Chrissa Stands Strong Read online

  “Nana,” I said, “when we’re done with our tea, could we move the llamas to the new barn? I think it’s time that Cosmos gets comfortable with her new surroundings.”

  “But weren’t we going to wait until the barn is completely finished before moving them?”

  “It’s nearly done, Nana.”

  She smiled at me. “You sound like a worried mother. If it would help ease your worries, we can show them their new quarters immediately.”

  “Good!”

  While we’d worked over the summer, we’d kept Checkers and Cosmos in a lean-to shelter behind Dad’s pottery studio. As we neared their temporary enclosure, up came their heads to stare at us curiously.

  “Big day!” I announced, hooking a lead rope to Cosmos’ halter. “You’re going to love your new home.” Cosmos flicked her banana-shaped ears as she waddled, wide with her baby.

  Nana and Checkers led the way. “What do you think, girls?” Nana asked, leading Checkers into her new stall with its pine-scented boards.

  In the barn’s amber glow, I led Cosmos to her stall. The floor was freshly covered with straw. Cosmos sniffed the new boards and bedding with suspicion.

  “Don’t worry, Cosmos. You’ll get used to a new home. I did.” And it was true. I really had come to feel that living with Nana here on Lake Chandler was home, something I’d never dreamed possible last February, when we’d moved here.

  Cosmos’ stall was two stalls wide, because the dividing wall was removable and Dad had already taken it out. This way, until the cria was weaned at six months, the mother and baby would have more room—and it would protect the baby from any unwanted kicks from Checkers. Llamas sometimes kick at each other and a kick could be dangerous for a baby. I couldn’t wait for the birth and hoped that I wouldn’t miss it by being at swim practice or, in another two weeks, at school.

  The sunlight coming from the barn door flickered with shadow. I turned.

  “Chrissa? Are you in here?”

  “Hi, Gwen! Come on in.” I stepped out of Cosmos’ stall, bolted the half-door, and met Gwen as she entered the barn.

  “This is as cute as a dollhouse,” Gwen said, her brown eyes shining with approval.

  I smiled. “Well, nothing’s too good for the baby,” I said, repeating something Dad had said when we were working on the barn.

  “Your llamas are lucky,” she said. “This is pretty nice.”

  I thought of how Gwen and her mom had been homeless before going to the Sunrise House—and before getting their own apartment. I couldn’t imagine how awful that must have been: Not having a bed. Sleeping in their car. Over the past few months she’d shared a few details. Mostly, she said, it was a time that she’d like to forget, a time that still gave her nightmares—even though she and her mom were happy in their new apartment.

  Nana interrupted my thoughts. “These llamas are spoiled rotten, Gwen. But in return, they give me fleece to spin and extra chores to do. And they make me laugh. Well, Chrissa, now that you have some company, I’m going in for a nap. Will you and Gwen take the girls back outside when you’re done here?”

  “Sure, Nana.”

  As Gwen and I leaned over Cosmos’ stall door together, she said, “Cosmos is getting huge!”

  “I know. It looks like she swallowed a dozen watermelon seeds and they just keep growing!”

  Gwen giggled, and I was glad she was there with me. I’d felt abandoned the other afternoon after sailing, but now my hurt feelings evaporated. Everything seemed fine.

  We talked about the llamas, and then about the swim meets ahead and Coach’s plan for two unstoppable relay teams. “Chrissa, the coach talks to himself,” said Gwen. “I hear what he’s thinking lots of times. I think he’s going to put you on the relay team.”

  “But I’m only going into fifth grade.”

  “You have strong times in the crawl and breast-stroke, and fast kick turns.”

  “Think so?”

  Gwen nodded. “The coach thinks so, too. And he’ll probably put Tara and Sonali on the relay team, too. He says Sonali’s backstroke is awesome.”

  “Well, he’s right. And he sure knows how to pick the right assistant. Keeping track of everyone’s times must be hard!”

  A tinge of pink crept up Gwen’s cheeks.

  The barn door creaked and someone else stepped inside. “Hi, Chrissa. Your dad told me I’d probably find you here.” It was Sonali, her hair swooshing in a long ponytail as she strode toward us. “Oh, hi, Gwen! I didn’t know you were here, too.”

  She stopped abruptly in front of us, her face strained. “Listen, sorry to just jump in, but I have to tell you guys something.”

  “This doesn’t sound good.” I stepped closer, bracing myself for news of another mean text message about me. “What is it?”

  Sonali’s lower lip quivered. “Now someone has posted really mean things about me online.”

  “You? Where online?”

  “Well,” she said, “you know that Web site for the swim team? Coach said to go there to check announcements and other news on the swim team’s bulletin board. And that we could all post things on the message board—”

  “Yeah?” I said.

  “Well, I checked it today. And…it’s terrible!” The rims of her eyes were red.

  Gwen put her hand on Sonali’s shoulder. “Sonali, what does it say?”

  Trying to hold back tears, Sonali began, “Someone wrote in and said I have a terrible disease that might infect other swimmers…” Her voice wobbled. “…and that I should be kept out of the pool. Forever!” She pressed her lips together as if to keep from crying, and then she said, “It has to be Tara.”

  Checkers kicked at one of the stall boards, and I turned. “Settle down,” I said. “I’ll put you back outside in a bit.” Then I spun back to Sonali. Tears brimmed in her brown eyes. “Oh, Sonali. That’s awful! I feel terrible for you!” I gave her a hug and then said, “But as cruel as this is, it doesn’t mean Tara is behind it.”

  “Chrissa, who else would do such a thing?” she snapped, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “It’s just that,” I began, “well, shouldn’t we report this and try to find out first where it’s coming from, before accusing anyone?”

  “I think,” Gwen said, crossing her arms, “that if you saw a fox leaving a henhouse and then discovered that eggs were missing, what would you say? Tara’s already proved what she’s capable of doing. Did you forget everything that happened last year? And, when you tell, she just gets worse. And sneakier.”

  “It could be Tara; I know that it could. But I’m just saying we don’t have any proof yet.”

  Sonali wiped away her tears. “You’re really defending Tara? She’s nice to you a couple times, and now you’re on her side? Be careful, because you might be getting poisoned by her. Just like I was. I know what she’s like, Chrissa—how she can convince you to believe things, do things. She’s really mean and really tricky.”

  I wanted to agree, just to make things easy, but a flickering flame inside me still hoped Tara was changing. “Sonali, I’m just saying that we don’t know yet who’s doing these things. It could be someone else.”

  Sonali coiled her hair around and around her finger. When she stopped, she turned to me and said, “I thought you’d understand, Chrissa, but I guess I was wrong.” Then she looked to Gwen. “Maybe we need a little break from Chrissa for a while.”

  Gwen looked at me, nodding her head ever so slightly.

  “What does that mean?” I asked, my eyes filling with tears.

  Gwen hesitated. “Sometimes my mom and I take time-outs from each other, when we’re not getting along. Sometimes it helps.”

  “But—” I stopped, not knowing what to say.

  But Gwen and Sonali just turned and walked away, out of the barn and into the harsh sunlight.

  I hid for a few hours in my bedroom, crying into my pillow. Everything was getting so tangled. I didn’t want to be pitted against Gwen and Sonali. We were s
upposed to be friends. Friends talk and work things out. Friends don’t just walk away.

  Finally, I got up. In the mirror, my unhappy reflection looked like someone else’s. I splashed cold water on my face in the bathroom, trying to get rid of the red blotches and puffiness. I wanted to go back into my bedroom and just stay there, but I knew I couldn’t sulk around forever. I had a decision to make—either go along with Gwen and Sonali, or back up my hunch about Tara. I ran a brush through my hair, then slipped down the staircase.

  The house was quiet. I figured everyone was either by the lake or with the llamas. At the entryway table, I thumbed through the phone book until I found what I hoped was Tara’s number. Fingers trembling, I dialed Nana’s ancient rotary phone, held the heavy black receiver to my ear, and waited. One ring, two rings…Maybe it would be better if no one answered. I mean, what if I was wrong and was inviting more trouble by calling? Three rings…Tara did have a way of turning people into her puppets. Maybe I was playing right into one of her games, and she was pulling the strings to make me dance. Already, Sonali and Gwen were disagreeing with me. Was that part of Tara’s plan?

  “Hello?” It was definitely Tara. “Hello?”

  I almost hung up. For a moment, I couldn’t find my voice. “Tara, this is Chrissa, and though I know we got off—”

  “Oh. Are you calling about the relay team?” she said, interrupting me. “I heard rumors that Coach might put us on the same team. I should probably swim anchor, though. You know, they put the strongest swimmer last, and—”

  There she went again. Bragging. Always having to be the best. Between Tara and Tyler, it was hard to stomach.

  The conversation wasn’t going the way I’d hoped.

  “The reason I called, Tara,” I said, interrupting her, “is I’ve been thinking about what you said. I know we got off to a bad start last year, but let’s make this year different. We’re on the same swim team now, and well…” My heart started hammering. If I hung up now, I’d be playing it safe. But that wouldn’t bring Gwen and Sonali back. I’d still be alone. And I’d never know for sure about Tara. “Um, I was wondering…would you like to come over sometime? We can go swimming and maybe even practice our dives.”

  “Really?” Tara replied, sounding surprised and pleased. “That would be great! When?”

  “Tomorrow? After practice?”

  “Sure, but…” she hesitated, “will Sonali and Gwen be there, too?”

  My stomach twisted like a strand of red licorice. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I was glad we were on the phone, not face to face. “No. They’re not happy with me right now. I guess we’re sort of taking a break from each other.”

  “Oh,” Tara said. “Well, maybe that’s better, because I don’t think they like me all that much. Can’t blame them, I guess. Don’t tell them I’m coming over, huh?”

  I flinched inside. I didn’t want to put myself in the middle of Tara and my friends. That wasn’t my goal, even though I knew that inviting Tara over would upset them. On the other hand, they’d hurt my feelings. So, was I getting back at them? I didn’t think so, but suddenly I wasn’t sure. Yet what was I supposed to do? Spend the rest of summer vacation and the new school year alone? And never give Tara a chance?

  “Uh, Chrissa? Are you still there?” Tara asked. Then she said, “Hang on a second.” Through the phone I could hear her muffled conversation. “Chrissa, I can’t come over tomorrow. My mom says I have to do some errands with her, but I can come over on Saturday.”

  The way Gwen and Sonali had abandoned me in the barn, I didn’t figure they’d be coming over any time soon. “Good,” I replied.

  “Chrissa!” Mom whispered in my ear as she shook my shoulder Saturday morning. “Wake up! Cosmos is getting close!”

  I glanced at my clock, which read 10:36, later than I’d ever slept. I flew out of bed, changed as fast as my legs and arms could move, and raced across the lawn to the barn. Tyler was ahead of me by several strides.

  When we entered the barn, Nana, Dad, and Mom were gathered at the edge of Cosmos’ stall. Mom and Dad held coffee mugs and Nana had a travel mug, no doubt filled with tea. I had the sense they’d been hovering for some time.

  “Looks like we moved her here just in time, “ Nana said, patting my shoulder. “You were right, Chrissa.” Outside the stall door, an emergency medical kit was ready, in case of complications. Knowing Mom was a doctor helped me stay calm.

  Cosmos was standing with her head against the stall’s far wall, as if for support. She breathed heavily, her flanks moving in and out.

  Time seemed to stop. We spoke in hushed voices but mostly just watched and waited. Finally, one tiny hoof appeared, then two. Front legs followed.

  Cosmos glanced back, as if to check on progress; then she pressed her head against the boards again. Inch by slow inch, a fully formed baby llama eased toward the straw.

  “Should we catch it before it drops?” Tyler whispered.

  “Unlike horses,” I explained, feeling smug for having read up on the subject, “llamas give birth standing. Their babies hang like this for a bit. It helps clear the cria’s nasal passage and lungs of fluid.”

  Nana tightened her arm around my shoulder. I could tell she was pleased that I’d learned something.

  “Don’t worry,” Nana added. “It’s all going just fine.”

  And Nana was right. The cria, covered by a wet film, slipped onto the straw without injury. I held my breath, waiting for it to breathe. Then it wiggled and snorted, clearly alive. I laughed out loud.

  Just like magic—only better. This was real.

  Cosmos shifted around, leaned her head toward her newborn, snuffled it, and hummed as she licked its nostrils clean.

  Skinny and wet, the cria shook its head and took a snuffly breath. Then it wobbily pushed up on its back legs first, and then on its front legs, until it was standing in a straddled position in the straw. It found its way to Cosmos’ belly and immediately started nursing.

  Dad glanced at his watch. “A half-hour, from start to finish. That was fast!”

  “About average for llamas,” Nana said.

  I glanced at Mom and Nana, who were both teary-eyed. I laughed. “Why are you crying? We should be celebrating!”

  “Whisper, remember?” Mom said. “We don’t want to startle them.”

  “Woo-hoo!” Tyler said quietly.

  Dad said in a hushed voice, “Looks like we have another girl in the family!”

  “So what are we going to name our little cria?” Nana asked.

  “It should be something cosmic,” Tyler said, leaning on the stall boards, his chin resting on his crossed arms.

  “Hey, how about Starburst?” I suggested. “After all, she did just burst onto the scene.”

  “That’s good, Chrissa,” Dad said.

  Just then, someone else entered the barn. When I turned, I was startled to see Tara. “Chrissa, hi!” she nearly shouted. “No one answered at the front door, so I—”

  “Shhh!” we all said at once. I waved her closer and smiled at her reassuringly. “You came at the perfect time. We have a new cria!”

  She seemed a little unsure about entering into our cozy cluster around the stall, but the moment she saw the cria at its mother’s side, she grinned from ear to ear.

  I wished that Sonali and Gwen could share in this moment, too.

  Their loss.

  But mine, too.

  We stayed watching a while longer, until Nana announced that we should give the new mother and baby “a little alone time.”

  “Besides,” Mom added, “it’s nearly time for lunch.”

  After sloppy Joes at the picnic table, and after I’d given Tara a tour of Nana’s big house, we ran into Tyler shooting hoops by the garage.

  “It’s hot! Let’s go swimming,” Tyler said.

  In no time at all, he and Tara and I were on the raft, taking turns diving under a sizzling sun. It felt good to be with them and out of my gloomy mood. Sometimes life is amaz
ing in how different each day can be. Yesterday we had two mini llamas, and now we have three! One day you can have an enemy and the next day a possible new friend. That’s why I have to agree with Nana’s most often-repeated saying, Never lose hope. No matter how dark things might look one day, the next day might be filled with sunny possibilities.

  After executing a nearly perfect forward one-and-a-half, Tyler popped up, his wet hair in his eyes. “Olympics, here I come!” he crowed. “Can’t you just hear the crowds cheering?”

  “Yeah, right,” I teased. “It wasn’t bad, exactly, but that dive wouldn’t get you a top score from any judge.”

  Tara laughed along with me.

  Tyler swam to the ladder and climbed up. “Okay, Chrissa, you’re so confident, let’s see what you can do next. At least I’m trying new dives. Got anything to show yet besides a back dive?”

  That shut me up. I hadn’t had the same urge as he had to practice the new dives that the coach had been teaching us. Some of them just seemed too scary—like the inward and the reverse, for starters. I mean, what if I didn’t clear the diving board? And I sure wasn’t going to try anything fancy on the swim raft with only two feet of clearance from raft to water.

  “It’s not always the fancy dives that win,” I said, repeating the coach’s words. He’d told us that simple dives done well bring in points for a team. It’s just that the more complicated dives are given more weight, even if they aren’t mastered perfectly. I knew I’d eventually try harder dives, but the truth was, I was starting to enjoy competitive swimming more than competitive diving. For Tyler, it was the other way around.

  Roaring past us, a speedboat pulling a wakeboarder sent a series of waves toward the raft. We rode out the waves as they lifted the raft up and down and finally settled on shore.

  Tara went next. She positioned herself at the edge and readied herself for a back dive. She pushed off, flew a little farther out than she probably wanted, but still managed to go headfirst into the lake.

  “I’d give you a four,” Tyler said when she came up from underwater.