“Yeah … but I’m not the same, Button. Maybe I seem like it, because being back here is making me feel little again, but I’m not the same anymore. Not at all.”
I tugged my pillow down, folding it over to tuck under my head, and stared at the dark smudges of vines on the wallpaper. Winnalee was half sleeping. High. And wrong.
I was dangling on the verge of sleep when Winnalee flipped onto her back. “Shit,” she mumbled.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I forgot to bring my plants in. They need water.”
The plants that were in her van. Herbs perhaps. Or maybe some variety of flowers that, when they bloomed, would look so magical that you could believe fairies danced on them while you slept. “I’ll get them,” I told her, and she murmured a thank-you.
I grabbed my new stationery to bring downstairs, knowing I was still too excited to sleep, then went out and grabbed the two heavy plants from the van. I lugged them into the spare room downstairs, the one with the bed that sunk in the middle, and put them under the window, alongside Aunt Verdella’s tomato starter plants. I watered them, then fingered the wilty long leaves in apology. I’d always pitied neglectedplants. They were like children nobody bothered to pour milk for.
Maybe it was the surprise and joy of having Winnalee back in my life, and the night of pulsing rock music and climbing our magic tree, that made me so bold. Or maybe it was just hearing about a world I wasn’t brave enough to enter, where people gave away their love without embarrassment or fear. Whatever it was, I wrote to Jesse—a snowflake for sure—without second-guessing every word I put down. I told him about the dress Boohoo ruined, and about Winnalee and her return. I told him about what loving a friend meant to me, and that, yes, I’d love to (pen) pal around with him. I even signed the letter, “Love, Evy.”
CHAPTER
8
BRIGHT IDEA #6: If a little kid named Elroy tells you he bites people when he gets mad, believe him. If you don’t, you’re going to end up with tooth marks on your hand.
When morning came, Boohoo was the one who announced it, bouncing on his knees at the foot of our bed and crowing like a rooster.
I grabbed him and pulled him down between us, whispering my best rendition of Foghorn Leghorn—one of Boohoo’s favorite cartoon characters—into his ear. “Hey boy, I say, I say, quiet down, Winnalee’s still sleeping.” Boohoo giggled and squirmed in protest as I popped kisses on his cheek.
Boohoo pushed my head back to stop me. “Aunt Verdella says to get up and come eat because she made a big breakfast … ’cause she’s here,” Boohoo said, jabbing his thumb toward Winnalee. “She’s downstairs.”
“Aunt Verdella is?”
Boohoo nodded. I made the shush sign and lifted Boohoo out of bed. I closed the door almost shut and we headed downstairs.
Aunt Verdella was standing in the spare bedroom, the door ajar. “Good morning, honey,” she said, giving me an affectionate hug. “I’ll bet you girls were up half the night, talking.”
“Yeah,” I said, and Aunt Verdella beamed.
She bent and peered down at Winnalee’s now-perky plants. “What on earth are these?”
“I don’t know. They’re Winnalee’s.”
“Some kind of hybrid tomato, maybe?” Aunt Verdella said.
“Yeah, that’s what they are. Hybrid tomato plants.” We turned to see Winnalee shuffling into the room, yawning.
“Morning, sweetie,” Aunt Verdella said, giving her a morning hug. “That’s what I thought.” She sized up the plants. “Boy, you sure do have a green thumb. These tomatoes are a good four inches taller than ours.
“Uncle Rudy wants to plant this week. Yours can go in our garden, too, Winnalee. Rudy will mark them so you know which ones are yours.”
“That’s okay,” Winnalee said. She turned her back to Aunt Verdella. “This variety does better indoors.”
“Really? I never heard of keeping tomato plants indoors the whole
I tugged my pillow down, folding it over to tuck under my head, and stared at the dark smudges of vines on the wallpaper. Winnalee was half sleeping. High. And wrong.
I was dangling on the verge of sleep when Winnalee flipped onto her back. “Shit,” she mumbled.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I forgot to bring my plants in. They need water.”
The plants that were in her van. Herbs perhaps. Or maybe some variety of flowers that, when they bloomed, would look so magical that you could believe fairies danced on them while you slept. “I’ll get them,” I told her, and she murmured a thank-you.
I grabbed my new stationery to bring downstairs, knowing I was still too excited to sleep, then went out and grabbed the two heavy plants from the van. I lugged them into the spare room downstairs, the one with the bed that sunk in the middle, and put them under the window, alongside Aunt Verdella’s tomato starter plants. I watered them, then fingered the wilty long leaves in apology. I’d always pitied neglectedplants. They were like children nobody bothered to pour milk for.
Maybe it was the surprise and joy of having Winnalee back in my life, and the night of pulsing rock music and climbing our magic tree, that made me so bold. Or maybe it was just hearing about a world I wasn’t brave enough to enter, where people gave away their love without embarrassment or fear. Whatever it was, I wrote to Jesse—a snowflake for sure—without second-guessing every word I put down. I told him about the dress Boohoo ruined, and about Winnalee and her return. I told him about what loving a friend meant to me, and that, yes, I’d love to (pen) pal around with him. I even signed the letter, “Love, Evy.”
CHAPTER
8
BRIGHT IDEA #6: If a little kid named Elroy tells you he bites people when he gets mad, believe him. If you don’t, you’re going to end up with tooth marks on your hand.
When morning came, Boohoo was the one who announced it, bouncing on his knees at the foot of our bed and crowing like a rooster.
I grabbed him and pulled him down between us, whispering my best rendition of Foghorn Leghorn—one of Boohoo’s favorite cartoon characters—into his ear. “Hey boy, I say, I say, quiet down, Winnalee’s still sleeping.” Boohoo giggled and squirmed in protest as I popped kisses on his cheek.
Boohoo pushed my head back to stop me. “Aunt Verdella says to get up and come eat because she made a big breakfast … ’cause she’s here,” Boohoo said, jabbing his thumb toward Winnalee. “She’s downstairs.”
“Aunt Verdella is?”
Boohoo nodded. I made the shush sign and lifted Boohoo out of bed. I closed the door almost shut and we headed downstairs.
Aunt Verdella was standing in the spare bedroom, the door ajar. “Good morning, honey,” she said, giving me an affectionate hug. “I’ll bet you girls were up half the night, talking.”
“Yeah,” I said, and Aunt Verdella beamed.
She bent and peered down at Winnalee’s now-perky plants. “What on earth are these?”
“I don’t know. They’re Winnalee’s.”
“Some kind of hybrid tomato, maybe?” Aunt Verdella said.
“Yeah, that’s what they are. Hybrid tomato plants.” We turned to see Winnalee shuffling into the room, yawning.
“Morning, sweetie,” Aunt Verdella said, giving her a morning hug. “That’s what I thought.” She sized up the plants. “Boy, you sure do have a green thumb. These tomatoes are a good four inches taller than ours.
“Uncle Rudy wants to plant this week. Yours can go in our garden, too, Winnalee. Rudy will mark them so you know which ones are yours.”
“That’s okay,” Winnalee said. She turned her back to Aunt Verdella. “This variety does better indoors.”
“Really? I never heard of keeping tomato plants indoors the whole
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