15. Mandy
Once, when I was a teenager, my dad brought home a horse who had clearly been abused. She shied away every time anyone had anything in their hands—a crop, a stick, a bag, a jacket. Anything. If I lifted my hand to pet her, she’d flinch. Dad wanted to get her under saddle right away. Nothing gets better while sitting on a shelf, he said.
I had known it was the wrong move, but he’s my dad.
He was an expert craftsman of horse tack, hence our name, Saddler. He knew more about horses than anyone I had met. But in this instance, he was dead wrong. When we approached Spooks to saddle her, a nickname that stuck, she darn near impaled herself by leaping through a wooden fence. If she hadn’t been in a breakaway halter, she might have snapped her neck, too.
I knew that Spooks needed us to go slow. Slower than slow, really.
Sometimes I’ve wondered why on earth my dad thought that pushing her was a good idea. All it did was scare her more, causing more damage and trauma at the hands of humans. But as an adult, I’ve done some dumb things too from time to time. As I’m showering, I can’t help wondering whether pushing Helen was one of them.
I’m not sure I’ve seen a human as spooky as her. Amanda was close, but not quite as bad.
The knock at the door when I’ve barely stepped out of the shower sends my heart racing. I did finally pack Tommy off to the Earls’ little motel late last night, but only because Helen’s arrival threw him. I’m not sure why he came out several days early, and I’m not sure why he thought he would be staying with me, but I’m not looking forward to seeing him.
I mean, I am.
But I’m also not.
Even thinking about him makes my old heart race, and I’m sure all my doctors would agree that’s a very bad thing. I don’t have the strongest heart, and even with the rotor-rooter job they did, I’m not sure it’s really ever going to be back up to full speed.
Whoever is banging on my door has gotten impatient.
“Coming,” I holler. Then I jam my feet into some pants, lament the horrible state of my hair in the mirror, and pull my head through a bright purple blouse that makes me look less yellow and white. Then I’m jogging toward the door, where Tommy’s probably the one knocking.
Does he think I’m deaf?
“I said I’m coming!” I swing the door open with a huff, ready to slice him open for just barging over like that.
Only, it’s not Tommy.
“What on earth are you doing here at this hour?”
It’s Amanda, Emery, and Maren, their arms full of muffins and coffee. “We’re coming in,” Amanda says.
And then they do, nearly trampling me in the process. “Don’t even think about trying to kick us out,” Maren says. “I’m missing cheer practice for this.”
“For what?” I ask. “You already missed the fireworks with Helen.” I clamp my mouth shut a little too late.
“What fireworks?” Amanda asks. “I thought things were going alright—she hardly ever barges in and bosses us around now that the retreat’s up and running. I thought she’d moved on to terrorize new people on other projects.”
‘Running’ might be a strong word for our little retreat. According to Helen, it’s barely hobbling along so far, but for a retreat in the literal middle of nowhere, I think it’s off to a good start. Now if she’d share her rolodex or better yet, start making some calls herself, I’m sure we could fill it up double quick. “Never mind that. She’s a difficult houseguest.” Hopefully they’ll think we got into a fight over wet towels or dirty socks.
Amanda frowns. “You’re just trying to distract us, aren’t you?”
“From what?” I sigh. “You’re here at—” I glance at the clock. “Ten till seven in the morning? School doesn’t even start until eight-thirty, and?—”
“Precisely,” Emery says. “That’s how we convinced Mom to drag us over. Aunt Helen texted Aunt Abby last night and said she ran into TOMMY, and then Aunt Abby texted Mom. I thought you said he wasn’t coming for a few days.”
“We don’t even know the whole story yet,” Maren practically wails. “And where’s this photo Emery saw?”
“What photo?” I sink onto the end of the sofa in defeat.
Amanda shoves a banana nut muffin in my hand, and then she offers me a coffee. “It’s decaf,” she says.
I stand back up. “Ah, ah, ah. I’m not eating the crappiest muffin and drinking decaf, not if you want the rest of the story.” I shove them back at her.
Amanda begrudgingly takes them.
“Why’d you even get banana nut?”
“The Grill only had one chocolate muffin and two blueberry.” Maren snatches the chocolate one out of the bag and licks the top. “Mine.”
“You are so gross,” Emery says.
“Give me a blueberry.” I hold out my hand until Amanda gives me one.
“Now pay up,” Emery says. “We’re wasting time. What happened your senior year?”
“I already told you.” I sit down again, this time, eyeing the blueberry muffin. “His dad died, and he moved to live with his uncle.”
They all light on seats all around me, reminding me of birds in a flock, settling in on electric wires to chatter.
“Come on,” Emery asks. “That photo I saw—with both of them looking at you. When was that taken?”
I sigh.
“Just tell us,” Amanda says. “We may as well know it all before we meet him and pretend that you aren’t in love with him and that you didn’t lie about traveling the world and marrying Jed.”
“Wait, she lied about marrying Jed?” Maren asks. “I thought she just lied about—oh, wait. I guess I did hear that. It’s hard to keep all the nonsense straight.”
Amanda laughs. “It is. Speaking of, how did you keep it all straight when you went to stay with him?”
“It was easy,” I say. “We didn’t talk about when I was supposedly married. We didn’t talk about my traveling much either. We just. . .watched television. We went to dinner. We laughed about the old days.” I shrug. “No big deal.”
“But every single person in town knows you never married Jed,” Emery says. “Aren’t you worried he’ll find out?”
“I am,” I admit. “A little, but he hasn’t been here in sixty years. No one will even recognize him, and if they do, it’s unlikely they’ll say anything that would set off red flags. My biggest liabilities are the three of you, and you know the lie.” I take a bite and chew it. “But that’s why I want him to sign his papers and go right back home.”
“Wait,” Amanda asks. “What papers?”
“He’s not here for a visit,” I say, “even if Emery invited him. He came out to sell me his family property. Once he does that, there will be no reason for Thomas Collins to ever return.”
“That’s so depressing,” Maren says.
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s exactly as it should be. That piece of my past will stay where it belongs.”
“Tell us the end, and we’ll decide whether we agree with you,” Amanda says. “Stop delaying already.” She looks at the clock. “Don’t think we don’t know what you’re doing, putting us off.”
“Our senior year was just like any other year. I did two plays with Tommy, and like I said, he didn’t act with me. He directed.”
“Okay, but what about homecoming?” Maren asks. “It seems like the dances are when things really start to happen.”
“I had a big horse show,” I say. “I didn’t go.”
“Prom, then,” Maren says. “What about prom?”
I sigh. And then I dive in.
* * *
Pep rallies when your school’s as small as Manila High School are kind of a joke. I mean, I shouldn’t really be thinking that, since I’m a fill-in cheerleader. But I’m only doing it because Mrs. Lyons begged and Simone sprained her ankle. Once we’re done with the obligatory cheers to get us going, Principal Lyons stands up and claps himself. “Thank you, ladies. Appreciate the enthusiasm.” He smiles.
So do we, because his mustache has a piece of corn stuck in it.
Tommy elbows me. “What’s strange is that it’s ten in the morning. Did he have corn for breakfast?”
I don’t even try to suppress my grin. Clearly the principal is clueless. “Or has that corn been in there since last night?”
“Isn’t he married?” Tommy asks. “Why didn’t his wife notice?”
“Ooh, maybe they’re fighting,” I say. “Maybe he was on the couch.”
“Hush,” Denise hisses. “You’re being rude.”
“I’m sure you’re all wondering why we’re here.” The principal’s now grinning even bigger. “We have a suggestion for how to handle prom this year that the faculty thinks is a good one. You know our focus this year has been on growing our school pride—our spirit.”
Boy do I know it, but bigger pom poms and extra pep rallies can only do so much.
“Instead of having our classic vote on students to fill our prom court, we’ve decided this year to do something a little different.”
At least we’re all listening, even if it’s because none of us can seem to stop watching that little yellow piece of corn bob up and down.
“Each club will be able to nominate someone to be a part of the court, and then those members will compete in a series of events on the Saturday before prom. The winners will be the prom king and queen!”
“Events?” Denise asks. “What kind of events?”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” he says. “We have something big in mind, and it’ll double as a fundraiser. People can buy tickets to come watch the competitions.”
“Are you kidding right now?” Frank’s the biggest jock at our school. Not the best athlete, but the literal largest jock. He must be six foot four and two hundred and twenty pounds. “That’s a stupid idea.”
“It was my wife’s idea,” Principal Lyons says. “Care to change your position?”
“My what?” Frank frowns.
“I’m not here to ask for your opinions,” Principal Lyons says. “I’m informing you of a change. Your clubs will vote in their nominees today, and then at the end of the week, we’ll be ready for the competition.”
By the end of the day, I’ve been selected for choir, theater, and 4H. I told them to choose someone else, but with a small school, there aren’t that many options. There are only two other girls who have been chosen by the other eight clubs. That means me, Denise (who was chosen for honor society and debate), and Janet (who picked up all the sports) will be competing for the prom queen spot. Principal Lyons has summoned us all to his office to review more details of the rules.
“I’d be happy to concede,” I say. “I’m sure that either Denise or Janet will win anyway.”
“That’s stupid,” Tommy says. “You’re usually really competitive.”
But I’m staring at what looks an awful lot like my past repeating all over again, because for the boys, Tommy was chosen for theater and 4H, and Jed was picked for all the athletics. There are two other boys—Gregory, chosen for honor society and debate like Denise, and Jerry, chosen for choir. I would really, really like to ensure that I don’t plunge headfirst down the same path.
“If you want more competitors, why don’t you invite the juniors to?—”
“No,” the principal says. I’m relieved to notice the corn is finally gone. I can’t help wondering whether he ate it inadvertently or it just fell off. “Adding the juniors would give us too many people. And you can’t back out, either. We’ve already sold dozens of tickets for the event, many of them marking down that they’ll be cheering for you.” He smiles at me, and I want to puke. “We’re seating them in sections based on who they’re cheering for.”
“That sounds mean,” I say. “How will we feel if we have the smaller section?”
“You won’t,” Principal Lyons says. “So you don’t need to worry about that.”
“I can’t believe you’re selling tickets.” I roll my eyes. “Trying to finance a new rolling chair?”
“We need to raise money to pay for the refreshments and decorations for prom, so the more people who come to watch, the nicer your event will be,” Principal Lyons says. “You should be thanking me. We might actually have decent food and more than a few flowers made of paper this year.”
“Assuming any of us are still talking to each other and want to go,” Gregory says.
“Oh, please. My Manila High Mustangs won’t get upset about a little healthy competition,” Principal Lyons says.
“What are the things we’ll be doing?” Jed asks, looking askance at Tommy. “Tug of war? Or perhaps a weightlifting competition?”
“You wish,” Tommy says. “Not everything in the world is solved with muscle.”
That reminds me of his pronounced chest muscles during The King and I, and I shake my head to clear it.
“There will be five different competitions for both the boys and the girls, and they will reflect the following qualities, which we like to encourage. First, academics, to show a developed and inquiring mind.” Principal Lyons smiles. “We are proud of the intelligence of our students.”
“But what’s the contest for that?” Tommy asks. “Is it like a sheet of math problems we have to work?”
“That wouldn’t be any fun to watch,” Principal Lyons says. “But we aren’t telling you what the contest will be until you’re about to start, so none of you need to worry about that.”
I’m not the only one who groans.
“The second test will determine who has the strongest body.”
“Nice,” Jed says.
“And the third will test the competitor’s artistic talent.”
Jed groans this time, which makes me laugh. For a split second, it feels like we’re still friends.
“The fourth is a test of animal husbandry, since we live in a predominantly ranch-based community. The last will be a test of your ability to work with others and build a group.”
Tommy looks like he wants to drop out too, but he doesn’t ask. As soon as we’re dismissed, we all head outside. Jed has a work truck, so he disappears almost right away in a growl of the diesel engine. Neither Tommy nor I have families with enough income to afford more than one vehicle, so we’re still stuck riding bikes.
Like always, he keeps riding beyond the turn off for his house, riding me home to keep me company. “This whole thing is so dumb,” I grumble.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve been hanging back so Jed could try to get himself together. Maybe that was the wrong plan. He’s been sulking for two years. It may be time to push him a little.” I don’t like the look on Tommy’s face as he waves goodbye.
And I can’t help trying to work out what exactly these contests are going to look like over the next two days. Nothing prepares me for what Principal Lyon’s wife had in mind.
When I arrive on Saturday morning, barely convincing my parents not to come with me, I’ve chosen to wear jeans and a t-shirt with sneakers. I have a pair of boots in my backpack. I have no idea what the athletic contest will entail, but if I wind up riding a horse at any point, I want jeans. My boots chafe the sides of my legs, otherwise. I’m not that keen on winning, but I’d rather not embarrass myself entirely either.
When I reach the school, there’s no one there. There are signs directing us to continue to the fairgrounds. It’s only a block away, just past the sheriff’s office and the DMV, but now I’m going to be late. As I hop back on my bike, I notice there are more people arriving and rerouting behind me. In fact, as I head down the road I see waves of people meandering over. I’m not sure whether to be annoyed or excited.
I settle for both.
I don’t want to create any more issues with Jed than I already have, and I certainly don’t want to be an idiot who thinks Tommy likes her again, so things like this are irritating, shoving us all together and shaking us into a tizzy. But in another way, we’ve never done anything like this, so it feels a little exciting.
Last year Manila High had its first yearbook—a book that Denise spearheaded, showing all our individual photos for students and faculty, as well as pictures of all the club events and meetings, dances and parties. It was pretty fun, even if it was a little pricey. I thought Mom was going to pass out when she found out it cost ten dollars, but she insisted I had to have one.
Memories. That was her reason.
This will certainly make for some interesting memories, but the people gathering around me aren’t just students. Most of their parents have come along too. It’s probably a commentary on just how pathetic Manila’s social scene is, but Mom’s going to be mad I didn’t get her a two-dollar ticket once she hears that everyone else brought their parents along. The parking lot behind the arena is nearly full. There weren’t even this many people at the last rodeo.
Tommy’s parents climb out of the car at the end, and Tommy jogs over to meet me where I’m parking my bike. “You look ready.”
Like me, he opted for jeans, but unlike me, his boots are on his feet, not in a bag.
“We could be doing races or soccer or something,” I say. “You’re going to do those in boots?”
Tommy shrugs. “If we’re playing soccer or basketball or doing a footrace, Jed’s going to beat me whether I’m wearing boots or sneakers.”
“Do you really care?” I ask. “I mean, who cares who wins prom king?”
Tommy shrugs. “I do hate losing, though.”
The idea of Denise being prom queen doesn’t faze me, but I hate the idea of her beating me. While everyone else is walking to the bleachers, Tommy and I keep moving around and head for the entrance, near the judges’ stand. That’s where Principal Lyons is standing, along with Jed, Denise, Jerry, and Gregory.
“You made it.” Principal Lyons smiles. “Excellent. Now, once Janet arrives, we can get started.”
While we wait, the high school yearbook coordinator snaps photos of most of us. I force a smile for mine, but then Tommy shoves me a little to the right, in Jed’s direction. “How about a photo of Mandy and Jed?” he asks.
“That’s fine,” I say at the same time Jed surprises me by saying, “Sure.”
“Great idea,” the coordinator says. “But you should be in it too. Aren’t the three of you good friends?” She’s smiling blithely, clearly oblivious to the actual relationships of all of the students.
“Uh, sure.” Tommy steps toward us, and I force another smile at the camera. I can feel the guys’ eyes turned inward, but I ignore it. They’re either looking at me or they’re glaring at each other. Either way, it’s not my problem. I’m grateful when the photos are all done.
Over the next five minutes, people slowly trickle over, but there’s still no sign of Janet. I can’t help, along with the other participants and the audience, looking at the center of the arena where there are several large tents in bright colors set up. “What’s underneath those tent flaps?” I whisper.
“A clown, a face-painter, and a juggler,” Tommy says.
“You’re such an idiot,” Jed mutters.
“What was that?” Tommy asks. “I thought you didn’t know how to speak.”
Instead of scowling, or fuming, or muttering a swear word, Jed half-smiles. It’s a breakthrough of shocking proportions, and I begin to wonder whether Tommy might be right.
It makes me think about the one time I really made him mad when we were kids. At an end of the year party for school, we went to Libbert’s Pond—a pond on the Libbert family’s property with this cool rope swing. Jed had pulled my hair while we were eating lunch, and I had squawked. Everyone laughed, so to get back at him, I shoved him into the lake. It seemed equal and opposite to a ten-year-old. Only, instead of falling in the lake, he slipped and landed face-first in the mud. Every kid in my class had howled with laughter when he stood up.
He was mad at me all day—right up until another kid, Kyle, started trying to convince me to get a ride home with him instead of Jed. That’s when Jed finally stopped being mad and dragged me to his mom’s car.
When pushed, he got over it.
We’ve tried pushing a little. The play was a bit of a push, but he got sick. The dance was too, sort of, but not really. But now he has to fight for a spot to be prom king, and Tommy and I are right here beside him.
Maybe what he needed all along was a little pressure.
Just then, Janet comes jogging up, wearing shorts, even in this chilly morning air, and a t-shirt and sneakers. Her hair’s pulled into a high ponytail, and her eyes are bright. She looks like she could be jaunting over for a photoshoot for some fitness magazine.
“Alright, everyone,” Principal Lyons says. “Thank you so much for your patience while we collect tickets and provide ballots to all the attendees. We’re so excited that this Crown Challenge has been so well received and attended. I’m delighted to announce that we’ve raised almost twice as much money as we needed to fund the prom, and not only will the tickets now be free, but we’ll have a full dinner at the prom instead of simply bowls of chips and dip.”
“Probably soggy ham sandwiches,” Jed says.
It wasn’t directed at me specifically, but he did speak in my direction. I can’t help the lightness that rises up inside of me. Maybe Tommy was right. Maybe by prom, Jed and I will finally be fine again.
“Better than those stale potato chips last year,” Tommy says.
That seems to remind Jed that he didn’t go the last year, and he frowns. I bump Tommy, and he shoots me a chagrined look, at least.
“And now, it’s my honor to announce the contest for today. But first, I’m going to welcome my wife, who’s going to share her favorite fairy tale, which inspired our competition today. You may have heard of it before—Hansel and Gretel.”
There isn’t a lot of applause as Mrs. Lyons stands up. I think people are a little confused. I know I am. The story I know is about kids eating a candy house and getting thrown into an oven or something, so I’m not sure how that might have inspired a competition for teenagers. . . Unless they’re planning to bake us?
“Hello, everyone. For years now, I’ve stayed home with our three children while my husband has gone out into the world to bring home some bacon for our family.”
There’s some scattered, lackluster applause and hooting.
“But a few weeks ago, as I was telling little Ricky his bedtime story, he asked again for Hansel and Gretel, his favorite tale too, and my husband had been talking about ways to raise funds to pay for prom, and also about the process for selecting the prom court, and we had an idea.”
The gathered audience of nearly a hundred people—students and parents—seems to be as lost as I am.
“The story of Hansel and Gretel is about two siblings whose mother dies. When their father remarries, it’s to an awful woman who sends them to chop wood in the cold all day while she eats all the food, leaving them nothing but scraps. The children are starving slowly, as you might imagine.”
Connect the dots quick, lady. “We’re not little Ricky,” I mutter, “and this is really weird.”
Jed laughs, looking sideways at me.
I smile back, and he doesn’t recoil. My heart lifts, and I can see that Tommy sees it, too.
“Well, those children finally decided they should run away instead of starving at the home that’s no longer their home, so they gather their meager belongings and leave.” She drops her voice a bit, but luckily she’s still talking into the mic. “Hansel asks his sister Gretel how they’ll find their way back if they can’t find food in the forest. She tells him they can take their scraps of bread and break them into tiny pieces and leave a trail of bread crumbs the whole time they walk into the forest, and then if they have to, they can follow them back.”
“They’re starving and she uses their tiny bits of food. . .as a trail?” Jed arches one eyebrow. “That’s pretty smart.”
Now we’re all laughing.
“They do search far and wide in the forest, but they find nothing that they can eat. In defeat, they finally decide to go back home.” Mrs. Lyons sighs dramatically. “When they try to turn around, they discover?—”
That hilarious little Dolores kid from the play shouts, “The bird ate it all!”
Mrs. Lyons smiles. “Yes, you’re right. A naughty bird had eaten all their bread crumbs, and they were very lost.”
“That’s what you get for making the worst plan ever,” Tommy says.
Jed and I both laugh.
“Starving, scared, Hansel and Gretel wander around without much hope, assuming they’ll die in the forest. But that’s when they find?—”
“The candy house!” Dolores shouts. “And they eat it.”
Mrs. Lyons is starting to look irritated. “Yes, that’s also correct. They find a candy house and start to eat it, but then an old woman catches them and scolds them for eating her house. Luckily, she offers them real food if they come in, and those naughty little children follow her right inside and eat up the soup she offers them. They notice piles of messy bones in the corners of the home, but they’re so tired from their ordeal, they curl up and fall asleep right away.”
“So they stole food off her house, and then they fell asleep on the floor?” Jed shakes his head. “They kind of deserve to be eaten.”
“When they wake up,” Mrs. Lyons says, intentionally ignoring us, “Hansel, the boy, is stuck in a cage. Gretel is told that she must cook and clean for the witch until her brother is fattened up.”
“Ew,” Jed says. “Who wants fatty meat?”
Mrs. Lyons powers through. “But when it comes time to cook him, the witch prepares the oven and asks Gretel to check it. Gretel, being quite the little?—”
“Miscreant,” Jed says.
Everyone laughs.
“Yes, I suppose that, too, but being an opportunist, shoves the witch into the oven, and closes the door. Then she saves her brother and they escape. But before they do, they find a big barrel of jewels, and they fill their pockets with them, as many as they can carry. They wind up using a few of the gems to secure a ride home on the back of a horse ridden by a passerby. When they get home, their stepmother is dead, and their father is quite happy to see them. They live happily ever after with the jewels they stole.”
“Great. It’s a story about how grand theft and murder pays,” Tommy says.
“And candy houses,” I say. “Don’t forget that part.”
“We haven’t forgotten any of those parts,” Mrs. Lyons says. “In fact, we have several tasks you’ll have to complete today, and we have a panel of judges who will be scoring you on how you do. If the audience can look at their ballots, they’ll see an area where they can vote for their favorite candidate in each category. Their combined votes will be equal to one of the appointed judges. The male and female candidate with the highest scores will win.”
“But what are the activities?” I ask.
Mrs. Lyons nods at her husband. “Almost time to find out.”
He walks toward the big blue tent closest to us. “In the story, Gretel has to save Hansel. So we have asked a Hansel to be with us today, a brother of one of the candidates, but we also understand he’s someone who’s precious to quite a few of you. All our activities today will have as their goal, saving our handsome Hansel from being eaten by the witch.”
Mrs. Lyons nods at her husband. “Go ahead and reveal Hansel, who is home from college and agreed to help us out.”
Principal Lyons yanks the blue fabric down and underneath, in a very strange cage made of what appears to be scrap lumber, is Clyde Brooks. Instinctively, I whip my head sideways. All traces of the smiles and lighthearted behavior from Jed earlier is gone.
Clyde smiles his winning smile and winks at me. “Hey, Mandy. Be a doll and win prom queen. That’ll get me out of this thing, right?”