The Messy Life of Blue Read online

  “Of course, Beulah. That is a wonderful idea.”

  I gave him my most winning smile. “Thank you, Mr. Nelson. And might I add that is a lovely tie you’re wearing today.”

  Kevin sat with his mouth hanging open, so I nudged him to close it. He wasn’t as familiar with this little dance as I was. Unfortunately, Mr. Nelson and I went way back.

  Mr. Nelson sat up straighter, adjusting his tie. “Thank you, Beulah.” He cleared his throat. “So about this incident with a book . . . ”

  “I am so sorry,” I began. “It’s all my fault. You see, I was demonstrating for Kevin how to properly kill a spider, and I didn’t see Cry—I mean, Jared—standing there. . . .” I trailed off. Even I thought my story sounded a bit ridiculous.

  “Right. Well, that was very wrong of you to do, Beulah.” He glanced at Kevin as though he’d forgotten Kevin was there.

  “You’re absolutely right,” I agreed. “That’s why I want to let you know that I will be volunteering in my brother Jackson’s fourth-grade classroom every single day. I will help out by reading to the class during my lunch hour for the rest of the week. It’s the least I can do.”

  No, really. It was literally the least I could do.

  Mr. Nelson nodded. “Very good, very good. I think that is a fair punishment indeed.” He stood up, and I did the same. Kevin stood as well, looking utterly bewildered.

  “Thank you, Mr. Nelson, for the talk. I know I need to be more careful in the future.” I moved toward the door. “Give that beautiful grandson of yours a big hug for me.” I opened the door and went out. I prayed Kevin was following. If I looked back, Mr. Nelson might make eye contact and come to his senses.

  I rounded the corner and let out my breath. Kevin was, thankfully, right on my heels. “What happened back there?”

  “That, Kevin O’Dell, is how you deal with Mr. Nelson. Let’s just say I’ve had a little practice.”

  When the secondary bell rang for lunch, the kindergarteners through fourth graders returned to class, and all the cool older kids like me went to lunch. I scarfed down my sandwich and chips, then headed toward my brother’s classroom. When I was in fourth grade, I had the same teacher as Jackson, Mrs. Henry. She was magnificent.

  “There you are, Blue!” she said when I entered. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember.”

  “Of course,” I said. “I told you last week that I’d help.”

  “And a help you are.” She sounded so grateful, I almost felt guilty for tricking Mr. Nelson. He didn’t know that I was already planning to help Mrs. Henry. “Can you grab the book over there and start reading? I’ll be at my desk grading some papers.”

  “Ewww!” Jackson said when he saw me. “What are you doing here? I thought I smelled something fishy.”

  I glanced at Mrs. Henry before I smiled sweetly at my brother. Then I made a mental note to punch him when we got home.

  4

  “Dad? Where’s the laundry?” I yelled from my bedroom. This was the third time in October that I’d been forced to track down some clean clothes. I stood in the center of my room with my freshly shampooed hair dripping down the back of my robe. My mouth was already open and poised for a follow-up scream when my dad appeared in the doorway.

  “How many times have I told you, Blue? You’re old enough to do your own laundry.”

  “But I don’t know how,” I whined.

  “I’ve shown you what to do. You’re just being stubborn. If you want clean clothes, you need to go into the laundry room and wash them.”

  “But I have nothing to wear to the choir performance, and it starts in an hour.” My dad shook his head and turned away. “And I have a solo,” I yelled to his back, but he kept on walking.

  I slammed a pair of dirty socks onto the bed and marched out of my room. Arnie was playing with his trucks on the living-room floor as I stomped past.

  “Ew! Blue’s naked!” he shouted, pointing.

  “I am not. I have a robe on,” I said. “I just got out of the shower. Which, by the way, is a place you should think about visiting a little more often.”

  When I rounded the corner and flicked on the laundry-room light, I almost fainted. The largest pile of the dirtiest, nastiest clothes I could possibly imagine was stacked up as high as my neck.

  “Dad!” I screamed in a panic. He came rushing in.

  “What? What is it?”

  I pointed at the mound of filth with my mouth agape. The scent of musty feet drifted over from the pile, and I quickly shut my mouth. “It’s . . . It’s . . . ”

  “It’s a pile of dirty clothes?” my dad finished. I nodded numbly. “That’s because I’m on strike.”

  I tore my eyes away from the clothing and looked at my father, horrified. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, Beulah Warren, that I am no longer doing the laundry for everyone in this family. You and Seth are old enough now. You need to start doing your own.”

  I blinked in confusion. Was he serious? I looked back at the stack and shook my head. “But I don’t have any clean clothes.”

  “Well then, you better get moving.”

  “No, Dad, you don’t understand. I don’t have any clean . . . you know . . . clothes.”

  Now it was my dad’s turn to look confused. “What are you trying to say, Blue?”

  “I don’t have any clean underwear!” There. I said it.

  My dad put his hand over his mouth. I had a pretty good idea he was trying to cover up a smile, and this only made it worse.

  “It’s not funny!” I stomped my foot in protest.

  “You’re right, it’s not. So you better start washing some clothes.” And with that, he left me standing in the laundry room, surrounded by the filthy stench of my disgusting brothers.

  I kicked a pair of muddy shorts in protest and they flew against the wall. I sighed. Might as well get started.

  I went back to my room and scooped up a pile of clothes that might have been taking up residence in a dark corner of my room for longer than Arnie’d been alive. I searched under my bed and in my closet for any strays and then headed back down the hall. There was a rumbling sound, and the closer I got to the laundry room, the louder it became.

  “Seth, what are you doing?” My oldest brother slammed the washer door shut and spun around. He was in his daily uniform of boxers and gym socks.

  “Laundry,” he grunted.

  “I know you’re doing laundry, but why? You barely even wear clothes.”

  “Yeah, well, I heard Dad telling you to do it, so I thought I should throw mine in first.” He nudged me to the side as he tried to pass me, so I pushed him into the door.

  “What was that for?”

  “You don’t even wear clothes!” I repeated louder. He shrugged and went back to his bedroom. I fought the urge to scream and kick something. Instead I decided to do the only sensible thing I could think of: I was going to tattle on him to my daddy.

  In the living room, I found Dad curled up with Arnie, reading a book. Jackson was lying on his stomach on the floor, his legs in the air, watching TV.

  “Seth put his dirty clothes in the washing machine so now I can’t put my dirty clothes in the washing machine, and you said that I could wash my dirty clothes but you didn’t tell him he could wash his dirty clothes.”

  Arnie glanced in my direction as I made my speech. “Blue is naked.”

  “I am not naked! I’m in a robe!” I marched into my bedroom. My inspirational kitten poster hanging above my bed shook as I slammed the door.

  It was almost noon, and I needed to get dressed quickly for the performance. I grabbed an old wrinkly sundress that was crumpled up on the top shelf of my closet. I tried to smooth it out and hoped no one would notice. I put on my sparkly silver sandals and a butterfly headband. There was just one thing missing in my ensemble. A rather important thing.

  I quietly opened my bedroom door and peered around the corner. All clear. I tiptoed down the hall and into Jackson’s room. W
hen I pushed the door open, I immediately crinkled my nose. Jackson’s room always smelled funny, like a mix of dirty feet and mashed potatoes. I passed his desk, which was covered in paintbrushes and baseball equipment, and tried not to knock anything over. I kicked a dirty sock out of the way as I crept toward his dresser, and then I slowly opened the top drawer. There, folded neatly in a row, was Jackson’s colorful display of underwear.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened them, I jumped. Seth was staring at me from the doorway.

  “Whatcha doing, Blue?”

  “Looking for my . . . my . . . pencil,” I said.

  “A pencil?”

  “That’s right. You use them to do homework.” I spoke really slow. “Homework is this thing that teachers give you at school. School is this place where you go to learn things. Learning is—” I didn’t need to finish, because Seth rolled his eyes and left.

  I quickly grabbed a pair of underwear and was about to hurry out of the room when I noticed a brownish spot on the back of the underwear. I unfolded them and groaned. There were skid marks on his tighty-whities.

  Gagging, I threw them back in the drawer and grabbed another pair. I checked them again for stains, and sure enough, there they were. Gross! Finally, the next pair appeared to be clean. They were blue with red elastic at the top. There was also a big image of Superman across the butt. I slammed the drawer shut and raced out of there.

  Inside the safety of my own room, I pulled up the thick cotton briefs. Our dog, Kota, sat by my bed, watching me. He tilted his head and whined.

  “Don’t you judge me,” I told him.

  I wiggled my way down the hallway, adjusting one last time. I sat with Arnie until the rest of my family appeared and it was time to go.

  The school was packed with cars. My dad dropped me off at the front of the building so I could hurry backstage while he found a place to park.

  “Break a leg, kiddo,” he called through the open window.

  I ran into the school and headed straight for the music room. I made it just in time to follow the others single file into the theater. We waited behind the curtain for the teacher to maneuver us into our spots on the risers. I took my place next to Kevin.

  “Are you nervous?” he asked. I knew he was referring to my solo.

  “No,” I answered, but I could tell by his face that he knew I was lying.

  Tonya Morgan, the real-life true soloist, came down with the flu last Thursday. Mrs. Hall, our choir teacher, called me into her classroom and asked if I would like to sing her part. I said yes, of course! This was my one chance to show the world that I could sing just like my mother. And also a secret part of me deep down inside was hoping that wherever my mom was, she’d be watching. I wanted more than anything to make her proud. I was determined to be phenomenal, just like her.

  Only now, as I stood waiting for the show to start, I was getting more and more nervous. Like pee-your-pants nervous. I could hear the sounds of families and friends taking their seats on the other side of the curtain. There was light chatter, babies crying, the squeaky sound of chairs sliding, the rustle of paper. The louder it got, the more I had to use the bathroom.

  I raised my hand.

  “Yes, Blue?” Mrs. Hall asked.

  “I need to go to the bathroom.” I heard Crybaby-Jared snicker from the bottom row of risers, but I ignored him.

  “Right now? Why didn’t you go before?” I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. Mrs. Hall sighed. “Hurry up. Be back here in one minute.”

  I nodded as I shot off the platform and raced down the hall. After relieving myself, I yanked my brother’s underwear up, washed my hands, and huffed back to the stage. I didn’t even stop to dry my hands. I just shook them as I ran.

  I landed back at my spot next to Kevin just as the curtain was being drawn. He shook his head and smiled as we started the opening song, “Hakuna Matata.”

  Our performance was a tribute to Disney songs. I waited—not patiently—for my solo as we sang “Under the Sea,” “You’ve Got a Friend in Me,” “A Whole New World,” and “Be Our Guest.”

  “And now a solo performance by Beulah Warren backed by the rest of the choir,” Mrs. Hall announced. “This is ‘Let It Go’ from the movie Frozen.”

  My stomach did flip-flops waiting for my turn at the end. I joined in with the others until the final verse came. I held my head high as I maneuvered my way through the other students and off the platform. I heard giggles behind me, but I didn’t turn around. I knew some of the others were jealous that I had been chosen. I wasn’t going to let them stop me. I was going to be phenomenal. I had to be.

  I wondered if my mom was looking down on me right then.

  I gave it my all and really got into it. I became Elsa. I could feel ice shooting out of my hands as I waved my arms and twirled and twirled.

  “Let it go! Let it go!” I sang at the top of my lungs, still spinning in all my glory. The crowd went wild. I heard cheers and laughter from the audience and even some commotion behind me. I knew I was the right choice for a solo. Maybe next time Mrs. Hall wouldn’t wait for someone to get the flu before asking me to sing.

  “The cold never bothered me anyway.”

  I took a breath and bowed. I was phenomenal, I knew it! I had never felt more phenomenal in my entire life. Then I heard a voice above all the others, loud and as plain as day. “Hey! That’s my underwear!”

  I jerked my head up, but I already knew the voice. Jackson was standing, pointing at the stage. I reached behind and felt the back of my dress. The hem was tucked inside my underwear, exposing my entire backside. My backside with a giant Superman flying across my butt.

  I had a sudden flashback to all my twirling onstage. I looked out at the audience, and it was like a slow-motion horror movie. Big, ugly grins and pointing fingers were all I saw. Swaying in place, sweat began to drip down my forehead. I felt like I was going to faint.

  “I didn’t know you were such a big fan of Superman!” Crybaby-Jared exclaimed loudly.

  I turned around and ran off the stage. I didn’t stop running until I was outside and the world was silent once again. It was then that I realized I’d never even fixed my fashion flub.

  I yanked the dress out of my underwear and walked slowly to our car. Then I sat down on the curb and cried. I was humiliated. This was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I could never go to school again. I needed to move to a different town. I needed to change my name.

  Well, I needed to change my name either way.

  A few minutes later, I heard my family coming toward me. Jackson was still complaining that I’d stolen his underwear.

  “Those were my favorite ones,” he was saying. “She ruined them. I can never wear them again. They touched her butt, Dad!”

  “That’s enough,” my dad said firmly as he came around the car. He saw me sitting there and crouched down next to me.

  “That was some performance,” he said quietly. My eyes filled with tears again. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “I’ve always wanted to try boarding school,” I told him. “In Switzerland.”

  He held out a hand and pulled me to my feet. “Come on, kiddo. It’s not that bad.”

  “It’s way worse for me,” Jackson huffed. “You stole my lucky underwear!”

  Seth whacked him on top of his head. “Shut up,” he told him, holding the car door open for me. I climbed in. “Dad’s right. No one will even remember by Monday.”

  I knew he was lying, but I appreciated the effort. My dad started the car and we headed home, visions of Superman swirling in my head.

  “That was a super-good performance, by the way,” Seth said. I elbowed him hard in the ribs, but he only laughed. “I didn’t know you were such a super singer.”

  “Super-duper!” Arnie shouted.

  My dad grinned. “You really did a super job, Blue,” he added with a glance in the rearview mirror. I looked away, but not before he saw my smile.
“Wasn’t she super?” he asked Jackson.

  Jackson folded his arms across his chest. “I’m still super-mad that she stole my underwear.”

  “Super-duper!” Arnie shouted again.

  “I’m super-ready to go home now!” I finally said. Seth snorted and my dad threw me one more smile and a wink.

  5

  I pulled the pillow over my head the instant I woke up. It was going to be the worst, most terrible, most horriblest day of my life.

  Today was Jackson’s tenth birthday.

  It wouldn’t really be so bad, normally. A little cake. The kid gets some presents. All the usual stuff, blah blah blah. Except this year, this most terrible and horrible year, my brother was having a sleepover party. That meant there would be ten obnoxious, smelly nine-year-olds ruining my entire life.

  I tried to roll out of bed, but my foot got stuck on the sheet and I tumbled face-first onto the carpet. I stumbled back up and kicked out of the blankets trapping my leg.

  Great. Jackson’s birthday had barely begun and it was already taking over, sending me bad luck.

  I padded down the hall and flopped down on the couch, rubbing my cheek where the carpet had scratched my delicate, princesslike skin. I grabbed the remote and immediately put on my favorite TV show, Family Tree. It starred London Malloy, my favorite actress in the whole wide world.

  Halfway through the episode, Jackson entered, followed by a sleepy Arnie. Jackson practically sat on Kota when he bounced onto the couch and ripped the remote control out of my hand.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded. I tried to grab it back, but he was too quick for me. Arnie giggled and clapped his hands at the fight that ensued.

  “It’s my birthday!” Jackson cried. “I get to watch what I want!”

  “I don’t care if it’s the Queen of England’s birthday, you are not changing that channel.” I lunged on top of his bony little body and was this close to getting the remote back. Unfortunately my dad walked into the room before I had a chance to retrieve it.

  “What is going on in here?”