Violet Raines Almost Got Struck by Lightning Page 8

  “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.

  The cave is suddenly dark as someone squeezes into it. The intruder don’t see me at first, and I can’t see who it is, it’s so dark. I scream as loud as I can. Eddie bolts against the doorway, ramming his shoulder, and he’s trying to escape, but I’m grabbing his shirt and trying not to laugh too hard.

  “Violet!” he says. He almost sounds mad. “You trying to give me a heart attack and make me deaf at the same time?”

  “I didn’t know it was you!” I say. I let go of his shirt.

  We squeeze out of the tree and lean against it. “So what were you thinking about in there?” he asks. He knows me, knows the cave is good for that
sort of thing.

  “School. Who’s your teacher?”

  When he tells me, I don’t recognize the name. So Eddie won’t be in my class either. I sigh.

  Eddie clears his throat. “You sure looked different the other day.” He steals a glance at me and looks away real quick.

  My face reddens. I am humiliated thinking about that clown makeup. But I say, “Don’t you know anything about makeovers?” He don’t have no sisters, so I’m guessing the answer is no.

  He shrugs.

  I lift my chin in a superior way. “Well, that shows what you know, because Melissa gave me a makeover in case it was a look I’d like to use in junior high.” I look at him. “Everyone else liked it.” I don’t mention what I thought of it.

  He nods, doesn’t say anything.

  I’ve just lied to him. Everything I said was true, but there’s something dishonest about it. I feel it making a gap between us. We stand in silence. After a few minutes, the woods darken and we look up to see purple-black clouds taking over the sky.

  I look at Eddie. “We better get out of here.” I ain’t taking chances anymore. We run all the way to the edge of the woods, and the first sprinkles hit as we jog onto the dirt road. We’re on dangerous ground still—the road is lined with trees. We keep running and when he gets to his turnoff, he runs down the street, making the gap between us wider and wider.

  24

  Me and Lottie are sitting on her steps with a real-life reporter from the newspaper.

  He called this morning after Momma left for work. “Mrs. Raines, please?” he’d said.

  “She ain’t here.” I didn’t offer to take a message, ’cause some people just talk and talk and do they think I’m a secretary? I can’t write that fast.

  “Is this Violet Raines?”

  Never identify yourself over the phone. Then I jerk my head—I wasn’t supposed to say Momma wasn’t home either.

  “Actually,” I said, “Mrs. Raines is here, but she’s taking a shower.”

  Then he said his name and that he was a reporter from the newspaper and how he got this letter about a tragic incident, that’s what he called it, and he wanted to come talk with everyone involved. Today.

  “Today?” I shouted. I got that man’s number, called Momma at work, and now here we sit, me and Lottie, the ones involved in the tragic incident.

  Except I must admit I don’t feel tragic at all. Momma’s here, Lottie’s whole family’s here, and everyone’s happy. Even Melissa being here with her momma don’t spoil it for me.

  First off, he asks each of us to describe in our own words what happened. We interrupt each other a lot, adding details and parts the other one forgot. He laughs. “You girls are like sisters, the way you finish each other’s sentences.”

  We look at each other and giggle. At the same time, I say, “We practically are!” and Lottie says, “Violet practically lives at our house!” and then we laugh some more.

  I like how he writes down every little thing we say, like it’s so important. The photographer comes over and takes a few pictures of us. Melissa’s watching from the side. She wants to be in the picture so bad, I just know it. Well, this is just for those who were involved in the tragic incident, and that is not her.

  “Oh, I just want to get one thing right,” the reporter says. He looks at Lottie. “Your name, ‘Lottie’—is that with an ‘i’ or a ‘y’ at the end?”

  “Actually, it’s—” I start to correct him, but Lottie talks over me.

  “Actually, I have a question,” she says. “If something’s in the paper, does that mean it’s the truth? Like that’s the way things really are?”

  The reporter nods. “We’d get in big trouble if we didn’t get things right.”

  “Okay, then.” She takes a big breath. “My name is Char.”

  I turn so quick I almost snap my neck. “Char? Where’d you get that from?”

  Lottie’s face gets pink, but she keeps her eyes on the reporter. “It’s short for Charlotte,” she tells him. “C-h-a-r.”

  Char. It’s so pretty. Only one thing: “Did Melissa make that up for you?”

  “No.” She jerks her head at me. “I came up with it myself.”

  In that case, “I love it,” I say.

  “Me too!” Melissa says from the steps. “It sounds like a celebrity name.” She waves her hand as if Lottie’s new name was on a marquee. “Char!”

  “Short for ‘Charlotte,’ ” Lottie says again.

  The reporter writes it down. Then he smiles at Melissa. “Okay, Melissa, let’s get your story.”

  I leap up. “She wasn’t even there!”

  “Violet!” Lottie says as if I’m acting foolish. Melissa swings around the banister and sits on the other side of her. That girl moves just like a cat.

  The reporter says, “We want folks to know about the good neighbors around here.”

  “Thank you,” Melissa purrs.

  I sit back down ’cause I got to hear what she says. It’s all true, how Lottie’s family is staying over there, but oh, my Lord, she makes herself out to be an angel, and she really doesn’t have anything to do with this. The more I listen, the more my lips pout and my eyes become slits.

  Flash! The photographer takes our picture. “One more,” he says. I’m so mad at Melissa horning in on mine and Lottie’s tragic incident, I don’t even make my fake-happy face. I let the real me show through.

  25

  As soon as the talking was done, the excitement around here cleared out faster than church on Super Bowl Sunday. Momma went back to work and Mrs. Gold went home. Hannah and Ashley ran out back and climbed the big oak. I could already see things getting back to the way I liked them.

  The Home Sweet Home people came by right before the newspaper reporter left. They’re the people who help rebuild houses for people in need, like when all them hurricanes and tornadoes came through a few years back. I overheard them—they’re going to fix everything, even turn Mrs. Townsend’s sewing room into a bedroom for Lottie. Mr. and Mrs. Townsend walked around the place like they were newlyweds, hugging and kissing; they even hugged and kissed me. Said it was all my doing, and they were just so thankful for it.

  It did my heart good to hear that.

  With all that hugging and kissing, I lost track of Lottie. Now I’m stuck on the porch with my most un-favorite person in the whole entire universe.

  Melissa swings around the banister. “Ooh, here comes your boyfriend.”

  Eddie’s flying down the road on his bike. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I snap. I’m sick to death of her teasing me about him.

  “A little touchy, huh?” She flashes a smug grin at me.

  Eddie turns down the driveway and skids to a stop. He looks cool doing it, but I can’t let my feelings show because Melissa would bother me to no end over it.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey, Eddie,” I say.

  “Hi, Eddie.” Melissa bounces down the steps. “Have you heard? Char and Violet and I are going to be in the newspaper! Isn’t that exciting?”

  “Char?” He looks confused. “Who’s Char?”

  ’Course he don’t know who that is. Melissa’s just saying it ’cause she wants to act like her and Lottie are the real best friends.

  “That’s Lottie’s new name—Char,” I say to him nicely. I won’t let Melissa make a fool out of him.

  “Short for Charlotte,” Melissa says. “Isn’t it cool?”

  “I love it,” I say, staking my claim. I was the first person to hear it.

  “I adore it,” Melissa says dramatically.

  I wish that girl would shut up.

  But she doesn’t. She steps closer to Eddie and says, “Isn’t it pretty?”

  I want him to say NO! Not about the name but to her, like, NO! I’m not your friend! I belong to Violet! Back off!

  Instead, he nods. “Cool. I like it.”

  Melissa smiles at him. “Hey, who’s your teacher this year?”

  “Mrs. Hughe
s.”

  “You’re kidding!” she shrieks. “She’s mine too! We’ll be in the same class!”

  Well, stab me in the heart, why don’t you? First, she’s stealing Lottie; next she’s gonna work on Eddie. I’m sick of her. I push off the stairs and make sure I’m standing closer to Eddie than she is.

  “You feel like doing something?” I say. Mainly, I do this to get his attention off Melissa. And to show her that I am his friend, not her.

  “BrainFreeze?” He leans forward on his handlebars.

  “We don’t have to collect those cups, do we?” Melissa says.

  I can’t believe this girl. “How we gonna pay for it then?”

  “It’s disgusting,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “I’ll just ask my mom for the money.”

  Eddie shrugs. “Either way.”

  “I’ll go find Lottie,” I say.

  “You mean ‘Char,’ ” Melissa says. “That’s who she is now.”

  “I know that!” I know my best friend.

  “Char!” I call into the house. Calling that name makes me feel like a liar; I’m not used to it. I do like Lottie’s new name, but I don’t like Melissa reminding me. Maybe Lottie is staying at her house and maybe they are friends, but don’t act like you know her better than I do. “Char!” I holler. “Char! Char!”

  Lottie comes charging down the stairs, laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  She lifts her shoulders and smiles. “I heard you keep yelling, ‘Char, Char,’ and I was like, ‘Who’s Char?’ ” She opens her mouth wide and stares at me. We crack up laughing.

  When we get outside, Melissa asks, “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing,” I say, putting my arm around Lottie. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  26

  There is nothing better than a BrainFreeze to cool you off, especially when you walked all the way around the woods to the county road to get it.

  We sit at a picnic table under a tree. Melissa’s all persnickety about where she can sit because there’s a little bird poop here and there on the bench. I don’t want to sit in bird poop either, but— oh, my Lord!—don’t make a big deal out of it; just scootch down a little.