Read Call Me Amy Online

Authors: Marcia Strykowski

Call Me Amy (8 page)

“I think of odd things, too,” I said as I stood up and brushed off the seat of my jeans.

“Yeh? Like what?”

I shook my head.

“Come on. I told you my weirdo stuff.”

“Well, like maybe our whole world is only a speck. In a bigger world.”

“Huh?”

“Forget it. I'm just strange.”

Craig thought it over a minute. “You mean like the earth could be a dot in an enormous parking lot?”

“Yes! Exactly. You get it.”

“But what if a giant steps on us?”

“We'll just have to take our chances.”

“Oooh, watch out!” Craig yanked me by the arm to the other side of the pier.

“What?” I shouted, as my head spun in every direction in search of the problem.

“Come here,” said Craig, steering me with my elbow. “See that little snail shell? No, not that one. The miniscule one next to it.”

I peered down at the shell.

“There's a whole civilization living in there and a giant shrimp almost wiped them out with one lime-green sneaker.”

“You're crazy,” I said, laughing.

We strolled out to the road.

I was hoping he had forgotten about his progress report, when he mumbled, “My old lady's gonna kill me.”

“No she won't.” I was still smiling. It felt great to be goofing around with Craig again. “Just explain it to her and tell her you'll try harder next time. And you do still have a few weeks to raise those grades.”

“Marston says if my grades don't go up, I'll have to repeat the year.”

“Oh.” I finally realized how much was at stake. “Well, I'll help you study, and I'm sure Miss Cogshell will too.”

“She has been. If it wasn't for Miss C., I probably would've had five Fs.”

Craig must have spent more time at Miss Cogshell's than I realized. I glanced out towards the field and whispered, “That was great on the bus yesterday.”

“What?” Craig asked, bending closer to hear.

I peeked up at him. “When you yelled ‘shut up.'”

“Blowing up is great?” Craig looked genuinely surprised.

“You stood up for Miss Cogshell. I was too chicken.”

“Just letting off steam. Didn't take any guts. My old lady says one of these days my temper's gonna get me in real trouble.”

We made our way to Miss Cogshell's and hung out with Pup for the rest of the afternoon.

11

M
Y VISITS TO
Miss Cogshell's fell into a happy routine. When I stopped by one day, hoping to borrow a book, she was on a small stool, hunting through her spice cupboard. Her hair brushed the ceiling. As she reached deep into the cabinet, I watched, worried she'd come crashing down. Her flowered housecoat rose, and exposed the rolled tops of her stockings. Through the nylons, dark veins ran up and down her massive calves.

“I was sure I had another tin of ginger,” she said. “What a chowduhhead I am. I've already mixed the first ingredients and now I'm out of ginger.”

“I'll run down to Al's and get it,” I offered.

“Oh, you don't have to do that.” Miss Cogshell climbed off the tiny stool, using the counters for support, took a few deep breaths and turned towards me. A faded Maine lobster was stamped across the front of her muslin apron.

“But I want to,” I said. “I love ginger cookies.”

Miss Cogshell smiled as she reached for a small china teapot. From inside, she produced a tightly folded dollar bill which she opened and pressed flat into my hand. She held it for a moment between her warm, fleshy palms. “Well, in that case, off you go.”

Before I finished humming two verses of “The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia,” I was at Al's General Store. I opened the door slowly, the bell keeping still, and went in unnoticed to search the crowded shelves for ginger.

A minute later the bell over the door jingled as someone else entered the store. He struck up a conversation with Al, who must have been behind the counter. I recognized Howard the harbormaster's deep voice ordering a coffee. The squeak of the spinning barstool told me he planned to sit for a while.

Just as I spotted the ginger I heard Al's voice ask, “Any big goings on lately?”

I froze in my tracks when I heard the deep voice answer. “Not much. Although, apparently Ed Johnson thought he saw a couple of kids with a seal up the road apiece, a few weeks back. But you never can tell with his memory. Could've been a cat. I'm keeping my eyes and ears open.”

“Ayuh,” replied Al. “Poor Ed's always got some tall tale or other. Remember that time he thought my house was on fire when I was burning brush?” Al let out a hearty laugh.

They continued to discuss Mr. Johnson while I crouched two aisles back. I clutched the tin of ginger and tried not to sneeze. Finally the seat creaked and Howard said good-bye to Al. I counted to ten, and then came around the corner real casual. Just as I got to the cash register, the bell over the door jangled again. Two girls from my class came in—one of them being Ed Johnson's daughter, Pamela. The girls didn't see me at first; they were too busy checking out their reflections in the shiny countertop, while Al was in the backroom.

“So Claire, who are you asking?” Pamela was saying.

“Probably Tommy since you want
you know who
,” said Claire.

“Remember I told you my dad thought he saw him with some girl the other night,” Pamela continued in a sing-songy voice. “Well, my unhelpful father says he can't remember what she looked like, or how late it was; just that they were pulling a seal in a wagon. Can you imagine?” She shook her hair back and then spotted me trying to blend in with the pickle barrel.

“Shrimp, what a surprise! Who are
you
taking to the Twist Twirl?” she asked, all wide-eyed. I just looked at her with no clue as to what she was talking about. The two girls towered above me, their hairspray stinking up the whole store. A limp strand fell across my eye and I wished I'd washed my hair that morning.

“I guess they don't let little kids in.” Claire shrugged her shoulders. They both laughed and moved past me down the aisles, stumbling along on their platform shoes. One of them said in a loud whisper, “Why doesn't she ever talk?” A softer whisper was followed by more giggling.

I stared hard at the penny candy until Al returned to ring up my order. Soon I was running back to Miss Cogshell's, back to the smells and sounds of her cozy home.

“Why Amy, you're all out of breath,” she said, as I handed her the ginger and a few coins. “Did you have trouble finding it?”

“The harbormaster was there,” I said.

“He's an interesting man.”

“He heard there might be a captive seal around here.”

“Oh, dear,” said Miss Cogshell, as she peeled the lid off the top of the ginger. She sprinkled some in without measuring, while I left to go visit Pup.

Pup blinked his round eyes when he saw me, and then gave a great yawn. Sprawled out in a relaxed blubbery heap on the bathroom floor, Pup appeared not to have a care in the world. He stretched, then covered one eye with his fore flipper like he was playing peek-a-boo.

“Don't worry, Pup, nobody will find you here,” I whispered into his sleek little head. He sniffed and nuzzled
my hair and I could tell he knew me as a friend. I took a fish from the cooler and was glad to see him swallow it right down. By the time I went back to the kitchen, Miss Cogshell was already pulling the baked cookies out of the oven.

“No homework tonight. I sure wish I had a good mystery to read,” I hinted as I nibbled a warm cookie.

“Help yourself.” She nodded towards the parlor. I went in and studied the titles. Miss Cogshell came in a moment later and we talked about a few of her favorite stories.

Just as I selected a book, loud crashing noises interrupted us. We looked at each other, puzzled, and then I moved fast down the hall. My words froze when I reached the kitchen.

“Oh, no,” said Miss Cogshell. I squeezed to one side so she could fit through the entranceway. Cookies were everywhere, mostly on the floor. One cooling rack still teetered half on the table and half off. I glanced at Miss Cogshell and she didn't look pleased. At the same time, we both said, “Pup?”—mine a troubled whisper.

“I'm sure he didn't mean it.” I tried not to panic. “I'll clean up.” I tossed my book onto the counter, dropped to my knees and began gathering up cookie pieces while she and Clyde stomped down the hallway towards the bathroom.

“Where is that rascal?” she said a minute later.

I heard a little sniff. I spun around and peered beneath the tablecloth. Pup was under the kitchen table, way back against the wall. His nose lay flat on the floor and he closed his big eyes when he saw me. I could hear Miss Cogshell returning.

“I can't find him,” she said.

“Are you very angry with him?” I asked.

“Oh, he doesn't know better. I just want to make sure he's not sick from too many sweets.”

“I'll get him.” I crawled under the table to drag him out.

“Stop acting innocent, Pup,” I tried to say with sternness while he playfully nipped my elbow. Miss Cogshell counted cookies and decided he'd probably only tasted one or two. We swept all the crumbs out the back door and made an attempt at scolding Pup, just so he'd remember to keep his nose out of the goodies next time.

Soon I was walking home, tripping over tree roots while absorbed in my book. By bedtime I had finished reading
The Body in the Library
.

A
T SCHOOL, THE
next day, I passed by a poster and remembered how Pamela had mentioned the Twist Twirl. I had never bothered to read event notices before, but figured I'd do so now. Apparently the Twist Twirl was a school dance to be held in a few weeks.
For this one event the girls got to ask the boys to go with them. Kind of like a Sadie Hawkins Day.

I knew right off who Pamela would want to go with, and then, I don't know what came over me, but I started having this fantasy of
me
walking in with Craig, and Pamela falling off her platform shoes, flat on her face. It wasn't that I just wanted to shock everyone—I really wanted to be at the dance with Craig. We got along so well. He was always laughing and joking with me, so he must like me. As the day wore on, the more excited I got. I would beat Pamela to the punch.

I had never cared before how long Nancy spent blabbing on the phone. However, the one time I wanted to make a call she must have been on for two hours, catching up with all the kids she had just spent the whole day with. After supper I got my chance. Dad was working on bills in his office and Mom took Nancy out to get her hair trimmed. I must have stood by the telephone for ten minutes before I got up the nerve to dial the number I had spent all day memorizing. It rang four times, each time making my heart pound louder. On the fifth ring Craig's mother answered.

“What do you want?” she drawled into the mouth-piece. Her words were slurred and she sounded half-asleep. I panicked and hung up the phone with shaking hands.

“I'll ask him tomorrow,” I decided.

F
RIDAY MORNING
, C
RAIG
stood by himself fiddling around with his locker combination. I watched for a minute from down the hall, and practiced the words I would use to ask him to the dance. As I started over to him, I heard stomping and giggling coming from around the corner.

Great. Pamela and Claire. It was like I was a magnet, always pulling those two closer to wherever I happened to be. Pamela practically fell into Craig as though the corridor was just too narrow for her to get past him. He grinned, the same grin as always. Then Claire made some comment and Craig burst out laughing. I knew they didn't even know I was there, but they might as well have been laughing at me.

I stuck my head back into my locker and pretended to search for something. In my mind I could hear Nancy saying, “Oh, Amy, you're so immature!” My eyes stung. All this time I thought Craig and I had a special friendship; now I finally understood that he just acted that way with everyone. My hands started shaking again when I realized how close I had come to making a fool of myself.

I peeked over my shoulder. Craig took off in the other direction, while the two girls headed my way. Pamela came to a halt in front of me. She squinted her eyes and scrunched up her face. “I know what you're up to,” she said, wagging a long polished nail at me before they continued down the hall.

Oh, my gosh. Could she really? I hadn't breathed a word about the dance. There's no way she could find out. Was she just bluffing? Or, worse, was she talking about Pup?

12

O
N
S
ATURDAY
, I woke to the rattle of wind-driven sleet against the windowpanes. All morning, the rain poured down. I tried to concentrate on a cross-stitch kit, except my eyes kept traveling to the windows, my mind elsewhere. There weren't many more days to be with Pup, especially if Pamela knew about him. Finally I'd had enough. I ran upstairs for the Agatha Christie book, threw on my slicker, and headed for the door.

Other books

A Dancer In the Dust by Thomas H. Cook
Biowar by Stephen Coonts
Perfect Fit by Taige Crenshaw
Send My Love and a Molotov Cocktail! by Gary Phillips, Andrea Gibbons
The Eighteenth Parallel by MITRAN, ASHOKA
An Unexpected Christmas by Lori Jennings
My Soul to Keep by Carolyn McCray


readsbookonline.com Copyright 2016 - 2024