I So Don't Do Mysteries (5 page)

It's just a
wedding. It's just a
wedding,
I chant over and over in my head.

I can make it through this afternoon. I will be cool. I will be mature. I will not have a
meltdown. Then tomorrow I'll fly to San Diego and save the rhinos for my mother so that
she'll get to stay in the Academy of Spirits and hang out with me, her wonderfully amazing
daughter and favorite child.

It's just a wedding. It's just a wedding.

I pull at the collar of my dress and scratch. What kind of a bride chooses ugly, striped
dresses for her bridesmaids? Honestly, I look like Bert and Ernie's dorky big sister.

I sneak a sideways glance at the bridesmaid standing next to me. Ms. Gonzalez, my PE
teacher. How weird is all this? First time I've seen her out of stretchy shorts and a baggy
Arizona State T-shirt. She doesn't look too great all spiffed up, especially with thick streaks of
peach across her cheeks and mouth. Has the woman never heard of blending?

My own makeup is adorable, if I do say so myself. I went in for the glitter look in a big
way. So, while the dress is pitiful, I'm a very sparkly bridesmaid.

My makeup is the most sophisticated aspect of this wedding. Tacky Wedding was
thrown together quickly with a lot of help from Party Rentals. In our backyard, rows of metal fold-up
chairs sit in front of a cheesy arch covered with plastic roses. A rectangular table close to the kitchen
door holds platters of raw veggies and rolled cold cuts from Costco, and Grandma Baldwin's
home-baked “lifetime harmony” wedding cake.

It's just a wedding. It's just a wedding.

I'm constantly scanning the yard and sniffing, jumpy-jittery nervous that
Mom'll make an uninvited guest appearance. Knowing she can't get into our house, I
tried to talk Dad and The Ruler into a romantic living-room wedding. But no go. The Ruler wanted
outdoors.

Weirdly, outdoors is the only thing The Ruler insisted on. She didn't want
huge, flashy, pricey. Which is what I'll insist on. Maybe she was thinking of my dad and how
he's already done the big, first wedding thing. Maybe she was thinking of my mom and how
her death wasn't that long ago. Who knows with The Ruler?

It's 1412 military time. The palm fronds aren't shaking. Nothing is
moving in the sandbox. The ornamental-pear branches are still. The area is secure. I'm not even
sure what I'll do if Mom does show, but I'm on the lookout.

Grandma Baldwin's been busy setting up the food and plates and stuff. Now,
tucking her peasant blouse into her skirt, she's finally lowering herself into a chair in the front
row. She takes a Kleenex out of her burlap bag and dabs at her eyes. She mouths, “You
okay?”

I nod, the chant getting louder.
It's just a wedding. It's just a
wedding.

Grandma peers over at Sam, where he's standing with my uncle, the best man. I
see her wink at my brother and place her index fingers at the corners of her lips, pushing them up into a
smile.

I crane my head to look at Sam. He's crying quietly while my uncle squeezes
his shoulder.

It's just a wedding. It's just a wedding.
The chant roars in my
head.

Scan, scan, scan. Sniff, sniff, sniff. Oh no. I smell coffee. I morph into dog-at-the-park
mode. Body rigid, my head moves up, down, right, left. Nose twitching, I sniff some more.

Mrs. Lucas, our next-door neighbor, is taking a seat in a chair on the lawn. Next to
Junie, who gives me a little wave. Mrs. Lucas places something under her chair.

I squint. Yikety yikes. It's a cardboard cup from Starbucks.

I dash across the yard, snatch up the cup and charge into the kitchen. I quickly dump
the coffee down the sink drain.

Grandma follows right on my heels. “What are you doing, Sherry?”

“Coffee.” I'm panting. My mind's blank. I can't
think of a single explanation for why I'd get rid of Mrs. Lucas's coffee.

Grandma looks at the empty cup and at the last of the tan liquid swirling down the
drain. Her face softens, and she starts rubbing my back. “I understand, dear. I tear up
whenever I smell coffee.” She rubs under her nose. “Reminds me of your
mother.”

Wow.

“You should've seen me boohooing in here when I set up the
percolator.”

Sure enough, now that she's mentioned it, I hear a telltale
burp-burp
ing.
There it is on the counter next to the toaster—a big aluminum forty-cup transmitter to the next
world. Forty potential cups of Mom-calling java that wedding guests can carry around the
backyard.

I yank on the cord, then slide the urn across the tile counter until it reaches the lip of the
sink. Ouch. Can you say hot?

“Sherry. Stop. Right. Now,” Grandma orders.

“I. Can't.” I pop up the lever that opens the spigot, and as the
coffee spills into the sink, tears spill down my cheeks. I can't let Mom show up in the middle
of all this wedding hoopla. I can't.

“Young lady—” Grandma grips my shoulders and turns me to
face her. One look at me, and her tone changes. “Oh, honey. I had no idea you were this
upset.” She wraps her arms around me.

I sob. So much for the cool-mature-no-meltdown thing. And think of how I'm
ruining my makeup.

Grandma follows me to the bathroom. She waits quietly while I fix my mascara and eye
shadow, then presses a smooth stone into the palm of my hand. “A crystal. Hang on to this.
It'll get you through the afternoon. Balances you. In fact, take it to San Diego to keep you safe.
I'm uneasy about that trip.”

The clear stone fits easily in my palm. I run my thumb along the surface. It's a
teardrop shape with a sharp point. Sharp enough to be a weapon, which is weird since my grandmother
is Mrs. Spread-the-Peace. “Thanks, Grandma.”

She pulls me against her narrow chest, enveloping me in some health-food
store's rosemaryish brand of perfume. “Let's go, girl. You can do
this.”

Hand in hand, we head to the backyard, out into the blazing Arizona sun. With a wide
grin at us, my dad pushes the button on our iPod, cueing the bride's entrance music.

The ceremony pretty
much goes by in a blur.

I close my eyes and rub my index finger over the crystal at the “you may kiss
the bride” part, and let the chant take over in my head at the “I now present Mr. and
Mrs. Robert Baldwin” part.

On to the reception. I can handle that. It's like the last leg in a relay race. So I
lost it earlier in the kitchen? Now I'm coming in for the gold.

Grandma's over at the buffet table, setting up a punch bowl of lemonade.

Lips frozen in a fake-o smile, I eyeball the backyard for signs of my mother. Still
nada.

Junie wanders over to me. “What's with your neck? And your
chin?”

I reach up and feel trillions of tiny bumps. Itchy bumps. My shoulders are itchy too.
And my chest. I'm turning into one big hive.

“I wonder if you're allergic to something in the dress,” Junie
says.

“I'm definitely allergic to its ugliness,” I say. “Come
with me while I change.”

“Pictures,” my dad calls out. “Bridal party over by the
ornamental pear tree.”

Pictures. Yikes. Like I want to be caught on celluloid all rashed out like this.

“Keep your chin down,” Junie advises.

“Stay with me,” I plead. “Let me know if the rash is
showing.” We head over to the tree and try to find a spot where I can hide in the shadows.

“Daughter of the groom?” the photographer asks.

Where did we find him? He looks like an army general. Very GI Joe, with a buzz and
incredibly straight posture. He must be related to The Ruler.

“Yes,” I mumble, chin pointing south.

He stretches out an arm, no bend at the elbow. “Roy March. The
bride's cousin.”

I knew it. I shake his hand.

“Stand over there.” He points to a very sunny spot, a spot sure to
highlight my bumpy skin. Terrific.

The rest of the wedding party shows up. The Ruler jokes and laughs and beams. Even
my dad is swept up in her festive mood. Sam too, who looks like a mini Dad in his tux. The
photographer snaps an impromptu father-son shot where Dad and Sam are high-fiving.

Next, GI Joe lines us up, touching our shoulders and positioning our heads. He struts
back to his camera and barks orders at us from behind the viewfinder.

Junie stands behind him and directs me with hand gestures, helping me find poses to
hide my ravaged neck and chin.

The photographer yells for, like, the millionth time, “Sherry, look up! Eyes off
your shoes.”

Junie shakes her head, index finger pointing to the ground.

I bob my head up marginally, then back down.

Dad gives an exasperated “For Pete's sake, Sherry, can't you
follow simple directions?”

Even The Ruler is no longer bubbling like champagne.

GI Joe strides over, grasps my chin in one hand and my forehead in the other and
angles them up. He frowns at my skin. “I'll have to do touch-ups.”

I snap.

“No more pictures!” I scream over my shoulder as I fly into the house
and lock myself in the upstairs bathroom. Forget about not losing control. At least I manage to hold
back the tears until after the door lock clicks into place.

What has happened to me? I've turned into a geyser with all this crying.
I'm probably dehydrated.

I slurp some water from a paper cup, ignoring the science info printed on the side.
Thanks to The Ruler, even brushing our teeth is an educational experience. Then I peel off the ugly
bridesmaid dress and stuff it in the wicker trash basket.

Standing back from the mirror over the sink, I gaze at all the angry red bumps. From the
waist up, I look like a lizard alien from Planet Grotesque. The rash is getting worse. It's up to
the circles under my eyes.

Knock, knock.

I don't answer. Lizard aliens from Planet Grotesque don't talk. They do
listen, though, and I press my ear to the door. It's Junie and The Ruler.

“Maybe it'd be better if you talked to her,” The Ruler says. She
actually sounds concerned.

“Okay,” Junie says.

“Let her know she's not needed for any more pictures.”

Like that was going to happen, anyway.

The Ruler adds, “Her uncle's picking up some topical cream and
Benadryl from the pharmacy.”

There's silence for a moment. I guess Junie's waiting for The Ruler to
leave. Junie's a great friend, the perfect friend. I couldn't have picked a better best
friend.

Knock, knock.

“It's me,” Junie says.

“Can you grab me some clothes?” I unlock and crack the door.

Within minutes, she's in the bathroom, shorts and a T-shirt draped over her
arm. Her eyes widen. “You're a mess.”

“Tell me about it.” I slip on my outfit, then drop the lid on the toilet seat
and sink down. “Everything about my life is a mess, a big, ginormous, awful
disaster.”

Junie puts a hand on my shoulder.

And I think maybe it's her hand, that physical connection with my best friend,
that tips me over the edge. Junie, the one person who can help me out of the overwhelming craziness
and scariness of ghost mother + mystery challenge + wedding + rash + Josh.

Whatever the exact reason, it's like I can't help myself. Before I realize
it, my mouth is open. And the words are tumbling out, pushing and elbowing each other in their rush to
exit. I blurt out the whole entire story of my mother and the rhino mystery at the Wild Animal
Park.

Junie's jaw drops. “Your mother's a ghost?”

I nod.

She crosses her arms. “And you have to help her solve a
mystery?”

I nod again. “This is the biggest, most important challenge of my life. I
can't do it without you. You have to help me.”

“Oh, Sherry.” Junie's face is long with concern. “Oh,
Sherry.” She shakes her head. “Oh, Sherry.”