The Vanderbeekers Make a Wish Page 6

  “Uncle Arthur dyed his hair?” Oliver asked.

  “And had it shaved around the bottom. That was back when he was in high school.”

  “Cool!” Oliver and Laney said.

  “I have a photo!” Aunt Penny said, and pulled out her phone. She opened up the offending photo. “I made it his profile picture. It bugs him so much.”

  “Whoa,” Oliver said, looking at a much younger Uncle Arthur sporting pink hair that was long on top and shaved at the bottom. The longer hairs were combed to the side and hung over his left eye. “That looks so awesome.”

  “He tried to use food coloring first, but his hair was so dark it didn’t work. So he saved up money from mowing lawns and got it done at a hair salon. Only he didn’t make that much money mowing lawns, so he went to a place where you could pay less if you were willing to have a stylist-in-training do your hair. And since she was just learning, she didn’t really know how to bleach his super-dark hair.”

  “What happened?” Laney asked.

  “He wanted purple hair, but the stylist accidentally turned it bright pink,” Aunt Penny said. “Your grandparents were horrified, especially because there was a big family gathering the next day. Everyone was talking about Arthur’s hair.”

  Oliver considered Aunt Penny’s story. “I still want green hair.”

  “Even after hearing that?” Aunt Penny said.

  “Yes!”

  “Your uncle Arthur had so many hair misadventures,” Aunt Penny continued. “One time, he had a haircut where the back of his hair was so short that he asked the hairdresser to buzz his name in the back. Only the stylist misheard his name and wrote ‘Arnold’ instead.”

  Hyacinth, Laney, and even Mr. Beiderman started laughing, and then they had to call Uncle Arthur and make fun of him. Oliver, however, did not laugh. He was thinking. Getting his name buzzed in the back of his hair would definitely give people something to talk about on the basketball court.

  Oliver hadn’t known that food coloring could color hair, and now he wanted to see if it would work. Not on his own hair, since it was dark like Uncle Arthur’s, but maybe on lighter-colored hair. And there was really only one living thing in the brownstone who might be a good candidate for experimentation.

  Tuxedo.

  Tuxedo was a black-and-white cat, and her hair was perfect for hair-dye trials. Maybe Tuxedo would look so fantastic that Mama would let Oliver dye his own hair.

  Oliver figured that Laney would be on board with dying her cat’s hair green. He waited until Aunt Penny and Mr. Beiderman were distracted with a conversation about famous art heists before broaching the idea with his sister.

  “Sure,” said Laney. “Maybe Jessie and Hyacinth will want to help.”

  “Ah, I think it might be better if we surprise them,” Oliver said. He wasn’t sure if Jessie or Hyacinth would love this plan.

  “Okay,” Laney said happily. She loved surprises.

  Mama didn’t use food coloring very much, but they found some old tubes deep in the back of the cupboard behind the muffin and popover pans. The box had only two out of four tubes left, and Oliver was happy to see that green and red were the two choices.

  “How much do you think we’ll need?” Oliver asked Laney.

  “All of it?” she suggested.

  Laney trotted off to find Tuxedo while Oliver went into the bathroom and twisted the cap off the food coloring. A few minutes later, Laney returned with Tuxedo in her arms. She was drowsy from being woken up from her late-afternoon nap and was purring contentedly.

  “How should we do this?” Oliver asked. “Just squirt it on her fur and rub it in?”

  “Sure,” Laney said. “You can use my comb if you want.”

  So Oliver squirted some dots on Tuxedo’s fur and rubbed it in with his hands while Laney combed the dye through. After a few more drops, Oliver took a critical look at Tuxedo. The cat loved being groomed and didn’t seem bothered about being green.

  “I think we should use a lot more,” Oliver said. “I want her to look like a shamrock.”

  Laney shrugged. “If you say so.”

  Oliver took the tube and squeezed it hard, and a whole lot of food coloring squirted out, splattering the bath mat in the process.

  “Whoa,” Laney said.

  Tuxedo took that opportunity to shake her whole body as if she were a wet dog, causing green food coloring to spray all over the bathroom, the white towels hanging by the door, and Oliver and Laney.

  Laney pointed at Oliver. “You have green splotches all over your face now!”

  Oliver didn’t want to stand up and look in the mirror—that would require him to let go of Tuxedo—so they continued to comb food coloring into Tuxedo’s hair until her white fur was a very pleasing emerald green color.

  “She looks amazing,” Oliver said. This could totally convince Mama that he should be allowed to dye his hair.

  “I want to dye my hair too,” Laney said. She picked up the red food coloring and held it out to her brother. “Can we try with this?”

  “Sure,” Oliver said. He took the top off, and seeing how much food coloring it took to get Tuxedo’s hair green, he went ahead and squirted the whole bottle over Laney’s head.

  “Oliver!” Laney squealed. “It’s dripping!”

  Oliver handed her a washcloth, and she wiped her face.

  “Oops,” Laney said when she saw the red stains all over the washcloth.

  “It’ll wash out,” Oliver said as he combed. This time, he didn’t rub the dye in, not wanting to ruin the effect of his green hands. Because of that, the red dye was getting everywhere—it was dripping on his clothes, on Laney’s clothes, and on the tile floor.

  “Is it working?” Laney asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Oliver said. “Maybe.”

  When he was done combing it in, Oliver was pretty sure that Laney’s hair had a nice red tint to it.

  Laney pulled out the step stool so she could get a look in the mirror.

  “Oh no, my face!”

  Oliver looked at his sister’s reflection in the mirror. Her face was all blotchy and red from the dye that had dripped down after the initial squeeze.

  “It’ll wash out,” Oliver said again, and he watched as Laney scrubbed her face until it turned all pink and rosy. The red dye remained.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Oliver told her, then thought about Uncle Arthur buzzing his name in the back of his hair. “Want to help me shave Franz’s hair?”

  The sound of the doorbell ringing disrupted the relative quiet of the brownstone.

  “Pizza’s here!” Jessie called from her bedroom, and Oliver and Laney opened the bathroom door and raced toward the front door. Franz beat them there, and Tuxedo was close behind.

  Oliver peeked out the window. It was Austin, one of the guys who delivered pizza from Famous Original Ray’s Pizza on 139th Street and Lenox Avenue. Ray’s Original made the best New York City pizza: enough cheese to satisfy even cheese-loving Laney, perfect red sauce, and a thin, crispy crust.

  Oliver opened the door. “Hi, Austin.”

  Austin looked up from the order slip taped onto the pizza. “Whoa, what happened to you?”

  “Food dye!” Laney said.

  “And your parents are okay with that?”

  “Our parents aren’t here,” Laney told him.

  Austin got a glimpse of green Tuxedo. “Oh my gosh, your poor cat.”

  “I think Tuxedo looks great,” Oliver said. “I’m hoping it will convince my mom to let me dye my hair green.”

  Austin broke into a big grin. “Good luck with that!”

  “Money is on the side table!” Mr. Beiderman called from the kitchen. “Keep the change.”

  Laney took the pizza while Oliver gave Austin the money and said goodbye.

  “Thanks for getting the pizza,” Jessie said to Mr. Beiderman as she came down the stairs. Laney was on her way to the dining room to set down the hot pizza when Tuxedo dashed across the living room
and Jessie screamed.

  “What happened to Tuxedo?” she screeched.

  Laney, startled by Jessie’s outburst, dropped the pizza box, which tipped just enough for the lid to flip open, and the pizza landed face-down on the ground. By that time, Jessie had made it all the way down the stairs and was now looking at horror at Laney and Oliver.

  “What happened to your faces? And your hands?”

  Laney, knowing she was in big trouble, raced past Jessie and, in a moment of panicked folly, stuck her head between the spindles halfway up the stairs. She was so distressed, however, that she pushed extra hard and her head popped through, something that had never happened before.

  “Help!” Laney said. “I’m stuck!”

  “Just pull your head out,” Jessie said. “If you got it in there, you can get it out.”

  “It hurts!” Laney said as she attempted to pull her head back out. “I’m going to be stuck here forever!”

  Mr. Beiderman and Aunt Penny raced to the stairs.

  “Maybe we can rub her whole head with oil or butter,” Aunt Penny said.

  “No!” Laney said. She started crying.

  “It will help you slide out,” Mr. Beiderman told her.

  “No!”

  “Don’t touch her! I’ll get her free!” Oliver declared, and he ran down to the basement, where Mr. Smiley’s saw was stored under the staircase from when Papa had borrowed it the previous week. By the time he returned, both Grandma and Grandpa were awake and trying to pull Laney free while she screamed, Franz was barking up a storm, Tuxedo had gotten the zoomies and was racing back and forth through the living room, and Jessie was scolding everyone from the foot of the stairs.

  “Don’t worry,” Oliver said, almost beheading Jessie as he held the saw aloft. “I’ve got this.” He ran up the stairs and prepared to saw the spindles and grant his sister her freedom.

  “I don’t know if this is such a great idea,” Mr. Beiderman said, looking very uncomfortable.

  “I don’t want to be stuck here forever!” Laney cried, tears dripping down her face.

  As Mr. Beiderman approached the stairs, Oliver got the saw ready, afraid Mr. B would take away the tool before he could free his sister.

  “Don’t worry, Laney,” Oliver said. “I’ve got this all under control.”

  Nine

  The rain had stopped by the time Isa headed back to the bakery. The sun glistened off wet windowpanes and slick streets. Cars and trucks flooded the avenues with their squeaky brakes and rumbling engines, and when Isa got to Castleman’s, the windows were so fogged up from the humid weather that she couldn’t see inside. She opened the door and found that the afternoon rush had subsided. Benny was sitting at a table and snacking on an apple turnover. He smiled when he saw her.

  “Hey,” Benny said. “You want anything to eat?”

  Isa shook her head. “I just had a chocolate croissant, but thanks.”

  Benny had only half an hour to chat before his shift, so he told her about the new workout regimen his basketball coach had them doing. Isa, who did not consider herself athletic at all, listened patiently as he talked about interval training. Then she told Benny about her dad leaving and her grandparents arriving in town. By then, it was four o’clock and time for Benny’s shift.

  Isa was saying goodbye when Mrs. Castleman emerged from the kitchen, her apron off and her jacket on.

  “I am done for the day,” Mrs. Castleman said to Benny, then turned to Isa. “If you have time, can you walk me home? I’ve been thinking about your grandfather since Laney mentioned him, and I wanted to tell you a story.

  Isa didn’t have to think twice. She nodded and followed Mrs. Castleman out the door, and they headed north toward the Castlemans’ apartment.

  “One thing I remembered about your grandfather,” Mrs. Castleman began, “is that he loved birds. He would collect bird books so he could learn to identify them. He was always sharing some piece of information he had learned about a bird with me, even though he knew I wasn’t such a fan. I found birds a nuisance, especially pigeons. I couldn’t stand those birds! Then, one summer evening, Pop-Pop came into the bakery right before we closed. I think your dad was around twelve. Your grandfather was so excited because there was a really rare bird in Central Park and he wanted me to see it. So he forced Mr. Castleman and me to close the bakery a few minutes early and we walked down to the Harlem Meer. And there, floating in the lake among the mallards, was the strangest duck I had ever seen. It had a bright red beak, a strip of emerald green feathers on the top of its head, a purple chest, and black and white stripes around its neck. Your dad named it Firequacker for its colorful feathers. Pop-Pop scoured his bird books to identify it, and it turned out to be a Mandarin duck. They’re native to China and Japan, and no one knew how one had ended up in Central Park! The duck stayed for about a week, and your dad would come by the bakery every evening to pick us up and take us to the Harlem Meer to see the bird. Then it flew off and we never saw it again.”

  “Wow,” Isa said. “I had no idea he loved birds so much.”

  “The great thing about your grandfather,” Mrs. Castleman said, “was that he wanted to share his joy with everyone he knew. It didn’t matter that I didn’t find birds fascinating. He taught me to appreciate them. Even pigeons! I’ve been trying to go down to the park once a week to feed the birds since Pop-Pop died.”

  They had reached Mrs. Castleman’s building by then.

  “And that small action reminds me to find beauty in the world,” she told Isa. “Do you have a few minutes? I want to show you something.”

  Isa nodded and followed Mrs. Castleman inside, and they got into the elevator and went up to the eleventh floor. The elevator doors separated and Mrs. Castleman led the way to apartment 11F. She opened the door, and Isa smiled. Entering the Castlemans’ home was like stepping into a forest. Hanging from hooks bolted into the ceiling were lush green plants with long trailing vines. Miniature trees thrived in big round planters on the floor. Pots in a rainbow of colors sat on windowsills, leaves as big as Isa’s head fanning out from their stems.

  Mrs. Castleman went to a bookshelf in her living room and pulled down a box. Inside were stacks of photographs, and Isa looked with interest as she saw younger versions 1 of the Castlemans standing in front of their bakery. The storefront looked different back then, with a dark green awning of scalloped edges with blocky white letters instead of the hand-painted wooden sign that hung there now.

  Mrs. Castleman found the picture she was looking for and handed it to Isa. The photo showed the Castlemans, a boy, and man standing by a lake. Off in the background was a flock of ducks.

  Mrs. Castleman pointed to the boy. “That’s your dad,” she said. Then she pointed to the tall man, who had a smile that filled his face. “That is your grandfather.” Then she pointed to a tiny speck at the middle of the lake. “And that is Firequacker.”

  Isa squinted at the photo. She could not tell the difference between Firequacker and all the other ducks, but the fact that they had taken a photo must have meant that it was an important bird. More interesting to Isa were the images of her dad and Pop-Pop. Now that she thought about it, she had not seen many photos of them. In the brownstone, there were many framed photos of her and her siblings at various ages, but just one of Pop-Pop with Papa. It made her wonder if Papa had a scrapbook of old photos he could share with her.

  She must have been looking at the photo for a very long time, because she started when she felt Mrs. Castleman put a hand on her shoulder. “You can keep that photo, if you want.”

  Isa looked up. “Really?”

  “Yes, of course,” Mrs. Castleman said. “Here’s one more.”

  Isa took another photo from her, this one of Pop-Pop alongside a teenager wearing a basketball jersey.

  “That’s Jamal,” Mrs. Castleman said. “One of the kids Pop-Pop coached.”

  Isa had never heard about Jamal and something about the photo made her want to know everything a
bout him.

  “Actually,” Isa said, pulling out her phone, “can I record you telling his story so I can replay it for my family?”

  When Mrs. Castleman nodded, Isa turned on the voice recorder feature on her phone. Mrs. Castleman’s words filled the air. When she was done speaking, Isa found herself holding the two photos of Pop-Pop to her heart.

  “Family history is important,” Mrs. Castleman said. “It’s good to know where we came from. You, my dear, have a beautiful legacy.”

  Isa thanked Mrs. Castleman for the photos and the stories, then headed home.

  Isa had never thought about her grandfather walking these streets, but given all the new information from the day—first the jacket, then the letter, and now the photos—Isa felt as if Harlem had taken on a more magical feeling. Harlem had been Pop-Pop’s home like it was now hers.

  She was so immersed in thinking about Pop-Pop that when she opened the door to the brownstone, the noise and chaos inside made her jump.

  “Help me, Isa!” Laney yelled from the staircase.

  Isa glanced over, then blinked. Laney’s head was stuck between the spindles of the staircase, and Oliver was standing over her, a saw raised in his green hands.

  “Oliver, freeze!” Isa yelled.

  Oliver froze.

  “Now come down the stairs carefully and hand me that saw,” Isa told him.

  “We told him it was a bad idea,” Aunt Penny said. “We tried to call you, but there was no answer.”

  “Where on earth did you find this?” Isa asked after Oliver slowly made his way down the stairs and relinquished the saw.

  “Papa borrowed it from Mr. Smiley, and since Mr. Smiley has been out of town, he hasn’t returned it yet,” Oliver said.

  “Are you kidding me?” Isa asked.

  “Help!” Laney called.

  Isa took in the chaos around the living room, which included Franz howling with the volume of five thousand trumpets as Jessie held him by the leash.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Isa asked.

  “Laney dropped a whole pizza on the ground before she got stuck in the stairs,” Jessie said, pulling on his collar but losing the battle. “Now Franz wants the pizza.”