Serendipity and Me (9781101602805) (12 page)

 

Tonight when Dad comes to say good night

Serendipity is on my chest

covered with my old baby blanket.

 

The silky edges are frayed

but the balloons make her look

ready for a party.

 

He feels her around the ears.

She's still a little wet,
he says.

Don't let her get you sick again.

 

She won't.             She's nice and warm.

Serendipity's head sticks out

just barely from the blanket.

Look how cute she is, Dad.

 

He looks and his eyes go

from soft to steely.

He pins me with a stare

and he shakes his finger.

Don't get any ideas.

I mean it, Sara.

 

What?
I ask             innocently.

 

I hear the mumble of his voice

as he leaves my room.

Don't give away your heart.

 

 

 

Dad trips over Serendipity three times

while he's getting ready for work—

coming out of the bathroom

taking his shirt from the dryer

moving breakfast to the table.

 

She has a way of getting under our feet

like a sheepdog

herding us toward her bowl

or a miniature soccer player

disrupting our goal.

 

I think it's funny.

Dad doesn't.

 

I catch him swearing once

and I shake my finger at him.

 

That is the wrong thing to do.

 

He narrows his eyes at me

and mutters,
Just a few more days.

 

This makes him feel better.

It makes me feel awful.

 

Just a few more days

is the worst curse of all.

 

 

 

I study my kitten posters on poles

as I'm walking to school.

 

Taylor and I chose the poles

where it would be hardest for Dad

to see the phone numbers clearly

on his regular route to class.

 

The changed phone numbers

don't look too suspicious

I hope.

 

I didn't make a picture

of the cuteness of Serendipity.

That wrong number would be getting

too many calls.

 

I count the days—

Today, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday.

Will we get Saturday, too?

Four or five days left

for Dad to fall in love

with this kitty.

 

We need to step up

the irresistible factor.

 

Quickly.

 

 

 

We're working on our Middle Ages unit

and I'm not really listening

because I can see Garrett

out of the corner of my eye

 

and in my mind

he's wearing the armor of a knight.

 

My daydreaming is such a cliché.

 

Then Miss Conglin gets to Joan of Arc

and my ears perk up.

 

She was so brave and tragic.

 

Miss Conglin hasn't told us yet

what the possibilities are

for our character assignments.

 

We will research and role-play

the type of medieval person

we're given.

 

Before, I wanted to be royalty.

But now I think

Joan of Arc would be

 

the greatest role ever.

 

 

 

I must still be daydreaming because

Miss Conglin says,
Sara

like she's already

called my name before.

 

She's holding out a folded paper.

It must be my character assignment.

 

I open it and read
Peasant.

 

It figures.

 

I glance over at Kelli

who is beaming at her paper

like someone who won the lottery.

 

Kelli is probably a noble lady

and she will ride off with Garrett

on his steel-footed steed.

 

My kingdom for a horse.

 

That horse.

With Garrett on it.

 

I really need to give my mind

something else to think about.

 

Thank goodness for Serendipity.

 

 

 

I find Taylor at the basketball court

at recess.

I saw your mom

at the grocery store yesterday

I tell her.

 

Her face looks like—so what?

Then she gets it

and her lips get flat and long

like when she's making a frog face.

Did your dad talk to my mom?

 

No. I kept him from seeing her.

 

Taylor bounces the basketball six times.

Maybe I should say something to her

just in case.

 

Like what?

 

She heaves the ball at the basket.

Like . . . Sara's got a kitten

she needs to find a home for.

You sure we can't have a kitten?

 

I nod.

Then at least she won't look clueless

if my dad says something to her.

 

This is getting too complicated.

 

I don't like this plot anymore.

 

 

 

After lunch, Miss Conglin says

Remember, everyone—

tomorrow I want you to bring in

at least one picture

of life with your family.

We'll be using them as writing prompts

so having more might help

if you get stuck.

 

I raise my hand.

Do the pictures have to be recent?

 

Miss Conglin shakes her head.

No, the age of the photos

doesn't matter.

 

I feel like she's purposely

keeping the compassion

off her face.

 

Like maybe she knows

I wish my family

was normal.

 

I remember Peter Pan saying,

Don't have a mother.

And me telling him,

O Peter,

no wonder you were crying.