Violet Raines Almost Got Struck by Lightning (10 page)

Melissa outlines my lips and colors them in, just like my lips were a picture and she has to stay in the lines. Then she powders me up. She stands back. “Done,” she says. Lottie and her stare at me.

“Oh, my gosh,” Lottie says. “She looks beautiful.” The way she says that, it's like I'm not even here.

“Yes, it turned out great.”

I don't like being called “it.” I start to climb off the bed, but Melissa grabs me by the shoulders. “Wait!” She settles me back into position. “We have to do the before and after.”

Okay, I don't even know what she's talking about, but I go along with it just so this whole thing can be over.

“Remember what the before picture looked like?” she asks.

I roll my eyes. 'Course I do—it's the face I look at every day in my own mirror.

“This,” she says dramatically while turning me around, “is the after picture.”

I can't hardly believe my eyes. I can't hardly see them for one thing, there's so much blue eye shadow on them. My face looks like a cupcake—frosted and colorful. “I don't like it.”

I raise my hand to wipe some of it off, but Lottie grabs my arm. “Violet, you look so pretty. You look . . . sophisticated.”

Something in her voice tells me this is true. I stare hard at the face looking back at me. Momma wears lipstick, and my own lips look like a blossom, so full and red. My blue eyes are even bluer with my lids covered in eye shadow. Even my cheeks have been highlighted with a rosy color.

Melissa stares at me. “You look like a knockout!”

“We are so ready for junior high!” Lottie says.

Melissa and Lottie beam at me. I glance at myself again. My face is shiny and brilliant. I don't look like your regular girl walking down the street. I look like . . . like . . .
God Almighty!
I look like a movie star! I can hardly turn from my reflection, it's so different from my normal self. Lottie and Melissa stare at me in the mirror. Suddenly, my legs feel like they got to get moving; I can't stand all this sitting around and I can't stand them looking at me with their goofy grins. “I got to go,” I say. “Momma'll be home soon.”

Mrs. Gold stops me as they walk me out. She lays a hand on her chest. “Violet! I almost didn't recognize you! You look beautiful!”

My face reddens, but I doubt anyone can tell through the makeup.

Melissa and Lottie see me off, waving to me from the porch like they're the parents and I'm the kid they're sending off. I run down the road till I think they can't see me no more.

After I come around the bend, I hear Eddie behind me.

“Violet! You should have stayed!” he yells.

I don't turn around, not yet.

“I saw his teeth!” Eddie's running pounds on the dirt. “Hey, did you hear what I said?”

I wait till he's right behind me. Then I turn around and hit him with the full power of my beauty.

He jerks his head back. His lips curl and his eyes narrow. He looks like he's going to puke, but he just stands there, staring.

Heat stings my face. I spin around and race to my house.

“No, Violet, I didn't mean anything!”

He's yelling and running and catching up, but I'm already at my door, slamming it behind me. I rush to the bathroom and shut myself in. He's banging on the front door, but I ignore him.

I grab the edge of the sink and pull myself up. I can't believe I let Melissa do this to me. And I can't believe Lottie's under her spell. Well, I'm not. I see now what I really look like. Not a movie star. Not a celebrity.

I look like a clown.

Shaky black lines circle my eyes, and blue is smudged from my eyelids to my eyebrows. My lips look like tomato halves. My cheeks are slashed with red. This is not who I am. This is Melissa's idea of who I am.

I grab a wash rag and scrub the new face off. The makeup colors stain the rag. I scrub my skin till it's red and raw and even then it's not enough. I practically have to scrape the makeup off with my fingernails. And I do, layer by layer, until I get back to the old me. The real me.

21

Later that night, Momma and I are sitting in the living room reading when the phone rings. I'm closer, so I go into the kitchen and pick up.

“Violet!” It's Lottie. She don't normally call at night, so immediately I wonder what's going on.

“Hey, Lottie.” Then I wait to hear the big story.

But all she says is, “Did your mom like your makeover?”

I screw my face up. I know she can't see me, but I can't help it. “That was clown makeup,” I say. “I scrubbed it off as soon as I got home.”

“But you looked so good!” She sounds disappointed. “I myself am planning to wear lip gloss when junior high starts.”

I sigh heavily. “Is that all you called to talk about? Makeup?”

“I just called to say hi.” Her voice sounds small.

Lord, I didn't mean to hurt her feelings. I'm just sick of all this makeover business. But I don't want Lottie to feel bad, so I try to think of something to say to make her feel better.

She beats me to it. “I forgot to tell you something.” When she speaks again, I can tell she's got her hand over the mouthpiece 'cause her voice sounds close and loud. “I got a bra!”

“You what?” I shout. Then I remember Momma's in the next room. I cup my hand over the phone too. “What?”

“The other day, me and my mom.”

I don't know what to say. Lottie is acting like this is something to celebrate. I try to think of something encouraging to say, but all I come up with is “Well, if that's what you want.”

“Come on, Violet.” When I don't answer, she says, “We're almost in junior high, and—”

I cut her off right there. “Junior high or not, I ain't wearing that clown makeup or acting all googly-eyed over boys like Melissa does, and I'm not interested in your bra. Just count me out.”

“It's not just that,” she says. “There's other stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Like . . . since I'm wearing a bra and since I'm getting older, I need more privacy. I need my own room.”

I huff into the phone. “Nothing's wrong with your room. Why're you trying to change everything?”

“I'm not trying! Everything's changing anyway.”

I glance through the window at her house, which she is no longer in. “Lottie—”

“That's another thing!” she says. “I'm tired of that name. We're going to junior high—I don't want to be called by a name my sisters made up because they couldn't pronounce things right.”

“But that's your name.”

“No, it's not. My name's Charlotte. And that's the name I want to start using.” She pauses. “Don't you think it sounds elegant?”

“It sounds like a spider,” I say. Lottie's not tough like me. The older junior high kids will call her spider legs or black widow or say her best friend is a pig, and then I'll have to punch someone. “Your name's Lottie.”

“It just sounds so old-fashioned.”

I shake my head. I know just where this is coming from. “Melissa told you that!”

“No, she didn't!”

I'll eat gator tail if that don't sound like Melissa. “Are you sure? 'Cause that's just how she talks—
no
offense.
”

Now Lottie sounds mad. “I only wanted to tell you some things, but you're always arguing with me. You're not always right, you know.”

I'm shocked. I want to say,
I'm not always arguing
with you,
but that would be arguing with her. I am silent. I know I'm not always right 'cause I'm looking through the window at a house that's had the guts ripped right out of it.

Lottie huffs into the phone. “If you don't have anything to say, I guess I'm going to hang up now.”

I don't have anything to say. We say good-bye to each other, but I stay on the line until I hear her click off.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper.

22

I sit in the kitchen chair long after hanging up with Lottie. I can't believe she wants to change her name. I don't care if that's what they named her; no one has ever called her “Charlotte,” not even when she's in trouble. Now she wants to use her fancy name, move out of her room, and other things I don't even want to think about.

She's forgotten who she is.

I prop my elbow on the table and lean my head on my hand. I got to think. I got to think hard. I can't help but blame Melissa for this. If Lottie wasn't staying there, Melissa wouldn't be filling her head with these ideas. God Almighty, I got to get her out of there.

I think about asking her to spend the night, but there's two problems with that: number one, that would fix things for only one night. Number two, I'd probably have to invite Melissa.

I grab a pen out of the holder by the phone and twiddle it.

Momma comes in, pours herself a cup of coffee, and stops beside me. “What're you doing, honey?”

I slump onto my other elbow. “Thinking.”

“ 'Bout what?”

“ 'Bout Lottie.”

Momma lets out a long sigh. “I know,” she says, clutching her coffee cup with both hands. “It's a terrible thing.”

I look at her. Which terrible thing is she talking about? Lord knows there's so many, it's hard to pick just one. I'm fretting over that antenna and how it attracted the lightning, but still I shouldn't have made Lottie bake those pies. I'm thinking on Lottie staying at Melissa's and what if they become better friends than me and Lottie, but I'd rather be her second best friend than have her move away. And on top of that, on top of all of that, Melissa's got me so's I have to think twice about Eddie every time I see him.

Everything normal is slipping away. Don't tell me not to worry. How can I not worry with this mishmash of troubles?

My chest heaves with a long sigh. I got to pick one thing to stew over and right now, that's Lottie and her family.

“What are they going to do, Momma?” My eyes get wet as I wait for her answer, but I don't let myself cry.

She sits down and puts her hand on top of mine. She shakes her head. “I don't know.”

My heart twists when she says that. When something's fixable, grown-ups say hopeful things like, “It'll be okay,” or “Don't you worry yourself over that,” but when a grown-up says “I don't know,” you got yourself something to worry about. I hang my head. “What can I do?”

Momma reaches over and rubs my shoulders before getting up. “You can pray for them,” she says. She pats me on the back and leaves the room.

I sit there, holding the pen.
Oh, Lord,
I say. Not out loud, 'cause He can hear you when you're talking just in your mind. But I don't get no further than that. I don't know what to ask Him to do.

Then it comes to me. Mr. Townsend's writing letters, but no one's writing back.
He doesn't know
Melissa's secret.
I grab a pad of paper and start a letter to our newspaper. I know they help people, 'cause they always got those funds going at Christmas and during hurricane season for people in need.

When I grab the newspaper, it falls open to
Today's Word: jubilant,
which means joyful, full of happiness. I tear
jubilant
out and add it to my word collection. Even though I am the exact opposite of jubilant, I can see it's a good word. It sounds like candy, something colorful and sweet you can chew on for a long time.

Flipping around the newspaper, I find the place they list the names of the writers. One man's name is on top. I figure he's the most important person at the paper, so I address my letter to him and write the first sentence:
My best friend's house got
struck by lightning and they are people in need.

I describe Lottie's family and how they are all split up right now and how they can't possibly move because that would be the worst thing in the world. Describing the lightning's easy; describing everything else is harder. I use my best handwriting.

I look the letter over real good. Only one thing's missing now. I dash out of the kitchen and into the dining room where Momma keeps my school picture in a frame. Sliding it out carefully, I run back and seal my picture and my letter in an envelope. Tomorrow morning, I will mail it.

23

I am inside the cave, listening. The river bubbles nearby. A heron cackles as he flies over. Then the breeze rustles through the trees; that's my favorite part because of the hollow sound it makes inside the cave.

I'm here because I'm thinking. School is fixing to start in a few weeks. I make a list in my head of the good things and a list of the bad things. Good things: riding the bus—I never done that before. Sharing a locker—me and Lottie will be lockermates and we're going to put up one of those little chalkboards inside and write each other notes. I've already thought of a few notes to leave, like “TTFN,” which is a way of saying “Ta-ta for now,” and “TGIF,” which means “Thank God it's Friday.” Another good thing is they have biology class with microscopes and everything. I heard they go out to the pond and put drops of water under the microscope and you see all these wormy things swimming around in there, except, of course, you'd never see them with your own eyes—it takes a special lens to see things that small.

Bad things: you don't stay in the same room all day; you have to go to different classrooms every hour when a bell rings. I worry about getting lost. Or being late. Taking showers after gym class, definitely bad—I do not want to be naked at school. But the worst thing is not having Lottie in my homeroom. We ain't got our schedules yet, so I don't know if she'll be in any of my other classes. I decide the second worst thing would be if we don't have the same lunch hour.

Footsteps crunching over leaves stop my thinking. My heart pounds fast as the sound gets closer. I move deeper into the cave. The footsteps are coming right to me! If only I had a stick. I press against the inside wall of the tree and my heart beats in my throat. My eyes widen.