Dead Possums Are Fair Game Read online

  The bathroom door opened. I looked up from my seat on the floor to see Jolina and Lucille come in.

  “How’d you know I was here?” I asked, sniffling and trying to control my quivering chin.

  “Lucky guess, I suppose,” Lucille said. “We’re not mad at you, Ella. It was an accident.”

  “But … I … made … a … complete mess of … it,” I spluttered, tears streaming down my face.

  “True, but Mr. Morris and Mrs. Gottry had already judged it, right?” said Jolina.

  I bit my lip as I exchanged glances with Lucille.

  Lucille shook her head.

  Jolina sagged against a bathroom stall door. “Oh man,” she moaned.

  “And what’s worse, Ms. Carpenter hadn’t graded it yet either—and now she can’t. The numbers, the charts—everything—it’s all smeared. It’s ruined and there’s no time to redo it. It’s worth two tests, remember? We’re going to get a zero!” I wailed.

  I had just sabotaged Jolina’s straight-A track record.

  Lucille placed her hands on her hips and looked me in the eyes. “If we all work together, we can do it. There’s still the foam core board I brought in earlier this week. Everyone can print out a new list of time conversions for their animals. You’ll need to get a different photo of a platypus to replace the ruined one—it won’t be as nice as your aunt’s photo but it will work. Jolina and Jonathan can get other pictures of the lion and boa constrictor, and we can reuse the ones that aren’t ruined.” She squatted down and gently touched my shoulder. “Ella, there isn’t time to make it perfect again, but there is time to make it good.”

  She was right. My way of doing things obviously hadn’t worked out for me—from insisting turtles didn’t live long to demanding the project had to be perfect, hurting Lucille’s feelings in the process.

  By redoing it, I might stand a small chance of at least getting a passing grade for the project. And though I doubted it would be enough to save my summer from being toast, at least my friends wouldn’t fail because of me.

  Lucille smiled and stood. “Splash some water on your face, blow your nose, and come out of the bathroom. Jolina, Jonathan, and I will talk to Ms. Carpenter to see if we can have a few extra minutes to pull stuff together.”

  I sniffed and nodded and picked myself up off the floor. And even though I wasn’t done feeling sorry for myself, I cleaned up and headed back to the classroom.

  I could see my three teammates talking with Ms. Carpenter. They raced over seconds later.

  “C’mon—she can give us forty-five minutes, but after that the fair’s over and everyone will have to go to the awards ceremony,” Lucille said.

  Since Mrs. Gottry was a judge, she had locked the library, so we couldn’t use the computers there. We decided to split up to go to different classrooms.

  “Let’s meet back in our class in twenty minutes,” Lucille said.

  Because we were on different computers, we all came back with different fonts and layouts on our spreadsheets. While Lucille glued down the new title, Jolina, Jonathan, and I matched the animal photos with the right spreadsheets. Jonathan didn’t know to print his photos in color, so they were in black and white. The printer I used ran out of colored ink halfway through my print job, so the platypus came out colored like a rainbow. As soon as we had one animal grouped with its spreadsheet, we handed it to Lucille, who squirted it with glue and slapped it down on the foam core. Every once in a while, I’d look up and see Ms. Carpenter watching us.

  “Done!” said Lucille, standing up the board. Glue dripped down from most of the photos, two of the spreadsheets were crooked, and MORTY’S MATH MEMORYAL was misspelled. And surprisingly enough, it didn’t bother me—Lucille was proud of her work, and it was because of her that we even got it done. It wasn’t perfect, or even close to it, but maybe it was enough to help my friends, even if it was too late for me.

  Jolina looked at the classroom clock. “We finished with five minutes to spare.” She exhaled loudly. “Why don’t you and Lucille walk around now since you haven’t had a chance to see the other displays yet? Jonathan and I will take this over to our table and show Ms. Carpenter. Mr. Morris and Mrs. Gottry won’t be able to judge it, but at least Ms. Carpenter can grade it.”

  Lucille and I wandered around until Mr. Morris’s voice came over the loud speaker telling everyone it was time to get ready for the awards ceremony.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CRESTFALLEN

  crest·fall·en

  noun krest-faw-lĕn/

  —downcast, disappointed at failure

  I scanned the auditorium, looking for Aunt Willa and my parents. I wished now they hadn’t planned to come. What would I say to Aunt Willa about what happened to her beautiful photographs? How was I going to tell my parents I’d be failing math because I upchucked a bunch of gummy bears on our project?

  I spotted them up ahead and gasped. Apparently I wouldn’t have to tell them—Ms. Carpenter was doing it for me. My dad slowly shook his head and my mom frowned. I sighed as I shuffled down the aisle with my classmates. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw Ms. Carpenter hand Mom a sheet of paper and shake hands with Aunt Willa. No doubt the sheet of paper was a list of math tutors my parents could hire over the summer. Then Ms. Carpenter took a seat at the end of our row. I slumped in my chair and, wallowing in self-pity, looked at the stage where Mr. Morris and Mrs. Gottry stood.

  Next to the podium was a long table holding lots of ribbons and the coveted trophies—and we’d get none of them. If only our project had been judged before my gummy bear spew. If we had won a ribbon, Ms. Carpenter would have known it was worthy of an A. If a project was ribbon-worthy, it must be A-worthy, too, right? It didn’t matter, though—I was toast.

  Mr. Morris stepped up to the microphone. “Before we hand out awards, I want to let everyone know Mrs. Gottry and I had a wonderful time at the first ever Victor Waldo Elementary Math Fair! We had a very difficult time choosing the winners, particularly the Best of Show. Everyone did an excellent job. We are proud of all of you.”

  It was your typical speech—the kind adults feel they need to make so nobody’s feelings get hurt. By all the muted groans, I could tell my classmates just wanted to know who was going to get a ribbon or a trophy, not to mention the Peghiny’s Ice Cream Sundaes. There were six classes competing, so there were a lot of ribbons to hand out.

  Our class was the last to have the winners announced. Mr. Morris started with third place. “Despite some mishaps, third place goes to Harry, Jimmy, and Jean-Pierre! They had a rather, uh, unique approach to estimating and showed a true understanding of the skill. Congratulations to the three of you.”

  Everyone clapped (except for me). I was still mad at Harry for thinking my blow out with the gummy bears was funny.

  Mr. Morris took up the second-place ribbon. “Second place goes to Lucas, Ernesto, and Deion for the excellent Hershey bar review of division. What a topic! Very well done, boys.”

  There were only the first place ribbons left. I didn’t care about who won. I knew then it wasn’t us.

  “First place goes to Rashawna, Sarah, and Alejandra for their display on fractions. Great job with the pizza, young ladies.”

  Mr. Morris said more stuff about what a great job everyone did, but I barely heard him. It was Aunt Willa’s horrendously loud wolf whistle and cheering from the back of the auditorium that snapped me out of my trance.

  “Wait. What happened?” I said.

  “C’mon! We just won Best of Show!” Lucille grabbed my arm and dragged me down our aisle.

  I tripped over a backpack. “We did? How?”

  “I don’t know!” she squealed.

  Jonathan and Jolina slapped us high-fives as Lucille and I joined them on stage. Mr. Morris shook our hands as he handed each of us a small golden trophy with a person holding a star above his head. “You four had the most original approach to time conversions we’ve ever seen!”

  “Thanks,” Jo
lina said.

  Lucille admired her trophy. “It was Jonathan’s idea.”

  “Yeah, but we couldn’t have done it without Morty,” Jonathan said.

  “Or Lucille,” I said, quietly.

  She smiled back at me.

  Mr. Morris turned back to the microphone. “This group, we felt, showed a true grasp of their topic and also chose to share it in a way that was original. I am sure they are surprised, more than anybody, to find themselves up here since their project suffered an odd tragedy that prevented it from being judged. It was the spirit of true teamwork they showed, while working under a great deal of pressure, that prompted their teacher to invite us back for a second look. Once again, great job to everyone!”

  We had our picture taken with Mr. Morris and Mrs. Gottry, and he dismissed the audience to go to lunch.

  I walked down the stage stairs and raced back to my seat to grab my backpack. I needed to talk to Ms. Carpenter about my grade right away. Without a doubt, I knew she would give us an A now.

  I pushed and shoved my way back to my seat. I could see my family, along with Ms. Carpenter, fighting their way down the main aisle, through a sea of students, toward the front of the auditorium.

  I slung my backpack over my shoulder and decided it’d be easier just to meet them halfway. I climbed over a couple rows of chairs when my trophy fell from my back pack. I dropped my bag and got on my hands and knees to find it, hoping it didn’t break. I searched around candy wrappers, torn up papers, and chewed gum. Eventually, my fingertips grazed the marble base of the trophy.

  The noise level had dropped while I was looking for my trophy. Most of my classmates had left, it seemed. A familiar voice drifted down from the center aisle.

  “I just thought you might want to know ahead of time. That way you can be the ones to give her the news about her grade.” I cocked my head—that was Ms. Carpenter’s voice.

  That didn’t sound good. I felt sorry for whomever Ms. Carpenter was talking about.

  “Thanks. We appreciate the heads up.”

  Wait a minute—that was my dad’s voice!

  I stood up with a jolt, my trophy clutched in my hand. “Hold on,” I said, my voice quivering. “We just won Best of Show and I still failed math and have to have a tutor? That’s not fair. We worked so hard and now you’re saying it was all for nothing!”

  All four of them stared at me with their mouth open.

  “What on earth were you doing on the floor?” Mom said.

  “I dropped my trophy … which apparently isn’t worth much if I still didn’t pass math.”

  “Oh no, honey. That’s not at all what Ms. Carpenter was saying.” Mom whisked down the row and hugged me. “You think you failed math?”

  I buried my head in Mom’s arms and cried for the third time that day.

  “No—actually, Ms. Carpenter was telling us that you did extremely well. In fact, with your last pop quiz and this project, you pulled your grade up to a low B.”

  I snapped my head up and wiped my eyes. “I got a B?”

  Mom nodded.

  “In math?”

  All four of them laughed.

  I peeked around Mom to see Ms. Carpenter. I could feel my face turning red. “I heard you say something to them about breaking news to me—it sounded bad.” I mumbled.

  She nodded. “I knew that there was the possibility that you might get tutored over the summer because of your math grade. I wanted them to be able to tell you the good news in a special way since you have worked so hard.”

  “But I don’t understand. Our project was dripping with glue, the fonts didn’t match, the platypus looked like a confused chameleon, and words were misspelled. How is it possible that we got a good grade?”

  Ms. Carpenter gently shook her head. “Ella, your team got an A because I saw how hard everyone worked and your willingness to keep on trying until the very end. Yes, craftsmanship is important, but I know your first project was beautiful. I wasn’t going to punish your team for an accident.” She winked. “And, of course, your math was correct, too.”

  “That’s my Ella-vator,” Dad said with a wink.

  “What was that piece of paper you handed Mom?” I asked.

  Ms. Carpenter laughed again. “It was just a recipe she had asked for weeks ago. I kept forgetting to send it home with you and when I saw her here today, I ran back to the classroom to get it.”

  “Oh.” I looked at my feet. “I thought it was a list of tutors.”

  “Ella Bella,” Aunt Willa said, “you’re something else.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  RECONCILE

  rec·on·cile

  verb rek-ǒn-sɪl

  —to restore a relationship after a quarrel

  “This really is the best ice cream in the world,” I declared, digging my spoon into my sundae. “How can you possibly go wrong with Banana-Coco-Choco-Loco?”

  Between Jonathan, Lucille, Jolina, me, and all our siblings and parents, we took up most of the seating in Peghiny’s Ice Cream Parlor. It was like having our own private celebration.

  “I don’t know about that, Ella. I’m not a big coconut fan,” said Jonathan, wrinkling his nose. “But the Soda Pop Sundae Swirl rocks big time!”

  I stuck out my tongue and made a funny face. He laughed and stuck his tongue out in reply. Across the table, Lucille alternated between stirring her ice cream into a mushy mess and licking the spoon. Jolina sat next to her, enjoying her strawberry shake instead of a sundae. Our four shiny trophies, along with the stuffed opossum, were arranged in the middle of our table. It was the strangest centerpiece I’d ever seen.

  “I still can’t believe they went back and judged our project,” Jonathan said.

  Jolina nodded. “I know. When they called our names up on stage, I thought I’d gone crazy and was hearing things.”

  “I’m still amazed that even with all the mismatched fonts, multi-colored animals, dripping glue, and bad spelling, they gave us Best of Show,” said Lucille.

  I looked at Lucille. “It was a math project, not a spelling test.”

  “Well, look who’s not a perfectionist anymore,” she said, winking.

  I swallowed a big blob of ice cream and gave myself some major brain freeze. Someone once told me if I pressed my thumb on the roof of my mouth, brain freeze would go away fast.

  “Bwan fweez,” I said, with my thumb in my mouth.

  All three of them nodded.

  Aunt Willa came over with her camera. “Let’s have a victory photo with your ice cream. Everybody lean in.”

  She took a couple different shots and then headed back to the grown-ups’ table. I thought of the animal photographs she had taken and how I was the one who destroyed them because I didn’t follow Ms. Carpenter’s rules about candy in the classroom. It was kind of the same situation with Aunt Willa—only reversed. I had a set of rules I wanted her to follow; the only difference was I never told her my rules. I didn’t tell her anything until after I blew up at her. True, some of the fault was hers, but I was beginning to realize that I wasn’t completely innocent either. I knew I owed her an apology … a real one this time.

  “Hey, Aunt Willa,” I said and squeezed out of the booth, pulling her over to the stools at the counter.

  “What’s up, Ella Bella?”

  I stared down at my feet and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

  “You said that already,” Aunt Willa said.

  “I know,” I whispered. My chest felt tight. “But this time I actually mean it.”

  Aunt Willa smiled while she swiveled back and forth on her stool. “Ah. Are you saying that earlier I got the ‘my-mother’s-standing-right-here-what-else-am-I-going-to-say’ apology?”

  I blushed. “Yes.”

  “I knew that was the version I was getting at the time. But I was willing to take what I could get.”

  “It’s not really your fault about the candle and the panpipe music. I never told you. I also never told y
ou how crazy organized I have to have things. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but I guess I ended up doing that anyway when I exploded at you.”

  She gave me a big hug. “I promise not to play my music or light smelly candles when you’re in the room. And I won’t touch your stuff without talking to you first. Deal?”

  I nodded. “Deal. And I promise if something’s bothering me, I’ll talk to you right away and not erupt like a volcano.” I bit my lip. “I also promise not to chase Chewy.”

  She laughed. “You and Chewy can shake on that when we get home.”

  As I slid back in the booth, Lucille asked, “What was that all about?”

  “Just something I needed to say to my roommate.”

  “How is it sharing a room with your aunt?”

  “Let’s just say it’s getting better,” I said with a smile.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  PROPOSITION

  prop·o·si·tion

  noun prop-ǒ-zish-ǒn

  —a problem or undertaking, something to be dealt with

  That night after dinner, Jolina, Lucille, and Jonathan stopped by my house. We all grabbed sodas and went to my room.

  “Sit down, Ella,” Jolina said. “There’s something we need to talk to you about.”

  I plopped on my bed and looked at the three of them. “What’s up?”

  Jolina took a deep breath. “Mrs. Peghiny has a proposition for us.”

  I leaned forward. “The ice cream parlor owner? She has a what?”

  “A population,” Lucille said.

  Jolina shook her head. “No, Lucille, a proposition. It means an offer. Every July Fourth, Mrs. Peghiny introduces a new flavor—something that’s unique, that only Peghiny’s has.”

  “The problem is,” Jonathan said, “she says she’s just not sure what flavor to invent next—she needs some market research done. She called it ‘statistical analysis.’ And she thinks we’re the perfect people to help.”