She laughs at that. “That’d be a seriously giant number-two pencil.”
Chapter Seventeen
A Girl on a Mission
I speed walk to the bus and pray for it to drive as fast as it can so I can get home. Life might not be written in pencil, but maybe Mrs. Young is right. Maybe some mistakes can be fixed.
The minute the bus hits my stop, I’m running out the door and down the street.
Oscar, who is supposed to be hanging out at my house after school, jogs behind me. “Hey! Wait for me! You still haven’t told me why Mrs. Young made you stay after school!”
Panting, I open the mailbox. The letters. They’re all gone.
“Sweet Pea, that’s not even your mailbox,” he says as he catches up to me.
I turn to him, my hand on my chest. I haven’t told him a peep about my little job for Miss Flora Mae. She told me not to tell anyone, and I haven’t. But Oscar’s my best friend.
Except that doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is that I wrote a totally horrendous letter to Kiera, and for all I know, it’s already gone to print for the Thursday paper. TheValentine Gazetteruns on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays. There’s just not enough news here for seven days’ worth of newspapers.
“Oscar. Oh my gosh, please don’t hate me. But I can’t hang out today.”
His whole face drops. “But I took your bus home.”
“I know. I’m so, so sorry.” I feel so guilty, but I’ve got to fix this, and I have to do it alone.
“Are you mad at me or something?”
I wave my hands up like I’m trying to erase something from a chalkboard. “Heck no. No, I just have something I gotta do that I totally forgot about.”
“Something I can’t do with you?”
I hold my breath for a moment. “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
He shrugs. “Fine. I guess I’ll walk home.”
“I really am sorry.”
“Whatever,” he says, and turns to start the walk to his house.
“Friday night!” I yell. “Sleepover at my dad’s.”
He doesn’t turn around. “Yeah. Sure.”
I feel awful, but I’m too panicked to let it fester. I race into my mom’s house and drop my things before running back over to Miss Flora Mae’s.
“What’s up, Bette Davis?” I wave to the still very dead cat without missing a beat before letting myself into the screened-in porch and settling in.
I sit there for a moment, totally unsure of what to write.
Something’s not right.
I run back to the sunroom and turn on the stereo, but none of the radio stations are playing what I’m looking for. I sit down on the floor and begin digging through a crate of old records and CDs. I don’t actually know how to use Miss Flora Mae’s record player, but I figure her CD player can’t be any different than Dad’s DVD player, so I flip through until I find a cracked CD case that saysGreatest Hits, and I slip it into the CD player, praying it works.
It takes a moment before a piano begins to play and Miss Aretha’s voice sings, “You better think. Think about what you’re trying to do to me...”
That’s the stuff. I crank the volume up and settle in behind Miss Flora Mae’s desk on the front screened-in porch.
I open the drawers for a second, just nosing around, and stumble upon the cat-eye glasses without the lenses. I put them on and close my eyes, thinking about what I would need to hear if I were in Kiera’s shoes.You better think.
