The Worry Tree Page 3

  Juliet went into the bathroom and climbed onto the three-legged stool. Mom came in and draped a tea towel around her shoulders.

  “Why do humans need haircuts?” said Juliet. “Cats don’t need them. Neither do koalas.”

  Mom clipped the tea towel together at the front. “Better ask your father about that. He’s the scientist. In the meantime, it’s a burden you’ll just have to bear.”

  Another burden, thought Juliet, remembering the list of things she’d already been told she just had to bear. She imagined these burdens as a teetering tower of teacups. She imagined herself bearing them.

  “Ready?” said Mom, brandishing the scissors in the air. “Then let the games begin!”

  As Mom snipped, Juliet looked at herself in the mirror. Brown hair (medium length), brown eyes (medium strength), regular-sized feet (well within her age range). Adults called her Sensible, Reliable, a Pleasure to Teach. Juliet wondered what it would be like to be Pretty, Charming, Brave. Juliet wondered what it would be like to be Gemma.

  “Oops,” said Mom, chewing on her bottom lip. “That’s a bit lopsided, isn’t it? Let’s straighten that up.”

  Juliet looked on in dismay as Mom chopped off another quarter inch.

  “Oops,” repeated Mom. “Let’s try that again.”

  Another quarter inch of hair fell to the ground.

  “Oops,” said Mom, standing back to get a better view. “One more time, eh?”

  And a little later, “Oops.”

  When Juliet went back into her bedroom, her bangs were exactly half an inch long. Oaf took one look at her and dived back under the bed.

  “Petronella,” said Juliet, tracing the curl of the little pig’s tail, “my hair hasn’t grown at all since this morning. I know. I’ve measured it. What am I going to do? Hugh will take one look at me and hassle me all week. If I didn’t have you to talk to, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  After Juliet had hung her worries on the tree, an idea formed in her mind about how to cope with her hair. She went over to the Useful Box and peered inside. “That might just work,” she said, reaching into the box. “What do you think, Petronella?”

  “Ophelia, honey,” said Dad, “you cannot wear a motorcycle helmet to school. The teacher wouldn’t like it.”

  Juliet had just finished taping Band-Aids to the tips of her fingers. She came out to see what was happening. Oaf was standing on top of a box with her arms crossed, a glossy black helmet wobbling on her head.

  “Mom made my hair look dumb,” she said.

  “You don’t say,” said Juliet, thinking of her own hair.

  “Oaf,” said Mom, “I know you’re embarrassed by your hair, but it will grow back. In the meantime, I’m sure no one will notice.”

  Juliet raised an eyebrow. Surely Mom was being overly optimistic. There were some pretty sharp-eyed people at Wattle Street School.

  Dad jingled his keys and looked at his watch. “You know what?” he said. “It’s chocolate night tonight, and I’m afraid only people without motorcycle helmets get chocolate.”

  Oaf slowly uncrossed her arms. “What about people wearing scarves?” she said, turning toward Juliet. “Do they get chocolate?”

  Juliet reached up and touched her head. She’d hoped no one would notice. Tied around her head was a bright pink scarf covering the whole of her forehead. “That’s different,” she said. “I’m older, so I’m allowed.”

  “That doesn’t sound fair,” said Oaf. “Does it, Dad? Does it, Mom? I’m not taking mine off unless Juliet takes hers off.”

  Mom and Dad looked at Juliet in that pleading sort of way that always made her feel squirmy and guilty. She sighed heavily, reached up, and slowly pulled the scarf away.

  “Juliet!” gasped Mom.

  “Check it out!” said Oaf.

  “Inventive,” said Dad.

  Running in straight lines down Juliet’s forehead were heavy brown marker lines drawn to look like hair.

  “Honey!” said Mom. “What on earth have you done?”

  A sob escaped from Juliet’s lips. “I wanted to make my bangs look longer!” she wailed. “Is it really obvious?”

  “Not really obvious,” said Dad.

  “It’s totally obvious,” said Oaf. “You look like an idiot.”

  “Thank you, Ophelia,” said Mom. “Don’t call your sister an idiot.”

  Tears leaked out of Juliet’s eyes and glazed her cheeks.

  “Don’t worry,” said Mom, putting her arm around Juliet’s shoulders. “We’ve got just enough time to scrub it off with soap and water.”

  “That won’t work!” cried Juliet. “The marker’s permanent!”

  Juliet held Oaf’s hand and guided her to school. It isn’t easy to see when you’ve got a motorcycle helmet on your head. Juliet used her free hand to check that her scarf was still in place. She wondered if the Worry Tree animals would be able to handle the worry load tonight.

  “Bye, Oaf,” said Juliet when they reached the school gate.

  “Bye,” said Oaf and wandered off in the wrong direction, her arms held out in front of her. Juliet grabbed her by the shoulders and pointed her toward the classroom. “It’s about twenty steps, then turn left.”

  By the time Juliet got to class, everyone was already seated and her teacher was standing behind his desk. Mr. Castelli was a kind, though hairy, man. He had a big, bushy beard and large ears that sprouted wiry hairs like sea anemones. Juliet thought his hairiness made him look friendly.

  She walked quickly between the desks, head down, and slunk into her seat next to Lindsay.

  “Nice scarf,” whispered Hugh, leaning across the aisle to try and pull it off.

  “Juliet,” said Mr. Castelli, “you’re just in time to hear about the upcoming festival. Everyone in our class is bringing along something that has to do with their favorite hobby. That could be a stamp collection or trading cards, anything you like, really—the more out there, the better. In fact, there’ll be a prize for the most unusual collection.”

  The most unusual collection? Juliet and Lindsay looked at each other. Juliet would have a shot at that!

  “All the details are here on these flyers,” continued Mr. Castelli. “Juliet, will you please come up to the front and hand them out for me?”

  Juliet, who had been imagining herself standing onstage and accepting the award for most unusual collection, stopped short. He wanted her to go up in front of the whole class? Normally, she loved helping out. Being helpful and learning facts were her two favorite things at school. But not today. She reached up and touched her scarf as her face grew hot.

  But Mr. Castelli was waiting. Juliet got up slowly and walked to the front. She took the flyers and turned around to pass them out. She hoped Mr. Castelli wouldn’t say anything. She handed out the first flyer. He said nothing. She handed out the second flyer. Still okay. She handed out the third flyer.

  “Juliet,” said Mr. Castelli, “you might like to take that scarf off. We don’t want to break school rules, now, do we?”

  “No,” said Juliet, wondering why adults always said “we” when they meant “you.”

  Everyone in the class was staring now. Juliet looked around for support. Lindsay smiled at her. Gemma did too. Juliet reached up, feeling hot and sick, and tugged at the knot on her head. The scarf fell away with a swish.

  “Juliet!”

  “Scrub harder,” said Juliet through gritted teeth.

  “I can take it.”

  Juliet was lying on Nana’s kitchen table, her head dangling backward over the edge. Nana rubbed Juliet’s forehead with an old washcloth while a big plastic basin sat on the floor beneath her head, ready to catch the drips. Only moments earlier, Oaf had been helping too, until Nana had sent her outside for making “unhelpful comments.”

  “So the whole class laughed at you!” said Nana. “You’ve got lots to tell the Worry Tree animals tonight. Just be thankful you didn’t have to spend three hours at the community center being talked d
own to by a twenty-two-year-old activities officer with a love of finger puppets.”

  Juliet didn’t reply. Sometimes Nana said things that didn’t make sense.

  “Did that Hugh boy give you a hard time?”

  “Actually,” said Juliet, “he wasn’t too bad. Whenever he came anywhere near me, Gemma pulled out her Bettina doll and he ran for it.”

  “Looks like you’ve made a new friend,” said Nana, patting Juliet’s arm with a damp, soapy hand. “But I’m sorry to have to tell you, these marks aren’t coming off. Think I’ll go surf the Net for some ideas.”

  While Nana turned on the computer, Juliet jumped off the table and poked around the apartment. Many of Nana’s community center craft projects lay around the room: pipe-cleaner animals, Popsicle-stick placemats, things made out of egg cartons. It was like being back in kindergarten. Then she noticed Nana’s safety alarm sitting on the bookshelf and the familiar V of anxiety appeared between her eyebrows. Nana was supposed to be wearing that! It went around her neck so that if she fell over in the night and couldn’t get up, she could press a button and an ambulance would come.

  “Nana,” she said, going into her bedroom, “why aren’t you wearing this?”

  “Not you too!” said Nana, turning around in her chair. “Everyone’s always nagging me about that. ‘Why aren’t you wearing your alarm, Octavia?’ ‘What happens if you fall over when you’re alone?’ ‘Who’s going to rescue you?’ Blah, blah, blah.”

  Juliet frowned. She always thought of Nana as warm and happy. Holding her was just like hugging a loaf of freshly baked bread. Today, she sounded scratchy and annoyed. It would have been more like hugging one of Juliet’s cactus plants.

  “Are you mad at me?” said Juliet.

  “No, no, of course not, love. If anything, I’m mad at myself; mad at my own body for letting me down. I’m getting old, that’s all.”

  “What can I do?” said Juliet.

  “There’s nothing you can do, love, but thanks for the offer. Now, about those marker lines … .”

  While Nana searched for a Web site on stains, Juliet thought about how, just lately, she’d overheard Nana muttering words to herself like “useless,” “washed up,” and “scrap heap.” Juliet wanted to scrub those words clean and change them into “happy,” “jolly,” and “joyful.” There must be something she could do! She didn’t have any ideas yet, but she was sure she’d come up with something.

  “Are you sure you want to put those peas in?” said Juliet.

  “Absolutely,” said Dad. “They’re good for you.”

  “But are you sure they go with beets and squid rings? Can’t we use a proper recipe this time? If we used a proper recipe from a proper recipe book, we’d get a proper meal.”

  “It’s all about experimentation, Juliet. You never know what might happen when you help me in the kitchen.”

  Exactly, thought Juliet. Still, there was a part of her that found the possibility of unpredictable things kind of exciting.

  When Mom arrived home from work, she came into the kitchen and hugged Dad from behind. Juliet decided to join in too, and the three of them stood there holding on to one another like a kind of human stalagmite. Juliet wished her family could always be this happy.

  “Peas!” said Oaf when they sat down at the dinner table. “I hate peas.”

  “Bad luck, Ophelia,” said Mom. “You’ll just have to put up with them.”

  “And don’t get any ideas about flushing them down the toilet,” said Dad.

  “But I don’t like them,” said Oaf.

  Juliet sighed. She didn’t like peas either, but she still ate them. Why couldn’t Oaf just behave?

  “Where’s Nana?” asked Mom.

  “Mucking around on the computer. She said she’d have leftovers tonight,” said Dad. “But guess what? I took the whole afternoon off so I could sort through those boxes in the hall.”

  “Oh?” said Mom. “You spent the whole afternoon sorting them? It looks even worse than it did this morning!”

  “Yeah, well, the thing is, I came across some articles on the discovery of dinosaur bones in South America and, well, you know how it is, I started reading them. That was a fascinating period in history. Did you know—”

  “Martin!”

  “Yes, Karen?”

  “Don’t speak to me in that tone of voice.”

  “Karen! Can’t we just have a pleasant dinner conversation for once?”

  “Can’t you just clear the mess out of the hall for once?”

  Juliet’s rash flared up, and her skin itched. She tried to think of something to say to make her parents happy.

  “I’m not eating these peas,” said Oaf, poking them with a fork. “They’re foul. P–H–O–W–L. Foul.”

  Juliet silently begged her sister not to make a fuss.

  “Ophelia,” said Mom, “think of the starving children in Africa. I’m sure they’d love to be able to eat beet, pea, and squid ring stir-fry.”

  “I’ll get an envelope,” said Oaf.

  “Ophelia,” said Dad.

  “How do you spell ‘Starving Children’?”

  “Oaf!”

  “Okay, okay,” said Oaf. “How about I burp the alphabet instead?”

  Mom and Dad put down their forks and Juliet realized they were about to have one of their famous Jones Family Blowups.

  “Wait!” cried Juliet, getting to her feet. “I’ve got an idea! Oaf, why don’t you take your peas with chocolate milk? You know, like Nana’s pills?”

  Before anyone could stop her, Juliet got up and filled two glasses. She set them on the table and placed a single pea on the back of her tongue. Then she took a big swig of milk and washed it down like a tablet.

  “You can’t even taste it,” she said and pushed Oaf’s glass toward her.

  Oaf looked suspicious, but curious. She picked a pea off her plate, put it on her tongue, and swallowed it down quickly with a gulp of milk. “Mm,” she said, nodding her head. She put another pea in her mouth and did it again. “My tablets.”

  Juliet lay in bed that night feeling heavy and tired. She’d heard of people feeling weighed down with worry and now she knew what they meant. Her limbs were so heavy she could barely pull up the covers. Her heart felt anchored to the bottom of the sea.

  “Dimitri,” she said, looking at the scruffy-tailed dog, “our family’s in trouble.” She told him all about her parents fighting and her sister refusing to eat her vegetables. “I managed to stop the fight this time, but who knows what’ll happen next time?” She hung her worries on his branch and turned to the goat.

  “Gwyneth,” she said, “Nana had a fall last year, and I know you look after sickness and broken bones. Ever since she hurt herself, she’s been cranky and sad, and she won’t wear her safety alarm. I want to help her but I don’t know how. Maybe you can help me come up with something.”

  Juliet stroked Gwyneth’s horns, took her worries between her thumb and forefinger, and hung them on the tree. Feeling much lighter, she turned off her bedside light. “At least I don’t have to worry about my friends,” she said, laying her head on her pillow. “I don’t, do I?”

  It didn’t take long for Juliet and Gemma to become good friends. Within two weeks, Juliet had invited her over to play at Gregson Street.

  When the doorbell rang, Juliet was ready. She took one quick look around her bedroom to make sure it was perfect and went out to answer the door.

  “Oh, my goodness,” said Gemma, stepping into the hallway. “You’ve been burgled!”

  “What? No, it’s just my dad’s research.”

  “Oh,” said Gemma, sounding disappointed.

  Juliet got the impression she would have found a burglary far more exciting.

  “Come with me.”

  Gemma walked into Juliet’s bedroom and looked around carefully. Her eyes blinked rapidly, like a camera shutter, taking note of everything. Juliet watched with a vague sense of unease. Gemma seemed to absorb the life for
ce out of everything she saw. It was as if each blink made the objects less Juliet’s and more Gemma’s.

  “What’s this?” said Gemma, striding over to the Worry Tree. She traced a finger along the ancient, bending branches, touching each of the animals. “Juliet?” she breathed. “Tell me about this tree. I want to know everything!”

  Juliet suddenly felt shy about the Worry Tree. She didn’t want to share its story or its secrets. She realized the tree was a part of her now, and to tell Gemma about it would be revealing too much of herself.

  “Juliet?” prodded Gemma. “What’s the story?” She flicked back her glossy nutmeg hair and smiled.

  “Oh, um, we don’t really know much about it. Here, come and look at some of my collections.”

  Gemma seemed drawn to the tree’s quiet peacefulness, and Juliet had to cough twice to get her attention.

  “Coming,” said Gemma, though she moved very slowly.

  Juliet opened a drawer, took out a box, and laid it on the yellowy green carpet. “See?” she said. “These are my erasers.”

  “Mm,” said Gemma, looking over her shoulder at the Worry Tree. “Hey, what’s that sound?”

  “I dunno. Look,” said Juliet, desperate to get her attention. “You can have one if you like.”

  Gemma turned around quickly. “Really? Can I?”

  Juliet didn’t particularly want to give away one of her erasers, but it was better than having to explain about the tree. “Come check them out.”

  She arranged the erasers on the floor in color groups: all the blue ones together, all the purple ones together, all the glittery ones together, and so on. Within each color, she laid them out in order of size, smallest to largest. Gemma soon spotted an eraser in the shape of a volcano.

  “How cute is this!” she said and picked it up.

  “That’s the best one,” said Juliet. “Dad gave it to me ’specially. It’s from a volcano exhibition at the museum where he works.”