The Kindness Club: Designed by Lucy Read online

  “Grief group?” I asked.

  “There were signs posted in the stairwell. Grief group meeting in room seventeen. Didn’t you see?”

  “No,” I said. The things Serena had said pinged around in my brain. “Her mother didn’t die, did she?”

  “The week before last,” Theo said.

  Chloe gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. “I feel so badly for her,” she said. “I don’t even know her and I feel badly.”

  “I think you mean you feel bad,” Theo said. “If you say you feel ‘badly,’ that means you’re not good at feeling.”

  “But Chloe is good at feeling,” I said. I turned to her. “Besides, I knew what you meant. I feel badly or bad or whatever the right thing to say is. I feel that, too.”

  “So do I,” Theo said. “Serena and I were in preschool together, and our moms are still friends. Or, they were still friends.”

  “What happened to her?” Chloe asked.

  “She had cancer,” Theo said. “Not everyone dies of cancer. I’ve been reading a lot about it, and they have lots of treatments that work really well for people. But apparently Serena’s mom had a really bad kind, and there wasn’t any treatment for it. My parents went to the funeral.”

  Chloe made a little ooh sound.

  “Serena’s birthday is coming up,” Theo continued. “Not this weekend but next. I heard my parents talking about it. Her mom was always big on birthdays, and Serena’s dad doesn’t know what to do. He’s too sad himself.”

  “I can’t imagine a birthday without my mom,” Chloe said. “That must be the worst thing ever.” The instant the words were out of her mouth, her cheeks turned a deep red, the color of a Chanel dress I’d seen in Vogue’s Valentine’s Day issue. “Oh my gosh, Lucy. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I told her.

  “I know your mom died, too. I didn’t mean that it was the worst. I bet you have good birthdays, too.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “But I didn’t mean it wasn’t the worst, either, because I’m sure it’s really hard sometimes. I just … I just don’t know what to say. I shouldn’t have said anything at all. I wasn’t thinking.”

  I remembered how I’d made that comment about seeing cute animals, without thinking about how it could hurt Theo’s feelings, since he couldn’t get near them. I thought Chloe would never make a mistake like that, but maybe we all say things without thinking sometimes. I didn’t want her to feel bad about it. “It’s fine, really,” I assured her. “It must be harder for Serena, because she’s had her mom for ten years, and she was really used to it.”

  “Almost eleven,” Theo said.

  “Almost eleven,” I repeated. “But my mom was only around for my first birthday. I’ve seen pictures, but I don’t remember.”

  “We don’t really have memories of things that happen before we know how to speak,” Theo said. “It has to do with language acquisition. Basically, the words we learn code the memories to keep them in our brains.”

  “My mom sometimes forgets things, even though she’s been able to speak for years. This morning she forgot where she’d left her keys,” Chloe said.

  “Really?” I asked. That made me feel better about Grandma.

  “Yup.”

  “That’s perfectly normal,” Theo said. “There are only about six people in the world who can remember everything that ever happened to them. They have something called highly superior autobiographical memory. HSAM for short. But I bet they still needed language to start storing memories. It’s too bad. I think it’d be cool to remember the first face you ever saw—which I guess would be the doctor who helped birth you.”

  “And it would be cool to remember the first time you tasted cake,” Chloe said. “And the first joke you thought was funny.”

  “If you remember all the first happy things, you’d also remember the first sad things,” I said.

  “I suppose so,” Theo said. “I don’t think there’s a filter for people with HSAM. I still think it’d be worth it.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “I’d remember my mom.”

  “You sure you’re okay?” Chloe asked.

  “I am, I promise,” I told her. “We should get going. You know, before Valerie and Leesha think all three of us got sick or lost, or that we fell into the toilet.”

  I put an arm through Chloe’s, so she’d know it really was okay. Then I linked my other arm through Theo’s, and the three of us walked back upstairs.

  CHAPTER 8

  The next morning, Grandma made eggs for breakfast, and I told her all about Serena Kappas. “Theo said that Serena’s mom was really into birthdays and always planned great parties.”

  “Poor girl,” Grandma murmured.

  “I know,” I said. “But I have an idea.”

  “What’s that?”

  Before I could answer, Dad walked into the room. “Morning,” he said. He had the newspaper tucked under his arm. Every morning of my life (except for the times he left for work before I woke up), that’s been my first image of Dad: him entering the kitchen with the newspaper under his arm. He always gets a cup of coffee, and he drinks it standing up, paper propped open on the counter. I used to think that it was a very grown-up thing to do, but once when I tried to eat my breakfast at the counter, Grandma wouldn’t have it. “Park your bottom on your seat, mago,” she’d said.

  As I could’ve predicted, Dad walked straight to the counter and poured himself a mug of the coffee Grandma had made. “Did you get my compliment card?” I asked him.

  “What card?”

  “I left it on your bedroom door.”

  I’d been leaving compliment cards for my family ever since we started the Kindness Club. Really, they weren’t cards at all—just compliments written on Post-it notes, and stuck where they could find them. This latest one for Dad was my first kindness of the day. It said:

  You’re the best, Dad! Love, your favorite daughter, Lucy

  “I didn’t see it,” Dad said.

  Did it still count as my first kindness if the person the kindness was meant for didn’t even read it?

  Dad flipped the paper open on the countertop. “There are eggs still in the pan for you, Ken,” Grandma said.

  “Thanks, Ma. I’m not that hungry.”

  “You need to eat,” she told him.

  “Grandma says breakfast is the most important meal because it sets the tone for the rest of the day,” I said.

  “That’s right,” Grandma agreed.

  “I’ll take the eggs to go,” Dad said, flipping a page.

  “Ew, cold eggs,” I said. “You should throw them out and buy something fresh when you get hungry.”

  “He can heat them up,” Grandma said. “Waste not, want not.” She stood and pulled open the drawer where we keep the Tupperware.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means you should finish what’s on your plate and not throw away perfectly good food,” Dad said, his voice suddenly raised.

  My cheeks went hot, as if I’d been slapped. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve yelled at me this week when I haven’t done anything wrong,” I said.

  “I wasn’t yelling,” Dad said. His voice was back to its usual decibel level, but it still had an edge to it.

  “You were yelling,” I insisted, and I turned to Grandma. “Wasn’t he yelling?”

  “Your father has a lot on his mind,” she said, not answering the question. But I knew that meant I was right. “You only have to eat what you’re hungry for.”

  “I’m done,” I said, pushing my plate away. I hated fighting with my family. That’s why I tried to never do it. But what had just happened with Dad wasn’t my fault. “I hope you hire a replacement for Felix soon,” I told him. “You must really be working too hard if you yelled at me about eggs. I just meant I wanted you to have a fresh meal. I was saying it to be kind.”

  “Yes, fine,” Dad said. He folded the paper gruffly, like the paper had made him sud
denly angry, too.

  “You didn’t tell me your idea for Serena,” Grandma said.

  “Oh, right. I almost forgot,” I said. “I was thinking we could plan a birthday party for her. Chloe, Theo, and me. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a lovely idea,” Grandma said. “But keep in mind that Serena may not be in the mood to celebrate at all. This will be her first birthday without her mother.”

  “But that’s exactly it,” I told her. “Serena has memories of her mom on all her other birthdays, and I bet they’re really good ones. But if we help her make new memories, then maybe her mom won’t be the only thing on her mind. When I think of my birthday, I don’t think of anyone missing. I think of you, and Oliver, and—” I broke off and glanced over at Dad, still standing by the counter. He was quiet, drinking his coffee, but his posture had softened a bit, like maybe he wasn’t angry anymore. “And Dad,” I finished up. “I think of all of you.”

  Dad put his coffee down and stepped over to the table. He put his hand on my head. I liked the feeling of it, heavy, a kind of hand-hat. He let it sit there for a couple seconds, and when he finally lifted it, he reached for my plate. “You’re done, yes?”

  “I am,” I said.

  He scraped my leftover eggs into the garbage, then turned on the tap to wash the plate by hand. It had only been two days since the dishwasher broke, and so far he and Grandma had been too busy to go to the store for a replacement.

  “I can do that,” Grandma said.

  “Or I can,” I said. “It’s my plate.”

  “I’ll take care of the dishes this morning,” Dad said.

  He didn’t actually say “sorry” to me, but I took the dish washing, plus his hand-on-my-head moment, to mean that he was.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I told him.

  “No problem.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a good idea?” I asked him. He looked puzzled, so I went on. “For my club to plan a birthday party for this girl in my grade whose mom just died. My birthday party at the bowling alley was my best birthday ever.”

  “We have had some nice memories at the bowling alley, haven’t we?” he said.

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “Lots of them. That’s why I think Serena would like a party there. Her birthday is next Sunday. That’s such a good day for a party. You’re rested up from the weekend, and you have one more fun thing to do before it’s time for school. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes, sure.”

  “I love when my birthday falls on a weekend,” I said. “I wish it happened every year.”

  “Lucy,” Grandma broke in. “Take a look at the time.”

  The clock on the stove clicked from 7:38 to 7:39. Theo was going to be here any second. I had to be sitting at my desk in Ms. Danos’s classroom in sixteen minutes. I ran upstairs to get my jacket, which had been part of Oliver’s old marching band uniform. It had been way too big on me; but since he didn’t need it anymore, he said I could do whatever I wanted to make it fit. I took in the back seam a couple inches and shortened the sleeves. It was blue, and I’d added some red fringe on the epaulets. The whole thing matched the T-shirt I was wearing, which incidentally I’d also made myself.

  The breeze picked up as I marched down our front steps to the sidewalk. (When you’re wearing a marching band jacket, you tend to march without even trying.)

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be careful,” Theo called.

  “Careful about what?” I asked.

  “He was saying it to appease me,” came a voice from across the hedge.

  “Oh, hi, Mrs. G!”

  “Hello, young lady,” she said. “You be careful, too, you hear? That’s the kind of wind that could knock someone over and break their bones.”

  “I’ll be fine, I promise,” I told her.

  “The storm last night undid your hard work, I’m afraid.”

  It was true. Chloe, Theo, and I had spent hours raking up a few years’ worth of twigs and leaves scattered all over her front yard, and now it looked all messed up again. I bet things were worse in the backyard, where there were more trees for leaves to fall from.

  “We have to go to school now, but I can clean things up when I get back.”

  “I’ll be in the city this afternoon, if the weather cooperates.”

  “I can do it without you.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. G said. “You come by this weekend, and we’ll keep each other company.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I will.”

  It was the weirdest thing—weird in a good way—that Mrs. G wanted my company at all. I used to think she was a witch, and she used to think I was a nuisance to the neighborhood. Now we were friends. It was all because of the Kindness Club, and it made me feel even more excited about our next project.

  “Thanks, Mrs. G,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER 9

  On the walk to school, I filled Theo in on my latest idea. He didn’t seem quite as excited as I was about the whole thing—he didn’t lift his knees high and march across Braywood School Road. (In fairness, he wasn’t wearing a marching band jacket, just his usual khakis and a button-down, which was practically a uniform to Theo.) And he didn’t wave enthusiastically at Kirby, the crossing guard, and shout out, “Have a wonderful day!” But, still, he said planning a party for Serena sounded like a good thing to do.

  “We should talk to Serena at lunch today,” I said as Kirby signaled it was safe for us to cross the street. “Next Sunday is only nine days away.”

  “It’s more than a week.”

  “Yeah, but there’s a lot to consider when planning a birthday party—or any kind of party.”

  It was a little like planning the perfect outfit—you needed to decide theme, and colors, and whether you wanted everything to match just exactly, or whether you wanted it to be a bit wackier and more original. I didn’t know Serena well at all, so I didn’t know her taste.

  “I want this to be the party of Serena’s dreams,” I went on. “I want it to be better than anything she’d ever dreamed of, so she’ll remember it forever and play the movie in her head for years to come.”

  “Did you know there’s a German word for playing things out in your head?” Theo asked. I shook my head. Of course I didn’t. “Kopfkino,” he went on. “It translates to ‘head cinema.’ ”

  By then we’d reached school, and Theo pulled open the big red door.

  “Why, thank you,” I said, marching in ahead of him. We had a couple of minutes left before the start of class, and luckily Chloe was already there. I walked (okay, fine: marched) over to her seat.

  “Look at her,” I heard Anjali say.

  She was standing by Monroe’s desk in the row behind Chloe, and I knew she was talking about me. Sure enough, Monroe called out, “Nice jacket, Lucy!” She was loud enough that I was sure everyone in the room heard her, including Ms. Danos, and it was clear by her tone that Monroe didn’t mean it as a compliment.

  Here’s something I figured out about kids and kindness—kids learn to be kind at different speeds. It’s like the reading groups they put you in when you’re in kindergarten. Some kids come to school already being great readers, and they’re in the top group. That would’ve been Chloe when it came to kindness. Then there was Theo and me—at first we would’ve been put in the middle group, and after we met Chloe and started our club, we moved up to the top.

  And, finally, there was Monroe Reeser. She’d be in the bottom group for kindness, and she wouldn’t be moving up anytime soon. But every kid in my grade eventually learned to read. So maybe one day Monroe would learn to be kind, as well.

  Or maybe not.

  I took off my jacket and draped it across the back of my chair. My shirt was one I’d made myself. I’d taken an ordinary white shirt and cut the sleeves off. Then I’d sewed on a sleeve from a blue shirt on one arm, and a red shirt on the other. I’d worn it on the Fourth of July.

  “My mom would never let me wear something like that,” Monroe said lou
dly.

  “Settle down,” Ms. Danos said.

  “I know the sleeves are lopsided,” I told Chloe and Theo, softly so that the It Girls wouldn’t overhear. “I took a risk and used different material on each sleeve.”

  If you don’t take risks, you don’t learn. You don’t grow. You don’t get better at things. That’s what fashion has taught me.

  I just wish I were able to skip over all the making-fun-of parts, to the part when I’m already famous and Monroe Reeser is wearing my designs.

  I wondered if kids gave Stella McCartney and Betsey Johnson a hard time when they were young. That was something I definitely planned to ask them about, when I grew up and got famous, too, and we all became friends.

  “Just so you know, I like your outfit,” Chloe told me. “Honestly, I really do. The jacket almost looks royal—like something the soldiers at Buckingham Palace would wear.”

  “The Queen’s Guard,” Theo said. “If the reigning monarch were a king, it would be called the King’s Guard. Either way, their coats are red, not blue.”

  “It was Oliver’s,” I explained. “From when he was in the marching band.”

  “Cool,” Chloe said. She lowered her voice to just a whisper. “Don’t pay attention to what Monroe said.”

  “I’m not,” I said. And I wasn’t. Mostly, I wasn’t. I knew that she and Anjali were still looking at me and snickering. But I kept my gaze laser-focused on Chloe and gave her a rundown of my idea for Serena’s birthday.

  “Oh wow,” she said.

  “I know. It’s a perfect project for the club, right?”

  “Perfect,” she echoed. “But …”

  “But what?”

  “I’ve never met Serena. If you asked me to point her out in the cafeteria, I wouldn’t be able to do it. Why would she want me at her birthday party if we’re not friends?”

  “Because—” I started.

  “Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” Ms. Danos said from the front of the room. “I need everyone in their own seats, please.”

  “Because planning her party will make you friends,” I said quickly, and I scooted to the front row just as Ms. Danos closed the classroom door and told us to pass up our homework.