cake!" Erick called out. "Sunny won't let us eat it till you have the first piece."
A cake? Even I didn't know about that.
Dawn went straight to the dining room. There, Whitney Cater was carefully unwrapping paper plates and setting them on a table full of food (most of which looked completely inedible). Whitney's twelve and she has Down's Syndrome. Dawn was once hired to sit for her, but Whitney thought Dawn just wanted to be friends. She was hurt when she found out the truth, but she and Dawn talked it out and became very dose. Whitney's an honorary WVKC member now.
"Hi!" Whitney called out.
"Oh, Whitney . . ." Dawn and Whitney threw their arms around each other.
Whitney began crying. "I'm going to miss you so much."
"Me too."
It came out more like "Me too-hoo-hoo."
(Yes, Dawn was crying, too-hoo-hoo.)
I was sad, but I couldn't cry. I mean, I was going to see Dawn in Stoneybrook the next week.
Mary Anne? Well, she wasn't doing so well in the dry-eye department, but what else is new?
"Hey, Dawn, did you have any cake yet?" Erick the Persistent called out.
Dawn let go of Whitney and finally looked at the cake.
It wasn't a cake, really. It was a work of art. It had been made to look like Dawn's face — blonde hair, sunglasses, freckles, and a big smile, all made of frosting.
"Oh . . ." Dawn said.
"Awesome," Claudia added. "Who made it?"
"Me and Joanna and my daddy," answered a teeny voice.
Off to the side, practically hidden by all the people, was Stephie Robertson. She's usually so bubbly, but that day she looked glum.
"Stephie, if s breathtaking* I don't even want to eat it, it's so beautiful."
"Oh, no," Erick moaned.
Mr. Winslow handed her a Polaroid photo of the cake. "For your memory book," he said.
Dawn was shaking her head in disbelief.
"Well, I guess I should cut it, huh?"
"Yeeeeaaaahhhh!" screamed most of the kids:
"I'll do it," volunteered Whitney.
She began slicing pieces. Mary Anne and Sunny helped her put them on plates.
"Mmmmmm," Dawn said as she ate the first piece. "I love banana cake, Stephie."
Stephie nodded.
"Stephie, are you okay?"
She folded her arms and looked off to the side. Her eyes were red. "I'm mad at you."
"Because I'm leaving?"
"Yeah." Stephie choked back a sniffle.
Poor kid. She adores Dawn. Not too long ago, Stephie was this shy, asthmatic girl who hardly ever went outside. Then she and Dawn really hit it off. Slowly Stephie came out of her shell. Even her asthma improved.
"I'll be back to visit, I promise," Dawn said. "And I'll write you tons of letters. Will you write me?"
"I already did." She pulled a folded-up piece of looseleaf paper out of her pocket.
"May I read it?"
"Uh-huh."
I couldn't tell what the letter said, but it made Dawn cry again. Later she showed it to me:
Dawn had a great time at the party. But she said nothing beat that letter.
Chapter 20.
Logan.
"Over — here — okay — Got it? Set it down — Easy — Auuugh!"
PLANNNNNK!
Franklin's piano thundered to the floor. It was either that or destroy our backs.
Have you ever tried to lift an upright piano?
If you have, I feel sorry for you. If you haven't, don't.
Franklin does not play the piano. Neither do his kids, although Ryan likes to walk on the keys if someone is holding his hand. The Barretts do not have a piano, nor do any of them want to.
So why were we going through all this?
Because Franklin had the piano in his old house. The previous owner had left it there. Why? He didn't want the hassle of moving it.
Did Franklin follow that man's example? Noooo. He thought the piano would be "a good investment in the future."
Some people have to learn their own lessons.
Anyway, my arms were falling off. I could swear they'd stretched. From now on I'd need a longer shirt sleeve size. "Is this the right place?" I asked.
Still panting for breath, Franklin stepped back and looked around the living room. We
had put the piano near a side wall.
"I think so," he said. Then he called
A cake? Even I didn't know about that.
Dawn went straight to the dining room. There, Whitney Cater was carefully unwrapping paper plates and setting them on a table full of food (most of which looked completely inedible). Whitney's twelve and she has Down's Syndrome. Dawn was once hired to sit for her, but Whitney thought Dawn just wanted to be friends. She was hurt when she found out the truth, but she and Dawn talked it out and became very dose. Whitney's an honorary WVKC member now.
"Hi!" Whitney called out.
"Oh, Whitney . . ." Dawn and Whitney threw their arms around each other.
Whitney began crying. "I'm going to miss you so much."
"Me too."
It came out more like "Me too-hoo-hoo."
(Yes, Dawn was crying, too-hoo-hoo.)
I was sad, but I couldn't cry. I mean, I was going to see Dawn in Stoneybrook the next week.
Mary Anne? Well, she wasn't doing so well in the dry-eye department, but what else is new?
"Hey, Dawn, did you have any cake yet?" Erick the Persistent called out.
Dawn let go of Whitney and finally looked at the cake.
It wasn't a cake, really. It was a work of art. It had been made to look like Dawn's face — blonde hair, sunglasses, freckles, and a big smile, all made of frosting.
"Oh . . ." Dawn said.
"Awesome," Claudia added. "Who made it?"
"Me and Joanna and my daddy," answered a teeny voice.
Off to the side, practically hidden by all the people, was Stephie Robertson. She's usually so bubbly, but that day she looked glum.
"Stephie, if s breathtaking* I don't even want to eat it, it's so beautiful."
"Oh, no," Erick moaned.
Mr. Winslow handed her a Polaroid photo of the cake. "For your memory book," he said.
Dawn was shaking her head in disbelief.
"Well, I guess I should cut it, huh?"
"Yeeeeaaaahhhh!" screamed most of the kids:
"I'll do it," volunteered Whitney.
She began slicing pieces. Mary Anne and Sunny helped her put them on plates.
"Mmmmmm," Dawn said as she ate the first piece. "I love banana cake, Stephie."
Stephie nodded.
"Stephie, are you okay?"
She folded her arms and looked off to the side. Her eyes were red. "I'm mad at you."
"Because I'm leaving?"
"Yeah." Stephie choked back a sniffle.
Poor kid. She adores Dawn. Not too long ago, Stephie was this shy, asthmatic girl who hardly ever went outside. Then she and Dawn really hit it off. Slowly Stephie came out of her shell. Even her asthma improved.
"I'll be back to visit, I promise," Dawn said. "And I'll write you tons of letters. Will you write me?"
"I already did." She pulled a folded-up piece of looseleaf paper out of her pocket.
"May I read it?"
"Uh-huh."
I couldn't tell what the letter said, but it made Dawn cry again. Later she showed it to me:
Dawn had a great time at the party. But she said nothing beat that letter.
Chapter 20.
Logan.
"Over — here — okay — Got it? Set it down — Easy — Auuugh!"
PLANNNNNK!
Franklin's piano thundered to the floor. It was either that or destroy our backs.
Have you ever tried to lift an upright piano?
If you have, I feel sorry for you. If you haven't, don't.
Franklin does not play the piano. Neither do his kids, although Ryan likes to walk on the keys if someone is holding his hand. The Barretts do not have a piano, nor do any of them want to.
So why were we going through all this?
Because Franklin had the piano in his old house. The previous owner had left it there. Why? He didn't want the hassle of moving it.
Did Franklin follow that man's example? Noooo. He thought the piano would be "a good investment in the future."
Some people have to learn their own lessons.
Anyway, my arms were falling off. I could swear they'd stretched. From now on I'd need a longer shirt sleeve size. "Is this the right place?" I asked.
Still panting for breath, Franklin stepped back and looked around the living room. We
had put the piano near a side wall.
"I think so," he said. Then he called
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