Caterpillar Summer, page 15
“They don’t have sad endings, but they have sad parts,” said Cat, thinking of the drawings of book-Chicken that showed him bursting into tears or erupting in anger. “If she stopped the book at the sad part, there wouldn’t be much story, so she keeps going.”
Chicken’s eyes lit up like he thought of something.
“Wait here!” he exclaimed, padding out of the room.
When he returned he carried the Big Blue Book. Together they turned the pages of their family. There was no need to talk because they knew the story by heart. A few snapshots of Mom and Daddy in college, friends first before they fell in love.
Chicken stared at the photos, finally placing his fingers on one of Daddy grinning at Mom on their wedding day. They stood on the courthouse steps with friends, Mom in a simple yellow dress instead of a fancy white one. He looked up.
“Billy is lucky,” said Chicken. “He lives on a farm with two dogs. He has a dad and a grandpa.”
Cat smiled. “And don’t forget, a whole houseful of sisters—I know you wouldn’t want that.” She waited for him to laugh, but he was serious.
He glanced at the picture of Daddy again. “What was he like? Was he like Billy’s dad?” he asked.
His sweet voice made Cat’s insides fold like origami. Chicken had been too little to make his own memories with Daddy. She let him borrow hers.
“He never would have hurt a raccoon. But he liked to build things, and he worked hard, like Billy’s dad.”
Chicken nodded. He turned the pages, past their parents’ cross-country drive and their picture next to the world’s largest ball of twine, past baby Cat, past the pictures of her and Rishi as toddlers. He kept turning pages until he got to the ones of him as a baby, which proved how much he looked like a chicken.
But Chicken wasn’t looking at himself—he was looking at Daddy, who was already thin and weak. Daddy in a hospital gown, all bones.
Cat wanted to make it better, but she couldn’t.
“He got the saddest ending,” said Chicken.
Cat nodded. “We all did.”
“It wasn’t the ending for us,” said Chicken. “We have lots of pages left.”
It was such a Chicken way of looking at it that Cat smiled. “You’re right. We keep going.”
Chicken frowned. “Why aren’t Macon and Lily in our book?”
“We only just met them,” said Cat.
“Oh. Right.” Chicken looked across the album at her.
They were quiet for a moment, looking at pictures.
“Caterpillar,” he said seriously. “I would be sad if you weren’t in my book.”
She smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll always be in your book.”
He pushed his head against her. “Promise?”
She squeezed him close. “Promise.”
Cat’s tablet pinged. She looked up from across the room, surprised. She hurried to the desk and touched the video chat icon. Her friend’s face appeared on the screen.
“Rishi!” said Cat.
“Hey!” said Rishi. “Finally!”
“Finally,” said Cat. “How is your grandma?”
“She’s fine!” said Rishi. “Walking is going to be tough, but she’s working hard.”
“What is India like?” asked Cat.
“Hot! Crowded! Interesting! Delicious!”
Cat’s mouth watered, remembering the way Manjula could cook. “Oh my gosh, the food. Are you eating amazing things?”
Rishi lowered his voice. “Everyone we visit wants to feed me five years’ worth of food.”
Cat was jealous imagining it. “Have you had those dough-nut hole things?”
Rishi’s face looked dreamy. “Gulab jamun? They’re even better than my mom’s.”
Cat laughed. “Lucky.”
“It’s been a great trip,” said Rishi. “I’m so glad we’re here. I mean—I’m sorry we didn’t get to see you . . .”
“I know what you mean. I’ve had a good time, too.”
“How’s Chicken doing?” Rishi asked.
“He’s doing great,” said Cat. “He loves hanging out with Lily. And guess what—I learned to fish! I’m in a contest next weekend.”
“Now I’m jealous!” said Rishi. “Is there a prize?”
“Cash and a trophy,” said Cat.
“Oh, man!” said Rishi. “You know if you win, you could buy a plane ticket to Atlanta for later this summer!”
Cat didn’t want him to get his hopes up.
“I probably won’t win—the same kid wins every year.” She thought of John Harvey’s sneering face and sighed. He may be an awful person, but she had to admit he was good at fishing.
“Don’t be sad,” said Rishi. “Even if you don’t win, we’ll see each other sometime soon.”
Rishi told Cat stories about incredible street food in Bangalore and all his little cousins. Cat told him about Harriet, ghost crab hunting, and what it was like to know Macon and Lily after all this time.
As they said good-bye, Cat was beaming. Sometimes sharing with Rishi made things feel more real. And her time in North Carolina was definitely something she wanted to be real. She wanted to keep it with her forever.
Two days before the contest, Cat and Macon sat at the kitchen counter.
Macon pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Thought we should look at the rules before Saturday.”
The flyer was on the same bright green paper as the entry form had been.
GINGERBREAD ISLAND YOUTH FISHING CONTEST
RULES AND REGULATIONS
1. This contest is open to island youth ages 8–14.
2. Tournament time starts at 5:00 a.m. Saturday, July 9. Tournament time ends at 8:00 p.m. the same day.
3. All fish must be caught on hook and line; one rod per entrant, which must be affixed to the pier or held by the entrant at all times.
4. No assistance may be received from other individuals (including baiting).
5. No altering of the environment or pier by contestants.
6. Fish must be weighed immediately by official contest judge to be considered valid.
7. Prize awarded solely on the basis of overall weight of fish caught that day.
Cat looked at the starting and ending times. “That’s fifteen hours of fishing.”
“You can do it,” said Macon.
She knew she could. Over the last three weeks, she’d become stronger, thanks to all the practice.
“I’ll be there to keep you company,” said Macon. “And I know your fans will drop by—Lily, Chicken, and Harriet.”
“Mom, too,” said Cat. She smiled just thinking about it.
Macon cleared his throat. “I wanted to mention something. There was a challenge to your entry because you don’t live here year-round.”
Cat, worried, met Macon’s eyes. All her work would be for nothing.
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Macon said. “You aren’t considered a tourist because Lily and I live here full-time.”
“Who challenged my entry?”
Macon folded the paper in thirds. “Dean didn’t say.”
Cat had an idea of who it was. What did John Harvey have against her anyway?
“I’m proud of you, Cat—you’ve worked hard.”
“I want to win,” said Cat.
“I know you do,” said Macon. “I know.”
PART FIVE
Before & After
Adventure’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
—Caterpillar in Caterpillar & Chicken: Rainbow Roller Coaster
Lily clucked under her breath. “That man is going to drive me to distraction.”
Macon stood outside, neck craned toward the sky. It was the afternoon before the fishing contest and it looked like rain. Macon was monitoring the situation. First, he looked at the wall barometer. Then he loaded his phone’s weather map. Finally, he walked outside to check the sky. Afterward, he came inside. A few minutes later the cycle repeated.
In the evening, Macon backed the blue Jeep out of the driveway without saying where he was going. Cat half wondered if he was driving to the mainland to find a meteorologist to discuss things with.
She was reading in her bedroom when Lily came in. She handed Cat a gray plastic bag. “From your grandfather.”
Cat opened the bag. Inside were a rain hat and pants in her size, in bright yellow.
Cat touched the slick, waterproof material. “That was nice.”
“He wants you to have a good chance tomorrow.”
Cat didn’t want to let him down. “Do you think he’ll be disappointed if I don’t win?”
“Not at all.” Lily straightened the quilt. “Will you be disappointed?”
“Yes,” Cat admitted.
Lily kissed Cat’s forehead. “Big dreams of prize money, huh?”
It wasn’t just the prize, but Cat nodded anyway. Lily left, closing the door softly behind her. Cat turned her pillow to the cool side.
She couldn’t wait for Mom to see how much she had learned. Mom would have to know it was all because of Macon. It meant he had learned to keep promises. Mom wouldn’t have to be mad anymore.
They’d visit Gingerbread Island every summer, and Macon and Lily would visit San Francisco. Macon would admit he’d been wrong about how he’d reacted. Mom would admit she’d carried a grudge for too long. They would be a family again. And Cat was the one who could make it happen.
Cat chewed each bite a hundred times. Her throat was dry and her stomach was full of little jolts of electricity. She’d barely slept the night before.
Macon sat across from her. “All set?” he asked.
Cat nodded. “I packed the rain clothes—thanks for that. I double-checked the gear last night.”
She managed to eat half her sandwich and then they closed the door on the still house. They’d fished many mornings, but today leaving the house felt different. The next time Cat was at the house, it would be as a winner or loser.
She looked at everything as they walked to the pier—towels spread over deck railings to dry, funny little windows with flowery curtains, an orange kayak left upside down to drain. She would remember it all.
A crowd of people milled around the pier. An electric-green food truck, painted all over with fish, was parked at the pier entrance. The pier lights gave the morning mist a ghostly glow. Dean stood in the center of everything. Macon and Cat set down their gear and joined the cluster of people.
Fourteen kids were entered. Five were girls. The youngest kids looked sleepy, the middle kids like Cat looked excited, and the older kids looked bored. John Harvey was there, of course, standing next to Briggs. Up close, Cat noticed he had long, straight eyelashes just like his brother’s. Briggs’s hand snuck out in a lightning punch to John Harvey’s ribs. It happened so quickly, Cat would have missed it if she hadn’t been looking right at them. John Harvey stayed silent but rubbed his side gingerly. Cat had a flash of that same feeling she had when she met John Harvey that day on the beach—that he was someone who needed protecting. But it faded as she remembered the mud on her bike and his taunts about the contest.
Dean tapped on a bucket and the crowd stilled. “We are about to begin the annual Gingerbread Island Youth Fishing Contest,” he announced. “Welcome!
“As you know, our co-sponsor for the event is the Small Fry food truck.” Dean gestured to the truck. “As for logistics, all fish, after being weighed by the judges, will be delivered immediately to the truck for preparation and serving. Part of the day’s proceeds will be used for the prize money. Thank you, Small Fry, for your generous support of our event.” Everyone clapped and the chefs from the food truck bowed and waved.
“We must go over the rules—I know, the boring part,” he said. “We don’t expect there to be any problems with the rules this year.” He looked around and Cat may have imagined it, but his eyes seemed to stick an extra second on John Harvey and Briggs.
Dean read in his deep voice. It was the same list she and Macon had read. Cat looked at the other contestants. Most had at least one parent with them. She was glad Lily, Chicken, and Harriet would cheer her on. Mom would be there soon. She wondered if anyone besides Briggs would come for John Harvey.
Cat looked up at Macon. He listened to Dean and took small sips of coffee. He told her he would stay by her side all day, but she wouldn’t blame him if he needed a break. Fifteen hours was a long day. But almost as if he could hear her thoughts, Macon looked at her and smiled the smile that crinkled his whole face. The smile said he would stick with her, just like he promised.
Dean said, “And with that, we wish you luck. Contestants, take your places!”
Cat was so nervous, she didn’t remember how to hold her reel. All the contestants took their places on the pier. John Harvey made a beeline for his lucky spot at the end.
With only fourteen contestants and a long pier, there was no reason to fight over one spot or another. In fact, Cat planned to move throughout the contest. She would watch the birds and water for clues. For now, in the dark, this was as good a place as any. She baited her hook with a small shrimp and waited for the opening bell. Even in the cool morning air, her palms were sweaty.
BUZZ! Fourteen lines lowered into the water.
Cat’s nervousness faded. Weeks of hard work and preparation took over. She grinned at Macon. After weeks of planning, she was finally where she wanted to be.
The crowd was quiet and full of anticipation. Who would catch the first fish? Minutes passed.
A whoop rang from the end of the pier. She couldn’t believe it! John Harvey reeled one in. An official carried the fish to the judging tent, then a minute after that, a bell rang. The fish had been weighed, recorded, and was on its way to the food truck.
“Don’t let that rattle you,” said Macon.
As the sun came up, eight fish had been caught, two by John Harvey. It was hard not to be discouraged.
“Gonna wander,” said Macon. He strolled to the judging tent and chatted with the officials. When he returned, he explained that the large whiteboards listed a running total for each contestant.
“Am I behind by much, Macon?” asked Cat.
“You’ve got nowhere to go but up,” Macon said.
Suddenly, her line zinged. “Macon, I’ve got one!”
She reeled it in slow and steady, like she’d practiced. It was a red drum, heavy as anything she’d ever caught. The official took it to be weighed, Macon following behind. RING! When he came back, he was smiling.
“Four pounds!” he told her.
“Awesome!” She had already re-baited, hoping for another bite quickly.
Midmorning, after a few more catches, Macon suggested she take a break. He watched her gear while she went for a walk to stretch her legs.
She checked out the menu board. The types of fish were listed along with the name of the person who caught it. Cat’s red drum had a line through it because it had sold out. John Harvey had a few crossed out on the board. She saw some other names of contestants she didn’t know: Luis, George, Annabel, Ella. Smaller fish, like spots, were sold in a single serving. The woman working the counter saw her looking at the board.
“Hey,” she said. “Hungry yet?”
“I’m fine,” said Cat. “Maybe later.”
“Contestants eat for free, you know,” she said. “These hush puppies just came out.” Without waiting for an answer, she pushed a cardboard tray across the counter. The hush puppies were lumpish, with a sweet, greasy smell.
Cat returned to her spot on the pier. She showed the hush puppies to Macon, who pinched one immediately.
“Macon? What are these exactly?”
“Never thought a granddaughter of mine wouldn’t know what a hush puppy is!” Macon laughed. “It’s fried cornmeal. Try it.”
That didn’t sound like much, but Cat took a bite. Crisp on the outside and fluffy inside, they were a bit like cornbread but they were so much better. She reached for another.
“Glad you like them.” Macon laughed again. “You’re making up for lost time.”
Macon had been joking about making up for lost time, but in another way, that described exactly what she was doing. She’d made the most of her time on the island, and in return she’d been given so much.
The tide rolled in. Cat remembered what Macon always said about reading the day. She baited her hook with a mole crab and dropped it in the water, letting it sink to the sandy ocean floor. Slowly she retrieved it, hoping its motion would make a fish curious. Her line pulled. She reeled it in quickly and then repeated the same strategy again and again.
“You’re on fire!” Macon exclaimed. The nearby official laughed.
“We might as well set up a chair here,” he joked. “Busier than a moth in a mitten!”
“That’s my granddaughter,” said Macon, beaming.
He strolled to the whiteboard and then returned. “You’re in the top four.”
“Is John Harvey in first?” Cat couldn’t resist asking.
Macon nodded. “I’m a bit puzzled as to how he’s ahead by so much.”
“He’s won the last four years,” said Cat. “I’m sure he’ll win it again.” She took a deep breath and pushed it out slowly. “But we’re halfway through the day. Fourth is not that far from first.”
Chicken stomped down the pier, sneakers lighting up, calling: “Caterpillar! Caterpillar!” He was a burst of questions. “How’s the fishing? How are the fish?” He pointed at his shirt. “See what I got?”
He was so excited to show her his “I’m a Reader” ribbon from the library reading program.
“Wow, Chicken, did you get a prize?”
He nodded vigorously. “And they gave me a book about sharks! Don’t worry, I will let you borrow it.”
“Cool,” said Cat. “Thanks.”
Chicken wrinkled his forehead. “I wanted to read and play on the statues, but Lily said we had to meet you. And I came without a fuss.”
She gave him the biggest one-armed hug she could manage while still holding on to her fishing rod. “I’m impressed. You’re getting so big.”
Chicken beamed.
