Wedding Drama (5 page)

“I know you'll probably say I shouldn't get the lavender one, since that's your favorite color, but what I want to do is try them both on—that is, if they're in my size—and see which one looks better on me.” She stops for a breath then asks, “What do you think, Deja?”

“Fine,” Deja says.

It doesn't sound very fine to Nikki, though. She looks over at Deja. “But what do you think?”

“Whichever one looks the best,” Deja says quietly.

“Yeah, that's what I think,” Nikki agrees. She sneaks a look at Deja again. Deja looks sad, and for a few seconds Nikki feels guilty about her own excitement.

There's a moment of silence, then Nikki pipes up with, “Ooh, Deja, ask your auntie if you can come with us on Saturday. It'll be so much fun if you can come with me.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Deja says.

“Isn't it great that we're both doing the menu for our teams?” Nikki goes on, since Deja is being so glum and quiet. “I can't wait. I'm going to do something different. I've got ideas!”

They reach Deja's driveway, where Nikki sees Deja's auntie's car. She feels a little bad about Deja's aunt, but she can't linger on that. She's got things to do—really important things.

Nikki starts for her own house. “See ya, Deja. Don't forget to ask your auntie about Saturday.”

 

Deja takes a deep breath before she pulls out the key on its string around her neck and unlocks the front door. She needs to tell Auntie about the wedding before she asks if she can go with Nikki on Saturday.

Auntie is in the kitchen. Deja puts her backpack on the stairs. Dragging her feet, she walks through the kitchen door.

“Hi, sweetie,” Auntie Dee says, looking up. She's stirring something in a big mixing bowl with a wooden spoon.

“Hi, Auntie Dee.” Deja looks into the bowl, hoping for cake batter. It's batter all right, but there's something shredded and green in it.

“Zucchini bread,” Auntie says happily. “I found the recipe in the newspaper.”

Deja watches the spoon go around and around. “Oh,” she says.

“What's wrong, honey?” Auntie asks. It's as if she's just then noticed Deja's downturned mouth and slumped shoulders.

Deja decides to dive in. “Ms. Shelby is getting married. Saturday after next.”

Auntie Dee stops stirring and puts both palms on the counter. “Oh, my!”

“She really wanted all her students to go to the wedding, but she didn't have enough room for everybody to come.”

“Well, of course not,” Auntie says.

“But she was able to invite two.”

Auntie Dee brightens.

“One of those persons was Nikki.”

“Wow,” Auntie says happily, then quickly adds, “Oh, honey, I hope you're not too disappointed that it wasn't you.”

“I got one, too,” Deja says.

Auntie's smiling demeanor immediately returns. “Oh, Deja! How wonderful!”

“But I don't want to go.”

Auntie Dee looks puzzled. “Why?”

Deja can't hold back her fears any longer. “Because we're not going to have any money. For a present from this special registry that Ms. Shelby has at Rendells or for a new dress for me, or for new shoes, or—for anything! And I'm not going to be able to get my hair done.”

Auntie moves to the table and sits down.

Deja takes the chair across from her. She feels better, for some reason. As if her auntie is just getting ready to tackle the problem.

“Listen,” Auntie Dee says, sounding certain. “We're going to solve this thing. I know we are. You just leave it to me.”

Deja gets her backpack and pulls out the invitation. She opens it and shows Auntie one of the little cards that's inside the envelope. “Look at this little card where you can choose what you want to eat.”

Auntie takes the invitation out of her hand. “Oh, look, you can bring a guest—which of course will be me.” She points out the place where it says “Invitee plus guest.” She smiles as if she's got it all worked out, as if she knows just how she'll come up with enough money for new clothes, a present, and a beauty shop visit for Deja.

 

Later, when Deja is doing her homework at the kitchen table, Auntie Dee calls to her from the living room. As soon as Deja appears, Auntie pats the place beside her on the couch. Deja sits down and waits.

“Now listen,” Auntie says. “I was just on the phone with Miss Ida. I told her all about you being invited to your teacher's wedding and all about our circumstances, and guess what she said.”

Deja shrugs. Whatever is coming, she knows it's not going to be all that great. Auntie Dee will think it's great, but Deja knows her feelings won't match her aunt's.

“Come to find out, Miss Ida was a seamstress in her day. She has offered to make you a new dress.” Auntie beams as she waits for Deja's response. Her smile is extra wide, extra encouraging.

“Oh,” Deja says. She thinks back on the time when she had to stay at Miss Ida's; the time when Auntie Dee had to go out of town. Everything in Miss Ida's house was old. Old curtains, old stove and refrigerator, an old television. It was awful staying there. At first. But then it got a little better. What kind of dress would Miss Ida come up with? Maybe something with a big bow in the back, like one of those dresses little girls wear on that show about pioneers—with big puffy sleeves.

“Auntie, I don't want to look like a pioneer girl.”

Auntie laughs. “Don't worry, you won't. We'll go to pick out the fabric and pattern on Saturday.”

That makes Deja feel only a little bit better. Then she remembers the other problems. “But what about Ms. Shelby's present and my hair?”

“Don't worry about the gift. I have something very special for Ms. Shelby. And believe me, she won't be getting two of what we're going to give her.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“Our kente cloth runner.”

Deja looks over at their dining room table. Auntie Dee has always loved the long, colorful piece of cloth that decorates it. Auntie's best friend, Phoebe, brought it back for her all the way from Ghana, which is in West Africa. How will they be able to get another one?

“But you love that runner.”

Auntie Dee shrugs. “Don't worry about that. Who knows? Maybe we'll go to Africa and get another one.”

Deja thinks about that for a minute. Is she joking? Africa is so far away.

Auntie goes on, “And Phoebe is going to do your hair.”

Deja frowns, and her auntie holds up her hand. “Don't jump the gun. She's going to do a great job.”

But Deja doesn't want to give Auntie's best friend, Phoebe, a chance. She doesn't want to give Miss Ida a chance, either. And the thought of Auntie Dee giving up her beloved kente cloth—that just makes her feel worse.

“Have I ever led you wrong?” Auntie asks with a twinkle in her eye.

“No,” Deja admits, and it's true. Auntie has always come through for her.

 

Nikki is in the kitchen poring over a cookbook. She's just come across a beautiful picture of little cakes the size of ring boxes—called
petit fours
—when Deja knocks on the door. Nikki quickly puts a folded napkin on the page before she closes the book. Then she opens the door.

Deja is standing there with her backpack. “Wanna do homework together?” she asks.

“I guess,” Nikki says, even though she's not very happy about the interruption. She'd really like to get back to looking at the petit fours recipe. Petit fours are going to be her secret weapon, but she has only a little bit of time to work on it.

Nikki's plan is to present a tasty sample of the dessert she's going to include on her menu to each of the girls who'll be judging the wedding planners teams. She can't let Deja know about this plan because Deja would just copy it.

Deja seats herself at the table. She glances at the cookbook. But then she seems to turn her attention to emptying stuff from her book bag. She takes out her spelling folder and her pencil and her pencil sharpener. Nikki knows that Deja hates a dull pencil. Deja reaches for a napkin, places it on the table before her, and carefully sharpens her pencil over it. When she looks up, she says, “What's wrong?”

“What do you mean?” Nikki asks.

“Why are you sitting there looking at me? Where's your homework?”

“Oh, yeah.” Nikki gets up and retrieves her backpack from just inside the front door. As soon as she returns, she sees the cookbook in front of Deja, opened to the page with the petit fours recipe.

“What's this?” Deja asks.

“My mom's cookbook.”

“What were you doing with it?”

“Nothing—just looking at it.”

Deja looks at the beautiful picture of pastel-colored petit fours decoratively placed on a crystal cake plate. “Why were you looking at this page?”

“I was looking at the whole book, not just that page.”

Deja stares at Nikki. Nikki can feel Deja's eyes on her even as she starts pulling stuff out of her backpack. It's quiet except for the ticking of the rooster clock on the wall.

“You're going to make something from your mom's cookbook, aren't you? Then you're going to bring it to school so you won't just have a menu, you'll have real food, too,” Deja says. “Admit it, Nikki.”

“It's my idea, and you can't copy, otherwise you're a copycat.”

“I'm not copying your stupid idea. Anyway, your mom is not going to let you do it. You're too young to cook.”

“My mom will let me do it. She let me help make those election day cookies when you were running for student body president of Carver Elementary School.”

“Those cookies were already made. We just had to put them on a cookie sheet and put them in the oven. You can't just make something from scratch.”

“Oh, yes, I can.”

“No, you can't.”

“Yes, I can,” Nikki persists.

“Did you get permission?”

“Not yet, but I'm going to.”

Deja chuckles. “Here,” she says, handing Nikki the list of that week's spelling words. “Test me.”

 

After Deja goes home, Nikki begins to worry. Deja might just steal her idea. She could get her auntie to make something yummy for the judges—and then Deja's team could win the contest. Nikki decides to get back to her spelling words later. She has petit fours to make.

But first she has to get some kind of permission. That's going to be tricky. Only her father is home. He's in the den watching football and he's not going to want to be disturbed. Nikki knows it must be a close game, because her father has been doing a bunch of whooping and hollering and talking bad about one of the teams. Perhaps this can work in her favor.

She walks quietly to the den doorway and looks in. Her father is sitting on the edge of his special recliner with his eyes glued to the TV screen. Suddenly he jumps up, throws his fist in the air, and does a little dance in place. Nikki sighs. She has to see or hear this scene almost every week.