School of Charm
Authors: Lisa Ann Scott
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To my father, David Eder,
who died when I was four.
And to my second father, Tim Scott,
who took over the role when David could not.
I love you both.
Contents
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“T
ELL ME AGAIN WHY WE HAVE TO MOVE TO
Grandma's?” I chewed on my thumb waiting for Mama's answer, but I knew what she was going to say. I was still hoping she'd change her mind, and sometimes nagging helped. Mama said if nagging were an Olympic sport, I'd win a gold medal. But I only did it for important things. And this was the most important thing ever. This changed everything.
Mama's eyes flashed in the rearview mirror. She yanked the steering wheel to the right and pulled over the car. Me, Charlene, and Ruthie slid across the seat, crashing into each other. Our U-Haul trailer rocked to a stop and dust blew up behind it.
Rats. Sometimes nagging ended like this, with Mama madder than a bee in a pop can.
Mama turned off her Elvis cassette and stuck her head between the two front seats. She smiled hard with her mouth but not her eyes, just like in her Miss North Carolina first runner-up picture. Her dark red hair looked like a puffy storm cloud around her face. “Brenda Anderson,
do not
ask me that again. I told you we have to live with Grandma now because we don't have the money to stay in our house.” She kept smiling and blinking fast. I knew I was in trouble when Mama called me Brenda. Normally she called me Chip, just like everyone else did.
We sat real quiet in the backseat. Since Mama was already mad and couldn't reach my earlobe to give it a good twist, I decided to get brave. “But we've never even met Grandma. I'm eleven years old, and I've never once gotten a birthday card or a present from her. She didn't even come to Daddy's funeral.”
Mama sucked in a big breath and then let it out real slow. “This is our only option, Brenda. Houses don't just pay for themselves. You think I'm thrilled about moving here? I haven't seen Grandma since . . .” But Mama didn't finish her sentence. She turned around, jerked the gearshift, and drove the station wagon back onto the road. She was so close to the car in front of us, it pulled over to let us pass.
“Ow!” I rubbed my arm where my big sister Charlene pinched it.
Charlene glared at me and leaned over. “Quiet, Chip. Don't upset Mama. Don't talk about Daddy,” she whispered harshly.
My little sister Ruthie's shoulders curled forward and she shook her head. “I won't talk about him, either. I won't.” Her voice came out like a wisp of air.
“Good girl.” Charlene kissed her head and Ruthie beamed up at her.
Then Charlene sat forward and patted Mama's shoulder. “Yes, Mama,” she said loudly. “We understand. Everything's fine.”
I gritted my teeth and crossed my arms. It was not fine. Nothing was.
Mama flipped on her music again and looked back at us. “You're all going to love Mount Airy.” She said this all sugary, like she was on a TV commercial and hadn't just been hollering at me. “Did I ever tell you that Mayberry on
The
Andy Griffith Show
was modeled after Mount Airy? Of course, that show was a bit before your time, but Mayberry was meant to be the best little town in America. You couldn't ask to live in a nicer place, girls.”
Mama had already told us this 837 times. I wanted to ask her if it was so nice, why did she leave and move to New York? But I'd already asked Mama enough questions.
“Yes ma'am,” Charlene said. “Mount Airy and North Carolina both sound wonderful.”
“âMa'am'? You already have a southern accent?” I shoved my knees against the seatback and wished I could spit.
Charlene turned on one of those big smiles she'd give ugly boys who whistled at her. “Hush now. I'm a southern belle at heart. Just like Mama. And so are you, baby girl.” She tickled Ruthie.
As Ruthie giggled and squirmed to get away, her shiny shoe kicked my shin.
“Agh, Ruthie!” I rubbed my leg.
“Sorry.” Then she gave me a great big smile, just like Charlene's, only Ruthie was missing her two front teeth. Soon enough she'd be talking with a drawl too. But not me. I'd pronounce my words fast and flat so people would know I wasn't from the South. And I wouldn't be walking around with that dumb old smile, either.
I leaned against the door and kicked the seat as we drove along. Mama let that Elvis cassette play again and again until I'd heard “Hound Dog” and all the other songs five more times. Ugh. We'd never been in the car for nine whole hours. We drove to the Adirondacks one summer, but that was only six hours away. And Daddy made it fun, singing songs and shouting out faraway states he saw on license plates. “Hello, Arkansas,” he'd holler. “Here comes Texas! You're sure far from Florida!”
But this trip wasn't fun at all. I pulled up the door lock. Then I pushed it down. Up and down. Up and down. Faster and faster and faster. Up and down. Up andâ
“Brenda!” Mama snapped. “Knock it off. You'll fall out.” She stared at me in the mirror for a few seconds. “Hundreds of kids across America tumble out of cars every day doing that very thing. They get swept down the highway and squashed. Flat as a pancake.” She smacked her hands together to demonstrate. “You keep that door locked.”
I pushed down the lock. Mama was always telling tall tales. But she'd tuck in a few true ones, so you never knew if the one she was telling at the time really happened or not.
I was quiet after that, watching the dirt change colors. My stomach lurched as the roads turned hilly. The tree branches dripped with stringy plants. Mist swirled around their trunks and settled in the dips of the road. This seemed like a spooky kind of place I would not be moving to if I had a say in the whole thing.
My tummy rumbled and I dug out the sandwich I'd stuffed in my pocket. The bologna had turned slimy during our long ride, so I threw it out the window.
“Litterbug,” Ruthie said.
“Am not. The birds will eat it.” I wasn't sure what was worse: having a big sister or having a little sister. Either way, I felt like the bologna in the middle of my sandwich: stuck, stuck, stuck in this family. And now it was way worse without Daddy.
“Girls!” Mama warned. “This is Grandma's street.” She turned down a dusty road and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Now remember, Grandma's not used to the hubbub from you three, so use your best behavior. Chip! Sit up straight, darlin'. Your clothes are all wrinkled. Grandma won't like that. She once took scissors and cut a shirt right off my back because I didn't iron it nicely enough.” Mama checked herself in the mirror and smacked her lips. She swerved around a rooster strutting in the road.
“Why is Grandma so mean?” I fiddled with the hem of my jean shorts, wondering if she ever cut a pair of pants right off Mama.
Mama let out another long breath. Her mouth made different shapes, searching for the words.
I leaned forward; this was going to be good. Really good.
“Grandma . . . well . . . she . . .” Then Mama deflated just like a balloon does when you quit trying to blow it up. “That's enough questions for today.” Her knuckles were white, gripping the steering wheel. “But I'm not kidding. She likes neat and she likes clean.”
Charlene flipped her hair over her shoulders. “Oh, she'll love you, Chip.” She looked down at my grubby sneakers, then her eyes widened and she screamed. “Mama! Brenda brought that . . . creature with her!” She pressed herself up against the car door.
Mama pulled the car over again. We all went sliding again. We all crashed into each other
again
.
Rats. I picked up the bowl wedged under the seat with the candy wrappers and pop cans.
This time Mama didn't say anything. She blinked at me, waiting.
“I couldn't leave him, Mama.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I thought Billy took it when he said good-bye.”
“No. He didn't.” Billy spent more time hanging out with me and Daddy than he did at his own house. He hadn't seen his own daddy in years, so I didn't mind sharing mine with Billy. But he hadn't come to our house since Daddy died.
Mama had called Billy's mom to tell her we were moving. He finally showed up early that morning as we were loading the U-Haul. His eyebrows shot right up when he saw that turtle. “Wow. Want me to take care of it?”
I'd pulled the bowl away. “He's coming with me.” Between the two of us, this was the best thing we'd ever found. Finally I was winning the Coolest Thing Ever. Not that it mattered. We were moving to North Carolina and Billy wouldn't be my best friend anymore and we wouldn't be playing the Coolest Thing Ever anymore.
“Okay. Bye, Chip.” He tucked something in my hand before he ran off.
I looked down and there was the Coolest Thing Ever he had found. The perfectly round rock he'd pulled from the creek. He'd cut open his foot getting that rock. So I felt a little guilty staring at my turtle in the backseat with Mama fuming at me. I should've given him to Billy. Then I wouldn't be in all that trouble. But Billy didn't know why this turtle was so special. Neither did Mama.
Mama shook her head again. “Lordy, Chip. You're taking a big risk bringing that turtle. You'd better get rid of it or hide it real good. Grandma hates animals. She once flushed a fish I won at the church carnivalâand it wasn't even dead.” Mama looked out the window and then back at me. “And she and Grandpa used to make turtle soup.” One red eyebrow popped up.
“Ew! Turtle soup? How gross,” Charlene said.
Ruthie pinched her nose and squealed, “How gross!”
Mama pulled back onto the road, and I felt a big lump in my throat. My turtle sloshed around in the water. I found him down by our pond after Daddy's funeral. I'd scooped him up, grabbed one of Mama's cake batter bowls, and ran through the living room packed with mourners. They all stopped talking. But I just slammed my door and sat in my room trying out different names on him: Mickey or Minnie, Jack or Jill. I wasn't even sure if it was a boy or a girl, but I settled on Earl, since he had come earlyâway early. Turtles are usually laying their eggs around that timeânot hatching. That's why finding him was so strange.
I know Daddy would have helped him if he'd been there. So that day, I'd made Daddy a promise up in heaven: I'd take care of that little turtle on my own, even if it meant moving him away from everything he knew and all the way to North Carolina. I set the bowl under the seat so Grandma couldn't see it when we got there. She would not be turning my turtle into soup for dinner. No way.
Mama turned the car into the driveway. She took a deep breath. “Don't screw this up.”
I wasn't sure who she was warning.