Zinnia's Zaniness Read online

  We were all ready for the beach. We were standing on the deck and we had our bathing suits on, some of us in one-piece suits, some in bikinis. Well, Pete wasn't wearing a one-piece or a bikini. But he did have an inner tube in the shape of a sea serpent wrapped around his waist.

  "I'm not much on swimming as such," Pete said when we looked pointedly at his serpent. "I prefer to just bob in the water."

  We decided not to comment on the fact that Pete was wearing his work boots.

  In addition to our bathing suits, we wore sunscreen, and we were carrying our towels. We also carried five beach umbrellas: Annie and Durinda had one, Georgia and Rebecca another, Jackie and Marcia a third, the Petes a fourth, and Zinnia struggled with one on her own, which was not easy to do with Call on one shoulder.

  Poor Zinnia was struggling because one of us had yet to show up.

  "Petal," Pete called into the house, "I'd hate to do anything to upset you, and I certainly wouldn't want to do anything to cause you to faint right now, but just what is taking you so long?"

  We waited. And waited. And waited.

  At last, at long last, Petal appeared.

  Well, we assumed it was Petal inside and under all of that, but it was just an assumption.

  "Petal?" Pete asked. "Is that you in there? And if so, what are you wearing?"

  "I have on SPF one hundred plus zinc oxide on my nose," Petal said. "I have a floppy hat on my head, but I've also put sunscreen on the part in my hair and all around my ears, just in case. I am wearing a bathing suit from the early part of the nineteen hundreds, for modesty's sake; a towel wrapped around that; and a full-length terry-cloth robe over that. On my feet I have flip-flops, but I put my bunny slippers over those because the flip-flops don't give enough coverage. Oh, and I have on big dark sunglasses with the strongest UVF protection available."

  "I have only one question," Pete said. "Why?"

  "Because I don't want to burn, do I," Petal said. "You're not going to catch me exposing an inch of skin to the Seaside sun—not one inch! The Seaside sun, as everyone knows, is a very dangerous thing."

  "You look like a mummy," Georgia said. "And your cat—poor Precious. Can Precious really breathe all wrapped up like that?"

  "I knew it," Rebecca said. "I knew it!" She groaned. "This is going to be yet another of those vacations where everyone who sees us thinks we're all out of our tiny little minds, isn't it?"

  ***

  We settled ourselves on towels under our respective beach umbrellas, all except for Zinnia, who sat up and talked to Call.

  Well, of course she did.

  "Are there really eight Other Eights," Zinnia asked Call, "and where are they from?"

  We had no idea why Zinnia would assume that Call knew a thing about the Other Eights. More crazy talk as far as we were concerned.

  "Are they from Pittsburgh?" Zinnia persisted. "Vietnam? Spain? I'm almost certain they can't be from France. If they were, they'd have been at the wedding of Aunt Martha and Uncle George."

  "Ask Call if they're from England, like Annie's faux-Daddy accent," Rebecca suggested.

  "Ha! Ha!" Georgia said.

  "You shouldn't mock Zinnia like that," Jackie said. "She can't help being the way she is. It's just too much for one person: all of the stress of being the only Eight to have to get her power and gift in the same month we all have our eighth birthday and after which we're supposed to discover how Mommy and Daddy disappeared."

  "Or died," Rebecca put in.

  "It's just too much stress for one Eight," Jackie stressed again, ignoring Rebecca. "No wonder Zinnia feels the need to acquire pigeon pets and pretend she can talk to those same pigeon pets."

  "I heard that, Jackie," Zinnia said. Shockingly, her voice lacked a tone of offense as she added, "And it's not a pigeon pet. I keep telling you, it's a pigeon friend."

  "I'm sorry," Jackie said.

  "That's okay," Zinnia said.

  "Why be sorry?" Georgia said. "And why is it okay? All any of this is is more crazy talk!"

  "Has anyone else noticed," Jackie said, "that whenever we're all together, which is pretty much every minute of our waking lives, all we do is make fun of one another?"

  "Oh, come on, Jackie," Durinda said. "We do support each other sometimes. It's not that bad."

  Jackie thought about this for a moment.

  "Yes," she finally said. "I really do think it is that bad." Then she grew excited. "I know!" she said. "I propose we spend a half an hour—no, a full hour—during which all we say is kind things about one another. Anyone else game?"

  We didn't know if we were game, not exactly. But those waves in the ocean looked very choppy. So, sure. We were willing to play along.

  "Okay," Jackie said excitedly, "who's ready to go first?"

  Well, when she put it like that ...

  "Fine," Jackie said when it was clear no one was going to volunteer, "I'll go first. And I'll say that ... let's see ... that Georgia's naturally curly hair is most attractive on her. And further, when Georgia puts her mind to it, she can be quite sweet."

  "Thanks, Jackie," Georgia said, "although it did sound as though you had to reach for that last part. Looks as though we're playing upward, meaning we're supposed to say something nice about the Eight in birth order ahead of us. That should be easy. Durinda makes a mean chocolate chip pancake. Phew, I'm glad that's over. It's not so easy being nice for an extended period of time."

  "I may not always agree with Annie's tactics," Durinda contributed, "but I respect the fact that since New Year's Eve she's run this family pretty much as well as any adult could."

  "Zinnia is sweet," Annie said, "probably the sweetest Eight we've got, but I do worry about this thinking-she-can-talk-to-cats-and-birds thing. That can't be healthy."

  Zinnia was kind enough to ignore that last part, merely saying, "Rebecca is not nearly as nasty as she pretends to be."

  Whenever one of us was called upon to say something nice about Rebecca, this not-nearly-as-nasty-as-she-pretends-to-be thing was pretty much all we could come up with. We didn't say it because we knew it was true; it was more because we hoped it might be.

  "Great," Rebecca said. "That's just great. How am I supposed to follow that high praise?" She turned to Petal in her mummy costume. "I'm sorry!" Rebecca cried at last. "But I just can't do it! How can you expect me to say something positive about that?"

  We looked where she was looking, at Petal. We kind of did understand what Rebecca meant.

  "Fine," Petal said, rising to her feet as best she could in her mummy costume. "If no one can think of anything nice to say about me, I'll take myself off for a bit. I'll ... I'll ... I'll go for a walk."

  And off Petal walked, as best she could.

  "Well, that's just great," Jackie said, looking dejected as Petal trudged away in her bunny slippers through the sand. "We couldn't get through one whole round of the family being nice to one another without one of us saying something insulting, never mind lasting a whole hour. How long did we last, a whole five minutes?"

  "Maybe it was six," Zinnia said optimistically.

  "Actually, I'm fairly certain it was five minutes and twenty-seven seconds," Marcia said, apparently consulting some internal clock that was extremely precise. Then she frowned. "Or was that twenty-eight seconds?"

  "We're sorry, Jackie," Durinda said. "And here, no one even got the chance to say anything nice about you."

  "Or me," Marcia added.

  "I don't care," Jackie said, and we could tell she didn't. Jackie was just like that. "But look at Petal."

  We looked. There went Petal, trudging farther and farther away from us in her bunny slippers. Why, she was so far away, she practically looked like a normal person.

  "Back home," Jackie went on, "Petal sometimes asks for an escort just to go to the bathroom—and it's our bathroom in our house! And now here she is going off by herself without any family protection. Where can she be going?"

  ***

  A half-hour lat
er, or what seemed like a half-hour, Petal trudged back, breathless.

  "Petal," Jackie said, "what's wrong?"

  "Someone was following me," Petal said, still trying to catch her breath.

  "Following you?" seven Eights plus the Petes cried in concern. "But who? Why?"

  "If I knew that," Petal said, "I would tell you. All I know is, every time I took a step, the shadow behind me took a step too." Petal paused and then burst out with "I have a stalker!"

  Oh, Petal.

  "Oh, Petal," even Jackie felt forced to say. "Of course you don't have a stalker. You must be seeing your own shadow. Why, look how low the sun is in the sky."

  Petal looked, stopped, wondered.

  "There's the positive thing I have to say about Petal," Rebecca said. "Petal's so scared of everything, she's scared of her own shadow. I don't know about the rest of you, but I think it's kind of cute!"

  And so ended the first full day of our vacation, August 3. Well, we did have a bonfire on the beach, over which we cooked fish dogs and toasted marshmallows—Pete found a Seaside store where he could do a Big Shop—and Petal worried that the bonfire would kill us all, and then we went back to our rooms and did 16.766 pages of various parts of the workbook, just to please Annie and because we liked to skip around in Summer Workbook, and then we went to sleep.

  But really, we would think later, the day might just as well have ended when Rebecca insulted Petal by assuming that Petal was merely scared of her own shadow.

  EIGHT

  It was the next morning, August 4.

  "I'm hungry!" Annie announced.

  "I'm hungry!" Georgia announced.

  "I'm hungry!" Jackie announced.

  "I'm hungry!" Marcia announced.

  "I'm hungry!" Petal announced.

  "I'm hungry!" Rebecca announced.

  "I'm hungry!" Zinnia announced.

  "I must say," Pete said, patting his belly, "I'm a bit hungry myself."

  "It's odd," Mrs. Pete added, "but fish dogs don't stick with a person as long as a person might think they would."

  "Well, don't look at me," Durinda said. "I'm not going to make everyone's breakfast. It's supposed to be my vacation too, after all."

  We all turned to Jackie, sure she'd bail us out. And we were sure she was about to, since she was smiling and had opened her mouth to speak. But before any words could come out, someone else spoke.

  "Fine," Georgia said. "I'll make breakfast for everybody."

  We gaped at her. Georgia — Georgia, who never did anything resembling a chore unless sternly commanded to by Annie—was offering to make us all breakfast?

  Our gaping continued as Georgia headed into the kitchen, and our gaping continued yet further at the ensuing racket that came from that room. The sound of cabinets opening and slamming shut, drawers being yanked out and slid in, the clatter of crockery, and the tinkling of silverware.

  "She must be making us a feast in there," Annie said in a hushed voice.

  "What's that other sound?" Jackie asked.

  "Is Georgia humming?" Petal asked.

  "No," Marcia corrected. "She's whistling. Georgia's whistling while she's working."

  "Huh," Durinda said, sounding miffed. "I never whistle while I work."

  "Is everyone ready for breakfast?" Georgia shouted to us.

  We don't feel the need to recount our individual responses here. Suffice to say that basically we all shouted back, "Yes!"

  "Ready or not," Georgia called, "here comes breakfast!"

  A moment later Georgia emerged from the kitchen bearing a tray upon which sat two bowls, two spoons, a box, and ten juice boxes. She handed the bowls, which we now saw contained cereal, to the Petes and the box to Annie.

  "Sorry," Georgia said, "but the little cottage doesn't come with service for ten, so I figured it was only fair that the Petes get the two bowls, since they are old."

  "Older," Annie corrected with a smile toward the Petes, as though to prove the rest of us weren't as bad as, well, Georgia. "Georgia just means you're older than us and therefore worthy of respect."

  Good save, Annie!

  "What's this feast you've prepared for us?" Rebecca demanded of Georgia as we each reached for a juice box, pleased to see it was mango.

  "Razzle Crunchies, of course," Georgia said, "the official cereal of the Sisters Eight."

  "You made all that noise in the kitchen," Durinda said, "just to wind up serving us a box of Razzle Crunchies?"

  "It was a very involved process," Georgia said. "Anyway, I thought it was rather wonderful that Mr. Pete was able to find Razzle Crunchies at the little Seaside grocery store. I always assumed Razzle Crunchies were a delicacy available for sale only in the town where we live. Now, eat up, everybody, so we can get to the beach."

  "But how are we supposed to eat up," Rebecca said, "when the Petes are the only ones with bowls and Annie's holding the box?"

  "Oh, right," Georgia said. "Well, since there are only two bowls, we're supposed to just pass the box among ourselves and shove our hands in and grab what we like." Georgia turned to Annie. "Do you think you could stop hogging the box now?"

  "Sorry," Annie said, grabbing a handful and handing the box to Durinda, who accepted the box grudgingly.

  "When I make breakfast," Durinda muttered, "it doesn't go like this."

  "Um, terrific breakfast, Georgia," Pete said politely around a mouthful of Razzle and Crunch.

  "Where's Call?" Zinnia said suddenly, looking worried. "I haven't seen him since last night. Call! Call!"

  "Oh no," Petal said. "Call is probably one of those traitor pigeon pets you're always hearing about in the news. Probably right this minute Call is off somewhere trading our secrets with the enemy in exchange for better pigeon food."

  We ignored Petal.

  "Call! Call!" Zinnia shouted as she moved from room to room.

  We wished we could ignore Zinnia too, and we would have if she hadn't been shouting so loudly.

  "Call! Ca—"

  "Oh, good," Jackie said. "Zinnia must have found Call, because she's stopped shouting."

  "Or else she found Call dead," Rebecca added, then added some more. "Or else Zinnia's dead."

  But as it turned out, neither dire outcome was the case, which we saw when Zinnia entered with Call perched on her shoulder.

  "Where did you find Call?" Jackie asked.

  "Outside," Zinnia said happily, "with the cats. Call and Zither were having a conversation. I think they were trying to get to know each other better."

  Oh, Zinnia.

  ***

  "Isn't anyone going in the water?" Pete asked.

  We were back on the beach again, in the same spot we'd been in the day before. We all had our bathing suits on, except for Petal, who had on—well, you know.

  "I said," Pete said, "isn't anyone going in the water? No one went in yesterday."'

  We ignored Pete, although what he said was true. We hadn't gone in yesterday, and we weren't going in today, because, well, we were somewhat scared of the water here. Back home, we didn't have an ocean. Back home, all we had was a wading pool we'd outgrown and that had never been scary in the first place, except maybe to Petal. But this, this... ocean —it was so vast. We couldn't even see where it ended. We were scared of things we couldn't see the end of, the great uncertainty of it all.

  "This is so odd," Pete said. "Why come to the Seaside and then just sit by the side part and not go in the sea part?"

  "But there are plenty of other things to do by the side of the sea," Annie pointed out.

  "Things that are even more fun than actually going into the sea," Durinda added.

  "Like what?" Pete said.

  "We could play beach volleyball," Jackie suggested.

  "I'm fairly certain that's something people do at the side of the sea," Marcia added.

  "Do you see a volleyball or a net anywhere?" Georgia scoffed.

  We didn't mind so much her scoffing at Marcia, but we rather did mind her scoffi
ng at Jackie.

  "Why don't we bury Petal up to her neck in the sand?" Rebecca suggested. "Burying people up to their necks in the sand is definitely a by-the-sea activity, and anyway, with all the clothes Petal's wearing, she's practically buried already."

  "Oh no," Petal said forcefully. "You won't catch me letting myself be buried in the sand. That's a terribly dangerous thing for a person to allow to happen to herself. A passing pigeon might think my head was a perch, and then where would I be? I'd be known as Petal the Pigeon Perch. It would be so embarrassing."

  We didn't think anything could be more embarrassing than the outfit Petal was wearing.

  "Or else," Petal went on, "you might bury me and then all decide you wanted to get snow cones. So you'd run off to do that, leaving me here alone, and then you wouldn't be able to find me again later because all I'd be is a tiny head in the crowd and I'd be stuck here the rest of my life."

  We hadn't thought the fear of being a pigeon perch could be topped, but somehow she'd managed to do it.

  "Or else—" Petal started in on yet another new fear, but Rebecca cut her off.

  "Fine," Rebecca said. "You can all bury me, then. I don't mind. I think it would be rather fun to be buried."

  So that's what we did, buried Rebecca up to her neck in the sand. We had to admit: burying Rebecca was rather fun. In fact, we wondered why we hadn't thought of it earlier.

  "Now what?" Georgia asked, once Rebecca was entirely covered up to her neck, only her head remaining visible. "Do we just sit around here and stare at your head all day, Rebecca? The burying part was fun but I don't see staring at your head all day as being much of a game."

  "I think," Zinnia said, slowly rising to her feet, "I'll take a little dip in the ocean."

  What?

  "What?" Pete said.

  We hadn't told Pete about our fear—of course we hadn't told him that—but the tone of his voice told us he'd picked up on it on his own. It was funny how Pete could be intelligent like that at times.

  "It'll just be a little dip," Zinnia said, heading toward the water's edge. "I shouldn't be too long."

  "Don't go too far!" Pete shouted after her. "Do you see those buoys bobbing a little ways out? Don't go past that line!"