Wreath Read online

  Wreath took one last bite into the core to make sure she hadn’t left any fruit and tossed the apple into a trash can ten feet away.

  “Three points,” Law said as it thudded into the container. “You are in such great shape that I’m surprised you don’t play sports.”

  “I don’t have time,” she said and offered him a teasing smile. “I have to study extra hard to beat you out in the class rankings.”

  “Where do you go when you leave work anyway?” he said. “It’s like you vanish into thin air and appear on the school bus the next morning. Some of the kids are joking that you’re the opposite of a vampire. You come out during the day and disappear at night.”

  Wreath stood up so quickly that her unzipped pack fell to the floor and her diary, granola bar, and container of deodorant fell out. She scrambled to pick them up, trying to make sure the inside pocket was still closed, but Law beat her to each item and held them out in outstretched hands. As she reached for them, he laid them on the pack and took her dry, cracked hands.

  “Are you in trouble, Wreath? Miss Watson or one of the other teachers might be able to help you, or my grandparents. They’re old, but they’re super nice.”

  “I’m not in trouble.” She tried to pull the pack and herself back together. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  He stayed seated but reached out to take her hand when she started to walk off. “I don’t want to offend you or anything, but you can sign up for the free lunch program without much of a hassle,” he said. “That’s what I did.”

  Wreath’s eyes widened, not only at the thought of free food but at the realization that such a cute, popular boy had to eat for free.

  Law twisted his shoulders in the way Wreath had noticed he did when he was uncomfortable. “My mother’s not all that reliable,” he said. “And you’ve probably heard that my dad’s in jail.”

  “Your dad?” She was stunned.

  “He’s a major loser,” Law said. “That’s why I work harder at school, so I won’t turn out like him.”

  Wreath knew she should pull her hand away from Law’s but loved the feel of his fingers against hers.

  “So what I’m trying to tell you is that help’s available if you need it,” Law said. “I’m living proof.”

  Wreath weighed her words carefully. “You’ve lived here your whole life. My family moves around. It’s harder to get help when you don’t know people.”

  Instead of blowing off her comments, Law seemed to consider Wreath, his head cocked, his expression intense. “That’s a valid point, but no one’s completely alone.”

  “I am,” Wreath said.

  “At least you have your mother,” he said, the words sounding more like a question than a statement. “She sounds a lot more dependable than my mom.” He let go of Wreath’s hand and patted the bench next to him. “Sit down and tell me about her.”

  “I’ve got to go,” Wreath said.

  “You always do that, you know. You run off when I try to talk to you.”

  She gave him what she hoped was a sassy look, ran her hand through her hair, and tried to think of a comeback. But her spunk fizzled. “I do better with books than people. I’ve never been very talkative.”

  “My grandfather says he sees you in the library all the time.”

  “How does he know me?”

  “He’s the librarian,” Law said. “He’s worked there for decades.”

  “Mr. Nelson’s your granddad?”

  “One and the same,” Law said. “He’s my mother’s father.”

  “But why …” Wreath stopped the question, knowing it sounded rude.

  “Why do I eat free lunches and live in a crummy trailer with a mother who’s addicted to prescription pills?” Law asked. “Is that what you want to know?”

  “It’s not my business,” she said. “I don’t like it when people pry into my life, and I shouldn’t ask you personal questions.”

  Law stood up and studied her face, then looked right into her eyes. “My grandparents don’t like the decisions my mother’s made, but I can’t bring myself to go off and leave her.” He hesitated. “It would make life a lot easier in certain ways, but it doesn’t seem right.”

  “Do you see them a lot? Your grandparents, I mean.”

  “A few times a week,” he said. “I usually go by the library one afternoon and to their house for supper. Gran’s an outstanding cook. And they take me to church.” He winked. “Believe it or not, I like going, and I eat lunch with them every Sunday. You should come sometime.”

  “I work on weekends,” she said.

  “On Sundays?” he asked. “I thought the store was closed.”

  “Oh, it is,” she said, the hot feeling of a flush creeping up her face. “But I have homework and housework and that sort of thing. I haven’t gone to church much since my grandmother died when I was five.”

  “Think about it,” Law said. “I’m practicing with the new youth band, and we’re playing a concert in a few weeks. You could come hear us and eat lunch afterward.”

  She glowed at the possibility of going anywhere with Law, and her mouth watered at the thought of a home-cooked meal.

  But she knew she couldn’t let it happen. Things like that never worked out in her life.

  Chapter 27

  Wreath took the school bus the next day, determined to get to Landry High early enough to confront Miss Watson. The dread had hung over her throughout the night, bringing the night noises closer in her mind.

  The talk with Law about free lunches had made her potted meat and crackers more distasteful than usual. She wanted to sign up for the food program but was afraid of the paperwork. Lying to a girl like Destiny was one thing, but lying to the federal government was something altogether different.

  Miss Watson was writing on the old-fashioned chalkboard, outlining the day’s question and topics of discussion when Wreath entered. The teacher referred to the textbook several times before she saw the girl.

  “You needed to see me?” Wreath asked, holding out her social studies notebook. “I’ve been paying close attention in class and keeping up with the homework assignments.”

  The young teacher waved the notebook away. “You’re an excellent student, Wreath. Surely you know that. I wanted to talk with you about your approach to art.”

  Looking at the clock on the wall, Julia motioned for Wreath to sit on a nearby stool and rolled her chair over until they were almost knee-to-knee. “I saw your painting in the art room,” Miss Watson said. “I’m not very good at drawing, am I?”

  “You’re an excellent artist,” Julia said.

  “Mrs. Colvin doesn’t think I’m paying attention to her directions,” Wreath said.

  Once more, Julia spoke over her. “You’ve got an unconventional eye.”

  The two laughed at the clumsiness of their conversation, and Julia held up her hand to silence the girl. “Different art teachers have different opinions about what makes a work good or bad.”

  “It’s pretty clear that Mrs. Colvin’s opinion of my work is not very high.” Wreath waited, wondering where this history teacher who preferred art was going with the conversation.

  “There are basics skills students need to learn, however, and your art teacher has more traditional views on those than other teachers might have.”

  “Like you?” Wreath asked.

  “Let’s just say that Mrs. Colvin and I were trained in different schools of thought. That doesn’t make either of us right or wrong.”

  Wreath looked at her watch, knowing her homeroom class started in less than ten minutes. “I’m not sure I know what this has to do with me. I plan to pull my grade up with my next project.”

  “I’d like to help you with your art studies,” Julia said, the words coming out fast. They almost made a whooshing sound.

  “You mean like a tutor?” Wreath frowned. “I can’t afford a tutor.”

  “There’d be no charge, of course,” Julia said. “We’d just ne
ed to find a time when you’re available.”

  “But I still don’t get why you’re suggesting this. I’ve got plenty of time to pull my grade up.”

  Julia shrugged. “You’re trying to get a scholarship, and your grade point average is important. I might be able to help you understand what Mrs. Colvin is looking for, and teach you techniques for use at other times.”

  Slowly it dawned on Wreath what Miss Watson was not saying. If she kept using her own instincts, no matter how much she liked them, she would not please the old-fashioned teacher. “You mean you can teach me what Mrs. Colvin wants?” Wreath asked.

  Julia nodded. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

  “I work after school and on Saturdays,” Wreath said.

  “Since I live in the apartment across the alley, I can meet you at the store, if it wouldn’t get you in trouble. Is there a slow time when I can stop by?”

  Wreath gave a laugh. “Some days are slow, but not like they used to be.”

  The bell rang.

  “How about Saturday afternoon?” Julia asked, standing.

  “That might work.”

  “Nice outfit,” Julia said as the girl headed to the door.

  Wreath looked down at the teal stretch pants and floral cotton blouse she had found in a chest of drawers in a rusty mobile home. The art teacher was right. Everyone certainly had different tastes.

  The temperature turned cold overnight, pleasant days replaced by a chilly drizzle, Wreath’s constant companion. Hardships were commonplace in her daily life, but getting caught in a cold rain ranked right up there in her least favorite things.

  KEEP UP WITH WEATHER, she wrote in her journal and tracked the temperature online at school or the library or on the television in the state park office.

  A cheap umbrella from the Dollar Barn turned inside out during a gust of wind, and Wreath became obsessed with finding a jacket with a hood. She scoured dozens of vehicles at the junkyard and dug through box upon box of old stuff at the store, but came up with only a couple of sweatshirts, a snazzy but impractical nylon Windbreaker, and a double-breasted wool jacket with several large burn spots in it.

  While reading a newspaper in Miss Watson’s class, a picture of an all-weather coat in a thrift shop advertisement caught Wreath’s eye. “Winter clothes, home accessories, and more!” the advertisement said. Wreath pulled out her journal and copied the store’s name and address before heading to art class, which had gotten much more bearable since Miss Watson had started helping her earlier in the month.

  “Art is a matter of perspective and individual taste in some regards,” Julia told her. “But if you learn the principles from Mrs. Colvin, you’ll be able to adapt them to all sorts of artistic endeavors.”

  The lessons were also paying off at Durham’s Fine Furnishings, where Wreath looked for ways to incorporate what she was learning about color, and she seemed to be getting along better with the cranky art teacher, too. Destiny slipped Wreath a note as the chattering students settled into their desks, and Wreath unfolded it with care. She had never, in twelve years of school, gotten a note from a student.

  The lined notebook paper was decorated with flowers and smiley faces. Haven’t seen U on the bus 4 a while. Want to come to PZA party at church Fri. nite? W8 for me after class.

  Wreath smiled, thinking the note looked like something she would write in her journal, and was astonished that Destiny had invited her to a party.

  “Do I have your attention, Miss Williams?”

  Closing her eyes for a second, Wreath held in the groan that tried to slip out. Just when things were getting better with the teacher, she had been caught with a note. The woman was standing two steps from Wreath’s desk, holding up a fashion drawing Wreath had done, using props from the junkyard.

  “I, I …” Wreath stammered. “I’m sorry, ma’am….” Her voice trailed off as she eyed the drawing, which looked different hanging there from her teacher’s hand.

  “I thought my announcement would surprise you,” Mrs. Colvin said. “I’ll admit it caught me off guard, but your work is improving now that you understand the rules better.”

  When Wreath was a little girl, Frankie would lie next to her at bedtime and talk, and sometimes Wreath would be so sleepy that she had no idea what her mother was saying, although she could make out the words. She had that feeling at this moment and wondered what had managed to surprise Mrs. Colvin.

  Wreath slid Destiny’s note off the desk into her lap and waited.

  “Thanks to the efforts of me and Miss Watson, your fashion design has been chosen to be printed in a regional magazine, and you’ll receive a laptop computer,” the teacher said. “What do you have to say about that?”

  Stunned, Wreath wondered how those around her would respond if she admitted she didn’t have electricity or running water. The laptop sounded like a dream, though.

  A handful of students around her cheered, and a smattering of applause rang out.

  “Way to go, Wreath,” Destiny yelled, and Mrs. Colvin didn’t even frown.

  Chapter 28

  On Wreath’s seventeenth birthday, four days before Christmas, the sun shone, and the air was crisp and clear.

  Stepping out of the Tiger Van, Wreath blinked at the glare, grabbed a sweatshirt from one of her tidy stacks of winter clothes, and moved her single folding chair so she could sit in the sun to eat her cereal bar. Two bright red cardinals flitted in and out of the small cedar tree she had draped with a string of store-bought popcorn. In the van, she had a three-inch tree that had come with tiny ornaments glued to it, and hanging on the rearview mirror was her prized glass wreath from Mrs. Durham.

  Wreath could not remember the last time she had been this excited about her birthday—not because she was turning seventeen or expected presents or attention. She hadn’t told anyone it was her birthday, but today they were having the long-awaited Christmas open house at the furniture store.

  Faye had kept her word and paid her extra for all the merchandise they sold out of the attic, which meant she had been able to buy a raincoat at the thrift store and add another hiding place to her cash stashes. Her savings accounts, as she thought of them, were now scattered in five places around the Rusted Estates.

  Wreath couldn’t have been any happier about the store’s success if it had been her own business. Nor any more exhausted.

  Between her semester finals, which she had aced, and work, which was full time while school was out for the holidays, she barely had a minute to think about life in the junkyard, worry about Big Fun, or write in her journal.

  Today she absolutely had to make a list, a birthday tradition she’d started when she was ten. Each year she came up with five things she intended to do in the next year, pushed in the past by her mama to

  “make them bigger and better than ever.”

  “You have to dream and set goals,” Frankie had said, always talking to Wreath as though she were older. “Otherwise you’ll drift along and turn out like me.”

  “That’d be good, Mama. I want to turn out like you.”

  “No, you don’t, honey. No, you don’t.”

  Every year since, Wreath had made a Give Me Five list for Frankie. “I want you to be proud of me, Mama,” she whispered as she started writing.

  GIVE ME FIVE: AGE 17!!! J

  1. Graduate from high school in the top ten in my class.

  2. Get a scholarship to college.

  3. Find someone to work for Mrs. Durham when I leave.

  That entry made her melancholy, but the months were flying by, and Faye depended on her. Wreath intended to find a responsible girl—or guy—to pick up the slack when she moved on.

  She debated long and hard over her fourth goal, but wrote it down anyway.

  4. Go to prom with Law.

  She’d never even been out on a date, but she wanted to get dressed up and go to the prom and have her picture made. When Wreath was little, Frankie had told her about her prom at Landry High, ma
king it sound like a fairy tale. Wreath had dreamed of going to prom since. And to go with Law? That seemed like too much to hope for.

  Dear Brownie, Law and I are only friends, but friends sometimes go to the prom together, don’t they?

  5. Visit Frankie’s grave.

  She’d considered postponing this goal until she turned eighteen but didn’t think she could wait that long. When she started college, she needed to know Frankie was resting in peace.

  With the list made, Wreath set her morning traps around the campsite and got dressed for the day. Apparently the former residents of the vehicles had not been festive people, and Wreath’s holiday wardrobe was severely lacking. The best she had come up with was an old pair of black stretch pants and an oversized forest-green sweater. She’d cut a Christmas tree out of felt and stitched it over a moth hole on the sweater and even bought a tube of pale pink lipstick from the Dollar Barn.

  One detail remained before she could start to town. For the past few days, she’d been working on a Christmas gift for Faye, a wreath made out of vines she’d foraged from the woods and trimmed with bright red berries and cedar sprigs. Using red-plaid ribbon, she’d topped it off with a bow.

  With the wreath in hand, she decided to walk into town, knowing the store would stay open late and willing to ask Faye for a ride home. Letting her drop her at the road down the way was a risk but worth it on cold winter nights when her feet ached from moving around the store so much.

  Not five minutes into Wreath’s walk, Clarice’s car appeared, coming from town. The lawyer did a quick U-turn and rolled down her window. “Going my way?”

  Wreath just smiled, put her pack in the back, and laid the wreath on her lap as she climbed in.

  “What a beautiful wreath,” Clarice said. “Is that for the store?”

  “It’s a Christmas gift for Mrs. Durham,” Wreath said, straightening the bow. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

  “She’ll love it, not only because it’s pretty but because you made it.”

  Wreath grinned, picturing the way Faye looked when they came up with a new design.