Colonial Madness (3 page)

“No, don't—” I started to say as a copy of
Colonial Times
tumbled to the floor.

She sidestepped it and studied the cover.

“What's this about?” she asked.

“Weird, the librarian must have accidentally stacked it with my other stuff,” I said. “So, how was
your
day? Anything interesting happen?”

“Not really.” Mom shoved her hands into the back pockets of her slacks. “Just a couple of fittings. Boy, it's a crazy coincidence you'd accidentally be given this book today of all days!”

I shrugged. “What can I say? The librarian must be psychic. So—”

“Oh, come off it!” exclaimed Mom. “You're lying. You keep doing that head tilt you always do.”

“And
you're
doing that thing where you put your hands in your back pockets!” I shot back.

“What are the colonial books
really
for?” asked Mom.

“Research! How come you don't want me entering the contest with you?” I volleyed.

Mom froze with a stunned expression on her face. “How do you know about that?” Then her astonishment changed to suspicion, and she crossed her arms. “How
do
you know about that?”

Whoops. Busted.

“Because . . . I'm good at deducing things,” I said, keeping my head as still as possible. “Like Sherlock Holmes.”

“Oh yeah? What did I have for lunch, Sherlock?”

I scrutinized her. “Nothing. There're no food stains on your shirt.”

Mom frowned. “Go to your room.”

“Was I wrong?” I asked as she pushed me up the stairs.

“Yes, you were. I ate a forkful of salad and half a cockroach.” She opened our apartment door. “We're not ordering from Dominic's anymore.”

“Gross.” I wrinkled my nose.

Mom pointed down the hall. “Room. Now.”

I stepped inside and said, “For the record,
you
lied too.
And
you left me out of a major life decision.
And
you hurt my feelings by deciding to compete without me.” I let my lower lip pout to astronomical proportions.

Mom sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “Tori, I was going to tell you, okay? My decision to compete without you is for your own safety and sanity. You wouldn't survive a
day
of colonial life, let alone two weeks.”

I flinched at the verbal sting. “And
you
think you could do better?”

Mom pressed her lips into a tight line. “Wait here.”

She thundered down the stairs and returned a moment later with my stack of books.

“Here, pack mule,” she said, holding them out to me. “Read these and write down all the colonial activities you come across and your
lengthy
experience dealing with them. We'll talk at dinner, and I'll decide your punishment then.”

The instant the shop door closed, I stomped toward my bedroom as loudly as possible. My phone chimed with a text message, and I stopped to check it.

It was from Mom.

You're going to make an excellent ballerina. So light on your feet!

I stuck my tongue out at the phone and put it back in my pocket, walking normally the rest of the way. When I reached my room, I dropped the books, relishing the heavy thuds they made. Then I arranged them in alphabetical order, settling down with the first one.

“Salem witch trials, smallpox . . .” I paused. If Great-Aunt Muriel really
had
disliked us, we could be in trouble.

A lot of colonial life was spent farming and hunting and cleaning and weaving, from sunrise to sunset, and in the evenings people would read or play chess until the candles burned low. Then, the next day, they'd make more candles and do laundry and other household chores.

I jotted down a list of colonial activities on one half of a sheet of paper and Mom's and my experience levels on the other.

The results did
not
look good. For either of us.

Where farming was concerned, I'd once grown a lima bean in a Styrofoam cup for a science project, but we wouldn't have access to Styrofoam, and lima beans were nasty anyway. Mom had some mushroom-looking things sprouting in her closet, but I was pretty sure that was by accident.

Hunting? Neither of us had hunted for anything but bargains at the mall. Although Mom could be ferocious if an argyle sweater was up for grabs. All we needed to find were some fashionably dressed deer.

I already did the household chores, so that wouldn't be
too
bad, except I'd be doing the laundry by hand and, according to my research, I'd have to make my own soap from animal fat.

In the middle of all the reading, exhaustion caught up with me and I dozed off. I woke with a blanket thrown over me and the scent of Chinese takeout luring from the kitchen. Wrapping the blanket around my shoulders, I padded down the hall to see Mom scooping food from takeout boxes onto plates.

“I see you got a lot of research done,” she said with a wry smile. “You'll be happy to hear that the blanket you're wearing
isn't
riddled with smallpox.”

“How do you know about that?” I asked, sitting at the table.

It was something
I'd
just
learned in the colonial books, how settlers gave Native Americans “peace offerings” of blankets covered in smallpox.

Mom handed my plate over. “I know many things. Do you have your list?”

I held it up for her inspection while she ate an egg roll. Her eyes scanned the page and crinkled with amusement.

“Tori, if all this was true and we were as incompetent as you think,” she said, “we wouldn't stand a chance.”

I turned the list so I could read it. “Am I missing something?”

Mom nodded and pointed at the paper, smearing grease on it. “I can do everything on that list except carpentry.”

I shot her a withering look and wiped the page clean. “Yeah, right. You're
that
old.”

She smirked. “No, but I
did
spend two summers in college working at a wilderness camp, and when I was your age I helped on my grandpa's farm.”

My mouth dropped open. “You? Doing manual labor?”

“How do you think I got started making dresses?” she said with a smile. “You shouldn't underestimate your mama, little girl. If it came down to it, I could even weave us some blankets.”

I pushed my food around on my plate. “Will it come down to that?”

Mom stopped with a fork raised to her mouth. “Huh?”

“Angel told me we have money problems,” I explained. “And that's why I was calling Mr. Hudson. To enter us in the contest.”

Mom put down the fork and reached over to stroke my hair. “That's
my
concern, not yours.”

“No, it affects me, so it's
my
concern too,” I said, pulling away from her. “Especially if I can help you win.”

Mom sighed.

“You know I'm supersmart, so I learn quickly,” I continued. “And I don't eat much and I don't take up much space and I won't get in the way, and Angel's parents are letting
her
go.” I batted my eyelashes. “And you love me, right?”

“Of course I do,” said Mom. “But—”

“It'll be like camping for two weeks!” I said. “And you know we won't be in any real danger.”

“Well, that's true, but—”

“And we'd have
sooo
much fun together,” I said.

Mom paused and smiled. “We really would.”

I smiled hopefully back. “So . . . I'm in?”

Instead of answering, Mom speared a piece of sesame chicken and chewed it thoughtfully. I didn't want to pressure her
out
of the decision, so I started eating too.

She finished all her chicken and the other half of her egg roll before she finally leaned forward and said, “You can compete with me on one condition.”

I sat up straighter in my chair and assumed a serious expression.

“Promise me,” said Mom, “that you won't worry about money anymore. That you'll enjoy the experience . . . even if we don't win.”

“Oh, we'll win,” I told her.

Mom raised an eyebrow at me.

“But I promise.”

“Okay.” Mom nodded. “Let's call Hudson and Associates and tell them we need
two
tickets to Boston.”

I grinned and held up my phone. “Already have them on speed dial.”

A
few weeks later, Mom and I were trudging through airport security behind a group of businessmen. I watched them hoist briefcases and duffel bags onto the X-ray conveyor belt. Then I watched Mom carrying the one backpack
we'd
brought.

“We should've packed more than magazines and bananas,” I told her. “We look suspicious.”

“Of what? Being monkeys in disguise?” Mom dropped the backpack and her shoes on the X-ray conveyor belt.

“We could've at least brought spare underwear,” I whispered, placing my shoes next to hers. “What if our plane crashes and we're stranded?”

Mom blinked at me. “Unless your spare underwear has a map in it, I don't think it would be very helpful.”

The security guard gave us a strange look but signaled Mom to step through the metal detector.

“Besides,” she said, “you know the rules of the competition. Everything that isn't medically necessary is going to be taken from us when we get there. Why weigh ourselves down with extra bags to keep track of?”

“You never plan for emergencies,” I told her, passing through the metal detector. “That's your problem.”

“And you worry too much,” said Mom. “That's your problem.”

She collected our belongings off the conveyor belt and pointed at a burger joint inside the terminal. “Let's have one last filling meal before we're forced to eat squirrel-on-a-stick.”

“Okay,” I said. “But hurry, so Angel and Aunt Zoe and Uncle Deke don't see.”

Mom made a face. “Good call. I don't want to hear about their run-in with the crying cow again.”

“Like it could even
read
the Burger King bag,” I added, slipping my shoes back on.

We wolfed down our food in record time and were browsing a candy store when my cousin and her parents joined us.

“Hey!” Angel and I greeted each other with big grins.

Aunt Zoe hugged me and then Mom. When she pulled away, her nostrils quivered.

“You've been eating beef.” Aunt Zoe reached into the pocket of her yoga jacket and pulled out a protein bar. “Nobody died to make
my
lunch.”

“Don't sta-art,” Uncle Deke singsonged under his breath, leaning over to hug me.

“This is new.” I poked at his beard. “Are you carrying extra supplies in there?”

“My dad's packing all kinds of crumbs from breakfast,” said Angel, smiling at him. “There's a whole piece of toast nestled in there.”

“Are you sure it's not in . . . here?” He grabbed Angel and tickled her armpit until she doubled over with laughter.

I always liked watching Angel and Uncle Deke playing together. Sometimes I wondered if my dad and I would have been like that. My mom says I take after him a lot, so we probably would have spent most of our time trading sarcastic barbs and learning at museums together. When Mom and I go to museums, she cracks jokes the whole way, but I just want to study fossils in peace.

“Save your energy, you two,” Aunt Zoe told Angel and Uncle Deke. “We don't know how much vegan protein we'll find during the contest.”

Mom raised an eyebrow. “Really? You're staying vegan during this? I'm pretty sure the Pilgrims didn't have Tofurkey at the first Thanksgiving.”

Aunt Zoe took a bite of her protein bar. “There are other legumes.”

“Not to mention milk made from said legumes,” added Uncle Deke.

My interest in legumes was down to le nothing, so I turned to Angel while our parents talked. The eagerness on her face had vanished, and she yawned wide enough for me to see a poppy seed stuck in her molar.

“You just woke up a few hours ago! How are you already tired?” I asked. “It can't be from all the toothbrushing you did.”

“Huh?” Angel ran her tongue over her teeth. “No, we stayed up until one this morning planning our strategy.”

“Strategy?” I repeated.

“Yeah. Didn't
you
guys?”

I scoffed. “We did one better. We actually practiced cooking over a fire.”

We actually roasted marshmallows over the stove.

“Why didn't you just let your parents talk while you slept?” I asked.

Not that I'd followed my own advice. While Mom went into a sugar coma, I'd stayed up reading about edible plants.
Sometimes, I wish I could actually be the kid in our crazy dynamic.

Angel shook her head and yawned again. “My folks were really happy that I'm so . . . excited.”

I regarded her dull eyes and blank expression. “This is you excited? I've seen couches show more emotion.”

She stuck out her tongue. “I'm fake excited. It makes them happy.”

“That seems healthy,” I said. “Also, you have aluminum foil in your hair.”

“It's from breakfast,” she said, feeling around for it. I plucked it loose and handed it to her.

“Perfect for a fishing lure,” she said. “Fish think shiny things are minnows.”

“Too bad it's not from colonial times,” I said, squishing it between my fingers.

“Again, it doesn't have to be foil. It jsut has to be shiny. Clearly you have much to learn about survival,” said Angel. “You don't take advantage of your surroundings.”

“Sure I do,” I said as we followed our parents to the gate. “Watch as I take advantage of my mother.”