Wish Upon a Sleepover Page 5

  She pats my leg. “I just want you to know, Leilani, that by being nice, you can change someone’s life.”

  I already know that. But the sleepover is supposed to be about changing my life, not William’s.

  Mom smiles sweetly at me. I’m stuck. There’s no getting out of this party. “I’ll bring you some Tylenol for those aching muscles, and I’m sure you’ll feel much better by morning.” She starts to leave but turns in the doorway. “Make a list of the food you need, and we’ll go shopping tomorrow.”

  “I don’t care about the food,” I say, disappearing under my quilt.

  “But you wanted to do a Hawaiian luau.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “What do you mean, not anymore?” She tries to pull the quilt down, but I grip it and hold it over my head. “Leilani, you’re acting like a brat.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Well, you need to feed your guests. How about hot dogs and macaroni salad? And ice cream?”

  “No!” I cry. “Ice cream makes Todd fart. No ice cream!”

  “You are so cranky,” Mom says. “Sometimes I think you and Tutu are the same person.”

  Before she leaves for work, she tells me to check my attitude and send it somewhere far away, because no daughter of hers is going to act like a drama queen.

  I decide to stay under my quilt for a while, thinking things through. There’s got to be a way to get out of this party, but I don’t get any lightbulb ideas. What if I stayed in bed all weekend, like a protester? I could even make a sign.

  “Get the phone!” Tutu hollers from the living room. She never answers our phone. It can ring a million times and she still won’t move. “Get the phone! I’m busy!”

  “I’m busy, too!” I holler back.

  “I’m busier! I’m watching The Price Is Right!”

  “What’s so busy about that? I’m protesting my life!”

  “What do you mean, you’re protesting your life? You have a good life! You have hot water and a flushing toilet. Now answer the phone!”

  I stomp down the hall.

  “Hello?”

  It’s Autumn. “Hi, Leilani. Whatcha doing?”

  “Playing sick,” I confess. “But it’s not working.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Well, I’ve been reading about selective mutism, and it’s really interesting. It’s rare, but most of the cases occur in kids who feel really anxious.”

  I glance out the kitchen window. Even though it’s dark outside, the dry cleaner’s sign is lighting the alley. William’s standing down there, his coat buttoned up to his chin. Using a pair of scissors, he snips a few stalks off a scraggly weed. Why’s he doing that? I think about opening the window and asking, but I know he won’t answer.

  “Leilani?” Autumn says.

  “Yeah?”

  Then she asks a question that makes me shiver. “Why do you think William feels so anxious? Do you think something terrible happened to him?”

  “Well, his dad died.”

  “Oh, that’s so sad.”

  Why is William cutting weeds with scissors? I can’t figure it out. Autumn’s mother tells her it’s time for bed, so we say good-bye.

  “Who was that?” Tutu hollers because the TV volume is so loud.

  “Autumn!” I holler back

  “I like Autumn! One day she is going to bloom like an ohia flower!”

  “Yeah, I know!”

  I stomp back to my room.

  12

  Waiting Is the Hardest Part

  It’s Saturday morning. Doomsday has arrived.

  Mom’s asleep, so I creep into the kitchen. I fill a bowl with Cheerios and milk, then sit at the table. I feel jittery. Antsy. I glance at the clock.

  When I was eight years old, I went to an orthodontist to get two teeth pulled. I started to cry in the waiting room. I kept imagining all sorts of horrid things, like superlong needles and gushing blood. Mom told me that the waiting was the worst part, but it would soon be over and then I’d never have to get those teeth pulled again. She was right. When it was over, I felt so much better, and life went back to normal.

  Relief washes over me as I realize that the same will be true about this sleepover. On Sunday morning, it will be over. Todd, Manga Girl, and William will leave, and I’ll never have to do it again.

  And then I can set a new date and send out invites to the “DO invite” list and have the real sleepover—the one that matters. The one that will change my life. The sleepover I’ll remember forever and ever.

  I feel better. It’s just one night. “I can do this,” I whisper to myself.

  I start eating the Cheerios, and that’s when our apartment door opens and Tutu walks in with a bag of groceries. The bag is strapped to a little wheeled cart. She leans against the sink, struggling to catch her breath.

  “Are you okay?” I grab a glass of water. “Here.” She drinks it. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” I usually walk to the store with her on the weekend.

  “I got food. For your party.”

  “Thanks, Tutu. I’ll help unpack.” I reach for the grocery bag, but Tutu blocks me with her arm.

  “No,” she says. “You go away. I will make the food.” She unwraps her scarf and sets it on the counter. Then she takes off her hat and coat. She’s wearing her favorite pink shirt, with lime-green embroidery.

  “But you said you didn’t want to cook.”

  “I changed my mind. You need Tutu’s help.”

  “But—”

  She wags a finger at me. “You need Tutu’s help. Now go away so I can concentrate.”

  Suddenly, she seems to have a lot of energy. Her eyes kind of light up. Why is she so excited about cooking? Even though she has all those recipes, she never cooks anymore.

  “Yeah, okay.” I don’t ask what she’s going to cook. It doesn’t matter. I’m not trying to impress anyone at this sleepover. I imagine the sleepover ending early because Tutu hands out bowls of macadamia nuts and gives everyone diarrhea. Everyone except me and Autumn, of course.

  I glance at the hall clock. Noon. Three hours to go. I call Autumn. “Please get here early.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I need you. It’s going to be so awkward. What am I supposed to say? ‘Hi, I know we’re not friends and we never hang out, but welcome to my sleepover’?”

  “That’s sounds okay.”

  “Ugh. Just get here early. Please?”

  I stay in my room for most of the afternoon, lounging on my bed, working on math homework. This is definitely worse than waiting for two teeth to get pulled. And to make things even worse, across the street, Hailey Chun is getting ready for her sleepover. At one fifteen, Hailey’s mom vacuums the apartment. Groceries are delivered at two o’clock by a Safeway van. At two fifteen, Hailey’s dad sets up the grill on the balcony, but then it starts to rain, so he covers the grill. Is the rain going to ruin Hailey’s plans? What’s her theme? I haven’t figured that out yet.

  At two twenty-five, Mom comes into my room. She’s already in her scrubs. “I have to go in early and cover a shift,” she explains. “I’m sorry I won’t be here to greet your guests.” Then she hugs me. “I know you don’t want to do this, but you’re being kind, and I’m very proud of you. Call me if you need anything. And try to be positive. Remember, it’s all about attitude.”

  “Autumn would disagree with that statement,” I tell her. “She’d say it’s about facts. And the facts are, I have to entertain and spend the night with people I don’t really like.”

  “Yes, but do you remember what Tutu always says? About sugarcane?”

  One of Tutu’s favorite stories is about how her dad would bring cane home from the fields. They didn’t have money for fancy cakes or chocolates, but it didn’t seem to matter much because Tutu and her brothers loved chewing on the cane. Her dad would cut foot-long sections, then skin them. They looked like ordinary sticks, but once she started chewing and gnawing, the sticks turned into something delicious.

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nbsp; “I’m just saying, Leilani, that you never know. Sometimes we judge things, or people, but if we give them a chance, they turn out to be sugar.”

  “Yeah, Mom, I get it.” I sigh. “I already decided I’m going to have a better attitude about this.”

  She hugs me again. “Try to have fun. And I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Right after Mom leaves, I call Autumn, but I get her voice mail. “Where are you? I need you!”

  At two forty-five, the buzzer sounds, which means someone is waiting outside the building. Autumn is finally here!

  “Get the door!” Tutu hollers. She’s in her bedroom, watching TV. I think she’s giving me privacy for my party. I wish she’d hang out in the living room, because that would take a lot of pressure off me. She could entertain everyone with stories about hoary Hawaiian bats.

  It smells nice in the kitchen. A big pot sits on the stove.

  BUZZ.

  “Get the door!”

  “Hi, Autumn,” I say through the intercom.

  “It’s not Autumn,” a girl answers.

  I cringe. I want to say, Go away, I’m sick, the sleepover’s been canceled. But instead I say, “Come on up.”

  Then I push the security button, which opens the building’s front door.

  Mom said it’s all about attitude. Do we look at the sugarcane and see a brown stick? Or do we give it a chance and discover that it’s actually sweet? I understand her point. But she’s never had Manga Girl draw a mean picture of her. She’s never been stuck in the elevator with William, or been trapped in one of Todd’s fart clouds. I would try my best to have a good attitude, but facts are facts.

  My guests are just a bunch of sticks.

  I take a long breath. The sleepover disaster is about to begin.

  13

  The Most Unwanted Guests Ever

  “Just so you know, I don’t sleep much,” Manga Girl tells me. “I’m nocturnal.”

  “Then why’d you bring a sleeping bag?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “My dad made me.” The sleeping bag is tucked under one arm, and a panda-shaped backpack hangs from her other arm. She’s traded her cat-eared hat for a red hat with fox ears. A red cape is attached. She looks like Red Riding Hood. “Where do you want me to put this stuff?”

  I point into the living room. She sets everything on the carpet, but of course she doesn’t take off her fox hat and cape. She pulls her sketchbook out of her backpack, then pushes an armchair into the corner and sits. She doesn’t ask if she can move furniture around. We stare at each other. Then she opens her sketchbook, takes a pen from her cape’s pocket, and starts drawing.

  Since we’re alone, I figure this is the perfect time to tell her exactly how I feel.

  “I want you to know that the cartoon you drew of me made me feel really bad.” I stand still, waiting, thinking that she’ll say she’s sorry. But she doesn’t say anything.

  I shuffle in place. “I would probably feel better if you said you were sorry for drawing that cartoon.”

  She holds the sketchbook to her chest and narrows her eyes. “I think you should say you’re sorry for sneaking a peek at my drawings. They’re private.”

  “Private? The cartoon you drew is about me, and it’s my life.”

  She shrugs. “It’s social commentary. All cartoons are social commentary.” Wow, this is not sounding like an apology, not one bit. I feel my cheeks go red.

  “Yeah? Well, maybe I don’t want to be part of your social commentary.”

  She taps her pen against the paper. “You don’t get to choose who or what I draw, Leilani. I observe people, and some catch my interest and some don’t. That’s how I get my ideas. Besides, the cartoon isn’t what you think it is.”

  I suppose I could be flattered. Manga Girl thinks I’m interesting enough to draw. But why did she have to draw the one thing that embarrasses me?

  Someone knocks.

  “Hey, cuz!” Todd says after I open the door. I think he’s grown another foot since the last time I saw him. He’s wearing his usual basketball shirt and shorts. “Some old guy let me into the building. Let’s get this party started!” He marches into the living room and dumps his stuff. “Hey, Tanisha, you look like Red Riding Hood.”

  “I’m not Red Riding Hood.”

  “Well, you look like her.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I didn’t know you and Leilani were friends.”

  “We’re not,” she says quickly.

  Todd smirks as if she’s joking. “Ha, that’s funny.” He plops onto the couch. “You got chips or something?”

  I’m not sure if we have chips. Tutu didn’t let me unpack the groceries. I begin to search the pantry. There are no chips. I look in the refrigerator. No hot dogs or macaroni salad or sodas. What did Tutu buy?

  “Here,” I say, handing Todd a box of Cheerios. Thank goodness the Haileys aren’t here to see my pathetic snack offering.

  Todd doesn’t seem to mind. “Cool.” He shoves his hand inside and begins eating. He tries to get a look at Manga Girl’s drawing, but she blocks his view with her arm. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you, what’s the deal with your ears?”

  Manga Girl’s hand flies to the side of her head. “What do you mean?”

  “Those hats, with the ears.” He points at her. “How come you always wear them?” I take a deep breath. Will she tell us that something is wrong with her head? Are all those rumors true?

  She closes her sketchbook. “I choose my ears based on my mood or my situation. Because I have never been here, and because Leilani and I barely speak at school, tonight will be a journey into the unknown. I figured I might need the powers of cunning and stealth, so I am kitsunemimi.” She waits for us to nod or something, as if we know what she’s talking about.

  “Kitsu-what?” Todd asks. I’m glad I’m not the only one who is confused.

  “Kitsunemimi is the name for a human with fox ears.” She points to her red ears.

  Todd frowns. “Wait, you and Leilani barely speak? So you really aren’t friends?”

  “That’s right,” she says.

  Todd looks at me, and I know that the next question that pops out of his mouth will be, “Why did you invite someone who isn’t a friend to a sleepover?” But telling the truth about the “DO NOT invite” list would hurt everyone’s feelings, so I try to change the subject. “Speaking of fox ears, Todd’s name means ‘fox,’” I say.

  “Seriously? I never knew that. Guess that makes me a total fox.” He laughs and a Cheerio flies out of his mouth. “So, is this kitsu thing from one of those manga books? Like a superhero or something? Hey, I got a superpower. Wanna smell it?”

  Yep, the whole night is going to be like this. Before Todd can fire his superpower, I retreat to the kitchen.

  Where’s Autumn?

  BUZZ.

  I run out the door, then pace in the hall, waiting for the elevator. When Autumn finally steps out, I hug her extra hard. “What took you so long? I need you. It’s weirdo central in there.”

  “Traffic was bad,” she explains as she wipes drops off her raincoat. Then she chews on her lower lip, looking nervously at the open door to my apartment. “Is Todd here?”

  “Todd and Manga Girl.” I groan. “I was trying real hard to have a good attitude about this, but I don’t want to go back in there. She’s going to draw mean cartoons all night, and he’s going to stink up the place.” I grab her arm. “What if we leave? I’m serious. We can go to your house. They can have the sleepover without us.”

  “Since I’m not a fan of parties, I would normally welcome your suggestion, but—” She stares over my shoulder. Todd barrels toward us and nearly knocks me over.

  “Hi, Autumn.” He smiles at her. A couple of Cheerios roll off his shirt.

  “Hi,” Autumn whispers. She begins to fidget.

  Todd grabs her sleeping bag and backpack. “Hey, let me help you with these.” As he carries them into the living room, Autumn and I follow. Guess he can have good manners w
hen he wants to. “Autumn’s here,” he tells Manga Girl. She’s hunched over her sketchbook, pen in hand.

  I glance out the window. It’s raining pretty hard. A taxi pulls up to the curb outside Hailey Chun’s building. Heeyley Kerrigan gets out. The doorman holds the door as she hurries inside, sleeping bag in hand and a big smile on her face. It’s painful to watch, but I can’t help myself.

  “Is anyone else coming?” Todd asks.

  “No,” I say, still gazing longingly at Hailey Chun’s building.

  “Yes, there is.” Autumn nudges me with her elbow.

  “Oh right, there is someone else.” How can I explain the boy from the third floor? “He’s new. He just moved into the building last month. His name is William. He’s homeschooled.”

  “Homeschooled?” Todd grabs a couple of butterscotch candies. “How come?”

  Autumn is standing real close to me. “Should we tell them?” she whispers.

  “It’s not a secret,” I whisper back. “He wrote it on a note.”

  “What’s not a secret?” Todd asks.

  “William has this thing called selective mutism,” I say.

  Manga Girl stops drawing. Todd stops chewing. “Whoa, that’s cool, I guess. Actually, I don’t know. Selective what?”

  I look at Autumn. “Can you tell them? You’ll be able to explain it so much better.” She grimaces, then swallows hard. She opens her mouth, as if to say something, then closes it. Her face gets red. Talking in front of a group is one of Autumn’s least favorite things to do. I guess I wasn’t thinking of Todd and Manga Girl as a group. “That’s okay,” I tell her. “I can—”

  “Selective mutism is a very interesting condition,” she blurts, stringing the words together real fast.

  “Can you talk louder?” Manga Girl asks. “Even with my highly sensitive fox ears, I can barely hear you.” Her little fox ears turn toward us. How does she do that?

  Autumn clears her throat, but it doesn’t make much difference. We all lean closer to hear. “Selective mutism is an inability to speak in a social setting, but the person can speak in other settings, like at home or when alone.”

  “So that means he’s shy?” Todd asks.