Words That Start With B (16 page)

“Clarissa, when I asked you to assist in the radio room, this is not quite what I had in mind.”

For the second time in a week I am sitting at my desk after class, facing off with Mr. Campbell. But this time no amount of lecturing can make me feel bad about what I’ve done. What Mattie and Michael and I have done. The Terrific Trio, the Triumphant Three. No matter what the administration does to me, I have righted a wrong and liberated Ferndale Public School from fear. Mattie told almost the entire school that I masterminded the whole thing, that I switched the discs before lunch. There is a whole group of people waiting for me in the playground, ready to jump to my defence if Terry or one of his friends shows up. I am a martyr, willing to die for my cause.

“If you want me to say I’m sorry then you can just go ahead and give me detention or suspend me or whatever,” I say bravely. “Because I am not even the littlest bit sorry.”

Mr. Campbell looks amused.

“Clarissa, I’m not going to suspend you. Despite your methods being slightly, shall we say, unorthodox, technically you didn’t break any rules.”

I try not to smirk. That was the beauty of The Plan. It was all perfectly legit. As media assistant it was my job to gather and deliver interesting segments for the Lunchtime Lineup. Mission accomplished.

“I just wish you had come to me or another teacher first.”

When I don’t say anything, Mr. Campbell continues.

“The school has a zero-tolerance policy on bullying. If you or Benji had come to me earlier, I could have helped earlier.”

I snort in spite of myself.

“How?”

“There are steps we can take in these situations.”

“You would’ve just made it worse! Whenever teachers are involved it just gets worse. Terry would have been even madder.”

“I imagine he’s pretty angry right now.”

“But at least I’m not a snitch, not technically. If he hadn’t been bragging about it he never would have been caught, so it’s his own fault.”

Mr. Campbell raises his hands to show me that he means no offence.

“I’m not disagreeing with you, Clarissa. I won’t even pretend to understand the finer points of middle-school justice. I just want you to know that you don’t have to take on a bully by yourself.”

“I wasn’t by myself.”

Mr. Campbell raises his eyebrows but doesn’t ask me to name my accomplices. Obviously Michael has already been questioned and owned up to his involvement. He said he was proud to be a part of the plan. Mattie asked me to keep her name out of it. I figure it’s the least I can do.

“Very well. In the future, please keep me informed of any problems. Now, I’m afraid I’m going to have to take back the keys to the radio room. As much as I admire your courage, I can’t support vigilante justice.”

I’m not entirely certain what he means, but I know I’m not being punished and that’s all that matters. I stand.

“May I go now?”

“You may.”

Outside, Mattie, Michael and a bunch of other kids from class are hanging around on the swings, waiting for me. They jump up as I exit the classroom.

“Well?” Mattie demands.

“Well, nothing. I’m free!”

Mattie pumps her fist in the air and squeals, “Justice!” The other kids whoop and cheer and I smile so hard my cheeks hurt.

***

“And that’s it?” Benji asks. “No detention, no extra credit?”

“Nothing!” I chirp. “And when you come back, no Terry DiCarlo! He’s been expelled!”

Benji smiles. His bruises have turned from purple to green to yellow and the cut on his lip has healed. He’s not exactly what you’d call the picture of health, but Benji never was a rosy kid.

“So when are you coming back to school? Tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Benji says.

“You can’t stay in bed forever,” I point out. “Plus, Michael said he’d look out for you.”

Benji grins. “Michael said?”

I blush furiously.

“It’s a nice thing to do!” I snap.

“Have you been hanging out?”

“No, he just helped out with The Plan. It’s not like we eat lunch together or walk home together after school.”

“Yet,” Benji says.

But before he can add anything else I nail him with a pillow. He’s not so banged up that he can’t take a little feather action.

“Where’s the juice?”

“You told me to bring food,” Mattie protests.

“I told you to bring
refreshments
,” I clarify.

Mattie is indignant. “That’s what I did,” she pouts. “I made the cookies special! I even put an A for Annie on them in M&M’s.”

“I didn’t ask you to make As, I asked you to bring
refreshments
and refreshments include drinks!”

“Well, I’m sorry but you didn’t specify drinks.”

Great. The guests have all arrived, Mom and Denise will be here any minute and there is nothing to drink.

“There’s some apple juice in the fridge,” Benji says.

Mattie looks dismayed. “That’s it?”

I open the fridge and scour the shelves.

“That’s it,” I confirm. “It’ll have to do.”

Honestly. What kind of hostess has nothing to offer her guests in the way of drinks? The cookies were Mattie’s idea, but the surprise party was mine. Mom is coming home from Hopestead and I wanted to give her a royal welcome. Denise invited some of Mom’s friends and her favourite clients. I invited Mattie, Benji and Michael.

Benji looks as good as new. He brought a bouquet of
daffodils and a card he made himself, with Mom dressed up as a superhero. Mattie brought a cookie sheet. “So you can bake together,” she said brightly. Poor Mattie. She means well but she sure doesn’t know Annie Delaney.

The doorbell rings and I open it to find Michael in a buttoned-up shirt and his hair parted, like he’s on his way to church or something. “Hi, Clarissa.” He thrusts an enormous bouquet wrapped in silver paper between us. “These are for your mom.”

I thank him and take it into the kitchen with the others. There are so many bouquets in the house, it feels like I’m living in the middle of a garden. We’re running out of things to put them in. I improvise by cutting off the top of a pop bottle and filling it with water. It’s Mattie’s idea. Thank goodness she’s really into arts and crafts.

I hear the car pull into the driveway before I see it. Benji does, too. He’s been listening for our car for years. We make eye contact and start shushing people. There really isn’t anywhere to hide, so people just shuffle to one side of the room.

The door opens.

“We’re back,” Denise calls. I hear the sound of bags hitting the floor and keys being tossed onto the counter. “Clarissa? Where are you?”

“In the living room!” I call back, just like we planned, like it’s normal for me to just hang out on my own in the living room. If there is one flaw in the plan, this is it.

When Mom comes around the corner, everyone yells, “Surprise!” and then someone starts singing “Happy Birthday.”

I hear Mattie shush them, hissing, “It’s a welcome home party, not her birthday.”

If Mom notices, she doesn’t let on. She’s smiling from ear to ear. Denise gives her a quick squeeze and a big noisy kiss on the cheek.

“Welcome home, Annie, we missed you.” She gestures at mom’s loyal fans, spread out across the living room. “We all missed you.”

Mom starts making her way through the crowd, always the Dairy Queen, shaking hands, hugging and laughing. I hang back to watch her. She’s too skinny and there are bags under her eyes that never used to be there. I’m relieved to see she still has her hair, even though I know that someday soon that might not be the case. She’s had it cut so it lands in a neat bob around her ears. It makes her chin look pointier and her eyes seem bigger. Even so, she’s still the most beautiful person in the room.

Benji gives her the card he made. His hands shake a little and I know he’s holding back tears.

“Bless you, you’ve given me a tinier waist and better cleavage,” she says, pulling him into a big hug. Unfortunately she says this in front of Michael, who turns even redder than I do. I catch his eye and shrug, as if to say, what can you do, and he shrugs back. Now I’m really blushing.

Mattie marches over and offers her hand, introducing herself as, “Cheryl Cohen’s daughter and a friend of Clarissa’s.”

“And where is that lovely daughter of mine?” Mom asks.

I step forward, feeling shy in front of all these people.

“Welcome home,” I say.

Mom wraps me in a bear hug and kisses my hair, whispering all sorts of embarrassing baby talk into my almost-curls. Only today I don’t mind so much. I hug her back with all my might and I don’t care who sees.

The party is a roaring success. My cheeks hurt from all the smiling I’m doing. Everything is going perfectly to plan, well, except for the apple juice fiasco, until the doorbell rings and Denise walks into the room with Mr. Campbell at her side.

I can’t help myself. “Who invited Tony the Tiger?” I say.

“I received a lovely invitation from a Miss Denise Renzetti,” Mr. Campbell answers. Note to self: kill Denise.

“I couldn’t resist the opportunity to welcome home the famous Annette Delaney,” Mr. Campbell continues, shaking my mother’s hand and bowing slightly. She looks totally charmed.

“Mr. Campbell, thank you for coming. You are a hot topic of conversation around this house.”

“I can only imagine,” he says. For a terrible minute I worry that he told Mom about the letters, but then he winks at me and I feel better. It’s still our secret. As goofy and lame as he is, Tony the Tiger can keep a secret.

He gives Mom a book, something inspirational, along with a bag of loose tea that is supposed to help you sleep.

“My sister swears by the stuff,” he says.

Mom accepts it graciously.

“There’s also something I’ve been meaning to give you, Clarissa,” Mr. Campbell says.

“Me?” I ask. “What is it?”

I wrack my brains trying to come up with what it could be. Did I forget my lunch bag at school? Or an assignment? But what Mr. Campbell has to show me isn’t even close.

“I found it at the back of my desk. Someone must have lost it. Who knows how long it’s been hiding there.”

Mr. Campbell fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a single earring, slim, silver, in the shape of a feather. My breath catches in my throat. It’s the same earring Miss Ross was wearing that day in her classroom. I’m sure of it.

“Well isn’t that pretty,” Mom says. “We can get a little jump ring and you can put it on a chain, like a necklace.”

Mattie grins at me from across the room. I know what
she’s thinking. “Your talisman,” she mouths before making flapping motions with her arms. Benji looks at her like she’s crazy and she pulls him aside and starts at the beginning. “Every superhero needs a talisman …”

Mr. Campbell is smiling at me and I am surprised to feel myself grinning back. When I am able to find my voice again, I manage to squeak out a thank you that sounds genuine.

He gives a little bow. “You are very welcome,” he says. “When I found it, a little voice in my head kept saying, ‘Give me to Clarissa,’ and I have discovered, in the past, that it is wise to listen to the voices in your head.”

“That’s not what my doctor says,” Denise cracks and, for once, everyone laughs along with her.

He may not be Miss Ross, or even close to it, but Mr. Campbell is starting to grow on me. I bet there aren’t many teachers who would give a kid like me so many chances. For this reason I decide to forgive Mr. Campbell for his bad jokes and terrible clothes and the fact that he will never be Miss Ross. Thanks to him, I have one last little piece of her, something I can wear close to my heart and remind me to be a better person.

“A toast,” Mom says, raising her apple juice high. “To my daughter Clarissa, who is tough as nails and keeps everyone laughing with that wonderful sense of humour, even while babysitting my best friend Denise while I was gone—”

“Watch it, Annie!” Denise swats her lightly on the arm.

“—and who brought all of us together for this wonderful shindig. To Clarissa!”

“To Clarissa!”

My ears are ringing with the sound of my own name, spoken by a roomful of smiling people. I feel light and airy
and ready to take on whatever the universe wants to throw at me. If you told me a year ago that I’d be standing in the middle of a surprise party that I planned with Mattie Cohen and Michael Greenblat, I would have told you to get lost, or at the very least, get medical help, because you were seriously crazy. I guess it’s true that you can’t predict the future, and all you can do is make a wish, hope for the best and deal with whatever the universe throws at you. But it’s nice to know that there are days, like today, where everything just clicks. And that sometimes, just sometimes, the universe is listening.

There aren’t enough words (B or otherwise) to express my deep gratitude to the many people who have encouraged me to realize a life-long dream of becoming a published author. I am grateful for all of my friends and family who amaze and inspire me in writing and in life. Very special thanks to everyone at Scholastic Canada, Cathy Francis, Nina McCreath, Elaine Cowan, Patti Thorlakson, Ashley Benson, Rob Kempson, Rebecca Jess, Denise Anderson, Jennifer MacKinnon, and especially to Kallie George, without whom I never would have finished this novel. Love, love, love.

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ISBN: 978-1-4431-1313-7

Text copyright © 2010 by Vikki VanSickle.
Cover image © 2010 bodhihill/istockphoto.

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first eBook edition September, 2011