Everything's Changed Read online

  Text copyright © 2017 by Julie Sternberg

  Illustrations copyright © 2017 by Johanna Wright

  All rights reserved.

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, contact [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Boyds Mills Press

  An Imprint of Highlights

  815 Church Street

  Honesdale, Pennsylvania 18431

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN: 978-1-62979-672-7 (print)

  ISBN: 978-1-62979-798-4 (e-book)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016951380

  First e-book editon

  The text of this book is set in Zemke Hand ITC Std.

  The illustrations are done in pen and ink.

  Production by Sue Cole

  H1.0

  For Alyssa, Caroline, and Jackie.

  Thank goodness for all of you.

  —JS

  For Anika Fern

  —JW

  JOURNAL

  Do not even think about opening this journal. You don’t get to read it. Or touch it.

  It is PRIVATE.

  You’re not special just because you’re my big sister, Jo. If you read this, I will find the picture I took when you had that giant pimple on your chin, and I will make copies, and I will tape them up in the hallway of our new school. Where everyone in your grade can see.

  Don’t assume

  I won’t do it.

  Because I will.

  Celie

  Dearest Celie,

  I’m crossing my fingers that you’ll like this new diary. I went through shelf after shelf of journals in the bookstore, trying to find just the right one. I rejected a million (roughly speaking). They seemed too businesslike, or too brown, or too dainty, or too babyish, or too filled with supposedly inspirational sayings like “Find the magic to make your spirit fly.”

  I found no such magic, but I did finally find this journal. It strikes me as artistic and bold, and those qualities remind me of you. So I bought it.

  I hope it feels like the right choice to you. And I hope it helps you make your way through the days we face ahead. I know it’ll be hard to move to a new home and a new school, and to have to worry about making new friends. But changes aren’t only bad; they can be exciting, too. I know we’ll have happy moments as well as challenging ones, and I hope it’s helpful to you to describe them all here.

  With lots of love, and then

  a whole lot more,

  Mom

  Once upon a time,

  this diary became

  the very

  private

  property

  of

  Celie Valentine Altman

  And so it remains,

  to this very day.

  The End.

  Sunday, January 30, first day after rotten move

  I just wrote a letter to Lula, but I can’t mail it. Because the stamps are buried in an unpacked box somewhere. And Mom won’t help me find them. She’s too busy unwrapping glasses and plates from packing paper and setting them on shelves. She keeps saying, “The kitchen is my priority right now.”

  Dad won’t stop trying to fix a funny smell coming from the dryer. I guess that’s his priority.

  I need them to make stamps their priority. And also, our Internet and phone! They HAVE to get set up! I can’t get in touch with my friends! I feel like a cave person!

  I need help hanging stuff, too. I’ve got stacks of pants and sweaters and long-sleeved shirts and sweatshirts to hang. They don’t fit in my new dresser, which is tiny. Because my room is tiny.

  One good thing about this room, though—it’s ALL MINE! For the first time in my whole life I’m not sharing a room with Sloppy Jo!

  In my very own room, I will never have to worry about Jo setting her wet towels on my bed or spilling nail polish on my desk or leaving bowls of half-eaten, moldy strawberries in my closet. That’s one hundred percent good news.

  But it can get lonely in here without Jo. I didn’t like being all alone last night, when there were shadows and creakings inside this new place, plus sirens sometimes outside, getting closer and closer and louder and louder before fading away.

  I’m going to find Jo now. Maybe she’ll help me hang my clothes.

  Later

  I think Mom might be going bonkers. I just saw her sitting on the floor in the living room, unpacking a box full of photo albums. I asked if she could FINALLY find a stamp for me. It’s been HOURS since I asked her the first time.

  She didn’t answer at first. Instead she looked around her at all the boxes and bubble wrap and half-filled garbage bags, plus the stacks of books and folders and games and binders that haven’t been put away yet.

  “Why wouldn’t I be able to find a stamp?” she said, after she’d glanced at all of that.

  Then she said, “How about a teeny, tiny button? Would you like a teeny, tiny button, too?”

  Then she started laughing. And she DID NOT STOP. She leaned back and put her hand on her chest and laughed and laughed and wiped tears from her eyes and laughed some more.

  I should’ve been annoyed. Because I really need a stamp, and she was making fun of me! But all that laughing was contagious. I had to laugh some, too.

  I left her on the floor in there, shaking her head and grinning. And now I’m taping my entire letter to Lula in here. Since I’m obviously not getting a stamp any time soon.

  Dear Lula,

  I miss you so much already. I can’t believe I’m starting a new school tomorrow, without you and Violet. I don’t want to go! I’m not going to know a single person.

  Mom and Dad keep saying, “You’ll make friends! You’ll see!” But they can’t know that, right? What if all the kids in my class have bad breath?

  Or what if I mess up? What if I sneeze one of those wet sneezes in class, for example, and I don’t cover my face fast enough, and snot and slobber gets on everyone around me? They’ll call me “Sneezy” for the rest of my life. And no one will want to get anywhere near me. Not without protective raingear.

  I know you’d still like me, even if I had a sneezing catastrophe. I wish I could come see you right now. I can’t believe I’d have to walk for FIVE HOURS to get there. Or take two different subway trains for more than an hour. We might as well be in Kentucky.

  I feel mad at Mom and Dad for moving us so far. Even though I know their reasons. They’ve told me over and over: We needed a bigger place, since Granny’s staying with us and we have to hire a live-in nurse for her. And they couldn’t find a bigger apartment that we could afford in or near our old neighborhood. But they should’ve looked harder!

  Jo let me borrow her phone earlier to call you, but no answer. I’ll try again later if she lets me. I wish I had a phone!

  I miss you! Tell Violet hi!

  Love,

  Celie, who would

  like to be doing this:

  MUCH later

  I woke up very worried a little while ago. The clock on my tiny dresser said 2:18 A.M.; I thought I could hear Dad’s cell phone ringing; and phones should not ring at 2:18 A.M.

  Wrong number? I thought. Or emergency? And then I thought, GRANNY! Because Granny is staying with Cousin Carla until we get settled in our new place. And Cousin Carla could be calling with a Granny emergency.

  I threw off my covers and jumped out of bed and ran into the dark hallway. Then BAM! I crashed right into Jo’s bike. I banged my side hard, and one of the pedals scraped a chun
k of skin off my leg. She needs to move her bike to the basement!

  But I ignored the blood and pain and started limping super-fast to Mom and Dad’s room. Dad was standing next to his side of the bed with his phone in his hand. Mom was sitting up, watching him.

  “You’re right,” Dad was saying into the phone. “She needs constant, expert care. We’ll get everything resolved soon, I promise.”

  Granny needs constant, expert care.

  So I asked loudly, “What is it? What happened? Is Granny okay?”

  “Shh,” Mom told me. “Let him finish.”

  Dad kept talking into the phone. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this, Carla,” he said. “Thank you for all of the help you give us.” He listened to whatever she said. Then he hung up.

  “Go through what?” I said. “Tell me.”

  “Everything is fine,” Dad said. “Granny just got a little disoriented and wanted to go outside. So naturally Carla got concerned.”

  I waited for him to say more. Since that was OBVIOUSLY not all that happened. But he was finished.

  “It’s two eighteen in the morning!” I told him. “Cousin Carla wouldn’t wake us up to say that Granny’s disoriented! You’re not telling me the whole story.”

  Dad didn’t say I was wrong. But he also wouldn’t tell me any more. Instead both he and Mom said things like, “It’s late; you have your first day of a new school tomorrow; you need to get some sleep.”

  Then Dad walked me back to my room. I stopped arguing, since it was obviously not working. I just let him tuck me in. And I listened to him walk back down the hall. Then I grabbed my spy notebook from the drawer in my nightstand and hurried after him as quickly and quietly as I could.

  I made it safely past Jo’s bike this time. And I stopped right outside Mom and Dad’s room. I stood there and listened and wrote this spy report:

  From the

  Top-Secret Spy Notebook of

  Celie Valentine Altman

  Sometimes spies must move absolutely silently. If you are vigilant about all of your movements, you are less likely to make unnecessary noise while bumping into objects. Practice paying particular attention to the space-time continuum.

  What does that even mean?

  I’m paying particular attention to Mom and Dad’s voices. They’re saying:

  Mom: “Why did the doorman stop her?”

  Dad: “She was leaving the building in her nightgown. It didn’t seem right to him, so he asked her to wait. Then he called up and woke Carla.”

  Mom: “Thank goodness he was paying attention.”

  Dad: “I know.”

  Silence now.

  Why are they being so quiet? They need to say more!

  Certain art forms enhance your awareness of, and control over, your own movements. Research dance classes in your area. Make a list of them below.

  This is no time for dance! Mom and Dad are talking again now:

  Dad: “Carla feels terrible that she was asleep. She kept saying she never heard Granny leave.”

  Mom: “It’s not her fault.”

  Dad: “None of this is anyone’s fault.”

  Another pause.

  Pay attention to the noise that your clothes might make. Sweaty socks can squelch in shoes, for example, and be overheard by your targets.

  I don’t care about sweaty squelching socks.

  Dad again: “Granny told Carla she wanted to see her mother’s fern. That’s why she left.”

  More silence.

  Mom: “We have to hire a nurse NOW, and we have to get Granny settled here.”

  Dad: “Should we try a different agency? We need a better pool of candidates.”

  Mom: “I’ll make calls first thing in the morning.”

  I had to hurry back to my room then. Because Dad said, “Did you just hear something? In the hallway?”

  I don’t think he followed me.

  I feel heavy now, with worry. Granny can’t go find her mama’s fern. That fern is all the way back in Louisiana. Or maybe even dead. But she doesn’t understand. I want her to understand.

  Plus what if the doorman hadn’t stopped her? Granny would’ve been so shivery and alone, in the middle of this cold night, in a strange neighborhood! She would’ve gotten lost. She could’ve gotten frostbite. Or stepped in front of traffic.

  I can’t think about that for another second. I won’t.

  I KNEW Granny should’ve moved here at the exact same time as us. Even if moving is chaotic, like Mom and Dad kept saying. It’s too hard for her mind to go from place to place!

  I’ll stay up all night tomorrow getting Granny’s room ready if I have to. And the rest of this apartment, too. Jo will help. We can’t let Granny trip over boxes or bikes. Everything needs to be easy for her.

  Also, Mom’s right—we have to find a good Stranger Nurse to live with us, and fast. I know she hasn’t liked the nurses she’s already interviewed, for good reasons. Like the one who asked if she could keep a bat in a cage in her room. Or the one who had the bubbly rash on her hands. It was very hard to look at. Plus what if it was contagious?

  I didn’t want those people either. Still, we need somebody! Maybe we’re being too picky.

  Maybe a pet bat wouldn’t be so bad?

  Monday, January 31

  I’m back from school. What a WEIRD day it was!

  Jo ended up making us late, because she decided at the last minute that she HAD to wear her black and white striped sweater. But she couldn’t find her black and white striped sweater. So she ended up dumping everything out of seven unpacked boxes.

  THEN, when she’d FINALLY put on the sweater, she started texting with her very tall boyfriend Jake. “One more second!” she kept telling Mom and Dad, who kept saying, “Time to GO!”

  I didn’t mind all the texting, because Jake passed on some nice messages for me from his sister Violet, who’s my good friend. Plus I didn’t want to get to the new school. I kept thinking things like, What if I need to pee and I can’t find a bathroom? I wanted Jo to text forever—I was happy staying home.

  But Mom and Dad got more and more annoyed. Finally Mom told Jo, “I am VERY close to throwing that phone in the trash.”

  Jo stopped texting then, but I said, “I have to pee!” Dad told me, “You were JUST in the bathroom! It’s all in your head!” But I refused to leave the apartment until I’d gone again.

  After that Mom and Dad rushed us out of our building and up the freezing cold streets of our new neighborhood. Trucks clanged past us, super-loudly. It stank out there, too, because stores had piled up huge garbage bags along the sidewalk.

  We have a yummy-smelling bakery about a block from us, though. Walking by there was nice.

  Other good things: Our walk to school is short. Only about four blocks. And the school is very interesting looking. It’s shaped like this:

  We didn’t get to look at the building for long, though. Because Dad noticed that there was no one else out there. “I guess the other kids have already gone inside,” he said.

  Mom looked at her watch and said, “We’re a few minutes late.”

  “Let’s just wait until tomorrow,” I said.

  “No,” Dad said. “Today’s the first day of a new semester. It’s the right time to start.”

  “It’s only the beginning of second semester here because they have that weird intersession,” Jo said.

  “Plus nobody cares about semesters,” I said. “Except you and Mom.”

  Then a girl and a boy raced past us. The girl had long, dark hair, and the boy had a lot of freckles, and they both looked about my age.

  The girl called to the boy, “I’ll be in way more trouble than you.”

  The boy called back, “True. You will.” And they both RAN toward the school.

  “Come on, Celie,” Jo said then. “Let’s get this over with.”

  We told our parents we’d be fine, and we kissed them goodbye. Then we walked into school together.

  After we’d o
pened the heavy fortress door, we saw a security guard, who raised his eyebrows at us. “We’re new students,” Jo told him. “We just moved here.”

  Before he could say anything back, someone else cried out, “Oh! Oh, oh!” and came running at us from inside the school. It was the girl with the long, dark hair.

  “I can take one of them!” she said, raising her hand like she was in class. “My dad and I saw Ms. Chanda on the subway yesterday—she told us we’re getting someone new in our class. I bet it’s you, right?” She pointed at me. “You’re in fourth grade?”

  I nodded.

  “Can I take her?” Dark-Haired Girl asked the security guard, nodding and smiling. “Can I?”

  “Fine, Mary Majors,” the security guard said. “But you’re already late. I want you heading straight to class.”

  I barely had time to think, What kind of a name is Mary Majors? before she grabbed my arm and started pulling me away.

  “Wait—one second,” I told her. Because I wanted to say bye to Jo.

  But Mary Majors said, “We have to run! Ms. Chanda is going to kill me!”

  So we ran down one hall and up two flights of stairs, then down another hall and around a corner. The school felt HUGE! SO MANY MORE classrooms on each floor than at my old school. And louder, too. The halls weren’t carpeted, and the sound of our running boomed off all the walls.

  One teacher poked her head out of her classroom and called out, “Slow down! Mary Majors Meade, you KNOW not to run in the hallway.” So we slowed down.

  But not for long! Because Mary Majors glanced back once or twice. And as soon as that teacher had pulled her head back into her classroom, Mary Majors grabbed my arm and started running again.

  For two tiny seconds, I didn’t let her pull me. Because we’d JUST been told to walk!