Читать книгу Hannah Smart 3-Book Bundle - Melody Fitzpatrick - Страница 10

Operation-a-No-Go

I’ve been telling Rachel all week not to worry so much. It’s all going to work out. Actually, I’m so sure of it that I’ve already picked out an outfit for the concert, and it’s still months away! After all, we not only have a plan, Operation Yard Sale, but with our combined expert knowledge of all things Josh Taylor, we have a great backup plan. Not that we’ll need a backup plan because our yard sale is going to be massive! A monster blowout! We just need to find some stuff to sell.

Since last week, we’ve been searching through our rooms for old clothes and “gently used” junk. Rachel thinks we don’t have enough. Even with all of Rachel’s obsessing, I’m not going to freak about it. I’m sure we’ll find enough stuff to sell by Saturday. We’ve got loads of time. Although, it’s turning out to be a bit tougher than I thought.

It seems sometimes, it’s a teensy-weensy bit difficult to practically give away a once-prized possession for, like, an eighth of what it’s worth. For example, I have this really awesome, fleecy, light-blue Hollister hoodie. It’s cozy and warm and I love it. So, okay, the arms are just a tiny bit short and the zipper gets stuck sometimes, and it kind of rides up whenever I sit down. I am really trying to force myself to throw it onto the sell-it pile, but I love it so much. And it’s been such an important part of my life. I’ve worn it to many events and on lots and lots of special occasions, although I can’t exactly remember which ones at this moment in time. Anyway, it’s one of my favorite things I own, so how could I possibly sell it? Of course I can’t. I’ll just remember not to lift up my arms or sit down when I’m wearing it. Great! It’s decided then: I am not selling it!

So, this is pretty much how things have gone all week. Our sell-it piles are pathetically small and our rooms are disasters.

Finally, Rachel suggests we work on our piles together.

“So,” she says, “I think we should start using a ‘tough love approach.’”

“Tough love?” I stare at her, eyebrows raised, thinking that this should be interesting.

“So, say I’m having a particularly hard time letting go of something I really love,” she says, “like say … a big stack of old J-14 magazines.”

“Or a cozy hoodie,” I say under my breath.

“So, now it’s your job to be tough and say something like, I know you love them, but you’ve read them a trillion times and took out all the cool posters and now they’re all falling apart. Then, we’ll take the whole bunch and put them in the sell-it pile!” She puts her hands on her hips and smiles. “Get it? Tough … love!”

“I get it. Tough … love. What a great idea …” I frown, suddenly eyeing her eyeing my hoodie lying on the bed.

“So, let’s start with that sweater of yours!” she says, reaching down to take it.

“Absolutely not!” I scowl, whipping it off the bed just in the nick of time. “Not my warm, cozy, special-occasion Hollister hoodie!”

“Special-occasion hoodie? How is that a ‘special-occasion hoodie’?” she asks.

Hmmm … out of all the reasons I just listed for why this sweater should absolutely not be included in the sell-it pile, she had to pick that one! Figures.

“Well … well …” I hesitate. “It was a special occasion when I bought it.”

“Hannah …” Rachel reaches to take it from me.

“No way!” I yell, tightening my grip.

“It’s too small for you!” She tugs at it.

“No, it is not!” I protest, tugging back.

“Yes, it is, Hannah,” she says, tightening her grip.

“No, it’s not!” I say, giving my hoodie a good yank.

“Hannah, the cuffs don’t even cover your wrists anymore.”

“Only when I lift up my arms or stretch or something.”

“Give it to me!” She yanks at it again.

“No, Rachel, please find something else,” I plead in desperation.

“Come on, you can do it,” she prods.

“No, I can’t,” I stammer.

“Yes, you can. Tough love, remember?”

“You really think it’s too small?”

“Yes, Hannah. It’s definitely too small.”

My fingers are stiff and getting sore and my knuckles are turning white.

“Are you sure? I mean they could totally be like three-quarter-length sleeves, you know.”

“They’re not three-quarter length sleeves. It’s TOO SMALL, HANNAH.”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, fine. I give up.” I know she’s right. We’ll have to use this stupid “tough love” rule or we’ll never find anything to sell.

“Hannah.”

“What?”

“You have to let go of it.” Rachel frowns.

“Oh yeah, sorry,” I stammer as I uncurl my fingers. “Take it quick before I change my mind.” I turn my head so I don’t have to see her toss it on the pile.

“Now, that wasn’t too hard,” she says smiling.

“Yes, it was.” I flex my sore fingers, look over at the pile, and sigh.

“What next?” She rubs her palms together as she scans my room for more loot.

* * *

For the rest of the week we practise Rachel’s “tough love” method to sort our junk and it turns out there is a lot of it. I can hardly believe that tomorrow is the big day: Operation Yard Sale. We’re super pumped and ready to sell. Good thing, too, because up to this point the only thing Operation Win Tickets has produced is frustration.

We’ve been calling into the station every day since the beginning of the contest and we haven’t gotten through, even once! This is extra crappy because every time we called, we had the right answer. I’m not going to let it get me down though, because tomorrow is going to be a great day and our yard sale is going to be a major success! I can feel it in my bones!

* * *

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Bang! It’s 5:45 a.m. and I think I may have smashed my alarm clock. Oh well, at least I made it stop. I roll over and shake Rachel. “Get up,” I whisper. She’s not moving an inch.

“Rachel, it’s time to get up,” I say a little louder this time. Still nothing. I’m pretty sure she’s not dead; she’s just not a morning person. But this morning of all mornings she needs to move!

“RACHEL LYNN CARTER!” I yell.

She pries open one eye. “Mom?” she whispers.

“No, you loser! It’s Hannah. It’s time for our yard sale!”

She pries open the other eye and kind of stares right through me and then closes them both. Then she does the unthinkable — she rolls over and starts to snore. Unbelievable!

This won’t do! I grab her by the ankles and start pulling her out of bed. As she kicks me away from her, I remember just how much she values her sleep. So there she is, half hanging out of my bed, sound asleep. I have no choice but to finish the job, so with one swift pull of her feet, she is on the floor, moaning. At least she’s awake.

“What’s that sound?” she says with her eyes still clamped shut.

“What sound?”

“I think I hear rain,” she growls.

Just then a branch smacks against the window with a loud crack.

I rush to the window to confirm Operation Yard Sale is a complete washout.