Lucy the Good Read online

  “No, it’s okay,” he said quickly. “I’ll stay.”

  “Good,” said Lucy. “We’ll do one of my things first.”

  “Why not one of mine?”

  “Because it’s my house and I’m the boss,” said Lucy.

  Potatoes seemed a good place to start. Lucy bent down and threw one in the tub. It sank, so it must be good. The apples floated, so they must be bad.

  “Try the Weetabix,” said Paolo.

  Lucy threw it in. The biscuit floated to begin with, then slowly sank to the bottom.

  “I wonder what that means,” said Paolo.

  Next, Lucy threw in a lightbulb, some Dutch salted licorice, and a string of wooden beads. She dropped in Countess Esmeralda (her least-favorite doll), a paper clip, an almost empty box of tissues, and a stapler. Surely, she was getting closer to the answer.

  Paolo opened up his bag and threw in a bicycle pump, a saw, and an old plastic jack-in-the-box.

  “What else?” said Lucy.

  She looked around until she spotted a chicken feather on the ground. Then she saw Apricot giving herself a dust bath over by the chicken coop.

  “I know,” she said, smiling.

  Apricot wasn’t as keen to go in the bathtub as Lucy had hoped. She flapped her wings and pecked and clucked.

  “Come on, Paolo. Help me,” said Lucy.

  “I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” said Paolo, stepping back.

  “Paolo!”

  Apricot wriggled out of her hands and ran behind the shed. Lucy followed her, wondering if she had the power to talk to animals. She closed her eyes and concentrated. Stay still, Apricot, she thought. Stay still and let me put you in the tub. She made a dive for her, grabbed her feathery body, and raced back to the tub.

  “Quick!” she cried. “Move out of the way.”

  Paolo jumped aside, and Lucy dipped Apricot’s feet in the water. Apricot squawked, flapped, and escaped once more with an angry bok bok bok! Lucy sighed.

  “I s’pose we’ve tested enough things,” she said sadly.

  “So what’s the answer to the experiment?” said Paolo.

  Lucy frowned. “I still don’t know,” she said. “I just have to keep thinking.”

  “Lucy! Lucy! I need you.” It was Tante Bep.

  Paolo looked in the direction of the house, then at the bathtub, then at Lucy. He took off through the gap in the fence.

  “Coming, Tante Bep,” said Lucy tiredly. She hoped her great-aunt hadn’t discovered yet another thing Lucy had done wrong.

  “This afternoon,” said Tante Bep, passing Lucy a glass of apple juice, “you and I will bake Dutch cookies for Sinterklaas Day.”

  Tante Bep, Dad, Calvin, and Lucy were in the kitchen. Calvin was picking the raisins out of a piece of raisin toast. He handed them to Lucy, who squished them into one big raisin, which she popped into her mouth.

  “What are we going to bake?” said Lucy cautiously.

  She still hadn’t forgiven Tante Bep for making her clean out her crusts.

  “Speculaas,” said Tante Bep.

  “Yum,” said Dad. “I buy those for us from the market, don’t I, Lucy?”

  Lucy nodded.

  “Bought speculaas?” said Tante Bep. “Don’t you make them yourself, Arjo?”

  Dad rubbed the top of his head. “I’m very busy,” he said. “I don’t have time to go baking cookies every day of the week.”

  “No time?” said Tante Bep. “But you don’t have a job.”

  Dad’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head and roll around on the kitchen counter.

  “I’m the home manager,” he spluttered. “That’s my job. It doesn’t leave a lot of free time, you know.”

  “So it seems,” said Tante Bep. “Since you don’t have time to bake speculaas.”

  Dad got up and cleared the table. Lucy saw his lips moving. “One,” he seemed to be saying, “two, three . . .”

  A little later, Tante Bep suggested that the fridge needed cleaning and Dad abruptly excused himself, taking Calvin with him.

  Lucy stayed. She loved cooking. She loved the mixing, she loved the baking smell, she loved the mess, but most of all, she loved licking the bowl.

  Tante Bep got out a package of flour, some sugar, some spices, a stick of butter, and a carton of milk. Then she sat down on a stool and folded her hands.

  “What are you going to do next?” said Lucy.

  “You are going to take two cups of flour and put it in that bowl,” she said.

  “You want me to do it?” said Lucy.

  “Of course,” said Tante Bep. “How else will you learn?”

  Lucy smiled. Mostly when grown-ups said you could help with the cooking, they meant Pretend Helping. They let you stir the bowl once or twice, or maybe crack an egg. Tante Bep was letting Lucy make the speculaas all by herself. It made her feel grown-up.

  Lucy put all the ingredients in to the bowl and stirred them in big, stiff circles. Then she lifted out the big blob of dough and dropped it on the counter. She imagined she was Miss Lucy, the famous baker. People couldn’t stop talking about the seven-year-old who made cookies so delicious, people would pay one hundred dollars for a single bite.

  “You must now knead the dough,” said Tante Bep, “like so.” She made pounding motions with her fists. “I like to do this when something make me angry.”

  “Why?” asked Lucy.

  “It always make me feel better. You try.”

  Lucy thumped the dough with her knuckles, pushing it back and forth. She found kneading very satisfying.

  “Now roll it out like so,” said Tante Bep.

  Lucy picked up the rolling pin. It was made of marble and was very heavy. People will come from all around the country just to watch Miss Lucy bake, she thought.

  “Ja, that’s right,” said Tante Bep. “Now roll the other way.”

  Lucy imagined the prime minister—no! the queen, no! a TV producer—wanted to meet her. “We’d like to offer you your own cooking show, Miss Lucy,” said the TV producer. “We’ll pay you one million dollars.”

  Tante Bep lifted a wooden windmill off the wall. “Do you know what this is?” she said. “We’re going to press the dough into this.”

  “But that’s a decoration,” said Lucy. “We’ll get into trouble.”

  Tante Bep laughed. She sounded almost friendly. “It’s also for making cookies,” she said. “It’s a mold.”

  Tante Bep showed Lucy how to press the dough into the mold, then cut off the edges. Soon, there were rows of windmill-shaped cookies sitting on a tray waiting to be baked. Lucy handed the tray carefully to Tante Bep. Tante Bep opened the oven door and slid them inside.

  “I remember the time Johanna bake speculaas,” said Tante Bep, sitting back down on her stool. “She bake them for Sinterklaas Day.”

  “Who’s Johanna?” said Lucy.

  “My little sister,” said Tante Bep. “She live in Denmark now. But back then, when we were childrens, we all live in a small house in Maasland in Holland. It was the war, and there was not much food. Nee,” she added. “No. Not much food. There were times when all my mother can cook are tulip bulbs. Can you imagine?”

  Tulip bulbs? Lucy thought of the onion-shaped bulbs Mum planted in the garden every year. They were covered in dirt and didn’t look very tasty.

  “How did she cook them?” Lucy asked.

  “She slice them up and make soup. Ugh. Niet lekker. Not a good taste. And not very good for your insides.”

  Lucy thought of her crusts and how she didn’t like them. That seemed like nothing compared to eating tulip bulbs every day.

  “During the war, sometimes it is very hard to get sugar or butter or spices. One day, a friend come to the back door with a bag of these things. It is Sinterklaas Eve. Johanna take these things and bake them into little windmill cookies, like you have. Oh, the smell is wonderful. Prachtig. For tea that night, we ate speculaas. Only speculaas. It was the best meal I ever eat.
” Tante Bep closed her eyes and smiled to herself.

  Lucy wasn’t sure what to say. She felt as if Tante Bep had given her a special gift by telling her this story.

  “When I see you make the speculaas,” said Tante Bep, opening her eyes, “ja, that give me a happy memory.”

  Lucy smiled. She wondered if Tante Bep might actually like her.

  Lucy had such a lovely weekend with Tante Bep, she completely forgot about Black Piet. Almost. About five minutes after school started on Monday, she received a very clear reminder.

  “Lucy,” said Ms. Denny, “I still haven’t heard from your parents. Are you sure you gave them my letter?”

  Lucy felt squirmy inside. Lucy the Good wouldn’t lie, especially since it was Sinterklaas Eve. Sinterklaas and Black Piet were coming that very night. They would stand over her bed and decide if she was good or bad. If she told Ms. Denny how she had ripped up the letter . . .

  “Um,” said Lucy.

  “Blake!” said Ms. Denny. “Put that down! Faces and glue do not mix. . . . No, Blake, I’m sure Kate does not want her face stuck to the furniture. . . . Blake!”

  Ms. Denny walked to the back of the classroom.

  That was close, thought Lucy.

  After lunch was show-and-tell. Two people were chosen each week to bring something special from home. Lucy had brought along Nathan, nicely dressed up in a new scarf Tante Bep had knitted for him the day before. The scarf was made of bright orange wool—Holland’s color.

  Lucy hoped she’d get to go first, especially since Jacinta was the other person on the roster. Perhaps I’ve got the power to control people’s minds, she thought. Pick me, Ms. Denny. Pick Lucy van Loon. Lucy van Loon. Lucy van Loon. Lucy van—”

  “Jacinta,” said Ms. Denny, “up you come.”

  Lucy scowled.

  When Jacinta got to the front, she held up her show-and-tell item.

  “Another unicorn?” said Ms. Denny.

  This one was bigger, fluffier, and cuter than any other unicorn Jacinta had brought in before. It had bright white fur, a gleaming silver horn, and a multicolored mane. Lucy thought of scruffy old Nathan sitting in her bag.

  “And what’s her name?” said Ms. Denny.

  “Fluffy Rainbow,” replied Jacinta.

  Fluffy Rainbow! Lucy and Harriet rolled their eyes. The boys in the back sniggered.

  “She’s very pretty,” said Ms. Denny.

  “People can pet her if they want.”

  Jacinta walked down each aisle, letting the other students stroke her toy. Lucy stared at the unicorn’s fur. How soft it must feel. How nice and velvety.

  When it was Lucy’s turn to pat her, Jacinta cried, “Wait!” and pulled Fluffy Rainbow away. “Your hands are dirty. Ms. Denny, Lucy’s hands are all dirty.”

  “No, they’re not!” said Lucy.

  “Let me see,” said Ms. Denny, stepping out from behind her desk.

  Lucy held out her hands, fully expecting them to be clean. Instead, she saw two black palms looking back at her.

  “How did that get there?” Lucy said.

  “Handstands,” whispered Harriet.

  “I think you’d better go scrub those clean,” said Ms. Denny.

  “Now?” said Lucy.

  “Now,” said Ms. Denny. “Or you’ll make your workbook all dirty. Run along to the bathroom.”

  Lucy didn’t move.

  “Off you go,” said Ms. Denny.

  Lucy still didn’t move.

  “What’s the matter, Lucy?”

  “She doesn’t go in school bathrooms,” explained Harriet. “She holds it till she gets home.”

  Some of the students giggled. Ms. Denny sighed a grown-up sigh. “Lucy,” she said, “please.”

  “You better go,” whispered Harriet. “Remember: you’re Lucy the Good, and Lucy the Good obeys the rules.”

  Lucy thought hard. A good girl would wash her hands. That was true. A good girl would go to the bathroom. But I don’t want to! Why should I?

  “Only babies are scared of the bathroom,” said Jacinta, as quietly as possible.

  Lucy shot her a look. Jacinta made sure Ms. Denny couldn’t see her, then she put her thumb in her mouth and sucked it like a baby.

  “Come on, Lucy,” said Ms. Denny. “Off you go. I promise, it’s perfectly safe.”

  Lucy couldn’t move. Her cheeks got hotter and hotter. She turned around and noticed her camel picture all the way in the back. It reminded her of all the mean things Ms. Denny had done to her. Never putting her pictures in the good pile. Always sending her to the Time Out chair. That familiar rumble of anger began to stir inside her.

  “Lucy,” said Ms. Denny, “we haven’t got all day.”

  Lucy clenched and unclenched her hands.

  “What a baby,” whispered Jacinta. She sucked on her thumb again, holding her unicorn close to her chest, as if it might get germs if Lucy touched it. “Wah, wah, wah.”

  “Lucy!” said Ms. Denny.

  Other kids in the class started sucking their thumbs too.

  “Lucy’s a baby.”

  “Lucy’s scared of the bathroom.”

  “What a loony.”

  “That’s enough, class. If you don’t settle down, you’ll be staying in during lunch time,” said Ms. Denny. “Lucy. Bathroom. Now!”

  At that moment, Lucy knew only one thing. There was no way she, Lucy van Loon, was going to the bathroom.

  The anger inside her made its way up to her throat. It was now too late to count to ten, and she didn’t have any speculaas dough to pound. What’s more, she no longer cared about being Lucy the Good. Lucy the Good was gone. Lucy the Good was over.

  Now there was only Lucy the Bad-tempered. Lucy the Badly Behaved. Lucy the Bad Apple. In short, there was only Lucy the Bad. The anger didn’t stop in her throat but kept going, up past her teeth and out of her mouth.

  “Eeeeeeeahhhhhhhh!” she shrieked. “I won’t go! I won’t go!”

  Then everyone fell silent.

  But not in a good way.

  Lucy was in big trouble now. It was Spain in a coal sack for sure. And what was worse, Ms. Denny was going to call her parents. She’d said so, shortly after Lucy had screamed the place down.

  Lucy had to get home. She had to stop Ms. Denny from talking to Dad. Unfortunately, Harriet’s mum was giving her a lift, and she had to stop at the newsstand for the paper. Come on, thought Lucy. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up!

  When Mrs. Spiegel finally pulled into Berry Street, Lucy ripped off her seat belt and jumped out of the car. “Thanks for the lift!” she called as she bolted down the driveway.

  Lucy ran into the house and straight to the phone. She took hold of the handset and lifted it up. She could hear the dial tone droning: brrrrrrrrrrrrr. She made sure no one was nearby, then laid the handset down on the telephone table and put a book over the top of it. There was no way Ms. Denny could get through now.

  The fear was gone, but all the same, Lucy’s head was filled with hot, red thoughts. She went outside, snuck past Dad, who was weeding in the back garden, and slipped into the chicken coop. She shut the door behind her, sat down on an upturned bucket, and had a good think.

  All she knew was, she’d tried so hard to be Lucy the Good, and it hadn’t gotten her anywhere. Everything she did turned out wrong. Her teacher hated her. Her schoolmates teased her. She’d thought Tante Bep was starting to like her, but Black Piet was coming tonight, and Tante Bep had left out a sack for him!

  Then there were her parents. Dad had taken Tante Bep’s side when Tante Bep found her crusts. Mum was never around. It seemed like nobody was on her side. Lucy wondered, did they even like her? And a worse thought, did they even love her? Tears fell from her eyes, leaving silver squiggles down her cheeks. She tried to cry quietly so Dad wouldn’t hear. Nobody cares about me, she thought. No one at all.

  Then she heard Dad making splashing noises in the outdoor bathtub.

  “What’s this?” she heard him say. “What on e
arth’s a jack-in-the-box doing in the bathtub? And isn’t that my stapler?”

  Uh-oh, thought Lucy. She jumped up and ran out of the shed before Dad could say anything. There was something she had to do, and she had to do it right away.

  “Where do you want me to go?” said Harriet. She was standing in the doorway of her apartment wearing a too-large apron. “I’m s’posed to help cook supper.”

  “We’re going to the creek,” said Lucy. “Quick. We have to go now.”

  “We’re not allowed to go to the creek by ourselves,” said Harriet. “It’s against the rules.”

  “But this is an emergency,” said Lucy.

  “I can’t,” said Harriet, looking over her shoulder. “I’ll get in trouble.”

  “Fine!” said Lucy. “I’ll go by myself!”

  She charged down the street past Paolo’s place. He was sitting on the porch, making his toy cars do stunts off the top step. Lucy turned her head away and walked quickly by.

  “Hey!” called Paolo. “Where are you going?”

  Lucy kept walking.

  “I said, where are you going?”

  She didn’t even turn around.

  At the end of Berry Street, Lucy turned the corner into Bottle Crescent. At the end of the crescent was a park, and beyond the park, a creek. Lucy walked through the park and under the swings. When she got to the fence, she climbed over it and half walked, half slid down the embankment. When she got to the bottom, she realized Paolo had followed her.

  “Come on, Lucy,” he called. “Aren’t you talking to me?”

  Lucy sat down on a rock and took off her shoes and socks.

  “What are you doing?” he said.

  “You never talk to me at school,” said Lucy, “except to be mean to me, so why should I talk to you now?”

  “But I want to know,” said Paolo. “C’mon, tell me what you’re doing.”

  “You’re my enemy now,” said Lucy, “but if you must know, I’m doing an experiment. I’m going to find out if I’m good or bad.”

  “Another experiment?” said Paolo. “What kind?”