13 Gifts Read online

  I’m getting a bit jittery with each passing day. To keep myself occupied when Emily’s at school, I’ve been trying to write my essay. It’s harder than I thought it would be. After deleting the first five beginnings, I decided I can’t say I’m at the camp. It would be disrespectful to all the kids who actually are there. All Mrs. Schafer asked for is for me to say what I learned from my experiences, and I’m surprised to see I’ve learned a lot in the last week. So far I have the following:

  I have learned that doing something for the wrong reason will likely backfire on you. It may also backfire on you if you do it for the right reason.

  I have learned that when traveling by train always go first class if someone offers you a ticket.

  But I have also learned that if you don’t want to lose your money or your iPod while traveling on aforementioned train, glue it to your body.

  Thanks to Google, I have learned that even though a hawk can fly over 250 miles a day, it’s not fast enough to beat a train.

  I have learned that some people love math because either the equation works or it doesn’t. There is no gray area. If everything in life was clearly wrong or clearly right, I would be much happier.

  I have learned that a piece of the Torah (which is like the Jewish bible) is inside a little box on some people’s doorways and they kiss it to remind themselves of what it teaches.

  I’ve learned that old men need a lot of upkeep.

  I’ve learned that it’s possible to eat from a different take-out restaurant every night and not get tired of it.

  I’ve learned to make sure the lock is not turned before you close a door.

  I have learned that there are some towns where special forces are at work, and you can’t tell if you live in one of these towns until strange things start to happen to you.

  I’ve learned that if you hide a violin in a storage shed and don’t wrap it tight enough, a mouse might make a home inside it and scare you half to death when you find it.

  I’ve learned that Sunshine Kid cookies do not taste good. Even with ketchup.

  I’ve learned that if you tell an Australian person that they talk funny, their accent will get even stronger and they’ll get all agro on you and start a furphy that you’re really a spy sent to town to report back to your home planet.

  I’m not sure what I have so far qualifies as an essay yet, but I save it under TARA’S ESSAY anyway. And then, since the whole family uses this computer, I password-protect it.

  Finally, on Friday morning, Amanda texts me from the school bus that Mrs. Grayson got home late the night before. I’m supposed to meet them at Amanda’s house at noon, since school is a half day because of final exams. I reply that I’ll be there and then run upstairs to change out of my pajamas. Today I finally feel ready to wear one of the outfits Aunt Bethany bought me. I wondered during the week if she was going to say something about me not wearing any of them, but she never did. No way could my mom have held off that long. I think Mom would be pleased that I’m picking up on the differences between the sisters. It’s like my own little sociological research project. I choose a pink shirt and matching pink shorts. I feel like a strawberry marshmallow.

  Ray finds me in the backyard, inspecting my bike tires. “Howdy there, partner. I see you are all up in the pink today. Very sharp.”

  I look up from the bike. “Why are you talking like that?” “Like what?”

  “Even weirder than usual.”

  He says each word very slowly and drawn out. “I am trying out for a television commercial and they want an all-American-boy type. So I am attempting to talk like one. How am I doing now?”

  “You sound like a robot.”

  “Yes, but an American robot?”

  “I guess it could be an American robot,” I admit. “So you’re an actor, too? Besides a personal assistant and a glassblower?”

  “What I really want to do is direct,” he says with a wink. Then he points to the front tire. “Got a hole there. Bet Roger’s got a patch up in the lab. Want me to check?”

  I jump up. “No, I’ll go.” This is my chance! I’d been afraid to go in there the past few days after running into my uncle. But now I have a reason. I take the steps two at a time, although I know no one else is home.

  For one crazy second, the magazine pile appears to have disappeared. In its place is a lumpy green Jell-O-like substance slowly oozing onto the rug. I think it actually is Jell-O. Then I see the pile about four feet to the left.

  One by one, I thrust the dusty magazines aside. I should have paid more attention to the covers, because they all look the same! I have to shake each one out until finally my Fantastic Four reveals itself. To be on the safe side, I stick it back inside the Inventors Digest and restack the pile. I turn to go as Ray steps into the room.

  “Did you find it?” he asks.

  “Find what?” I ask, a little too guiltily.

  He glances down at the magazine in my hand. Is it too thick? Is it obvious something is stuck inside it?

  “Did you find the patch,” he says, enunciating each word. “For your tire.”

  “No. Robot. Ray. I. Did. Not. Find. It. Yet.”

  He laughs. “I didn’t sound like that.”

  “You kinda did.”

  “I think the patch is in here,” he says, poking through a big box on the desk. “By the way, totally bonza of you to take an interest in your uncle’s work. He’s happier than a clam at high tide.”

  “I’m just gonna go put this in my room,” I tell him, not meeting Ray’s eyes as I hurry past him. I already feel guilty enough about everything; Ray’s “clam” comment just makes it worse. Now I’m really going to have to read one of these magazines.

  If Ray hadn’t come upstairs, I’d be able to replace the comic in its rightful home right now. As is, I can’t take the chance. He always seems to turn up exactly when I don’t want him to. I hide the magazine with the comic inside in my suitcase and slide it back under the bed. Then, with a quick kiss to Jake, I rejoin Ray in the lab.

  “Found it,” he announces, holding up a small plastic bag with a square piece of rubber inside.

  Five minutes later I’m munching on an apple while he fixes the hole in my bike. “I could get used to this,” I tell him, tilting my face toward the sun.

  “Just doing my job,” he says cheerily, stretching the tire back around the rim. “All done. You gonna ride or do you want it back in the shed?”

  “I’ll ride it,” I say, hurrying over. I close the shed door as nonchalantly as possible. The four objects we found so far from Angelina’s list are all the way in the back in a cardboard box. Rory had offered to store them for me, but I still feel like it should be my responsibility.

  I toss the apple core in the bike basket along with a bottle of water and climb on. Amanda’s house is a few miles away, and I have just enough time to make it. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Have a fun arvo with your mates.”

  “Okay,” I say, hoping an arvo isn’t a bad thing.

  I’m about to start peddling when he says, “Hold up a sec.”

  I peer around at the back wheel. “What, is my tire still flat?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. Just wanted to ask if you knew anything about a cane, a violin, a blanket, and a basket in a box in the shed?”

  I wobble on the bike. Ray reaches out and grabs a handlebar to steady it. When I don’t answer due to my throat suddenly closing up, he continues. “Because — funny thing — someone in town seems to be looking for all that stuff. And a bunch more, too. Saw it online.”

  I try to talk, but it comes out more like a squeak.

  “If you pinched those things,” he says, sounding more serious than I’ve ever heard him, “someone out there’s gonna spit the dummy.”

  “I didn’t pinch them,” I insist, finding my voice. “How did you find them?”

  “I was looking around in there yesterday for some pieces of plaster your uncle needed. Stumbled on the box and recog
nized the stuff from the list on the town website.”

  “You go on the town’s website?”

  “Won a free pound of bagels last week.”

  “Why would you think the stuff in the box was mine?”

  “Wasn’t hard to nut out. In the year I’ve been here, you’re the only person to go near that shed.”

  My brain spins as I try to figure out how much I can tell him. This secret-keeping business is very confusing. Finally I say, “My friends and I are the ones trying to find the things on that list. It’s a real job; like, we’re getting paid and everything. Nothing shady, I promise.”

  “Then what’s with the hiding?”

  I realize I’m going to have to be even more forthcoming if I expect him to drop this. “I don’t want my aunt and uncle to know that I need the money. They’d offer to give it to me, and I wouldn’t feel right.”

  “I see,” he says, rubbing his chin. “Well, that sounds commendable. I guess I can help, then.”

  “Help?” I’m not sure I like the sound of that.

  “I happen to know the whereabouts of one of the things on the list.”

  “You do? Which one?”

  “What do I get if I tell you?” he teases.

  “Well, I can help you practice for your commercial.”

  “Okay,” he agrees. “It’s the knife. But I don’t think the dude who’s got it is gonna part with it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, for starters, last night at the pub he said, ‘No way am I handing over this knife to no one. Somebody wants this knife, they’re gonna have to take it over my dead body.’”

  My eyes widen. “He said that?”

  He shakes his head. “No. But he did say it would take three hundred bucks.”

  I sigh. “That’s just as bad.”

  “He’s seriously attached to it. I’ve seen him pick his teeth with it after wings, then polish it clean.”

  “He sounds like a great guy.”

  “You’ll really like him. A people person, just like you.” He grins. It’s hard to stay frustrated with Ray when he flashes that smile.

  I check my phone to see what time it is. “I’m going to be late now to meet everyone. Can you drive me across town to Amanda’s?”

  “I can do that.”

  “Promise me you won’t embarrass me in any way.”

  “That I can’t do.”

  The others are waiting on the curb outside Amanda’s house when we pull up in Ray’s beat-up old Ford. We’d practiced his lines for the commercial on the way and he’s getting a tiny bit better. He gets out of the car and salutes the group. Then in his best American accent he says, “Hello there, young people of America. Is it not a lovely day?”

  “Who’s the robot that looks like Ray?” David asks.

  I figure I might as well jump right in, so I say, “Ray knows we’re the ones who posted the list.”

  Everyone exchanges worried glances.

  Ray makes the locking-mouth-throwing-away-key gesture.

  I continue. “The good thing is that he knows where we can find the knife.”

  The others jump up from the curb. Amanda’s and Leo’s blackboards both hit them on their chins. They’re so used to it they don’t even flinch.

  Ray shakes his head. “I’m telling you, Big Joe isn’t going to give it up for less than three hundred bucks.”

  “We haven’t failed yet,” Rory says confidently.

  “Let’s try to get the key first,” Amanda says. “Then we’ll worry about the knife.”

  We turn toward the door, with Ray walking right along with us. I stop. “Um, Ray?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re waiting in the car.”

  “Why? I can be very charming. Ladies love the accent.” He winks at Amanda, who blushes.

  I roll my eyes. “We shouldn’t overwhelm Mrs. Grayson with a lot of people.”

  Ray grumbles, but turns back around. The rest of us go on, and Amanda rings the bell. Mrs. Grayson opens the door in a red flannel shirt and jeans. Her graying hair peeks out from underneath a sun hat.

  “Amanda and Leo! Lovely to see you. And hello, Amanda’s other friends.”

  Amanda and Leo give her a hug, and then Amanda introduces me, Rory, and David.

  “Nice to meet you all,” she says. “What can I do for you? Seems like you’re a little old to be selling cookies.” She laughs.

  “Way too old,” Rory agrees.

  “Definitely,” David and I say at the same time.

  “Can we come in for a minute?” Amanda asks. “We wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “Sure.” Mrs. Grayson backs up and holds the door open for us. We file into the front hall and wait for Amanda to ask for the key. We decided she would be our best chance.

  “Have you gone onto the Willow Falls website lately?” Amanda asks.

  Mrs. Grayson shakes her head. “I’ve been away. Why, did I miss something? Or wait, did I win something? I’ve been eying that five-dollar gift certificate to the bowling alley!”

  We laugh. Amanda shakes her head. “Sorry, you didn’t win anything this week. But, well, we posted this list up there of a bunch of stuff we’re looking for around town, and you might have one of the things on the list. A wooden key? With the words Made in Willow Falls 1974 carved in it?”

  She smiles. “I do indeed have that key. And someone wants it?”

  We nod.

  “But why? I’m sure it’s not worth anything.”

  “A collector we know is looking for a whole bunch of things from town,” I tell her. “We’d be willing to pay you, or run errands, mow your lawn, anything you need.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she says. “You can have the key. Perhaps I’ll think of something I need later.”

  “Are you sure we can take it?” Amanda asks.

  Mrs. Grayson smiles again. “If you think you can carry it.”

  We exchange puzzled glances.

  “Is it really fragile?” Rory asks. “Maybe we should put it in a box?”

  I’m thinking she’s probably right, that it’s pretty old. I mean, who makes keys out of wood anymore?

  “Why don’t you have a look for yourselves,” Mrs. Grayson says, pointing us toward a room at the end of the hall.

  The first thing I see when we enter the room is a piano. The only other things in the room are a couch and coffee table. I figured the key would be in a bowl or on a key chain or something, but all the surfaces are bare. “It’s in here?” I ask her, confused.

  “Um, Tara?” David grabs my sleeve and points behind me.

  And there, on the wall, hangs the world’s biggest key.

  Seriously. The key is so big the only door it could possibly open would be a castle in Giant Land. It must be four feet long!

  We line up and stare at it.

  “There must be some mistake,” Rory says. “That can’t be it, can it?”

  We move closer. It says all the right words down the side.

  “That’s it, all right,” Leo says.

  “You’re sure you want to part with it?” Amanda asks. “There’s gonna be a big empty space on the wall.”

  “That’s okay,” Mrs. Grayson says. “I wound up with it by default anyway; it was never really mine. Out of curiosity, what else is on the list?”

  None of the other people had asked us this. I don’t see the harm, though. I fish around in my pockets while the boys climb on the piano bench so they can work on getting the key down.

  “Nice outfit, by the way,” Rory says to me. “Very colorful.”

  “Aunt Bethany got it for me. I feel like I’m four years old.” I find the list and hand it over.

  Rory, Amanda, and I follow Mrs. Grayson over to the couch, where she sits down with the list. A minute later, she abruptly stands up and leaves the room, leaving the list open on the coffee table.

  “What just happened?” Rory whispers.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t take the key,” Amanda sa
ys, worriedly. “Maybe it means more to her than she let on.”

  “Um, kinda heavy here?” Leo calls out.

  We look over to find Leo holding the full weight of the key. “Sorry,” David says, hurrying to lift the other end off the nail. “Got distracted.”

  They climb down from the bench and stand there, holding it awkwardly. “So what should we do?” Leo asks.

  No one has an answer. Finally Mrs. Grayson returns. Instead of being upset, she looks almost, well, relieved. Like some burden has been lifted.

  “Is everything all right?” Amanda asks. “We can leave the key.”

  Mrs. Grayson shakes her head. “I want you to have it. And this, too.” She hands Amanda a long, skinny box. I know instantly from sorting through Mom’s jewelry drawer that it’s the kind of box a necklace fits in. Amanda opens the box and lifts out a long strand of pearls. They shimmer in the light.

  “You’ll note the gold clasp,” Mrs. Grayson says. “I believe it’s the necklace you’re looking for.”

  “This is yours?” Amanda asks incredulously.

  “It belonged to my sister, Francis. She used to be the dance teacher in town many, many years ago. She’d wear that necklace for her performances.”

  Amanda lays the pearls back in the box and tries to give them back. “We can’t take your sister’s pearls.”

  “Yes, you can,” Mrs. Grayson says. “They aren’t real, if that makes it any easier. Only the clasp is.”

  The two of them argue back and forth. My breath starts coming faster. How can Angelina ask people to part with their things like this? Just so she can make money reselling them? It’s cruel. Did she get all the things on her shelves this way, or did people come in and drop them off? I think it’s time for another visit.