Wendelin Van Draanen - Flipped

It sounded perfectly awful to me.

“Well,” he said, “I’ve got to get ready for school. See you there.” Then he smiled and closed the door.

For some reason I just stood there. I felt odd. Out of sorts. Disconnected from everything around me. Was I ever going to go back up to Collier Street? I had to eventually, or so my mother said. Was I just making it harder?

Suddenly the door flew open and Bryce came hurrying out with an overfull kitchen trash can in his hands. “Juli!” he said. “What are you still doing here?”

He startled me, too. I didn’t know what I was still doing there. And I was so flustered that I would probably just have run home if he hadn’t started struggling with the trash, trying to shove the contents down.

I reached over and said, “Do you need some help?” because it looked like he was about to spill the trash. Then I saw the corner of an egg carton.

This wasn’t just any egg carton either. It was my egg carton. The one I’d just brought him. And through the little blue cardboard arcs I could see eggs.

I looked from him to the eggs and said, “What happened? Did you drop them?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Yeah, and I’m really sorry about that.”

He tried to stop me, but I took the carton from the trash, saying, “All of them?” I opened the carton and gasped. Six whole, perfect eggs. “Why’d you throw them away?”

He pushed past me and went around the house to the trash bin, and I followed him, waiting for an answer.

He shook the garbage out, then turned to face me. “Does the word salmonella mean anything to you?”

“Salmonella? But… ”

“My mom doesn’t think it’s worth the risk.”

I followed him back to the porch. “Are you saying she won’t eat them because—”

“Because she’s afraid of being poisoned.”

“Poisoned! Why?”

“Because your backyard is, like, covered in turds! I mean, look at your place, Juli!” He pointed at our house and said, “Just look at it. It’s a complete dive!”

“It is not!” I cried, but the truth was sitting right across the street, impossible to deny. My throat suddenly choked closed and I found it painful to speak. “Have you… always thrown them away?”

He shrugged and looked down. “Juli, look. We didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“My feelings? Do you realize Mrs. Stueby and Mrs. Helms pay me for my eggs?”

“You’re kidding.”

“No! They pay me two dollars a dozen!”

“No way.”

“It’s true! All those eggs I gave to you I could’ve sold to Mrs. Stueby or Mrs. Helms!”

“Oh,” he said, and looked away. Then he eyed me and said, “Well, why did you just give them to us?”

I was fighting back tears, but it was hard. I choked out, “I was trying to be neighborly…!”

He put down the trash can, then did something that made my brain freeze. He held me by the shoulders and looked me right in the eyes. “Mrs. Stueby’s your neighbor, isn’t she? So’s Mrs. Helms, right? Why be neighborly to us and not them?”

What was he trying to say? Was it still so obvious how I felt about him? And if he knew, how could he have been so heartless, just throwing my eggs away like that, week after week, year after year?

I couldn’t find any words. None at all. I just stared at him, at the clear, brilliant blue of his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Juli,” he whispered.

I stumbled home, embarrassed and confused, my heart completely cracked open.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that I’d traded in my old problems with Juli Baker for a whole new set of problems with Juli Baker. I could feel her anger a mile away.

It was actually worse having her mad at me than having her harass me. Why? Because I’d screwed up, that’s why. I had egg all over my face, and blaming it on her yard had done nothing to wash it off. The way she ignored me, or so obviously avoided me, was a screaming loud reminder to me that I’d been a jerk. A royal cluck-faced jerk.

Then one day I’m coming home from hanging out with Garrett after school, and there’s Juli in her front yard, hacking at a shrub. She is thrashing on the thing. Branches are flying over her shoulder, and clear across the street I can hear her grunting and growling and saying stuff like, “No… you… don’t! You are coming… off… whether you like it or… not!”

Did I feel good about this? No, my friend, I did not. Yeah, their yard was a mess, and it was about time someone did something about it, but c’mon — where’s the dad? What about Matt and Mike? Why Juli?

Because I’d embarrassed her into it, that’s why. I felt worse than ever.

So I snuck inside and tried to ignore the fact that here’s my desk and here’s my window, and right across the street from me is Juli, beating up a bush. Not conducive to concentration. No siree, Bob. I got all of zero homework done.

The next day at school I was trying to get up the nerve to say something to her, but I never even got the chance. She wouldn’t let me get anywhere near her.

Then on the ride home I had this thought. It kind of freaked me out at first, but the more I played with it, the more I figured that, yeah, helping her with the yard would make up for my having been such a jerk. Assuming she didn’t boss me too much, and assuming she didn’t decide to get all gooey-eyed or something stupid like that. No, I’d go up and just tell her that I felt bad for being a jerk and I wanted to make it up to her by helping her cut back some bushes. Period. End of story. And if she still wanted to be mad at me after that, then fine. That was her problem.

My problem was, I never got the chance. I came trekking down from the bus stop to find my grandfather doing my good deed.

Now, jump back. This was not something I could immediately absorb. My grandfather did not do yard work. At least, he’d never offered to help me out. My grandfather lived in house slippers — where’d he get those work boots? And those jeans and that flannel shirt — what was up with those?

I crouched behind a neighbor’s hedge and watched them for ten or fifteen minutes, and man, the longer I watched, the madder I got. My grandfather had already said more to her in this little slice of time than he’d said to me the whole year and a half he’d been living with us. What was his deal with Juli Baker?

I took the back way home, which involved climbing two fences and kicking off the neighbor’s stupid little terrier, but it was worth it, considering I avoided the garden party across the street.

Again I got no homework done. The more I watched them, the madder I got. I was still a cluck-faced jerk, while Juli was laughing it up with my grandfather. Had I ever seen him smile? Really smile? I don’t think so! But now he was knee-high in nettles, laughing .

At dinner that night he’d showered and changed back into his regular clothes and house slippers, but he didn’t look the same. It was like someone had plugged him in and turned on the light.

“Good evening,” he said as he sat down with the rest of us. “Oh, Patsy, that looks delicious!”

“Well, Dad,” my mom said with a laugh, “your excursion across the street seems to have done you a world of good.”

“Yeah,” my father said. “Patsy tells me you’ve been over there all afternoon. If you were in the mood for home improvement projects, why didn’t you just say so?”

My father was just joking around, but I don’t think my grandfather took it that way. He helped himself to a cheese-stuffed potato and said, “Pass the salt, won’t you, Bryce?”

So there was this definite tension between my father and my grandfather, but I think if Dad had dropped the subject right then, the vibe would’ve vanished.