11 Birthdays Read online

  “Seriously,” he’s saying, “I don’t need to come after school. Everything’s fine.”

  “Are you certain?” she says. “Your gym teacher said things have gotten pretty bad with Vinnie.”

  “It’s fine,” Leo insists. “I don’t care anymore what he says to me.”

  “Perhaps it would be wise not to leave your poetry journal where the boys can see it or they’ll keep teasing you.”

  “Yeah, probably. But that’s not even why they’re so mean to me. It’s just stupid. It’s not like I even want to be their friend anyway.”

  Mrs. Philips puts her hand on Leo’s shoulder. “Okay, Leo. It sounds like you’re holding up fine. If you don’t let them bother you, it will take their power away.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “I’m here if you want to talk.”

  Leo nods and hurries away. Unfortunately he hurries right toward me and I don’t have any time to scramble backward.

  “Oh,” he says when he sees me. “Guess you heard that?”

  “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

  Neither of us say anything as we walk toward the courtyard. When we get there, Leo says, “Vinnie and those guys have been teasing me ever since our party last year. That’s why I had to go to the guidance counselor.”

  “But why are they teasing you? I heard you tell them those things about me. You said that’s what they wanted to hear, right?”

  “Yeah, but after my mom came to tell me you left the party, I told Vinnie I hadn’t meant any of that stuff. That I’d much rather be your friend than his friend.”

  My eyes widen. “You did?”

  He nods. “Yeah, and ever since then Vinnie gives me a hard time when he sees me. He had himself a good laugh over my poetry journal. For the past few days I keep trying different things with him. Yesterday I ignored him when he started teasing me. The day before I actually invited him to my party but he didn’t come. And today I came up with a really good zinger. But none of them worked. I don’t care if he’s not my friend anymore, but I don’t want him to be my enemy.”

  “I bet he’ll come around. Maybe he needs more time.”

  Leo grits his teeth. “I’ll never know if we can’t figure out a way to make this day stop.”

  “I already told Stephanie about not going to tryouts, so we can leave for the Historical Society right after school.”

  “Sounds good. My mom thinks we’re going for a school project.”

  “Got it.”

  We part ways and I gear myself up for another smooshed cupcake birthday surprise. I must be a pretty unobservant person not to notice Leo was getting picked on for a whole year. All I had thought about was how I felt; I had never looked at it from his side. We could have made up a whole lot sooner.

  After school Mrs. Fitzpatrick greets me with the same huge hug as last time, and I happily let her gush over me until Leo leans in and honks the horn impatiently. When she pulls the car up in front of the Historical Society, Leo asks her if she’d mind if we go in alone since it’s a school project and all. “I’ll be in the dress shop next door. I wouldn’t want to cramp your style.”

  “Your mom talks funny sometimes,” I tell Leo as we close the car doors.

  “I know. But she’s cool.”

  We walk up to the converted house and I turn the wooden doorknob. The door sticks a little, but I give it a little push and it creaks open. It looks just as it did when we were here on our last school trip. Dusty furniture, old books and ledgers, a bed, and sure enough, a rocking chair with a stuffed raccoon. I peer at it closely. It’s pretty gross, actually. Hard to believe I had missed it.

  “What do you think it’s stuffed with?” I whisper to Leo.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

  “Can I help you folks?” a small, square-shaped old woman asks from behind the information desk. “Something particular you’re looking for?”

  I can’t tear my eyes away from the raccoon, so Leo walks over first. I hear him say, “Wow, that’s a big birthmark,” and I cringe. We’ve GOT to have a conversation about tact!

  Fortunately she laughs. “Some people think it looks like a duck.”

  At that, I slowly turn and join Leo. The woman turns toward me and the light catches the left side of her face. I gasp. I’ve seen that duck before.

  “Aren’t you my … my bus driver?”

  She smiles broadly. “I get around.”

  “But if you’re here, then who’s driving the bus right now?”

  “I only drive in the morning,” she explains.

  “Oh.”

  “Can we focus here?” Leo asks.

  “Sorry. We’re looking for something that maybe you can help us with?”

  She opens her arms wide. “Got a lotta stuff here, and no one knows the history of Willow Falls better than me. Ask away.”

  “We need to find out more about the feud between the Ellerbys and the Fitzpatricks.”

  She looks amused. “Now that really IS going far back.” She points to a rolltop desk on the other side of the room. “That there was old man Fitzpatrick’s desk. Did all his business there.”

  “Really?” Leo says. “That was my great-great-grandfather’s desk?”

  “And that,” she points to an old-fashioned record player, “is Mrs. Ellerby’s prized possession, her phonograph.”

  “My great-great-grandmother liked music!” I say excitedly, thinking of my drum set.

  “Come look at this,” the woman says, leading us over to the far wall. The whole wall is covered in old maps and blueprints of the town. She points to one of the maps. “This is a survey of the town a little over a hundred years ago. Each little box indicates someone’s property.” We lean in to see where her finger’s pointing. Two boxes right next to each other are clearly marked ELLERBY and FITZPATRICK in tiny block letters. Little drawings of apple trees dot the area around the squares.

  “What about their feud?” Leo asked. “Do you know anything about it?”

  “The whole town knew about it,” she says. “Turned Willow Falls upside down, it did. Rumor was the townsfolk got together to do something about it.”

  “They did?” We hadn’t heard that part of the story before! “What did they do?”

  The woman leans in closer. So close I can see the duck wiggle when she talks. It’s a little distracting. “Rumor has it that they sought the help of an old woman who had special, shall we say, gifts, to help fix the situation.”

  “What kinds of gifts?” Leo and I ask together.

  The old woman looks left and right before answering, and even though we’re alone in the place, she lowers her voice. “Rumor has it on Harvest Day, the men were warned if they didn’t solve their differences, there would be consequences.”

  “What kind of consequences?” I whisper, not sure why we’re whispering.

  She shrugs, and in her regular voice says, “Whatever it was, it worked. Not right away, not until a year later in fact, but it worked. They became friends seemingly overnight and stayed that way for the rest of their days, except for the occasional squabble that all friends have.”

  “And they never told anyone what happened to make them stop fighting?”

  “Oh, they told someone,” she says, flicking a piece of dust off the raccoon’s head.

  “Who?” we both ask. “Who did they tell?”

  She opens her mouth to answer, when the door bangs open and a Girl Scout troop pours in. “Don’t touch anything, girls, I’ll be right with you. Now where was I?”

  “You were about to tell us who knows about the fight?” Leo says impatiently.

  “Right. The only person they told was — hey, put that down!” She hurries over to a Girl Scout and pries an antique hairbrush from her hands. Leo and I hurry after her.

  “Please Mrs…. Miss …”

  “You can call me Angelina.”

  “Angelina, please,” Leo pleads. “Just tell us who knows about the