“Places where people are already trying to get everyone fed, but maybe they don’t have enough farming equipment or their government is making laws that get in the way, or something,” she explained.
I flumped. “I wouldn’t even know how to begin to find folks like that!”
“We don’t have to. They’re gonna find us!” Jura rubbed her hands together. “Ooh, this’ll look sweet on my college application!”
She looked so excited, I hated to remind her, “We’re only in the seventh grade, Jura.”
“I know! Think of how far ahead of the game we’ll be!” She took a pencil from behind her ear and started making notes.
Mister Strickland put on his strictest face when we walked in late.
“Nice of you to join us, Miss Sweet, Miss Carver,” he said, arms folded across his chest.
“Sorry, sir,” I said.
Looking all contrite, we made our way to our desks. Scree snorted a little laugh, and Sonny Wentz smiled at us as we passed by. I mean he really smiled.
Something odd stuck out from my desk cubby, a bit of yellow-gold paper. I eased it free to find it was a note folded in the shape of a swan. I never saw anything quite like it. On its tail was the word Pull, so I did.
The swan unfolded into a simple square. Written in the now-familiar writing of the chocolate giver were the words, You bowl me over. If you feel the same, meet me at The Lanes this Saturday at two.
Sonny Wentz had asked me out on a date! Bowling! What could be more romantic? If I were a puppy, I would’ve piddled myself.
8
Cornucopio
THURSDAY EVENING, MY BELLY FULL OF miracle-flour flapjacks, I went to meet Jura at Ham’s. I was very nearly there when I caught my first glimpse of trouble.
Penny Walton had set herself in front of Ham’s diner door, her arms flung open wide. Gripping her hands on either side were Missus Binset and Miz Yardley, the city clerk. Nobody could get in, including a few of Ham’s regular customers, who stood nearby, gaping and confused.
Ham was there as well, waving his chili spoon and shouting—sometimes at Penny Walton, sometimes at Deputy Lamar.
“You get them out of here, Lamar, or I’ll remove them myself!” Ham yelled.
“Just you try it, Ham Quimby!” Penny dared him. “I’ll pull your lease out from under you so fast your head will spin!”
I was about to saunter up and ask what the big hooray was when Penny Walton spat, “I know you’re letting that Sweet girl panhandle her wishes here! Old Joe Williams couldn’t gush enough about her magic! Well, let me tell you something! I am not about to let another wish fetcher finagle her way into some family’s heart, just to have her turn ’round and grind their hopes under her boot heel!”
Miz Yardley cut Penny off with her own warbling protest. “No access for Sweet!”
This ruckus was about me?
I ducked behind a pickup truck, peeking out when I dared.
Penny Walton’s daughter, Edie, tore up, hopped from her car, and started pleading with her mama to leave. “You’ll strain yourself!”
Penny said something so softly I couldn’t hear it, then added in a shout, “Fret over the poor families another MacIntyre wish fetcher will destroy!”
Before long, Jura appeared, crouched down at my side.
“What’s going on?” she whispered.
“We can’t meet at Ham’s today,” I said.
“They’re trying to keep you out?”
“Looks like it,” I told her.
I couldn’t help noticing Deputy Lamar fingering his handcuffs. If I was the source of all this, and they saw me there, would I get arrested?
“Let’s get out of here,” I said.
“Right. Stay low.” Jura slid along, her back pressed to the truck, her head below the level of the truck bed. “Be. Careful.”
Grave as Jura’s expression had become, I had half a mind to tell her we weren’t in that much danger. Her life in Ardenville must have been a real upscuddle.
The crowd out in front of Ham’s had grown so large that neither Penny Walton nor the deputy had a clear view of us. Quickly, but real casual-like, Jura and I crossed the street and ducked into the library.
Which, if you’ll recall, was also the police department.
“Hello, ladies,” a voice called out.
We jumped clear out of our skins.
Then, startled by our alarm, JoBeth Haines jumped clear out of hers.
“Dear goodness!” she breathed. “What has gotten into you two?”
“Sorry,” I said. “We were just, uh, we—”
“May we use the Internet, Miz Haines?” Jura asked smoothly.
“I don’t know . . .” JoBeth said. “Deputy Lamar just radioed in about a big ol’ hoodaddy down at Ham’s—”
Jura and I looked at each other.
JoBeth went on, “So you might want to hold off on your homework. Not often we get this kind of excitement here.” A thoughtful expression crossed her face. “Not often at all. This should go in my newspaper column!” She paused again. “I don’t suppose you girls could just keep an eye on things while I run across the street to get the scoop?”
“Uh, sure thing, Miz Haines,” I said.
Missus Haines grabbed her notepad and rushed out the door.
And with that, we had the library to ourselves.
“Now what?” I asked Jura.
“Now . . .” She sat down in front of one of the computers and web-slung her way to whatever she was hunting.
“Now . . . I give you . . . Cornucopio!” She beamed, wafting a regal hand beneath the screen.
“Very nice,” I said, taking in the various slide shows and streaming do-funnies. “What is it?”
“It’s a place where people who have stuff connect with people who need stuff.” She clicked and clicked once more. “Like this. Buccaneer Construction in Florida has a warehouse full of housing insulation to donate. I bet some Houses-for-Hope group is gonna snatch that right up.” Click. “It’s not all about generosity—here’s a guy who just wants to trade his work truck for a sailboat—but a lot of charities do come here for help.”