13 Gifts Page 2

Still utterly astonished, I try to pull my thoughts together. No bamboo lemurs? Stuck for the summer with my little cousin who had to be rushed to the hospital for eating half a glue stick the last time they visited us? I force my mouth to work properly. “But, Mom, you hate Willow Falls. Now you want to banish me there for two whole months with people I barely even know? While you guys are thousands of miles away?”

  To her credit, she has the decency to look down at the table. Her legs begin to twitch, one after the other, a habit she has when she’s anxious. “You shouldn’t say hate. That’s a terrible word. And Willow Falls was a wonderful place to grow up, wasn’t it, James?”

  My father nods. “Indeed it was.”

  “Then why don’t we ever go back? I know your parents aren’t there anymore, but why haven’t we ever visited Aunt Bethany?”

  “It’s complicated,” Mom says, still staring down at the table. “People get busy with their lives. But now you’ll have a chance to get to know your cousin. Emily is apparently a very levelheaded and stable girl, and I think she’ll be a positive influence on you.”

  I shake my head in amazement. “She’s seven and eats paste! And I’m levelheaded enough.”

  “She’s not seven anymore,” my mother corrects me. “She’s eleven now and quite gifted academically. I assure you she no longer eats paste. And do you call breaking into your principal’s office the act of a stable person?”

  I raise my voice. “How can I have any stability when you uproot us every time the wind changes direction?”

  She presses her lips together into a firm line. We stare at each other in angry silence. Dad pounds another nail. He must have a lot of faith in the lining of his slipper. Either that or he’s recently gotten a tetanus shot.

  When she speaks, she does it so softly I have to lean over the table to hear her. “What if I promise that if you go willingly, if you really try to get along with everyone and keep an open mind, then we won’t move again?”

  I shrug. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m serious,” she says, more firmly this time.

  Dad stops pounding and raises his brows. “Are you sure you want to promise that, Molly?”

  Mom folds her hands firmly in front of her and nods.

  Dad turns to me. “That’s a pretty good offer. What do you think?”

  Honestly, I don’t know what to think. It’s not like where we live now is so amazing or anything. Just another suburb in a string of suburbs. My parents never move us anywhere interesting. But the thought of not having to pack up again, of not being the new kid everyone stares at, well, that’s too good to pass up. “Fine, I’ll do it. But I get to take my bike and my Jake Harrison poster, and if Emily eats any more art supplies you’ll have to fly back and pick me up.”

  “Deal,” Mom says, sticking out her hand.

  “And we’ll never move again? At least until I graduate? And I mean high school, not just middle school.”

  “Yup.”

  I take her hand and shake it.

  “Start packing,” she says cheerfully. “We head to Willow Falls Saturday.”

  Jaw falls again. “As in tomorrow?” I manage to squeak out. “Boy, you’re not losing any time getting rid of me. What about my homework? And finals?”

  “We’re not trying to get rid of you, Tara. The research team I’ll be heading up has already started. I had intended to meet up with them once you got out of school. Now there’s no reason to wait. We’ll drop you off and fly out tomorrow evening from there.”

  I mutter something under my breath that, under normal circumstances, would probably get me grounded for a week.

  She throws me a warning glance and climbs off the bench. “We have to go to school later so you can clean out your locker. Your teachers will be dropping off your assignments in the main office.” With that, she motions for Dad to follow her, which of course, he does because he knows that arguing with Mom when she’s made up her mind is useless. As they stroll back to the house, Dad turns and gives me a you can do it thumbs-up.

  Maybe a summer away from my parents won’t be such a bad thing.

  I rest my cheek on the table and close my eyes. Sadly, the tight ball in my stomach is a familiar feeling. I get it each time my parents announce we’re going to move again. At least when we move, it’s still the three of us. A loud kreeee, kreeee sound right next to my ear rudely interrupts my downward spiral into self-pity.

  I open my eyes and lift my head off the table. I’m not alone in the garden anymore. A huge bird (a hawk? a buzzard?) is perched less than a foot from my face. Normally I would jump up and scream when faced with a giant bird with a sharp, curved beak, sitting close enough to peck my eyes out, but I’m frozen. I’m not a superstitious person by nature (and I’m turning thirteen on Friday the thirteenth, so that’s really saying something), but I’m pretty sure its sudden appearance is supposed to mean something. Good luck? Bad luck? Six more weeks of winter? No wait, that’s the groundhog.

  The hawk tilts its head at me like it’s trying to decide something. I’m being judged by a bird! Finally it ruffles its shiny brown feathers, apparently having come to some kind of decision. With a final kreeee followed by a garuuunk, it springs off the table and takes to the air. It gives a lazy flap of its enormous wings, then circles overhead in a slow glide. It’s still close enough for me to clearly see its yellow feet and pointy talons. With a sudden burst of energy, it flaps quickly and takes off. A second later I feel something wet and slimy slide down the back of my head.

  That can’t be good.

  Chapter Three

  I pull my still-damp hair into a ponytail and climb into bed, exhausted. The only good thing about today is that it’s over. While the lowest point of the day was definitely Mom’s announcement of my banishment to Willow Falls, further humiliations and annoyances included — but were not limited to — the following:

  1. It took three showers over the span of twelve hours to get the sticky hawk poop out of my thick hair.

  2. First I had to endure whispers of that’s her and goat and principal and pepper spray and suspended as I walked the hall of shame to the principal’s office with Dad. Then Shelby Malone (now my archnemesis) passed us in the hallway and said, “Wow, Sara, your father sure is tall.” And then DAD SMILED AT HER (even though she’d just called his only daughter by the wrong name) and said, “Thank you, young lady!”

  3. Principal Murphy announced that since my mother informed him I will be leaving tomorrow to attend a camp for troubled teens, he doesn’t want to keep me from “doing the important work ahead of me there.” So he’s waiving my homework assignments and will have my teachers send my final exams to the camp for one of the counselors to administer. If the words CAMP FOR TROUBLED TEENS hadn’t come out of his mouth exactly as a stream of green pus oozed from his left eye, I would have focused on them more. As it was, it took a few seconds for the words to register and for my brain to start coming up with reasons why I’m totally NOT a troubled teen, whatever that means: I don’t compare myself to airbrushed supermodels. I don’t obsess over boys (only Jake Harrison, and who doesn’t love him?). I don’t hate my parents (well, maybe a little right now) or smoke behind the gym like those kids who think they look really cool but actually look ridiculous. Okay, so maybe I wear black a lot, but it’s not because I’m depressed or rebelling against society or anything; it’s just that I have an awful sense of style, and black matches black really well.

  4. It took my father most of the car ride home to convince me that Mom let Principal Murphy believe I was going to that camp because otherwise I wouldn’t be allowed to leave town before exams were over.

  5. On the positive side, the principal clearly got at least some of his sight back because he flinched as soon as he saw me.

  6. I got home to find Mom had taken the liberty of packing my suitcase for me, and I had to repack it with the right stuff. I then refused to take a last trip to the ice cream parlor with her for our favorite, bubblegum ice c
ream. We always pull out the gumballs and make them into a smiley face on our napkins, and I didn’t feel like smiling. Even via gumball.

  “Are you still awake?” Mom asks, sticking her head in and unknowingly adding to my list of annoying things that are happening to me today.

  I grunt.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Can you come into my room for a minute?”

  I don’t even bother to ask why. None of Mom’s answers to anything lately have made any sense.

  “Your aunt loves jewelry,” she says when I shuffle in. “I thought it would be nice if you picked out a few pieces for her.”

  The bottom drawer of her dresser is already open. Even though she’s told Dad repeatedly not to buy her any more jewelry since she never wears any of it, he still gives her a small cardboard box for almost every occasion. Rings for her birthday, bracelets on Christmas, earrings on Valentine’s Day. Once he even gave her a necklace for Arbor Day. She made him take that one back.

  I cross my arms. “How would I know what Aunt Bethany would like? I’ve only met her a few times.”

  Mom doesn’t answer, just stares into the drawer. Then she storms out of the room and snaps, “Just do your best.”

  I think Mom’s moodier than me, and I’m the one who’s almost a teenager. I take her place in front of the drawer and try to figure out the best plan of attack. The boxes are organized by size, so I figure I might as well start at the smallest: rings. Rings of all colors and sizes and shapes. I make a small pile of ones I’ve never seen her wear, then start on the next size up: watches and bracelets. Halfway through, I open a red pouch that doesn’t seem to have a box to go with it. I open the pouch and shake the contents into my palm. Two identical bracelets drop out. They’re simpler than the rest of Mom’s stuff — each one is basically just a piece of brown leather with two red beads in the center. A gold clasp hooks the ends together. I don’t usually wear jewelry either, but I really like these. Maybe she’d let me have one, especially since she has two and I’ve never seen her wear them. I slip the bracelets back into the pouch and set it aside.

  Mom comes back as I’m putting away the last necklace box. “How’d you do?” she asks, coming over to examine the large pile. “Looks like you found quite a lot.”

  I’m about to ask if I can have one of the beaded bracelets, but then I do something I wouldn’t have done before my parents’ decision to send me away. While Mom’s focused on the choices for Aunt Bethany, I stuff the small pouch into my pocket. I’m sure if she saw me, she’d tell me something about how stealing the bracelets is my small way of asserting some power over her since I’m feeling powerless right now. It’s a lecture I can do without, so I’m glad she doesn’t notice.

  “I’m sure Bethany will love these,” she says, dropping the jewelry into a small plastic bag and handing it to me. “I’m sorry I was snippy before. It’s not your fault that you don’t know your own aunt. It’s mine. How about I tuck you in and tell you a little about Bethany and Willow Falls?”

  I hesitate. She hasn’t tucked me into bed all month. Still, I let her follow me back to my room. As I climb in bed I ask her to have Dad put the bike rack on the car so we don’t forget in the morning.

  “No problem,” she says. But even in the dark, I can tell her eyes have flicked away from mine. I have a sinking feeling that my bike’s staying right here.

  I was right! I’m not taking my bike with me! I know this because it’s now five in the morning (!) and we’re on our way to the train station (!!) so my parents can put me on a nine-hour train ride BY MYSELF (!!!), where apparently I’ll be expected to make small talk about the weather with the stranger sitting next to me (!!!!).

  Me = Never Talks to Strangers.

  “But I just don’t understand,” I whine, rubbing the last bit of sleep from my eyes. “Why aren’t we driving? Why can’t you come with me?”

  Mom turns around in the passenger seat. “Honey, we explained it all to you last night after we got the phone call.”

  “I think I’d remember something like that, Mom.”

  “Well, you did seem a bit sleepy. The airline called to say our connecting flight to Madagascar was rerouted through a different airport. We wouldn’t have time to get you to Willow Falls and then get there on time. But don’t worry; you’ll be perfectly fine on the train. They are very used to handling unaccompanied minors.”

  While I try to process being an “unaccompanied minor,” Dad launches into an off-key rendition of “I’ve been working on the railroad, all the livelong day,” which doesn’t help me focus. “Are you sure this isn’t a trick and I’m really being shipped off to that troubled teens camp?”

  “Promise,” Mom says. Dad just keeps singing. I put my hands over my ears and slide down in the seat.

  I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, we’re pulling into the station. Dad hops out to get my bags from the trunk, with Mom only two steps behind. The first rays of sun land on the side of the brick building. I watch as the light cuts through the branches of the only tree, briefly transforming the dew-covered leaves into shards of green glass, then back to regular leaves. I am mesmerized by this.

  Dad sticks his head in my window. “Coming?”

  I shake my head.

  He laughs. “Come on. We have a little going-away present for you.” He holds up a small blue backpack that I recognize as the freebie he got last month for opening a new checking account. He had grumbled about not getting a toaster, as though banks just normally give out small kitchen appliances. He dangles the backpack from his wrist and lets it sway back and forth.

  I climb out of the car. “Fine. But you better show me quickly. Don’t I have a train to catch?”

  “We still have time,” Mom assures me. Like I’d actually care if I missed it.

  Dad flips open the top of the backpack and reaches in. First he holds up three granola bars and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. So far I’m not impressed. Then he pulls out a small Velero wallet. “There’s two hundred dollars in here. This should hold you over for the summer till we get home. Try not to spend it all in one place.”

  My eyes widen. Two hundred dollars? That’s more money than I’ve ever had in my life! I could buy an iPod with that!

  Mom steps forward. “You’re not thinking of blowing it all on an iPod or anything like that, are you?”

  I swear that woman can read my mind.

  “This should help with the temptation.” She reaches into the backpack and pulls out her own iPod, with its dainty little earbuds wrapped around it.

  I squeal (which I normally never do) and grab for it.

  “It’s just on loan,” Mom warns as I cup it lovingly in my hands. “I added some music and a few of your favorite TV shows. I don’t want you using it around the house when you get there, though. You don’t need another excuse to be antisocial.”

  “Whatever you say.” I’d agree to pretty much anything in order to get those earbuds in my ears.

  At the ticket window, the woman taking our information says, “Funny. Got a Sara Brennan due to leave here on the same train in a few weeks. She a relative?”

  My mom shakes her head, but Dad laughs and punches me playfully on the arm. He’s the only one who thought Shelby calling me Sara was funny. Now, apparently, there really IS a Sara Brennan. I bet she’s been planning her trip for months, not hours.

  The woman covers a yawn with her hand, stamps the ticket, then tears off the side. She hands it to me, then points down a narrow hallway. “Station manager. Second door on the right.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask.

  “For your interview. All unaccompanied minors gotta have one.”

  Dad leads me away from the counter. “It’ll only take a minute. They told us you’d need one when we booked it.”

  Mom walks ahead and has already knocked on the door by the time we arrive. I hang back, but Dad propels me forward in that gentle but forceful way of his. The man behind the desk is small, with red-frame
d glasses and a smile.

  He points to the two folding chairs in front of his desk. “Please sit.”

  Mom and I sit down and Dad stands behind me, his hands resting protectively on the back of my chair.

  “You are Tara Brennan, age twelve?” he asks, typing into his computer. He looks up at me.

  I nod.

  He smiles. “You’ll be thirteen soon I see, on July thirteenth. Wait, is that a …”

  I sigh. “Yes, it’s a Friday.”

  “Well! Hope you’re not superstitious.”

  I shake my head.

  “Only believe what you can see with your eyes, am I right?” He winks.

  I nod.

  “I assume you are traveling of your own free will, Miss Brennan?”

  I glance at Mom. Her eyes shoot me a warning. I turn back to the man. “Yes.”

  He looks back and forth between Mom and me. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes,” I repeat. “Sorry, I’ve just never traveled alone before.”

  “Just a standard question. Nothing to worry about,” he says. “Our conductors are quite used to unaccompanied minors traveling the rails. You’ll have a fine time.”

  “Is that it?” Mom asks, glancing at her watch.

  “Just a few more quick questions I’m required to ask.” He pulls out a handbook from his drawer and flips to a dog-eared page. “Any life-threatening allergies?”

  I shake my head.

  “Are you prone to outbursts or tantrums?”

  Dad chuckles behind me. I roll my eyes. “No.”

  “Are you capable of using the lavatory by yourself?”

  “The what?”

  He leans over the desk and whispers, “That’s the bathroom. Sorry, gotta ask.”

  Dad chuckles louder.

  “Oh!” I feel my cheeks go hot. “I mean, yes!”

  “And lastly, will someone be waiting to pick you up at your destination?”