The Truth About Twinkie Pie Part 6

There was this little ring of silence around us in that big, noisy crowd.

"Well, I think it's cool that you're following in your mom's footsteps," Billy said. Then he shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned. "I'm going to follow in my dad's footsteps and collect Mustang convertibles."

Everyone sort of started laughing in relief. Billy looked at me with kind eyes, then raised his hand in a gentle little high five.

I took a deep breath and turned toward Trip. He reached out like he was going to give my arm a squeeze and slipped a folded KOB into my hand.

That night for dinner, DiDi made Mama's Maybe Even Better Soup. If you live where snapping turtles are, then making snapper soup is about as easy as catching one, which I can tell you is not all that easy. You have to find a big, strong stick so they don't bite you, and boy, can they bite. I mentioned Davey Dylan and his missing pinky finger. Well, Davey says all you have to do is take the stick and hold it out and when that snapper stretches his neck out and chomps down on it-whack!-you take his head off with an axe.

I'm not big on whacking things with an axe.

And seeing as there's no 24-hour snapping turtle store out here, DiDi always makes Mama's special snapping turtle soup that has no snapping turtle in it.

When we were done eating, DiDi said, "Dang, no finger-you get a finger?"

Maybe Even Better Soup

Roux * cup vegetable oil * cup flour

Soup

* 2 tablespoons olive oil * 1 cup yellow onion, diced small * 1 cup red bell pepper * cup celery, diced small * cup carrot, diced small * 1 teaspoon Italian seasoning * 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper * 2 teaspoons salt * 1 tablespoon garlic, minced * 3 cups crushed canned tomatoes (from a 28-ounce can) * 1 pound hamburger meat * 4 cups chicken stock * 2 tablespoons lemon juice * 2 bay leaves * 2 tablespoons flat (Italian) parsley, chopped * Salt and pepper * 4 hard-boiled eggs, chopped Now, this is just about the fanciest thing you'll find in here. My mama's best friend said she had this soup with the mayor's wife's sister once, and I don't think you can get much fancier than that.

First make your roux, and don't get all worried about it. It's p.r.o.nounced roo, and it's just a little something to help give your soup a little body. (And what girl can argue with that?) Brown your flour in the oil in a small saucepan over medium heat, stirring constantly so it doesn't burn. In about 10 minutes, it'll turn a nice caramel brown. Take it off the stove and let the poor thing rest in a fresh container to cool off.

Into a big soup pot put 1 tablespoon olive oil and cook your onions, peppers, celery, carrots, Italian seasoning, cayenne, and 1 teaspoon salt for about 15 minutes, till the veggies are completely soft and tender.

Add the garlic and tomatoes and cook for 10 more minutes.

Add your hamburger meat and another teaspoon of salt and cook, you guessed it, 10 minutes more. Then add your chicken stock, lemon juice, bay leaves, and parsley, and bring to a simmer.

Add your roux little by little until the soup is as thick and grand as gravy. Pepper and salt to taste. Simmer 15 more minutes. Take out the bay leaves. Serve in bowls with chopped egg on top.

It may not be snapper soup, but you know, I think it may be even better.

Serves 4.

thirteen.

The very next day, the phone rang.

Which was pretty exciting. I mean, since we'd moved here, I'd only gotten two phone calls. Both from Lori. Just checking in and seeing how we were doing. I figured she'd want to come and visit or something, but DiDi said we had to understand that people can't always be what you want. Lori had her own things to attend to. We only saw her every month or two before we moved, so I guess nothing had really changed.

This time, when I picked up the phone, there was this pause. The kind where you know someone is there. They just haven't figured out what to say yet.

"h.e.l.lo?" I said. "This is the Barnes residence."

"Um..."

And just like that, I knew it was Haven Chang from the Stargazers.

"Hi, Haven!" I said. "How are you?"

"Oh, um, hi, Leia."

"So..."

"So... I, um, I didn't realize this was your house-I texted you first-and then the text didn't go through...."

"Oh, I know. It's so crazy. DiDi-that's my big sister-she has this whole thing where she doesn't think I need a cell phone-so I'm, like, what? The only kid on the whole planet now who doesn't have one?" I laughed. Another great DiDi idea making my life crazy.

Haven giggled for a second. "Yeah. My, uh, my parents have really weird rules, too. Like even on days the maid comes, I still have to make my own bed and clean my room."

"Yup... That's crazy, all right," I agreed. And then, for no particular reason, we both laughed like it was the best joke ever.

Then it got quiet again.

"So... have you been friends with Allie a long time?" I asked. I pictured them running around together in little diamond-covered diapers.

"We met in fourth grade when her mom came to work with my mom at Face Place."

"Face who?"

Haven giggled. "Face Place. Haven't you ever been? It's the best, best makeup store in New York City. They have everything!"

"Everything?"

"Yeah. You could come in sometime-if you want. My mom is the buyer, and she lets us have all these free samples and-even makeovers."

I took a breath. "Do you have..."

Haven waited. Then said, "What? If they don't have it, my mom will know how to get it."

I shook my head.

"Nothing," I said.

We decided that the first official meeting of the Stargazers would be the next day in the science room after school.

"Mr. McGuire is the best advisor," Haven said as we waited for him. "He makes sure we know all about the cool things like shooting stars and stuff."

"Shooting stars." I liked the sound of that. I wasn't sure if DiDi would approve of me spending time just looking at stars and not learning enough to cement my place in the Halls of Greatness, but I thought maybe Mama would've liked it.

"I think it sounds perfect."

Mr. McGuire walked in. "Well, if it isn't the famous Miss Galileo." He shook my hand as if I were the most important guest he could ever imagine having over. "Good to have you here."

On the first day of cla.s.s after roll call, Mr. McGuire had started doing these magic tricks. The first one was a total fake-out. Meaning that it was a trick that didn't work and put us off our game. So we all figured he couldn't do any tricks at all and was setting us up to think he was just a young, friendly, goofy teacher. But then the next thing you know, he started doing stuff like finding a card in his shoe with Trip's exact signature on it when we had all watched Trip rip up that card and throw it away. Guess there was more to Mr. McGuire than he first let on. I like people like that. People who have more to them than they let you see right away.

No one else came. It was just Haven and Allie and Mr. McGuire, and that was just fine with me. We talked about what our goals were. What kinds of things we wanted to see. Haven wanted to visit the observatory in the city. Allie wanted to go to the North Pole and see the Northern Lights, which Mr. McGuire mentioned might be a smidge over our budget.

"And what about our newest member, the aptly named Miss Galileo? What would you like this unlikely gathering of dreamers and explorers to do for you?"

What could I say?

That if I searched the stars long and hard enough, maybe-just maybe-I'd find the part of me that came from Mama?

"I don't know," I said. "I just want to find... something amazing."

"Living up to the name, no doubt." Mr. McGuire reached out and spun the little solar system model on the desk. As it went around and around, he gestured about the room filled with s.h.i.+ny cutout stars and constellation maps and said, "The universe is yours, Miss Galileo. Welcome."

fourteen.

Miracle of miracles, DiDi agreed to let me take babysitting jobs from the moms at the library as long as I kept my perfect grades. It was my very first time with a real paying job. Come to think of it, it was the very first time for a lot of things.

It was the first time I had spending money of my own, and with what these moms were paying me to watch their cute kids and sit in their beautiful houses, I was able to get myself some really nice clothes like I'd always wanted. I mean, I had the uniform to get me through the school week, but the weekends were a different story, because now I had people to see and places to go.

It was also the first time that I wasn't being completely truthful with DiDi.

A couple of times on Sat.u.r.day mornings, she'd ask me if I wanted to help her plan the Gala menu, and I'd tell her I was going to study at the library. But then I'd stow my stuff away in the children's coat closet and double back and meet Trip and everyone in town for a day of Absolutely No Studying. Just Fun.

Living in a Walking Town meant we could go anywhere we wanted anytime. I could walk from our apartment to school, to the library, to this cute little boutique with the prettiest clothes I'd ever seen in my life. But best of all, I could walk to the movies, and that was Trip's favorite thing to do. We'd go to this great old movie theater that always had Sat.u.r.day movie marathons. Trip loved old horror movies the best. I didn't always get to sit next to him, but that was all right. There was always a big group of us. I was just good and glad to be there. I didn't even mind that Mace would toss her perfect hair and give me the death stare whenever Trip wasn't looking.

Even school days were fun for the first time. I still got all my top grades, though I had to stay up later at home to get all my extra credit done, since my days of studying during lunchtime were over. But DiDi didn't need to know that. Or that I spent all my study halls and free time talking to Trip about, oh, everything in the world. He listened and listened and didn't always say much himself, but that was okay. I had plenty of KOBs to open up at home, telling me that even though he wasn't good at saying stuff out loud, he still wanted to let me know how he felt. DiDi's KOBs, on the other hand, I'd stopped opening, dropping them in the garbage on my way out of the cafeteria. It's not like they were ever going to say anything new.

One day, Mr. McGuire was writing on the board when we walked into the cla.s.sroom. Trip swung into his seat like he always did, and I looked at him like having a beautiful, rumply boy want to sit next to me every single day was the most natural thing in the world. Billy hurled himself into the seat on my other side and gave me a wide grin.

"Hey, Tripper! Hey, G!"

I gave Billy his hourly high five that I'm pretty sure he would shrivel up and die without. Then Trip laughed at us and as I turned back to him and looked into his Wish Pie eyes, I just wanted to tell him everything about how I felt inside and how I had never in my life even come close to liking a boy like him who sent me sweet notes who maybe or maybe not was my boyfriend, and if only I could tell him- "The Truth!" Mr. McGuire bellowed, pointing to the huge words he had just written.

I jumped about a foot in the air, which made both Billy and Trip just lose it. Mr. McGuire never gets mad, though. He just started pa.s.sing out papers, calm as can be.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have started our preparations for landing. Please make sure your tray tables and seat backs are in the upright position, so we can begin our talk about the Truth. In literature and poetry."

Right away, I could feel myself starting to think about other stuff. See, I've never really been into reading a lot of stories and poems. My librarian friends at my old school used to make suggestions all the time, but DiDi prefers I don't waste time with daydreaming and nonsense. She figures that the arts are just not the direction I should take my Recipe for Success. That science is more the road for me. Even though I was making up my own Recipe from now on, I had to agree with her about that. After all, it was in my blood and it was the part of Mama that was a part of me. I wasn't about to let that go.

"Ponder this, O brilliant pupils: Is writing fiction no more than lying? Making up a story so real, so full of true feeling that while we read, we can only accept it as true? At least within its context. Beautiful lies. But lies nonetheless." Mr. McGuire strolled to the window and gazed off into the distance, like maybe the rest of his lecture was out there by the football field. I started thinking about the extra credit I could ask for in math later.

"Now... poetry, on the other hand. Many would argue that to speak poetry is to speak the Truth. A truth so beautiful it makes the heart hurt with its honesty. Please look at the papers I've put on your desks while I read 'This Is Just to Say': I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold "Penned by the inimitable William Carlos Williams. Now compare that to-someone give me an example of your favorite book-ah yes! Always ready with an answer, Mr. Billy Fender?"

"My algebra book. I always cry at the part where you don't know what x stands for." Billy pretended to blow his nose.

The cla.s.s laughed, as always.

Mr. McGuire wiped an imaginary tear from his eye and flicked it into the air. "Ah yes. A cla.s.sic tragedy..." And that is why he is hands down my favorite teacher. Back home, a smart aleck like Billy would be in the princ.i.p.al's office after that. "Anyone else? Someone less sentimental, perhaps? How about Missssssss Galileo!"

Mr. McGuire has yet to call me Leia. He said he loved the name Galileo and he just had to meet the mom who was creative enough to give it to me. He turned red when I told him that wasn't going to happen, seeing as Mama was dead. I didn't mean to make him feel bad; I was just Saying It Like It Is. He said sorry and that she must have been an extraordinary woman, and I replied that she was.

"Miss Galileo? We await your response with bated breath."

Darn. "Uh, me?" I said. Because, remember, I like to come up with really snappy zingers.

"Uh, you, Miss Galileo," Mr. McGuire said. "In your humble scientific opinion, does poetry lie or tell the truth?"

I thought about it. "Well... isn't it all lies?" I asked. "Aren't you just trying to entertain people when you write stories or poetry-or, you know, whatever?"

"Or-you-know-whatever." Mr. McGuire pretended to pull a knife out of his heart. "Miss Galileo, clarify your point. Are you saying William Carlos Williams was simply trying to entertain someone with the story of eating the cold plums instead of expressing a deep truth?"

"Well, maybe none of that ever happened, and he just presented it that way because he wanted to look good. He probably just wanted people to think he was something he wasn't."

"Or perhaps, Miss Galileo, he wanted to take something painful from his past-stealing plums-and turn it into something beautiful-a poem."

I shrugged. "Maybe... but I don't know why he has to make it all stretched out and funny-looking on the paper. He should just Say It Like It Is."

"Alas, I believe we have a realist on our hands, but one with her own style of debate. So I will let your argument stand in light of the fact that we will have an a.s.signment in which each of you will come up with your own answer. This semester we search for the Truth." He pointed to the words on the chalkboard again. "What is your Truth? Reflect upon it. Write it. This a.s.signment will be due in four weeks."