Chapter 7
“You can’t go wrong with a good vegetable,” Grandpa says. “Something kids like to eat, like maybe green peas or even sunflowers where they can eat the seeds.”
He feels for his coffee cup on the end table and then gently lifts it to his face, feeling the rim of the mug so he knows where to drink from. “Just don’t do tomatoes. Kids hate tomatoes.”
“That’s a good idea,” I say. I’m sitting next to him on the couch, picking at a bowl of cereal for dinner. It’s been four days since my greenhouse was destroyed, and I still haven’t found the strength to tell Grandpa about it. I’m starting to think I just won’t say anything.
His going blind is the worst thing ever, but at least now he’ll never drive past the daycare and see for himself that I’ve lied. Plus, I tell myself I’m only lying to make him feel better. He’d be devastated if he knew the truth. This greenhouse is his last project ever.
This past weekend I did basically nothing but sit around and feel sorry for myself. I worked at the daycare on Friday after school, and I kept the kids busy with a movie. Only a couple of them asked about the greenhouse, which I’d promised would be ready when school started, and I told them I still needed a few days.
But really, I have no idea what to do. Mrs. Bradley told the principal she’d accept reimbursement for the cost of our materials that were destroyed. She said if I can’t rebuild it myself, we can either decide to scrap the project all together, or she can have the school pay for the cost of hiring someone else to build it. Right now, we’re in limbo.
The principal vows that he’ll find the two students responsible for the damage, but until then, we’re not really doing much of anything.
I want to build the greenhouse back. I want it back. I want to make the kids happy and I want to see my Grandma’s legacy go on for another generation. I’d also like to stop lying to Grandpa. Once it’s built back, then I can tell him the truth about what we’re planting each month. I can share true stories about the kids at the daycare instead of making them up.
But I know I can’t build that thing by myself, and hiring a contractor just seems so wrong. This greenhouse was built my hand, not by a professional. I want it to have that rustic handmade look.
At night, I do fifty pushups before bed, telling myself that I can be strong enough to do this alone. I can’t give up on my greenhouse, or my kids at the daycare. I made them a promise, and I will see it through.
On Tuesday morning, I walk into class exhausted from yet another night of fitful sleep. I can’t stop replaying that security camera video in my head. I can’t stop seeing those two assholes smashing up my creation. In my dreams, the faces turn closer to the camera, and suddenly come into focus. But every time when I’m about to see who it is, I’ll burst awake and the dream will be gone.
I heave a sigh and walk to my desk in homeroom.
The three soccer players are chatting like they do every morning until Mrs. Lin shuts them up. And like usual, they’re all wearing those stupid hoodies.
Although, unlike usual, I decide not to ignore them. “Good morning,” I say, making the barest eye contact with Gavin Voss before I slide into my seat.
“Ice Queen talks,” one of his idiot friends says from the next row over.
Normally, I’d ignore him, but since I’m trying something new, I turn and give him a smile.
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes you talk, or sometimes you’re an ice queen?” he says. He’s shorter than Gavin, with a dark tan and shaggy black hair. I think his name is TJ, but I’m never sure with the jocks because I’m not friends with any of them.
I shrug, and try for a coy smile. “Both.”
Then I turn back around. Baby steps. If I want to trick these guys into thinking I’m their friend, I’ll need to be casual about it. Maybe if I can win one of them over, they’ll tell me who destroyed my greenhouse. They’re a team, after all. I’m sure they all know exactly who did it.
Maybe if I can get one of them to crack…
A few seconds later, there’s a tap on my shoulder. I glance to my right, smelling his cologne before I see him.
I lift an eyebrow.
Gavin Voss leans forward, his face just inches from mine. “I thought you hated me,” he whispers.
I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “Hate is a strong word.”
“Sorry I had my feet on your desk.”
I hear his chair squeak as he sits back in his desk. I swallow. Here I was thinking these jocks are total assholes, but maybe some of them are okay. He did apologize after all.
Mrs. Lin shushes everyone when the announcements come on the speaker and I sit here trying to focus, but I can’t stop thinking of that smell of his cologne. It’s like the woods and leather all mixed into one. It makes me want to smell it again.
Fifteen minutes later, the bell rings, and I rise from my chair, sliding my backpack over my shoulders. Gavin stands too, and the only thing I can think for a whole ten seconds is that this boy is taller than me. By about three or four inches, too.
