all right. I’d better go,” said Mrs. Larkin. She got in the car. As she drove off, she waved and called out the window, “Be good.”
“Okay, Mom,” said everybody one more time.
Hurray, thought Maryellen, happy and excited. Mom’s finally gone. Now I can work on my surprise.
Extraordinary, Not Extra Ordinary
Maryellen didn’t even change out of her bathing suit, but went straight to the carport and began rummaging around on Dad’s workbench for red paint and a paintbrush. She was going to paint the front door of their house red, really red: bright, shiny, eye-catching, fingernail-polish-ish, lipstick-y red. No one else in The Palms had a red front door! Betty and Florence would be so impressed. They’d say to Mom, “My goodness, Kay! Your house really stands out from the rest. It’s extraordinary! It’s the only one with a bright red door!” And Mom would smile proudly and say, “Maryellen painted our door red. It was her idea. She always has great ideas!” And then, when Betty and Florence talked to Maryellen for the first time, they wouldn’t say what people usually said, which was, “You’re Maryellen? Which one are you, the second, third, or fourth sister?” Instead, they would say, “You’re Maryellen? Oh! You’re the one with all the great ideas!”
Maryellen was so intent on imagining Mom’s pride and Betty’s and Florence’s admiration, and so focused on her search for paint, that she practically jumped a foot when Beverly’s squeaky voice behind her asked, “What are you doing?”
Maryellen turned to see Beverly, Tom, Mikey, and Scooter standing in a row behind her, watching her. Beverly was wearing her baseball-cap crown. Except for Scooter, they were all eating orange Popsicles, so their mouths were wreathed in orange stickiness.
“What are you doing?” asked Beverly again.
“Nothing,” Maryellen answered. “Go find Carolyn.”
“She left for her piano lesson,” said Beverly. “She said to tell you to take the brownies out.”
“What about Joan?” said Maryellen.
“She’s getting ready for Jerry,” said Beverly. “She gave us Popsicles and told us to come find you.”
Maryellen sighed. She could see that she was stuck with Beverly, Tom, Mikey, and Scooter as an audience for her project whether she liked it or not. “All right,” she said briskly. “I’m going to paint the front door red, like Mom’s fingernail polish. You can watch. But don’t get in the way.”
Maryellen found a can of red paint and a paintbrush left over from when Dad had touched up Tom’s fire truck. The paint was sort of lumpy and smelly, and the brush had dried so that it was stiffened into a hard curve. Maryellen knew that Dad would say that she should clean the brush with turpentine, but she didn’t have time to fuss. She had to finish her surprise before Mom and Betty and Florence came home. To make herself faster and taller, Maryellen put on her roller skates. She pictured herself gliding smoothly as she painted, like the waitresses on roller skates at drive-up restaurants she had seen on TV.
“I want to paint, too,” said Beverly. She and Mikey trailed along behind Maryellen as she roller-skated to the front door. Scooter, who had an unerring instinct about where he’d be most in the way, plunked himself down right behind Maryellen.
“I want to paint, too,” echoed Tom, pedaling his fire engine along behind them.
“Paint!” said Mikey.
“No,” said Maryellen.
“Why?” asked Beverly.
“Because there’s only one brush.”
“Can I have a turn with it?” asked Beverly.
“Me, too?” asked Tom.
“Paint!” said Mikey.
“No,” said Maryellen shortly.
“Why not?” asked Beverly.
“Because it was my idea and I’m doing it,” said Maryellen. She sounded crosser than she meant to. The truth was that she was cross at herself, because only now that she looked at the front door did she realize that she had forgotten about the screen door, which was outside the front door, so she’d have to paint that first.
Oh, well. There’s not much to paint. How hard could it be? Maryellen thought. She remembered seeing a commercial on television in which a lady painted her whole living room all by herself, and there was nothing to it! She pretended to be in that TV commercial. She held the can of paint in one hand, dipped the brush into it, and boldly swiped a stroke of red on the middle slat of the screen door.
“Uh-oh,” said Beverly.
“Uh-oh what?” asked Maryellen, even though she had spotted a problem, too.
“It’s all bumpy,” said Beverly.
“Oh, no one will see,” said Maryellen airily, even though it was easy to see that she’d painted over dead bugs, and their bodies were now permanently attached to the screen door, like raised polka dots. She was glad when Joan’s boyfriend, Jerry, drove up in his convertible hot rod. He would be a great distraction for her critical audience.
“Hi, Jerry!” Maryellen, Beverly, and Tom called. Maryellen turned and waved her paintbrush.
“Hi, kids,” said Jerry as he got out of his car and came up the front walk. Maryellen thought he looked very handsome in his white tennis outfit. “What’s with the paint, Ellie?”
“Paint!” said Mikey.
“I’m painting our door red,” Maryellen explained. “It’s a surprise for Mom.”
“She’ll be surprised, all right,” said Jerry. “I guess I’d better knock on the kitchen door, to let Joan know I’m here for our date.”
Maryellen seized the opportunity, even though she knew she was risking Joan’s wrath. “Speaking of dates,” she said to Jerry, “have you ever thought about setting a date? To marry Joan, I mean.”
“To—to what?” Jerry sputtered. He looked surprised.
“Marry Joan,” Maryellen plowed on doggedly. “She’s almost eighteen, you know. She’ll graduate from high school next June. And millions of girls get married right after they graduate.”
Jerry looked stunned, as if someone had bonked him on the noggin. He was speechless.
Maryellen
