Violet Raines Almost Got Struck by Lightning Read online

  violet raines

  almost

  got struck

  by

  lightning

  Danette Haworth

  Walker & Company

  New York

  I come from a long line of storytellers:

  My dad was a big ham, and my mom remembers things that never happened.

  For my parents, Larry and Joan

  And for

  Brooke, Matthew, Zachary, and Steve

  You know I love you

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Acknowledgments

  A Note from the Author

  1

  When Eddie B. dared me to walk the net bridge over the Elijah Hatchett River where we’d seen an alligator and another kid got bit by a coral snake, I wasn’t scared—I just didn’t feel like doing it right then. So that’s how come I know just what he’s saying when I see him in church, flapping his elbows like someone in here is chicken. When Momma’s not looking, I make my evil face at him, but he just laughs and turns the right way in his pew.

  I fold the bulletin and fan myself. Lord, it’s hot in here. The windows are open but all that breezes in are a couple of lovebugs, landing in front of me on a lady’s hair. I elbow my best friend, Lottie T., and point at the bugs. They crawl around and slip under a web of hair-sprayed strands. I start giggling and Lottie does too. Only we press the giggles down so instead of coming out of our mouths, the giggles shake our shoulders.

  Taking a deep breath, I lean forward and then, “AH-CHOO!” The lady’s hair blows over in one piece like a typhoon hit it, and two black specks fly out. Lottie laughs out loud. When the lady turns around, I see she has devil eyebrows, the kind that go up in a point. I smile innocently. “ ’Scuse me, ma’am.” She nods and turns around. I look at Lottie and laughter starts bubbling up from somewhere deep until Momma puts her hand on my arm, pulling me back in the seat. I look forward and try to pay attention.

  The preacher’s talking about how too much honey can make you sick, and I know it’s true because I have put too much honey on my peanut butter sandwich before, and I just about puked. But I get that he’s talking about too much sweetness is sickening. He doesn’t have to worry about me. I am never too sweet to anybody.

  Just then, the church doors swing open and slam against the walls. Everyone turns around. I squint, but all I can make out are two tall people and a girl; the sun blasting in from behind has turned them into figures of darkness.

  “Welcome,” the preacher says. He doesn’t even sound annoyed. He smiles and steps down from the pulpit, standing on level ground with the rest of us.

  The tall people step into the light and smile, their eyes darting around the sanctuary. The girl’s hair is so blond, it’s almost white.

  “Well, come on up here and let everyone get a good look at you,” Pastor says.

  As they pass, I notice the man has on a full suit, right down to the polished shoes. The lady’s dress flutters at the hem when she walks. She’s wearing some kind of summer dress made of a gauzy material, and she has a white hat on top of her perfect hair. The girl is dressed just like her, but she doesn’t smile or look around like the lady does. She walks like a sandhill crane, kind of floating, but with her nose up in the air.

  Everyone in church watches them pass like this is a wedding or something. I can’t really blame them; we don’t always have strangers walking down the aisle, so it’s kind of interesting. I just hope this don’t make church run longer than usual.

  Pastor greets them like they are long-lost friends. “Folks,” he says, “I want to introduce our new neighbors, Brad and Meagan Gold, and their beautiful daughter, Melissa.”

  Everyone claps but me. I don’t know these people or if they deserve a clap.

  Momma elbows me. “Violet,” she says. “We must make them feel welcome.”

  I sigh and clap as ordered. But my clap is soft; my hands barely touch. If the whole church was silent and it was just me clapping, you wouldn’t hear anything, that’s how quiet my clapping is.

  Pastor starts saying a few words about how they just moved down from a big city up north when Lottie shoves a note into my hand. Don’t you think she’s pretty? She looks like a model! I wonder how old she is! Let’s try to meet her after church!

  I scrunch my lips together. Three exclamation points in Lottie’s note. I don’t think the new girl is that pretty.

  She looks like a goose neck, I write and pass the note back. Lottie reads it, shoots me one of her looks, and slides the note into her Bible.

  When church is over, everyone rushes outside. As we walk out of the shade, the sun burns the part in my hair. Dust puffs up from the dirt parking lot and sticks to my legs. My head prickles with heat. I scratch it, but it’s still prickling. I scratch again and then I hear Eddie laughing behind me.

  I whirl around and almost bump into him, he’s that close behind me. “What are you doing?” I say. I have to look up because he’s taller than me.

  He laughs again. “What’s the matter, Violet? Did you think a bug was on you?”

  I fold my arms. “No, just a bug behind me, a big stinkbug!”

  He laughs. I can’t ever seem to cross him.

  In the parking lot, Lottie and some other kids swarm around the new people like they’re movie stars. Melissa’s taken off her hat and turns the brim around and around with clenched fingers. I’m surprised the straw doesn’t break. I trudge over for a closer inspection.

  “Violet!” Lottie’s cheeks are pushed up by her big smile. “Violet, this is Melissa!” Lottie looks at me expectantly. I don’t like how she introduces me to Melissa like something good’s about to happen now.

  Melissa looks at me and smiles one of those stiff smiles. Well, I can’t hardly blame her. All these people clamoring around her like she is someone important. Since I am the leader around here, I decide to make it easier on her and I smile big, as if I mean it.

  “Hi, Melissa.” Okay, let’s get this over with so’s me and Lottie can talk about what we’re going to do today.

  “Hi, Violet,” Melissa says and nods like she’s approving something. “That’s a pretty name.”

  I wasn’t expecting that. “Thank you,” I say. I do like her good manners. Maybe Lottie and I can show her around sometime, like in a few days or so when we’re not busy.

  I stick out my arm and shake her hand like I’ve seen grown-ups do. My grip is firm and so is hers, but it seems like she tightens hers, crunching my knuckles till they hurt.

  I take my hand back and look at her. If she did it on purpose, she’s good at hiding it.

  Eddie asks, “Where’d you move from?”

  I’m glad he’s talking ’cause it makes it easier for me to watch her. Her lips are pinker than they should be. Lipstick! She’s twisting her hat again, but she looks at Eddie and smiles. Their eyes are level with e
ach other.

  “Detroit.”

  “Where they make cars,” Eddie says. “Cool.” Eddie’s smart like that, knows a lot of stuff. He was class president last year on account of his smartness and everyone liking him. I helped him draw his campaign posters, which said Vote Florida Panther: Vote Eddie Brandon. The panther part was my idea ’cause he’s a fast runner, and all your U.S. president posters have either a donkey or an elephant on them.

  Melissa shifts her body away from us. “Well, there’s a lot more than car factories in Detroit. I mean, there’s roller skating rinks, bowling alleys, the Pontiac Silverdome, and Lake Erie’s not too far. Even Canada’s close.”

  “You’ve been to Canada?” Lottie asks. Her voice spirals up and her eyes widen.

  Melissa shrugs. “It’s not a big deal.”

  She has just shrugged off an entire country. Lottie seems impressed.

  I can’t stand it. So I say, “Yeah, we got stuff like that here, plus Disney World.” I act like it’s no big deal even though I have never been there.

  Melissa turns to me. “You’ve been to Disney?”

  “Next year I’m going,” I lie. Momma can’t afford the tickets, but I can’t let this girl win.

  “I’ve been there twice,” she says. “It’s okay. Cedar Point’s better.”

  My face goes hot. “When have you been to Disney?” I ask; she’s just moved to Florida. But my question gets lost as Lottie presses in and asks her about Cedar Point and life in Detroit.

  Just then, a shrill whistle cuts through the air.

  Eddie turns and I do too. “My dad,” he says. “See ya later.”

  “Bye, Eddie,” I call out as he jogs toward his dad. Lottie yells good-bye too.

  When I turn back, Melissa looks at me real curious. “He’s cute. Is he your boyfriend?”

  I almost choke. “No!” Most strangers ask if we’re brother and sister, pointing to our dark hair and blue eyes.

  Melissa takes this in like she’s writing notes in her head. Then Lottie asks more questions. I want to groan out loud. I can’t believe I’m stuck here listening to Melissa talk about living in Detroit, what a great city it is, how busy it is, how big her school was, brag, brag, brag. Then she says, “What do you guys do around here anyway? This place is like, in the middle of nowhere.”

  My eyes narrow. Do not insult the place of my birth. Mitchell Hammock is a good town. I take in her blond hair and her fluttery dress, which is a twin to her momma’s, and her nylons and her dainty little high-heeled sandals, and I say, “There’s plenty to do if you’re not a priss.”

  Lottie gasps and her hand flies up to her mouth.

  I see Momma heading down the dirt road, so I make a nice smile and give it to Lottie. “See you later,” I say. I’ll see Lottie at the fish fry. My eyes return to slits and I fix them on Melissa. Poison darts shoot from them, and I see that I have hit my target when she recoils a little. I turn and catch up to Momma, a real smile on my face now.

  2

  It don’t take long for Momma and me to walk home. We don’t have a car ’cause then Momma would have to work a second job just to pay for it. Everything we need’s right here in the neighborhood, anyways. Momma works in the bakery at Parker’s, which is even closer than church, and every three weeks, the bookmobile stops in front of Parker’s, so you got your library right here too. I even walk to school. Not next year, though. Next year is junior high and we get bussed out. I heard some of those buses have air-conditioning. I sure hope so.

  When we walk into our house, we go around immediately and open all the windows and turn on the box fans. The breeze feels good. I quick go to my room and throw off my sticky church clothes and put on my cutoff shorts and a tank top. I can’t get to the fish fry fast enough. Lottie and I are in charge of the dipping and frying, and there is nothing better than catfish fried in cornmeal. Best part of every Sunday is sitting at the Townsends’ noisy table, eating fish and drinking iced tea. I like to pretend they’re my family and Lottie and I are twins, the kind that don’t look alike but are still twins anyways.

  I come out to the kitchen. “Momma, hurry up!” I want to say good-bye to her properly, but if she doesn’t hurry, Lottie might cut the lemons before I get there. I hope Lottie waits for me. She knows how I like to stick a lemon wedge in my mouth and suck the juice. We have contests to see who can last the longest. No one’s beat my record yet.

  “Momma!” God Almighty, the fish are gonna be fried and eaten if she takes much longer.

  I pace around the table, then look through the window at Lottie’s house. Mr. Townsend’s cutting table ain’t out back yet, so they haven’t got started. Good. I don’t like to miss anything. I figure I got a couple minutes still, so I pick up the newspaper from the table. Big black headlines shout this is going to be the worst hurricane season ever. They say that every year. I pass all those headlines and find the comics.

  In the corner is what I’m looking for: Today’s Word. Today’s word is taradiddle. It means “fib” or “lie.” The first part is pretty; the second part is just plain foolish, like you can’t even believe that’s a real word, and that’s just what a lie is—something pretty you can’t even believe.

  Taradiddle. I like it. I tear it out carefully and add it to my word collection, which is in a shoe box sitting in the china cabinet reserved especially for this purpose. I put taradiddle right on top of magniloquent. You might think magniloquent is good since it sounds like magnificent, but it means that you talk in a stuck-up or highfalutin manner. Like if I was to use these words in a sentence, I might say, “Melissa is quite magniloquent. And that is no taradiddle.”

  “You can barely close that box anymore!” Momma says as she rounds the corner. Finally! She’s put on a yellow summer dress and her hair’s loose down her back. She lays her arm around my shoulders. “Going to the fish fry?” she asks.

  “Yep.” I buzz around her, pushing the shoe box back, setting the newspaper down, grabbing my flip-flops.

  She yawns and stretches her arms. “I’m a bit tired. I believe I might take a nap.”

  “You sang real good today.” I say this because it’s true. Momma has the voice of an angel. But I don’t slow down none. I know Lottie’s waiting on me.

  Momma smiles as I slide into my flip-flops. “You have a good time now. Be good.” She squeezes me in a hug.

  I laugh and wriggle out of her arms. “I’m always good!” I say. I blow her a kiss and fly out the back door to my best friend’s house.

  3

  Mr. Townsend’s fish-cutting table is all set up by the back door. He’s kind of how I imagine my dad might have been except my dad died before I was born. The ice chest sits nearby, but no one’s outside. ’Course I can hear all the playing and shouting going on inside. I walk up the concrete blocks and swing open the screen door. Lottie’s little sister, Tootsie, twirls around the kitchen, bellowing a song I’m sure she’s making up. There is so much noise, no one notices me at first. But I notice. I notice Melissa Gold sitting at the table with Lottie.

  “Violet!” Tootsie runs up to me and grabs my hand. “Lissa’s here!”

  Lottie turns around and steps over the bench. They don’t have a regular kitchen table—a wooden picnic table is what they eat on. They’re so lucky. It’s like summer every time they sit down to eat. “Violet, you’re here!” Lottie says this like maybe I wasn’t coming or something.

  My eyebrows pull together. “ ’Course I am.” But what I want to know is why is Melissa here. I give her a quick glance. “Hey.”

  She looks up. “Hi.”

  I don’t smile and neither does she. Can’t blame her—I did call her a priss, but she deserved it for calling this place nowhere.

  “Lissa’s from Troit!” Tootsie yells.

  Lottie taps Melissa’s shoulder. “Tell her.” But before Melissa can open her mouth, Lottie’s telling the story herself. “Detroit is the murder capital of the United States!” She flashes her eyebrows at me.

&nbs
p; Okay, that is interesting. I would be willing to listen to that. I sit on the end of the bench real casual, and Lottie sits in the middle. Tootsie takes off my flip-flops and puts them on her own feet. Leaning around Lottie, I say to Melissa, “You ever see anyone killed?”

  “Not me,” she says, then she looks at Lottie. “But a girl I knew, her uncle had a cousin who worked in a drugstore and someone got shot there.”

  I snort loudly.

  She folds her arms. “It’s true.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not like you saw it happen or anything.”

  She stretches her neck, just like a goose. “Well, I wouldn’t want to.” She shudders like she’s seeing it right now. “If a murderer knew you saw him, he’d track you down. You’d have to go into one of those witness protection programs and change your name and move and everything.”

  I think on this. She’s right. I wouldn’t want to change my name or move or anything. I like things just the way they are. I want to ask about the girl with the uncle who knew the cousin in the drugstore, but Tootsie grabs my hand. “Come on, Violet. Play in my room.”

  “I can’t right now,” I say.

  “Play dolls with me.”

  Melissa’s eyebrows go up. My face flushes with heat. Normally, I don’t mind playing dolls with Tootsie, but I don’t want Melissa to think I’m a baby.

  “Violet’s talking with us,” Lottie says, pulling Tootsie’s hand out of mine. “Besides, she didn’t come here to play with you, Tootsie-Tutu.”

  Tootsie lays her head in my lap. Her curls spill all over my legs. “Please.”

  Lord, she’s like my own little sister; I can’t hurt her feelings, but at the same time, I don’t want to be upstairs playing dolls while Melissa’s got Lottie all to herself. “Tootsie—”

  Her voice comes out muffled. “Please.”

  I sigh and push her head up. I say to Lottie, “I’ll be right back—don’t start frying without me.”

  “I won’t,” Lottie says. She leans toward Tootsie. “Violet can only play for five minutes, okay? Then you have to let her come back down.”