Violets are blue, p.11
Violets Are Blue, page 11
“You have a knee doctor?”
“An excellent orthopedist at the hospital, okay? So don’t worry.” She picked up her bowl of soup and took a spoonful. “And, Wren?”
“Yeah?” I said. Already I was feeling better. I even smiled a little.
She looked at the TV, not at me. “Next time stay out of my bathroom,” she said.
The Box
Hey, I know I tell you a million different steps for each character. And I usually recommend a ton of products, right? For some of you, that’s cool. But I never want anyone to feel overwhelmed. So here’s a secret message especially for you beginners: To get a great character going, you don’t need to follow every single thing I say. If what I’m doing seems like too much, just pick a few details. And always focus on the eyes!
* * *
Vanessa hadn’t sent a makeup package in a long time—nothing since before Christmas, in fact. I told myself it was understandable: She’d already sent so much stuff, and now she was busy with the babies. Plus, she and Dad had given me money for Chanuk-mas, so she probably figured I’d just buy my own supplies.
But one day the second week in February, when I got home from school after tech crew, Mom was sitting at the kitchen table with her red mug. She was wearing her lavender fleece bathrobe over pajamas, like she’d just gotten out of bed. In front of her was a small cardboard box, all taped up. With a typed label. Addressed to me.
My stomach dropped.
“Hey, honeybee,” Mom said, watching as I took off my jacket. “How was school?”
“Okay.” I kept my eyes away from the box. Maybe if I did, it would disappear. “You just woke up?”
“No, I’m off today, so I’ve been resting my knee. How was tech crew?”
“Pretty good. We’re almost done with the scenery.”
She pointed to the box. “Looks like you have mail. What is it?”
The return address said XYZ Cosmetix from somewhere in Arizona. Right away I recognized the name; Vanessa had ordered from them once before.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
Mom cocked her head. “You ordered something, but you don’t know what? With my credit card?”
“No, no.” My face was burning. “I think it’s from Dad, actually.”
“Really? Well, why don’t you open it.”
I was trapped; I couldn’t just grab the box and open it in my room, with my door closed, the way I usually did when something showed up in the mail.
While Mom sipped from her mug, I took a small knife from the counter and carefully sliced the packing tape. About a square foot of bubble wrap surrounded a tiny jar of witch-green pigment.
“And there’s a note,” Mom said.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing; it looks like a gift message. What does it say?”
I had no choice but to read it out loud. “ ‘Dear Wren, I hope this green is the one you wanted. I’m sure you’ll create a beautiful Elphaba. Please take many photos!! We love you and are so proud of your art. V.’ ”
“V is Vanessa? She ordered this for you?” Mom asked.
I nodded.
“Does she… send you stuff often?”
“She used to. But not in a very long time.”
“Oh.” Mom raked her bangs and blinked a few times. “You never told me, Wren.”
“Well, you’re always at work when I get the mail.”
“Not every day. And even if I was at work, you could mention it when I got home.”
“Mom, it’s not a big deal; it’s just makeup stuff! And you’re always so tired and grumpy after work; I didn’t think you’d want to hear about it!”
Mom’s face had that frozen look. She didn’t say anything.
“It’s only for the play, anyway,” I said. Now my voice was squeaking. “Ms. Belfonte said we’re on a tight budget, and I told Dad and Vanessa, and they wanted to help out. Vanessa’s into art supplies. It’s not a big deal,” I repeated.
“It’s a big deal that you lied to me,” Mom said.
“But I didn’t! I just didn’t tell you because I thought you wouldn’t want to hear!” Suddenly I was crying so hard that my mouth was full of tears. “Mom, I know you’re mad at Dad, I understand all that, but Vanessa’s just trying to be nice, I like her, and I really hate it that I can never say her name around you! Or talk about the babies! Or even Dad!”
Mom’s eyes went dark and flat, like smooth black stones. I tried to read behind them, but I couldn’t get past the dark flatness.
After a minute, she got up from the table, put her mug in the sink, and went upstairs to her bedroom.
CLICK.
All night I listened for a loud shouting phone call down the hall, but I didn’t hear a thing.
Violets Are Blue
Mom didn’t get up to have breakfast with me the next morning, and I definitely wasn’t going to wake her. I knew she felt mad at me, betrayed, because I’d said that Vanessa was a nice person and not a Wicked Stepmother, or a home wrecker, or anything cartoon-villainy like that. And of course also because she’d been sending me packages. Which I hadn’t told Mom about.
Why hadn’t I? Of course I should have. It was wrong and stupid to keep it a secret from Mom, who always found out everything anyway.
So, yeah, I was mad at me, too.
But also: I couldn’t stop thinking about what Cat FX said about effects makeup, how the colors were never just one shade, but a messy blend. My feelings that morning were also a messy blend: shame, worry, frustration, sadness, and anger, plus a bunch of other colors too. Why had Mom walked out on our conversation, shutting me out of her bedroom? It was like she wanted me to tell her everything, share everything—but when I did try to talk to her, she locked her door on me. Like she couldn’t deal with my messy feelings.
I ate my almost-burnt breakfast bagel, took Lulu out to pee, then left for school. I wasn’t Mom’s alarm clock, I told myself; if she was late getting to work again, that was her problem, not mine. Although I didn’t even know if she had work today. It wasn’t like she’d told me her schedule for the week.
And this was Valentine’s Day, so I had other things on my mind. Last night Poppy had texted me her three ideas for a valentine for Emmett: a box of chocolate-covered teddy-bear gummies, a box of heart-shaped Red Hots, or a box of peppermints with sayings on them like WE’RE MINT FOR EACH OTHER.
Not the mints, I texted back. Tbh they sound dorky.
Aww, I like them, Poppy replied. And valentines shd be dorky. You’ll see. She added the wink-and-tongue-sticking-out face.
Poppy’s teasing made my stomach bounce. If Kai intended to give me some sort of dorky valentine, I needed a plan, I told myself. Not to be rude, just to let him know I wasn’t crush material, I wasn’t interested, I didn’t want peppermints or heart-shaped anything wrapped in red-and-pink foil.
Truthfully, it was hard to imagine him buying any of that stuff anyway. But what if he had? After that fight with Mom, I was still pretty shaky, in no mood for another messy talk about feelings.
No thank you, I practiced in my head. Thank you, Kai, it’s very nice of you, but NO THANKS.
Weirdly, though, nothing showed up on my desk all day. Or on my backpack. Or next to my locker. Poppy got a single flower (a poppy!) from someone who’d attached a card signed Your friend??? Minna got a bunch of cherry lollipops tied up with pink ribbon; nobody knew who sent them until Mateo admitted it was him. Avery brought chocolate cupcakes with pink sprinkles for the whole class, but if you wanted one, you had to walk over to her desk and ask, so I didn’t. As for Emmett, he got a million valentines—cards and candy, including Poppy’s box of dorky peppermints, which he shared with all his friends.
If Kai got a valentine from someone, I didn’t see. Maybe somebody slipped him one in secret. But I doubted it.
* * *
Finally it was time for tech crew. Pippa and Aliyah were both wearing red everything—red sweaters, red skirts, red leggings, and red socks. Ms. Chen had brought us all little goody bags of gummy worms and conversation hearts that said DREAM BIG and WAY TO GO and JUST B U—nothing romantic, but they were still counted as Valentine’s candy. And Kai kept peeking at me and blushing.
Seriously, I couldn’t wait for this day to be over.
And it almost was. We’d just finished painting the last flat—the wall of Madame Morrible’s academy—when Kai walked over and handed me a paper.
A drawing of Nebula. An incredibly detailed one, done in pen, with all the parts of her cybernetic eye.
At the bottom of the page was a poem written in letters so tiny you almost needed a magnifying glass:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Nebula’s cool
And so are you.
My hands dripped icy sweat. Is this a valentine? It has to be: It says “Roses are red, violets are blue”! You only write that when it’s a valentine!
“What do you think?” Kai asked.
“It’s a really good drawing,” I said. “Except… violets aren’t blue.”
“What?”
“They’re purple. Although ‘purple’ can mean lilac, orchid, mauve, iris, plum, raisin, eggplant—”
“Okay,” Kai interrupted.
“And ‘blue’ is generic too. You should specify what blue you’re talking about: indigo, cornflower, cobalt, steel, sky—”
“I get it, Wren,” Kai said. “But what do you think about… the rest of it?”
“Well, it’s an excellent Nebula. You drew the eye better than me. And I like how you did the top of her head.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He looked at me. Heterochromia. Ghost eyes.
“Kai, is this a valentine?” My voice was practically a whisper.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I guess.”
Just say it. Thank you but no thank you! “Well, I’m very sorry, but I can’t. I mean, you’re a nice person, Kai, I think you’re smart and an incredibly good artist, I really like you, but I don’t—”
Kai’s ghost eyes filled with tears. He snatched the damp paper out of my hands and speed-walked out the door.
Emily
At least I made it home without crying. But as soon as I walked into the kitchen, forget it. I cried so loud, Lulu hobbled over to sit on my foot. This was comforting, but what I needed was a hug from Mom. Was she even home? And if she was, was she still mad at me from yesterday?
I wiped my face on a sour-smelling dish towel and followed a muffled sound coming from the living room. The TV was on, and there was Mom, snoring on the sofa, her bad knee curled around Cyrus. Who for some reason was not allowed in her bedroom.
I burst into tears all over again.
Mom sat up, blinking. “Wren? Come here, baby. What happened?”
I told her everything—about Kai’s drawing, the poem, all the little presents, Avery’s teasing. How he had no friends at school except me, and now, on Valentine’s Day, I’d broken his heart.
“Oh, honeybee, hearts are way stronger than that.” Mom kissed my wet cheek. “And they usually heal pretty fast. Trust me, I’ve seen enough hearts in the ER to know about this.”
“But Dad broke your heart, right?”
Mom took a second before she answered. “Well, yes, he did.”
“And you’re all healed now?”
“That’s a tough question, sweet girl. I think I’m still in the process of healing. Anyhow, one thing I’ve learned this past year is that we’re all responsible for our own hearts. If someone does break ours—and I doubt you’ve actually broken this boy’s—it’s up to us to figure out a way forward.”
She stroked my hair. I hiccupped. We stayed that way through two commercials.
Mom forgives me, I thought as I breathed in her familiar smell. And I forgive her. Although the truth was I’d lost track of what for.
She took my hand in a hand sandwich. Then she said, “Oh, by the way. I hired a housecleaner. She came today while you were at school and did some vacuuming.”
“A housecleaner?”
“Yes, a nursing student. Named Emily. She’ll probably come back in about a month.”
“Okay.” We’d never had a cleaner before, but we could use some extra help around here, actually.
Mom’s phone rang. She picked it up from the coffee table. “Oh no,” she said, staring at the screen.
I peeked: it was Krystal. “Mom, aren’t you going to answer?”
She chewed her lower lip. Then she started talking. “Hey, Krystal. No, no, I know, I’m on my way.… She is? What did she say…? Crap. Okay, well, can you please tell her I’m having car trouble again…? Yeah. I don’t know, like twenty minutes? I’m just out the door now.… Yeah, thanks, hon. Bye.”
Mom put her phone down.
“Mom?” I said. “Is everything—”
“No, it’s not. I was positive today was off! My supervisor keeps messing up my schedule.”
I studied her face, which seemed like it had too much skin. She had purple shadows under her eyes. No, not purple: mauve.
“Maybe you should call in sick?” I said. “You do look sort of pale.”
“I can’t. If I stay home, I’ll get fired.”
“No you won’t! You’re a good nurse—”
“Thanks, sweetheart. Anyhow, I’ll be fine.” She got up from the sofa slowly, stiffly. “I need to get ready for work, okay? If my phone rings, don’t answer.”
She hobbled upstairs to her bedroom. I stayed on the sofa with Cyrus, worrying that Mom’s boss was mad at her, and wondering what Mom meant about having car trouble “again.”
* * *
A few minutes later, Mom was back downstairs in her spearmint scrubs, giving me instructions for dinner. She was wearing that too-pink foundation, which she’d obviously applied in a hurry, because she hadn’t covered her nose or her jawline or all of her chin. I would have said something about how bad it looked, except she was already late for work.
“Wren, you sure you’re feeling better now?” she asked as she grabbed her jacket and her bag.
“Yeah,” I said. “Just go, Mom. Don’t worry about me.”
“God, I’ve always hated Valentine’s Day.” She blew me a kiss.
A few seconds later I heard the GGRRUUNNCCHH of the garage door, and she was gone.
That was when I realized I’d forgotten Lulu, so I got her leash and took her outside for a quick, careful walk up and down our icy block. Then I fed her some kibble and made myself a cheddar cheese sandwich (still no nurse snacks on the shelf). Mom never liked when I ate in my room, but since she wasn’t here to scold, I brought the sandwich upstairs.
After this long, horrible day, the only thing that would make me feel a little better was doing some makeup. So I reached under my bed for the Chanuk-mas makeup case.
But it wasn’t where I always kept it—flush against my headboard, by the wall.
I started to panic. Then I remembered about Emily. She must have moved it by accident when she vacuumed. I groped under the bed, brushing against several dust bunnies (this Emily wasn’t much of a vacuumer!). Finally my fingers reached the case’s edge by the foot of the bed.
My heart banging, I pulled it out and opened it on my bed.
Vanessa’s makeup was there, exactly how I’d arranged it—lipsticks, pigments, eye shadows, creams, and brushes, all in separate compartments.
But the gift from Dad and Vanessa—two hundred dollars!—was gone.
Queen of Hearts
I can’t tell you how I spent the next few minutes. My brain was a jumble from today—nerves, tears. Comfort, worry. More tears. And now shock.
The money is gone because Emily stole it. What else made any sense? The new housecleaner must have vacuumed under my bed (although, considering all the dust bunnies, “vacuumed” wasn’t the right word), found the makeup case, opened it, and stuck my money in her pocket! We should call the police! Or, since Mom said Emily was a nursing student, we should tell someone at the hospital! Maybe that supervisor of Mom’s.
At the very least, I should definitely tell Mom. She should know that this Emily she hired was a thief, shouldn’t she?
I sat on my bed with my cheese sandwich, my brain spinning in a hundred bad-weird directions.
I’ll think about this later, I told myself.
Finally I tossed the sandwich, turned on my laptop, and watched Cat FX do the Queen of Hearts.
Jumpy
I decided to wait for the right moment to talk to Mom about the money. The timing was important, I knew. Because if I said that I suspected Emily, Mom would ask a million questions: Why had I told her that Vanessa had sent “a few things,” when actually it was a whole makeup case of stuff? How long had I been hiding this makeup case—and all those products—under my bed? Was I ever planning to tell her about them? And also about, oh yes, the money?
Thereby starting a whole new fight about Dad and Vanessa.
But of course I had to say something—and soon, before this Emily person came back for another “cleaning.”
So a few days later, when I came home from school to find Mom on the sofa, reading her phone, I snuggled next to her.
“Mom? Can I tell you something?” I said.
She looked up from her texts. “Of course, sweetheart.”
“I think that cleaner you hired—Emily—stole my money.”
I felt Mom’s body stiffen. “What money?”
“My Chanuk-mas money. From Dad. I kept it under my bed so it wouldn’t get lost. And now it’s missing.” I said all this fast, without breathing.
Mom didn’t answer. Which was actually the last thing I expected.
“Mom?” I said.
“Well, that’s just awful,” she said after a few seconds. “I’m so disappointed in Emily. Obviously, I’ll never hire her again.”
And then she typed something into her phone.
* * *
Besides the missing money, the other big thing on my mind was Kai. Now that he barely grunted if I said hello, shrugged if I said I liked his drawing, and ignored me during tech crew, I felt terrible. Because I couldn’t stop thinking that Kai was more like me than anyone else I knew, including Poppy. If he hadn’t given me that stupid valentine, I wouldn’t have hurt him. But he did, and I did. And now he hated me.
