Prince Tennyson (5 page)

“Oh.” I looked down at my hands, still held by her, because all of a sudden I thought of my dad again and my heart hurt.

“Chelsea, sweetie,” my teacher squeezed my hands, “I'm so sorry I misunderstood you.”

My eyes flew to hers. She was sorry?

“And I'm really, really, really sorry I ripped up your paper. That was a very special paper; I didn't know what it was. I didn't realize how very wonderful your dad was and how much you trusted me and wanted to share with me. Can you forgive me for being so mean to you?” Mrs. Sheridan's eyes were full of tears.

I nodded, but didn't say anything. I couldn't. It was the most surprising thing that had ever happened to me.

Mrs. Sheridan squeezed me really tight in a big hug and I saw the principal smile behind her. I smiled back. But not a real smile, just a “I can't believe this is happening” smile.

“Chelsea?” My teacher pulled away and wiped her eyes and held my hands again. “I want to make it up to you, okay? How about I let you pick a day to tell about your dad? A special day, when you can share with the whole class about his nickname and what made him a prince. You can even tell me what his favorite food was and we'll bring it in for the kids to have a special treat. Will that work? Would you like to share your dad with us and all your good memories of him, too? Or would that hurt too much?”

“I—uh.” I blinked at her and felt my jaw drop. I thought I would like to do that. I didn't think it would hurt that much to talk about him. “Okay.”

Mrs. Sheridan smiled a real smile that went all the way to her eyes. Then she stood up and held out her arm for me. After I put up the book, she wrapped her arm around my shoulders. We said goodbye to the principal and walked down the hallway back to class.

There was another lady in the room, waiting for Mrs. Sheridan and talking to the kids. She smiled big when she saw us, but my teacher just shook her head, and then we walked past her over to the wall where the big calendar was. Mrs. Sheridan showed me all the days and asked me to pick one for my dad's special day.

“You can have any day you choose.”

Hmm. I looked and looked and then finally I chose the most specialist day of all. March 31st. “That day! That's my dad's birthday.”

“Oh! What a wonderful day to celebrate your special day for him. So, are you totally sure, before I write it down?”

“Yep. I'm sure.”

Mrs. Sheridan nodded and wrote on there with her marker:

PRINCE TENNYSON'S DAY.

I laughed. That was the same thing Mom used to put on the calendar when it was Dad's birthday.

Then it hit me.

“Mrs. Sheridan? Do you think my family could come to my dad's special day too?”

My teacher looked at me funny and then smiled. “Okay. I think that would be a great idea.”

I smiled too. Really big.

I wasn't sure if Mom and Grandma Haney and Hannah and Cameron would want to come, but maybe. And maybe this year, March 31st would be a special day for them too.

I smiled all the way to my seat. And then I still smiled when Sarah and Jasmine asked me what had happened and where I had been. I smiled the whole time I told them. I even giggled right out loud when I told them what the teacher and I were planning for March 31st.

Tuesdays are so much better than Wednesdays.

Then I gasped.

Mrs. Sheridan had said goodbye to the other lady and had already started talking to us. But I couldn't help it. I raised my hand up really quick and closed my eyes, hoping it wasn't true.

“What is it, Chelsea? Do you need something?” asked my teacher.

I squeezed my eyes tighter and whispered, “What day is March 31st on?

“It's a Wednesday. Why?”

Chapter Nine

I HATE WEDNESDAYS.

Already this one was shaping up to be a doozy. I'd managed to eat my breakfast, knock over my little brother's bowl of cereal, and then slip on it when I went to clean it up. Yep. Milk and cereal were all over me.

Nice.

It had already been one week and one day since I made the biggest mistake of my life. You know, the one where I stupidly planned my dad's special day for a Wednesday? Why did I do that, anyway? I knew better than that. It was like the sneaky little Wednesday fairy was laughing at me and had secretly planned this all along.

I wish there
were
a sneaky little Wednesday fairy, because then I'd smash it. I was in that kind of mood.

Sigh.

Hannah would hate me if I smashed a fairy. Ugh. Then I would have to clap and clap and say, “I believe in fairies,” until it came back alive and tormented me on Wednesdays all over again.

Last Wednesday was the worst day I'd had since I moved here. I thought it was the week before that, but I was wrong. My mom was mad at me for planning a special day for my dad without asking her. I didn't think she would be mad, but she was.

Because it was Dad's birthday.

She said, “What were you thinking, Chelsea? I can't possibly face people on that day! You know what I was like last year—do you want to see that again?” She folded her arms and then looked sad. “Aww, man, but this sounds like such a good thing. I would've loved to have come, but now I can't.”

“I can change it, Mom,” I was quick to point out. “It doesn't have to be that day. Then you can come.” The thought had already crossed my mind like a hundred times to change it—but I wanted to ask her first, because it was Dad's birthday and all.

Just as I had been getting excited because I thought Mom would let me change the day, she said, “No. You better keep it on his birthday. It would've made Dad especially happy if you did.”

It would've made Dad especially happy.

It would've made Dad especially happy.

What was I supposed to do? I knew it would be a disaster. I knew anything and everything that
could
go wrong
would
. But I couldn't
not
do it then. Not if there was the slightest possibility that God existed and Dad was living with Him and somehow knew about his special day. Not if there was some way I could find to make my dad happy.

So I was determined.

I was going to suck it up and enjoy that Wednesday. Even if it killed me.

I knelt on the floor and began to wipe up the spilled milk from my brother's bowl with a washrag.

“Chelsea! What is going on? Why is there a mess all over you and all over my floor?” Grandma Haney's voice startled me.

“Sorry, Grandma,” I said as I soaked up more of the spilled milk and squeezed it into Cameron's bowl. He was crying. It was probably what made my grandma come into the kitchen in the first place. “It was an accident.”

“Well, move over.” Grandma's voice was rough. “Good grief. You better go change your clothes so you and your sister aren't late for school.” She sighed. “And hurry up, will you?”

“Okay.” I left fast. That's all I needed—to get to school late, too.

Mom stopped me in the hall. “Chelsea! Why are your clothes all wet? What happened?”

“Not now, Mom. I've got to change before Grandma gets mad.” I pushed past her.

“Chelsea Elaine Tennyson, you get back here right now and tell me you're sorry. You do
not
take that tone with me.”

Wow. I turned back around. “Sorry.” I let out a sigh. “Look, I dumped Cameron's cereal all over me and I've got to hurry so Grandma can take me to school on time.”

“Hmm. That's better.” Mom smiled. “Just don't be so sassy next time, okay?”

Double wow. “Okay, Mom, I promise.”

“Good.” She leaned forward and placed a kiss right on my forehead. “Now hurry up. Don't forget, tonight at seven in my room.”

Startled, I stared after her until she turned the corner and went into the kitchen.

Two things were very amazing about that conversation. One, Mom was aware enough to tell me not to be rude. The past year or so, she's sort of been in a hazy mist or something, and she hasn't really remembered to think about small stuff like making me apologize. So she must really be getting better. That made me happy.

Oh, and the second amazing thing was, Mom smiled like she wasn't really mad—she was just trying to teach me a lesson. I think she's getting happier, too. Maybe Grandma Haney's house was just what Mom needed to help her feel normal.

Of course, when I went into my mom's room at seven that night to read in that Luke chapter some more, she got sad again. Really sad. We were reading the big number seven. Mom would read one verse and then I would read one verse. We didn't get very far before my mom started to cry. It was saying something about this boy who had died and Jesus brought him back to life. Mom cried really hard then. She stopped reading and pushed the book away from her.

When I asked her what was wrong, she just wiped her eyes and said, “It's not fair, that's all, Chelsea. It's just not fair.”

I already knew she meant it wasn't fair that Jesus saved that little boy but didn't save Dad. I knew that, but Mom was talking to me and I didn't want her to stop, so I asked, “Why? What's not fair?” just like how Hannah would've.

Mom sighed and hugged her old pink frilly pillow to her. “Everything, honey. It's why I'm not sure God's real. This book says that He is, but I begged Him and begged Him to keep Dad safe, but He didn't, did he? Except, in here,” she pointed to the book, “someone just walks up to Jesus and says ‘please save my son' and he does, just like that. It's not real life. People aren't saved like that. So it's hard for me, because I wish more than anything that it was true, but…” Mom stopped and looked away. Her voice got softer. “I don't like reading the Bible sometimes because of stuff like this, okay?”

Uh-oh. “So does that mean you don't want to help me find out if God is real or not?”

I looked down at my shirt and waited while my mom cried some more. Finally she sniffed and said, “No. It doesn't mean that. I promised I would help you, so I won't back out on that, but we might have to go slower some days and not read so much, okay?”

I let out a secret sigh of relief and nodded my head. “Okay.”

Chapter Ten

AT SCHOOL ON FRIDAY, there were a lot of us playing on the playground. Sarah, Jasmine, and I had decided to form our very own club called the Shooting Stars. We even found the perfect place for it, under the big jungle gym in the little room on the bottom, that no one ever went in.

“This is so cool,” Jasmine gasped as we climbed in and sat down.

“I know!” Sarah giggled. “We can talk about whatever, and no one can bug us.”

I grinned. “So what do you want to talk about?”

“Did you see Simon get in trouble with the lunch lady?” Jasmine asked.

“Yeah,” Sarah and I replied together.

“He was so mean, though. I hate mean people.” Sarah stretched her legs out in front of her. Her feet came just inches from me.

“I don't want to talk about Simon,” I said. “He's a boy. We should talk about cool stuff—stuff that happens with us.”

Jasmine shrugged. “Okay, so I have dance class tonight. Do you guys do ballet or something?”

“No, but I play soccer. I have a game tomorrow,” I answered.

“Really?” Sarah gave me a funny look. “You play soccer? My brothers play soccer. I don't do any sports, though.”

“Oh.” I tried to make it sound like it was no big deal. “It's just something my grandma made me do when we moved here. She said it was good for me to go out of the house and get some exercise.”

“Yeah, that's why I'm in dance.” Jasmine smiled.

I would've said something else, but right then some boys came and started yelling, “You have a stupid club! You have a stupid club!” so we had to go out and chase them to make them stop.

Boys are really fast runners, but thank goodness, Jasmine was faster. She's faster than some of the kids on my soccer team. She ran so fast that she pushed the boy, Tyler, who was yelling the loudest, “Stupid club! Stupid Club!” He didn't fall, and none of the recess monitor ladies saw, but he was sure mad, and he went after the slowest girls. That was me and Sarah.

He got really close to Sarah. He tried to grab her jacket, but she just screeched and jumped away. That left me. Tyler grabbed my sweater and said, “Stop!”

I tried to pull away but he had already caught my arms. So I yelled really loud so the recess monitors could hear me. “Help! Tyler won't leave me alone!”

No one heard me. We were out by the grass anyway. Sarah and Jasmine had run so far past us that I couldn't even see them. It was just me and Tyler. We were both breathing pretty hard. After a lot of deep breaths, I finally asked him. “So, now what are you going to do?”