Lies and Lemons Read online

  For Nick, the Champion of Truth

  Thank you to all my family, Brenda Bowen, Cylin Busby, Nöelle Paffett-Lugassy, Karen Riskin, and Richard Tchen

  Angel Talk

  Out of the corner of her eye, the Little Angel of Honesty saw the Archangel of Honesty waving both hands. She bowed her head and kept talking to her friends, pretending she hadn’t noticed.

  The archangel quickly walked up to the group of little angels. “Hurry,” she whispered in the ear of the littlest angel.

  “Oh, you can talk out loud,” said the Little Angel of Honesty. She got to her feet and stood on tiptoe. That way maybe the others wouldn’t notice how short she was. “They all know that I have a big task to do.”

  The archangel gave a small smile. “And do they know that you’re late? You were supposed to meet me at dawn.”

  The littlest angel looked around at her friends. “I have to go now. To Venice. Bye.” She put a bag of lemon drops on the lap of the nearest little angel.

  “Ooo, lemon drops. Yum,” said the little angel.

  “Try them, all of you. They taste great,” said the Little Angel of Honesty. “But they smell even better.”

  “Thanks. Don’t drown in a canal,” said one of the other little angels.

  “And bring us back something made of that wonderful Italian blown glass. Maybe a family of little animals,” said a third little angel.

  “Or a glass angel,” said a fourth little angel.

  “Perfect,” they all murmured together.

  The archangel looked at them in confusion. “But we’re not—”

  “We have to rush,” said the Little Angel of Honesty. She grabbed the archangel’s hand and pulled her along, running and waving behind at her friends.

  “Now you’re all for speed,” said the archangel, practically stumbling. “We don’t have to go that fast. Please slow down.”

  The Little Angel of Honesty slowed to a fast walk, but she still kept pulling the archangel.

  “Little angel, you do realize we’re not going to Venice, Italy. We’re only going to Venice, California. It’s right near that wonderful city named just for us: Los Angeles. I thought I explained that to you.”

  “You did.” The little angel flicked a speck of lint off her gown and marched ahead.

  “But your friends think you’re going off to Italy,” said the archangel.

  “Yup.”

  The Archangel of Honesty stopped, still holding the little angel’s hand, so that the little angel jerked to a halt. “You lied to them, little angel.”

  “No I didn’t. I just didn’t explain it. They don’t have to know that it’s Venice, California.”

  “But that’s the equivalent of a lie.”

  “No it isn’t. They think what they want to think. It’s more fun for them that way. Here, have a lemon drop.” The little angel put a candy in the archangel’s hand and held another one up to her nose. “Don’t they smell like bright tropical days on the Mediterranean Sea?”

  “Little angel . . . “

  “Hurry.” The little angel put the rest of her candy back in her pocket, grabbed the archangel’s hand again, and ran. “Aren’t we supposed to get there early?”

  “We really do need to talk about this,” said the archangel between puffs of breath. “But, you’re right, we really do need to hurry, too. Celine will be off to school soon.” She put the lemon drop in her mouth. “Thanks for the candy.”

  The Little Angel of Honesty smiled to herself. Celine. That was the name of the girl she was supposed to help. What a lovely name. This Celine apparently had a terrible problem. The archangel had told the little angel that she would almost certainly earn enough feathers from this task to have her own wings. The little angel wanted to laugh—her own wings. Then it wouldn’t matter how small or tall anyone was—when you flew, you could see everything everywhere. Oh, how she longed to fly.

  A bell would ring when the Little Angel of Honesty earned those wings, just as a bell rang whenever any little angel finally got her wings. The Little Angel of Honesty imagined herself flying over the famous square in Venice, Italy, the one that’s in so many pictures, with the pink palace and the gilded church and the tall bell tower. Oh, if only the bell in that tower could ring for the little angel.

  Oatmeal

  Celine looked at the bowl of oatmeal. “It’s gray and lumpy.”

  “Disgusting,” agreed Michael. “Eat it.” He took another huge bite of his bagel.

  “This isn’t fair,” said Celine. “You get to choose what you want, and I have to eat whatever Ma makes me.”

  “That’s ’cause you’re little and I’m big. She doesn’t boss me around anymore.”

  Celine wrinkled her nose. “It’s already getting cold and slimy on top.”

  “Here.” Michael dug a raisin out of his bagel and threw it on top of Celine’s oatmeal.

  “Yuck. It looks like a dead bug.”

  “Raisins are good,” said Michael. Then he smiled. “And they’re good for you,” he said in a tone that mimicked Ma. He picked up his backpack. “Hurry up or you’ll miss the bus.”

  “I’m walking.”

  “Suit yourself,” called Michael. Celine heard the door open and shut.

  That raisin really did look like a bug. Celine picked it out of her oatmeal and ate it. Then she ran into Michael’s bedroom.

  Racine sat unmoving in the corner of his huge glass tank, his big legs spread out in a circle. Michael said Racine was a perfect name for this spider, but Celine knew Michael had chosen to name the spider Racine because that name ended like her own: Racine, Celine—they sounded sort of alike. She hated spiders, and Michael knew that. Maybe Celine should change her own name to Susie.

  Racine looked like a tarantula. Everyone that saw him for the first time said, “Oh, a tarantula.” Then Michael would explain that real tarantulas are poisonous and they come from Italy. Most giant, hairy spiders aren’t dangerous like tarantulas. Racine was a Chilean red-leg. He was now only a little over two and a half inches with his legs extended. But he could grow to as much as ten inches. Racine was just a baby. Or sort of a baby. He ate flies and crickets and whatever icky things Michael caught for him—especially roaches, which Michael caught in a stupid box called a Roach Motel. When Racine got bigger, he’d eat mice and small birds. Ma said that when he got that big, Michael would have to get rid of him. That wasn’t because she liked mice. Ma hated mice. It was because Racine was a messy eater, and Ma didn’t want to think about what his tank would look like if he ate mice and birds.

  But right now Celine was grateful Racine was a messy eater. That was part of her plan. She looked through the mess of leaves on the bottom of the tank. Yup, there were lots of roach parts here and there. She went over to Michael’s desk and got an index card. Then she used it to scoop up the roach pieces.

  Racine just watched in his crazy multiple-eyed way. He seemed almost nice, as though he was saying, “Go ahead, help yourself.”

  Celine went into the kitchen and tilted the index card so the roach pieces slid onto the top of her oatmeal. “Ma!” she screamed.

  Ma came rushing into the kitchen.

  “Look!”

  “What is that?”

  “It looks like insect body parts to me,” said Celine.

  “How disgusting.” Ma dumped the bowl of oatmeal down the garbage disposal. “I’ll make you a fresh bowl.”

  “I’ll miss the bus. Can’t I just take a bagel and run?”

  “Well, all right. This once.” Ma dropped half a bagel into the toaster.

  Celine put on her backpack and got out the cream cheese. As the bagel popped up, she plucked it out and smeared it with cream cheese. “Bye, Ma. Thanks.” She ran for the door.


  Angel Talk

  The Archangel of Honesty gave a little sniff of disapproval.

  “I agree. That was awful.” The Little Angel of Honesty shuddered. “What if that spider had jumped up and bit her?”

  “That’s not a real Italian tarantula,” said the archangel. “I’ve heard Michael talk about it. It’s harmless to people.”

  “Really? Wow, I’m going to collect some of the hairs lying in his tank so I can show all the other little angels later.”

  The archangel tapped her finger on her lips. “So you can fool them into thinking you really did go to Italy?”

  “I didn’t say that. Anyway, they’d get a thrill out of seeing the hairs if they thought they were real tarantula hairs. They’d be all excited.”

  “And you’d be the center of attention,” said the archangel.

  The Little Angel of Honesty frowned. “We’re supposed to be talking about Celine, not me.”

  “You’re right. Celine has a serious problem: She fooled her mother.”

  “Well, wouldn’t you? Her brother got a delicious bagel, and all she got was that slop.”

  “Oatmeal isn’t slop.” The archangel sniffed again. “I happen to like oatmeal. Very much.”

  “Celine doesn’t. Her mother’s mean.”

  “How can you say that? You don’t know anything about her mother.”

  “I can tell. Her brother seems nice enough, though.” The little angel stood on her toes. “Celine is sort of tall, isn’t she? I’d love to be tall like that.”

  “You’re fine just the size you are,” said the archangel. “And if you want us to talk about Celine and not you, then keep your mind on the problem, please.”

  “I don’t really see a problem. All she did was trick her mother a bit so that she could have a good breakfast. It didn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  The little angel blinked. “Well, Celine did cause her mother to waste a bowl of food. But that’s not really a big deal.”

  The Archangel of Honesty looked thoughtful. “And what about what Celine did to herself?” she asked gently.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I suspect there’s more to this than just the choice of oatmeal or a bagel.” The archangel tapped her lips again. “Yes, little angel, I suspect there’s a whole lot more going on.”

  Overalls

  Celine ran down the street, but before she got to the bus stop, she turned and ducked into Ellen’s garage.

  “What took you so long?” Ellen handed Celine a plastic bag. “We’re going to miss the bus.”

  “We can walk.” Celine opened the bag and shook out the new overalls. They were denim with huge pockets and a loop for a hammer.

  “I don’t like to walk,” said Ellen.

  Celine yanked off her skirt and pulled on the overalls. They were so floppy, they felt funny. She walked with her legs splayed. “How did you get used to yours?”

  “Practice.” Ellen marched around Celine, looking totally preoccupied, as if she was off to rake the leaves or take out the garbage.

  “Well, it’s a good thing we’re walking to school, then. That’ll give me time to practice.” Celine stuffed her skirt into the plastic bag and stashed the bag in the corner of the garage. “Let’s go.”

  Ellen was right: Within minutes Celine felt comfortable in the overalls. She varied her stride—longer, then shorter, fast, then slow. What wonderful overalls these were.

  “There’s your mom,” said Ellen.

  Celine was so startled, she knocked into Ellen and they both almost fell. Ma drove by and stopped at the stop sign on the corner. She must not have recognized Celine from behind in the overalls. But what if she looked in the rearview mirror now? Celine whipped off her backpack and held it in front of her face.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “If she sees me in these overalls, she’ll make me take them off,” said Celine. “She thinks overalls are sloppy, and she’d die if she knew I had any.”

  “Hi, Celine,” said Cara, catching up on the left.

  “Don’t talk to me,” said Celine. “I’m hiding.” Then she got all flustered. After all, Cara seemed nice, even though they hardly ever talked. “Hey,” she said, “call me Susie from now on.”

  “Oh.” Cara walked on.

  Ellen tugged at Celine’s backpack. “Your mom’s gone. Don’t act so stupid.”

  Celine slung her backpack over one shoulder so it was ready to slap in front of her face again if Ma should happen to make a U-turn and come on back. “Your mother lets you wear anything you want. You don’t understand.”

  “Of course I understand. What I meant was that holding up your backpack was dumb. If you’re trying not to be seen, you shouldn’t draw attention to yourself.”

  “Oh. Yeah. You’re right.” Celine laughed. She took Ellen’s hand. “Let’s run the rest of the way.”

  Angel Talk

  See? What did I tell you?” The Archangel of Honesty coughed modestly into her hand.

  “Want a lemon drop for your cough?” The little angel held out a bag of the candies.

  “Thank you. I feared Celine would do something like this.”

  “All she did was hide her new overalls in her friend’s garage. There’s nothing wrong with that. Didn’t you like the way Ellen and Celine walked in their overalls?” The little angel strode around the archangel.

  “But, little angel, Celine’s being naughty. Her mother doesn’t want her wearing overalls.”

  “Her mother has a problem.” The Little Angel of Honesty posed with a hand on one hip, then on the other. “I’d look good in overalls, I bet. They make you seem larger. Anyone is noticeable in overalls.”

  “Maybe it’s time for us to have that little talk about you,” said the archangel.

  The littlest angel dropped her hands. “No. I want to talk about Celine.”

  “All right, then.” The archangel took the little angel’s hands. “Celine has been dishonest to her mother twice today.”

  “Not exactly,” said the little angel, pulling away and striding around the archangel again, but slowly this time. “After all, her mother didn’t ask how the roach parts got in the oatmeal, and she doesn’t even know enough to ask Celine if she’s got overalls. Celine hasn’t said anything untrue.”

  “It’s not just what people say. You know that.” The archangel turned in a circle so that she could keep her eyes on the little angel, who was still walking around her. “Celine’s mother believes Celine just happened to find the insect parts in her food this morning. And she believes Celine is wearing her skirt to school today.”

  “So what?”

  “Stop walking; you’re making me dizzy.”

  The little angel stopped and drew circles with the tips of her right toes. She kept her eyes on the ground.

  “Celine has led her mother to believe that things are different from the way they really are.” The archangel’s voice got very quiet. “That’s what. You know how these things can happen,” she added almost in a whisper.

  The little angel looked up at the archangel and remembered how the other little angels thought she’d gone off to Italy instead of California. “All right. I see what you mean. But, really, what’s the harm in it? Celine’s mother is happier not knowing.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “Celine believes it. Why else would she do it?”

  “That’s what you need to figure out,” said the archangel. “Because once you figure it out, I think you’ll have a better chance of helping her stop it.”

  Susie

  Russ did three forward rolls, which brought him all the way from the starting rock to the tree that they used as their finish marker. He got up and went to the end of the line. Thomas stuck out his arms as wide as possible and hopped on one foot the entire distance. Ellen did two cartwheels, and her legs were almost straight.

  Celine was next. She did a backward roll. She stood up and did a forward roll. Then sh
e ended with a giant leap and ran to the end of the line.

  Acrobatics was more fun on a mat. But the gym teacher refused to let them drag one outside to the playground. So the grass had to do—the stiff, scratchy grass. It was okay, though, because Celine’s new overalls were so thick, they protected her; the grass couldn’t poke too hard through them.

  “Nice,” someone said. That was Michael’s voice. He was suddenly standing right beside her.

  Celine’s face got hot. Her brother didn’t say anything about her overalls. Well, okay, she’d act like it was nothing special, either. “What are you doing over here? Your class never comes out on this playground.”

  “I was on my way to play basketball when I thought I smelled something. Lemon, I think. It was so strong. And I looked this way and saw you doing somersaults.”

  “In acrobatics they’re called ‘forward rolls’ and ‘backward rolls,’” said Celine.

  “Why is everyone doing acrobatics?”

  “We’re being judged on our routines in gym class today. So we’re practicing.”

  “You looked good. Especially in that leap at the end. Especially in those overalls.” Michael raised an eyebrow. He had just learned how to do that, and Celine knew he loved the opportunity to practice.

  “Don’t tell Ma.”

  “Where’d you get them?”

  “I bought them. I saved my allowance.” Celine jumped in a circle. “Do you really think they look good?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hi, Susie,” said Cara. She walked up and stood there, expectantly.

  “Who’s Susie?” asked Michael.

  “Your sister,” said Cara. Then she looked at Celine. “Why did you change your name to Susie? That’s such a plain name. You could have chosen Samantha or Jasmine.”

  “Lots of people go by their middle name,” said Celine.

  “Oh. Well, then . . . want to watch me do the crab walk?” Cara squatted and walked off all scrunched up and crazy like a crab.