendell Minor, a man who surely paints with his heart, for the breathtaking jacket art.

It pains me, but I must reluctantly thank my mischievous brother, Mark Lincicum, on whom the character Denny is based. Mark majored in driving me crazy. He thinks I left out his best tricks, but truth is stranger than fiction—had I included them, no one would have believed me.

 

Also by Chris Woodworth

When Ratboy Lived Next Door

The author gratefully acknowledges Dr. Steven L. Burg, Adlai E. Stevenson Professor of International Politics, Brandeis University, for his critical reading of the manuscript.

The characters in this book are purely fictional.

Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2006 by Christina Woodworth

All rights reserved

First edition, 2006

www.fsgkidsbooks.com

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First eBook edition: March 2015