Twist My Charm (19 page)

Dear Universe,

If Ryder Landry can help bring me and Madison together, please bring him.

If you or anyone can bring sense to my dad, please bring it!

And don't worry about me anymore. If Larry likes me, so what? I'll deal with it.

Work on those other things if you can. Thanks!

Your friend, Cleo Nelson

I roll the napkin up tightly and put it in the wine bottle with the letter.

I give the bottle a little kiss—a friend kiss, not a romantic one—and throw it into the water. Toby jumps up and barks once, excited by the splash. I turn around, satisfied. Maybe I contacted the universe. Maybe I achieved something special. If not, at least I tried.

“Hey, did you throw trash into the lake?” a voice shouts. Oh no! It's Red Shorts—again! He's over on the path, walking in place. Why is he around every time I try to call the universe?

He seems just as surprised to see me. “You again?”

Toby barks angrily now and runs toward the man. I grab his leash before he can get too close, but Toby thinks Red Shorts is up to no good and pulls me along.

My first instinct is to pull Toby in the opposite direction, run and get home as fast as humanly possible, avoid Dad at his computer, and hide in my room. But today, after all my breathing in and out and my summoning of the universe, I have courage. I walk over toward the man, who's walking in place and unzipping the sack on his butt to get to his phone.

“It wasn't trash. I was doing something very special. Almost spiritual,” I tell him. I glance out at the lake. The bottle is slowly floating away. “And I promise I'll never do it again.”

“Well, that's interesting,” he says. “If it wasn't trash, what was it?”

Right now, I don't care who knows. “It was a message in a bottle.”

Still moving his feet up and down like he's walking, he looks at his phone but doesn't dial. “What kind of message?” he asks.

“It's a private matter.” I'm acting all mature, but on the inside I'm a scared, squalling baby.

He smiles. “A love note?”

“No. Not really. I mean, I
did
write to a boy, but it wasn't a boy I want as a boyfriend; it was…well, a famous boy, and for some reason—and I'm not really even sure why or how anymore—I'm thinking that he could make everything right between me and a friend of mine.” All these words come gushing out of my mouth like a waterfall. I have no control over it. But I can't stop. I guess I really want to tell someone all of this, and who better than this stranger who never stops walking? He's here, he's listening, and he doesn't seem to be judging—not yet. So I go on, whether he wants me to or not. At least as I'm talking, he's not dialing the police.

“But I also wrote to the universe because I want my dad and his girlfriend—well, his ex-girlfriend—to get back together because she's his
Only One
and I know it, maybe because they weren't a lovey-dovey boyfriend and girlfriend, the kind that make you wanna go
blech
and throw up. They had fun together; they seemed like friends, and now he's going to marry Paige even though he's never looked like he's friends with her. She's another friend's mom, though I'm not sure whether Sam is a friend or not, but that's another story and”—I take a breath—“I guess, if you really want to know, it wasn't a love note. You could maybe call it a friendship note.”

Red Shorts looks thoughtful. “Friendship is just as important as love,” he says.

“Really?” I ask. “It seems like all anybody talks about anymore is love, love, love. I'm kind of sick of it.”

He laughs. “I know what you mean. It's best when you have both: love and friendship. My wife—she was my best friend. A person like that is hard to find.”

Without even thinking about it, I'm walking in place with him, I guess to keep him company. “I think my mom was my dad's best friend, but she died a long time ago,” I tell him.

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“I'm sorry about your wife too,” I say.

And for just a couple of seconds, he stops walking. “Thank you. That's very nice of you to say.” His feet start moving again. “What's your name?” he asks.

“Cleo.”

“Nice to meet you, Cleo. My name's Tim.”

“Nice to meet you, Tim.”

“I'd better go,” he says. “I hope your dad finds a new best friend.”

“I hope you do too,” I say. Then he smiles and jogs off.

E
veryone knows there's no learning on the last day of school, but at Friendship Community there's no learning on the second-to-last day of school either. Because the Bling Bling Summer Fling is tonight, all the kids are as unfocused as I am on a normal day. The school is filled with this jumpy, electric energy. Everyone is buzzing.

Like all teachers, Kevin can sense kids having a good time and, of course, bring an end to it. He does this with five terrible words:

“Time for your book reports!”

Oh no!

Everyone in the classroom starts opening their desks and backpacks to pull out the books they've read, while my eyes dart around the room in a panic. How come no one reminded me? Madison never mentioned her book; neither did Samantha. Even my “boyfriend,” Larry, could've brought up working on his report, but did he? No!

Or maybe they did and I had other things on my mind. Who knows?

As my classmates get up and talk about their spy thrillers, their vampire love stories, and their futuristic adventures, I sit and worry. What could I possibly say about my book? I did try to read it a couple of times, but it barely made sense from the very first paragraph. I don't even have it in my backpack, so I can't cheat—like some of the kids are doing—and just read a page or two out loud. What am I going to—?

“Cleo.” Kevin's voice interrupts my thoughts. “Come on up and tell us about your book.”

I sit in my chair a moment longer. I see Larry smiling, eager to hear what I have to say. Samantha looks at me with her eyebrows scrunched together, worried. And Madison nods encouragingly. Easy for her to do—her report was about a teenage detective named Lucy Lindelow, and it sounded totally fun! How did she wind up with
that
book?

I slowly stand and walk to the front of the room. I give Kevin an apologetic look. “I don't have my book with me.”

“That's okay,” he says. “Tell us about it.”

“It doesn't have an interesting cover anyway. No pictures,” I tell the class. Then I take a breath. “Anyway, the book I read is called
Quantum Physics, Biocentrism, and the Universe as We Know It.
”

I look out at the faces. The ones who are paying attention at all look totally confused. “Wow,” says Kevin. “How much of that did you understand?”

I decide to be honest. “Not a lot. I would read a paragraph again and again, and it could have been Portuguese or Chinese or Martian. It made no sense at all.”

“I'm not surprised,” Kevin says. “So, did you learn anything from trying?”

“A little,” I say. I look out at Lisa Lee, who is concentrating on picking something from underneath her fingernail. Madison looks unsure of where this is going. “Quantum physics doesn't seem to be like chemistry, where you can experiment with different types of matter and see specific cool results. But it's still scientists trying to understand the universe down to its tiniest, tiniest particles. For years they thought the universe worked one way; then they realized they were wrong.”

Larry watches me, nodding. I think he's trying to look interested, but as smart as he is, I'm sure he's as confused as the rest of them.

“What I learned is that you can be the smartest scientist in the world, but particles and waves and protons and neutrons can't explain coincidences, or who becomes friends, or who falls in love.”

At that, people ooh and aah and Ronnie Cheseboro pumps his fist in the air and shouts, “Woot woot!” (whatever that means). Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned love.

I decide I'd better finish up. “So I guess what I learned from this book is that scientists can try, and they can think they have the answers, but someone can always come around years later and change it. Nobody's ever going to be able to explain everything in the universe.” I pause. “And that's it.”

As I walk back to my desk, I see Lisa Lee looking at whatever she got out from under her fingernail. “She's not getting credit for that, is she?” She's sort of asking Kevin and sort of just saying it.

“Yes,” says Kevin. “Cleo took on a tough subject, and she should be commended for it.”

Larry applauds and whistles—not wildly, just to be nice. Sam joins him for a clap or two. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Madison look at Lisa Lee and shrug.

For the rest of the day, the topic goes back to tonight's Bling Bling Summer Fling. I'm not filled with the enthusiasm and anticipation everyone else has; for me it's all awkwardness and discomfort. At lunchtime, Madison says “hi” when she sees me, Samantha, and Larry, but she still walks past us and sits with Lisa Lee, Kylie Mae, Ronnie, and Lonnie.

Every conversation I overhear is about the Bling Bling. Who's going with who. Whose parents are driving. “What time are you getting there?” “What are you wearing?” “Did you hear about the new ride?” “This is going to be the best one ever!”

Blah blah blah. By the end of the day, I'm sick of the Bling Bling Summer Fling, and it hasn't even happened yet.

Waiting for Dad to pick me up in the school parking lot, I've convinced myself I don't feel well. It's not just in my head; I think it's in my body too, for real. My stomach feels gross, my face feels hot, and all I want to do is lie in bed.

“Are you excited for the Bling Bling?”

Madison's voice comes from behind me, asking the last question I want to hear, from someone I don't really want to talk to. But she's cornered me at a time when I have nowhere to go, no way to get away.

“Uh, I don't know,” I say. “I'm not feeling so great.”

“You'll feel better once you get there. Hollywoodland Park is so fun; you're gonna love it.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Or maybe not.

“I haven't had a chance to tell you.” She pauses. “I'm going with Lisa Lee and Kylie Mae.” She pauses again. I wonder why. Did she expect me to gasp? To clutch at my heart and fall to the ground?

I don't do anything. I stand there stone-faced. Finally I say, “I heard.”

“I've been wanting to tell you the last day or two.”

“Yeah, I figured.” I stretch my neck and look at the far end of the parking lot. No sign of Dad.

Madison looks past me and says “hey” to Samantha and Larry, who have come up behind me. Larry nods and Sam gives a little wave, but they keep their distance. They don't join our conversation.
Conversation,
though, might not be the right word for what Madison and I are having. I'm just letting her talk and responding as simply as possible because it would be rude not to.

“Our parents are kind of
making
us go together,” Madison tells me. I haven't asked her for an explanation of why she's deserting me on the most important night of the whole school year for people who are friends, but here she goes. “It's tradition. Our parents like going together too. It doesn't have anything to do with you.”

I nod. I don't think Madison is lying exactly, but I also don't totally believe her. It's a weird feeling.

“I mean, we're still friends. I mean, you and I are still friends. For sure. But I'm kind of friends with them too. They've just wanted to hang out for the last few days of the school year, and it's hard to be friends with everybody at the same time.”

I stay silent. I wouldn't know how hard it is to have so many friends that I don't have time for all of them. “We can get together during the summer just like we planned,” Madison says. “Before I go to Hawaii. And when I get back. And seventh grade will be cool. I'll have it all figured out by then.”

I'm still looking for Dad's car when I see the Paddingtons' SUV pull into the parking lot. “Yvonne's here,” I tell Madison. Inside my head, I thank Yvonne in all two languages I know:
thanks
and
gracias.

“Oh shoot, she texted that she needs to get me home fast today. But I'll look for you at the Bling Bling. We'll talk more there.” Madison jumps into the SUV, and Yvonne drives off.

There's one moment of silence before I hear Sam's voice. “Did you believe any of that?”

I feel my shoulders slump as I turn around.

“Not really,” I say.

“I think she'll be nice to us, at least,” Larry says.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “It's not going to go back to the way it used to be. She's a nicer person now. She's just going to stick where she belongs.”

“Right,” I say. “With Lisa Lee and Kylie Mae. In Hawaii.”

“And at the Bling Bling,” Samantha says. “But don't worry, we'll have fun there too.”

No, we won't,
I think.
Not if I'm home in bed.

On the way home, I tell Dad that I'm not feeling well.

“But tonight's the Bling Bling Summer Fling!” he says, like he's personally excited about it.

“So what? It's gonna be dumb.” For sure Dad doesn't want to spend a Thursday night at an amusement park surrounded by screaming kids. He'd rather be at home with a book, or working on his wedding website.
Save the Date! Paige and I Are Going to Be the Happiest Couple in the World!
Barf.

“Dumb? It's not gonna be dumb at all,” Dad says. “From everything I've heard, it's the biggest event of the social season; it's the pinnacle of what the universe has to offer.”

I just stare at him. He knows the look.

“Okay, I'm exaggerating,” he says with a smile. “But we've heard about Hollywoodland Park forever. Don't you want to check it out for yourself?”

I shrug. “Not really.”

“Well, we don't have to leave for a couple of hours. Let's see how you feel then.”

I know how I'll feel. Just like I do now.

At home, I lie in bed. Every once in a while I turn over on my stomach and look at my magazines with Ryder Landry in them. “It's not your fault I feel like this,” I say to Ryder. Toby looks up, thinking I was talking to him. “And nothing's ever your fault, Tobes!” I say, patting him on the head.

Around six, our doorbell rings, and Toby runs out my door. I'm hoping Dad gave up on the idea of the Bling Bling and ordered in some food. I could go for pepperoni pizza right about now. That makes everything a little better, at least.

A minute later my bedroom door opens and Sam bursts through, shouting, “
¡Hola, amiga!
Surprise!”

“What are you doing here?”

“We wanted to surprise you, especially because you were so bummed out about Madison. We're all going to Hollywoodland Park together!”

“All?” I ask.

“Yeah, all of us,” Sam says. “Your dad. My mom. Me. You. Larry.”

“Larry?” I ask. The last thing I need is to be on a “date” with Larry tonight, sitting close to each other on roller coasters and water rides, in front of the rest of the school—all the people who remember him as Scabby Larry, which wasn't that long ago.

“He's in your living room bonding with Toby right now.” And as if he's in a play and heard his cue, Toby runs into my room, with Larry clomping behind him.

“Hey, Cleo, cool house! I love your dog…and all your dad's computers.” Right now, though, his super-alert eyes are taking in everything in my room from floor to ceiling. “Your room is fun too. Except for that!” he says, pointing at a Ryder poster on my wall. “Ugh! I couldn't go to sleep with that creepo-teen-robot staring over me.”

“But he's okay with bikini models,” Sam tells me.

“She saw
one
picture of a bikini model on my notebook, and she hasn't been quiet about it since!” says Larry. They poke at each other, giggling. They were acting this way at lunch too, with the monkey.

“Whose idea was this, anyway?” I ask.

“I don't know exactly,” Samantha says. “Your dad's or my mom's. One of them. They've been talking about it for a week or two. Ever since the art show.”