The One and Only. Valerie Tripp

full moon was so bright and shone such a strong silver light into the bedroom that Maryellen could not sleep. Lying on her upper bunk, she tossed and turned and flushed hot and cold just thinking of the red paint disaster. No one had said anything about it at dinner or later while everyone was watching TV. Even Joan didn’t mention it, and her silence was strange considering how mad she’d been earlier. But Maryellen knew it was on everyone’s mind. Especially hers.

      “Jeez Louise, Ellie,” Joan said sleepily. “Stop spinning around. What are you doing—practicing your underwater somersaults? Go to sleep, why don’t you?”

      “Sorry,” said Maryellen. She flinched, expecting Joan to jump all over her again the way she had earlier when Maryellen had used the inadequate word sorry.

      But Joan didn’t. In fact, her voice was kind when she said, “Listen, Ellie-jelly, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re upset because your red paint idea didn’t work out. But everybody makes a mistake once in a while. Your mistake today just happened to be a lulu.”

      “All my ideas seem to be mistakes,” said Maryellen. “They’re all lulus.”

      “Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Joan. “You had one good idea today.”

      “I did?” asked Maryellen. She could hardly believe her ears. “What was it?”

      Joan giggled a little. “You told Jerry to, uh, get on the ball,” she said.

      Maryellen gulped. “You’re not mad about that?” she asked.

      “Well, no,” said Joan. “In fact, I’m glad you said something.”

      Maryellen was flabbergasted. “Glad?” she repeated.

      “Mm-hmm,” said Joan. “Thanks to you, Jerry finally gave me his fraternity pin.”

      “He did?” squeaked Maryellen.

      “Yep,” said Joan. “I was hoping that he would pin me before he went back to college in the fall, but of course I couldn’t ask him. Girls don’t propose to boys.”

      “So that means you’re engaged to be engaged, right?” Maryellen asked. “And does that mean you’ll be getting married soon?” Now that Joan was being so nice, Maryellen wasn’t sure she wanted her to leave—not right away, at least.

      “No, we won’t be getting married for a while yet,” said Joan. “So don’t say anything to Mom and Dad. Jerry and I want to talk to them together, because it’s a pretty big deal. Getting pinned does mean there’s a wedding in our future.”

      “Oh boy!” said Maryellen. “A wedding! Can I help you plan it?”

      “You bet,” said Joan. “So, see? Not all of your ideas are bombs. Even this All Girls Room isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I have more space in here, and you organized your stuff pretty well. After Betty and Florence leave, I think I’ll tell Mom it’s okay with me to make the move permanent.”

      “Really?” asked Maryellen, her heart lifting.

      “Really,” said Joan. She yawned, and then she said, “You still have to get Mom to agree, though. Now if you could just come up with another one of your Great Ideas for undoing the mess you made with the red paint out front, you’d be all set. Meanwhile, go to sleep, okay?”

      “Okay, I’ll try,” said Maryellen. Full of gratitude for Joan’s forgiveness, she closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep. But her brain kept going over and over what Joan had said. Undo the mess, undo the mess…How, Maryellen thought, can I undo the mess?

      In the Pink

       CHAPTER FOUR

      aryellen’s eyes popped open. She slid out of bed and quietly, quietly, ever so quietly, she tiptoed outside into the balmy Florida night. She skittered over the grass in her bare feet and slid through the hedge that divided her yard from Davy’s.

      Tap, tappety, tap, tap. Tap, tap. Maryellen used her fingernail to beat their secret signal on Davy’s bedroom window.

      After a moment, Davy appeared. He took one look at Maryellen and climbed out his window. “What’s up, Doc?” he whispered.

      Maryellen held one finger to her lips to signal quiet. With the other hand, she gestured to Davy to follow her.

      The moon cast Davy’s and Maryellen’s shadows ahead of them as she led the way to the garage and to Dad’s workbench. She handed Davy the can of red paint and the paintbrush, and then gathered rags, a scrub brush, and the tin of turpentine in her own arms. She led Davy to the front of the house.

      “Holy cow,” breathed Davy when he saw the mess. “What happened here?”

      “It’s a long story,” Maryellen sighed sadly. “Anyway, would you mind painting the doors while I scrub the step?”

      “Sure,” said Davy without hesitation. He began to say, “Let’s—” But just then Scooter, who had been banished from the house because his stripes of red paint were still wet, ambled into view. “Holy cow!” Davy exclaimed softly. “Get a load of Scooter! Stripes, for Pete’s sake!”

      “Hi, old boy,” Maryellen said to Scooter. “I’m afraid your shampoo will have to wait. You’ll have those red stripes until tomorrow.” Scooter didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Maryellen thought he seemed rather pleased to have red stripes, as if he were a sporty, portly tiger.

      The front of the house was bathed in moonlight. As Davy finished painting the screen door and started on the front door, Maryellen soaked her rags in turpentine and scrubbed and scrubbed. It was hard work to remove the red paint from the front step. How had it splattered so far and wide? She wouldn’t have thought there was quite so much red paint in the world, much less in that one can. The turpentine had a sharp smell that made her eyes and nose run. But Maryellen did not give up.

      Davy, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy painting. “Hey, let’s pretend we’re in an episode of a TV show about pirates,” he suggested.

      “Or how about if we’re explorers,” said Maryellen, perking up, “and we were sailing the seven seas when we were captured by the pirates? They make us work day and night! You’re painting the mast, and I’m swabbing the decks of the pirate ship. But pretty soon, with our brave companion, Sea Wolf—that’s Scooter—we’ll jump overboard and swim away.”

      “Good idea,” said Davy. “Ahoy there, Sea Wolf!”

      Scooter thumped his tail, to show that he was in on the game.

      Pretending helped the time go faster, but it still felt to Maryellen as though she was scrubbing for hours. Scrubbing was very humbling work. Her knees hurt, her arm was sore, and her hands felt rubbed raw.

      At last, most of the splattered red paint was gone. Maryellen thought the step looked a bit pinkish, but perhaps it was just a trick of the moonlight. Davy finished painting the doors, and then he and Maryellen wiped their hands on the turpentine rags and washed them with the hose. Maryellen dried her hands on her pajama bottoms, and Davy used his T-shirt.

      When his hands were dry, Davy saluted and said quietly, “Anchors aweigh, matey.”

      Maryellen saluted back. She sure hoped Joan was wrong about not being friends with a boy in fourth grade. Davy was such a good pal. “Anchors aweigh,” she said. “And Davy, thank you.”

      Davy grinned. “Any time,” he said. He stooped over to give Scooter a quick pat—Scooter opened one eye, briefly—and then Davy zipped