Applewhites Coast to Coast Read online

  “Yoo-hoo, Applewhites!” a familiar voice was calling from just out of sight. “Anybody home? Anybody—waughh!” Jake rounded the corner to a remarkable sight.

  Winston had flung himself bodily onto the visitor, knocking him straight to the ground and covering him in slobbery kisses. The guy on the ground was Jeremy Bernstein, the Applewhites’ biggest fan; he had stayed with the family for a whole year to write a book about them. And behind him was the most remarkable vehicle Jake had ever seen.

  It was a gigantic, fantastically painted school bus. It wasn’t just paint, Jake realized as he got closer. It had textures on it, too—some of the swoops and swooshes of color rose off the sides of the bus in fins and ridges, like a sculpture. Some parts were covered in mosaic. He saw tiles, pebbles, and even little bits of broken ceramic dishes worked into a swirl that went all along the side like a racing stripe. On the roof, sticking up between what looked like a half-dozen solar panels, was a flagpole dragging a long triangular flag. It was tattered and wind-torn, but Jake could just make out the motto, painted on the pennant in flowing script letters: Art can save the world.

  People were coming out onto the porch to see what was going on, and Jake saw E.D. at the back of the pack. He felt his stomach flip over, and hurried around to the other side of this crazy-looking vehicle. He wasn’t avoiding her, he told himself, he just really wanted to see what the back of the bus looked like.

  As it turned out, the back was just as interesting as the rest—there was a whole porch welded onto it, complete with a railing. Across the back was a yellow-and-black warning sign. Rotten as he felt, Jake couldn’t help grinning at it. CAUTION, it read. WEIRD LOAD.

  “Jake!” cried Destiny, running around the bus to check it out from every angle, his eyes popping in five-year-old wonder. “Did you see this bus that Jeremy’s got, Jake? Isn’t this the most amazing thing ever? Jeremy says he’ll take me on a tour and I can even take a ride on it! Come and see the rest!” Jake found himself being dragged back around to the side where Govindaswami was staring with wide-eyed appreciation, while Archie, Lucille, and Sybil barraged Jeremy with questions.

  “It’s an Art Bus,” Jeremy was saying over their questions. “The official vehicle of the Rutherford Foundation. Have you guys heard of the Rutherford Foundation? I work for them now.”

  Everybody looked puzzled except for Uncle Archie. “Rutherfords. Aren’t they that eccentric billionaire couple in California? The ones who give all that money to artists?”

  “The nation’s foremost private arts philanthropists, as we at the foundation like to say,” Jeremy added.

  “Phil-anthro-what?” asked Destiny.

  “It means they give people money,” said Archie.

  “Basically!” agreed Jeremy happily. “And now they’ve decided that—”

  “What on earth is going on out here?” cried E.D.’s father, Randolph Applewhite, bursting out the front door of the Lodge with his hair sticking up on one side and a threadbare plaid robe clutched around him. “It sounds like someone has docked a cruise ship on our lawn! Decent people are sleeping here—does nobody realize that? Oh, hello, Jeremy.”

  “Randolph!” Jeremy cried, and ran up the porch steps to fling his skinny arms around him. “I’ve just been telling your family, I have the most fabulous news!”

  “News? What news? Has anybody made coffee? I hope this news doesn’t require any kind of sane response from me. Not, at least, without caffeine!”

  “Where are the others?” Jeremy asked now. “This involves all of you. Here, hang on a second!” Jeremy scrambled down the porch steps and into the bus. The giant air horns mounted on top blasted out again: Aaah-oooo-gah!

  “Jeremy! Jeremy! Can I blow the big horn?” cried Destiny, clambering up the stairs after him.

  “For heaven’s sake, don’t show him how to—” began Randolph, but he was too late. Everybody clapped their hands over their ears as Destiny grabbed the pull string for the horn. Aaah-oooo-gah, aaah-oooo-gah, aaah-oooo-gah! bellowed the bus, again and again. Eventually E.D.’s brother Hal and sister, Cordelia, emerged, blinking, from the house, and their grandfather Zedediah came from the direction of his cottage, muttering a whole string of “parrot words.”

  “So what is this earth-shaking news of yours, Jeremy?” asked Randolph after Destiny had been dragged from the bus and all the greetings were done.

  Jeremy clasped his hands in front of himself. “It’s so wonderful I barely know where to begin. First, I need to thank you all. It was because of you that I got this fantastic job!”

  “Us?” Sybil said. “What did we do?”

  “You let me stay here with you and write my book! Art, Education, and the Meaning of Life: The Story of an Artistic Dynasty. My publisher showed the Rutherfords the manuscript and that’s why they hired me! They were inspired by the story of a whole family of artists. And Jake, too! I guess you could say Jake was sort of the linchpin.”

  Everyone was looking at Jake now, except E.D., who was staring fixedly at the bus. Jake felt his cheeks getting hot.

  “They were just blown away by the story of how you turned around a troubled kid with the uplifting power of art! It made them realize that to save the world you really have to begin with the kids. It started them on a push into a whole new field. And now I’ve got—they’ve got—we’ve got plans for you! Big plans!”

  “Jeremy, darling,” said Lucille gently, “whatever you have to tell us, perhaps we should all go inside and you can explain over Govindaswami’s splendid breakfast.”

  “Ah, of course. But first there’s . . . well, there’s somebody you should meet.” He stopped and rubbed at his face with both hands. “That’s the other thing,” he said, oblivious to the fact that he hadn’t yet explained the first thing. “My brother and his wife, when they found out about the wonderful influence you all had on Jake, well, their daughter has been”—he struggled for the right word—“troubled? I guess. What you could call a troubled child. Anyway.” He stepped up onto the bus, leaned in, and shouted toward the back. “Melody! You can come out now!”

  There was a groan from the depths of the bus, and some shuffling in the darkness. Jeremy stepped aside from the bus doorway like a magician pulling the cloth away from the lady he had just sawed in half. “Applewhites, may I introduce you to my niece, Melody Aiko Bernstein.”

  Reluctantly, a girl stepped out into the light. And for the second time that morning, Jake found himself unable to breathe.

  Chapter Three

  What happened to E.D. when Melody Bernstein—her tall, slim body dressed only in a halter top, extremely short shorts, and flip-flops—stepped out of the bus and swept her eyes across the assembled Applewhites was seriously weird. A wave of cold, almost as if someone had just opened a very large freezer door, swept over her. She actually got goose bumps. It was the look the girl gave—a look of such distaste as she took in the Applewhites, assessed them, and dismissed them, all in the space of a heartbeat. A moment later E.D.’s cold feeling had passed, the way a cloud’s shadow passes when the cloud drifts past the sun. But she wasn’t likely to forget it.

  She looked around at her family, but nobody else seemed to have noticed anything. Then her eyes landed on Jake, who was staring at Melody like a puppy that has just caught sight of its first biscuit.

  E.D. had to admit that Melody was beautiful. She had dark eyes, high cheekbones, and perfect, glowing skin, and when she tipped her head, a curtain of straight, shining, almost blue-black hair swung forward in a way that seemed somehow both accidental and well practiced.

  Aunt Lucille opened her arms wide. “Welcome to Wit’s End, Melody!” she said, starting down the porch steps toward her. “Just as I told Jake on his first day with us, you are a radiant light being. If some cannot see it, you may have been standing in shadow.”

  Melody didn’t say anything. She just crossed her arms across her bare midriff, let that cascade of sleek hair fall across her face, turned her gorgeous, dark eyes toward
Lucille—and glared.

  Or maybe, thought E.D., it wasn’t so much a glare as a sneer.

  Lucille stopped at the bottom of the steps as if she’d run into a wall, her arms still outstretched to give the girl a hug. Sneer for sure, E.D. decided, judgmental and hostile. Aunt Lucille often said, “Thoughts are things.” If this girl’s thoughts were things they’d be daggers.

  Destiny was impervious to thought daggers. “Hi, Melody!” he said, bouncing up and down on his toes. “I’m Destiny Applewhite. That’s a pretty name, Melody. It means like a song. I love to sing. Do you love to sing?” As usual Destiny barely finished one sentence before he was rushing into the next. “And your middle name, is that Eye-co? That’s pretty, too. I never heard a name like that. Did Jeremy tell you about our pond? Is that why you already gots on your bathing suit? I can go get my suit on, too—I’ll be really, really fast—and we can go to the pond, and you can see the goatses on the way—”

  “Kid?” said Melody Aiko Bernstein. Destiny stopped mid-ramble and looked at her questioningly. “Shut. Up.”

  A ripple of shock went through the Applewhite family. Destiny blinked up at her. She looked around at them all. “I’m starving. What have you people got to eat?”

  Jeremy sighed. “Melody, I offered you breakfast and you refused.”

  Melody looked at him as if he were something that had slithered out from under a rock. “That green slime you drink isn’t breakfast. Breakfast is something you chew!”

  Govindaswami, who was standing just inside the screen door, beamed a benevolent smile in the direction of this radiant light being. “In that case, Miss Melody Aiko Bernstein, it would seem the Universe is blessing you. Our own breakfast is ready now to begin.” He opened the door, and Winston, who recognized the word breakfast—or any other word related to food—thundered up onto the porch and pushed his way between Govindaswami’s silk-slipper-clad feet to get inside first.

  Zedediah nodded. “Yes, of course, breakfast. You’re welcome to join us, both of you. Govindaswami’s cooking does require chewing.” His eyes were twinkling as he stared down Melody Bernstein. She stared right back. “You, young lady, might wish to find some sort of wrap. The house is air-conditioned.” He turned toward the house. “Jake, make sure there are enough chairs in the dining room for everybody.”

  Jake didn’t respond. He was standing exactly where he’d been standing when Melody Bernstein stepped out of the bus. Like a statue, thought E.D. Like a big, dumb stone statue.

  Zedediah noticed. “Jake, the chairs? Jake!”

  Jake startled, as if he’d just been wakened from a dream.

  “Chairs,” E.D. hissed at him through her teeth. “You’re supposed to check on chairs.” If she had had any regrets about having broken up with Jake, the way he was making goggle-eyes at Melody erased them. He looked as if his brains had dribbled right out the back of his head. He was clearly blind to the overwhelming vibrations of malice the girl radiated.

  Yes, she was beautiful, E.D. thought, but so were the evil queens in fairy tales.

  E.D. followed the rest of the family into the house. She glanced back as the screen door closed behind her. Melody and Jeremy had disappeared inside the bus. She found herself wishing as hard as she could that they would just drive away.

  But, of course, they didn’t. They showed up in the dining room ten minutes later, Jeremy with a fat notebook emblazoned with the name and logo of the Rutherford Foundation and stuffed with papers, brochures, and pamphlets, which he set on the buffet. Melody had thrown a large, rumpled white linen shirt over her shorts and halter. Loose and unbuttoned as it was, it didn’t cover her or provide much protection against air-conditioning.

  Everyone came to the table, including Hal. E.D. had expected him to revert to his hermit self after camp. She’d thought it would take months for him to recover from a summer of living in a cottage with three other humans.

  As Melody took the chair Jeremy was holding out for her, Aunt Lucille stood up from her own place across the table. “Before we begin we should make formal introductions! Melody, the Applewhite family welcomes you—and Jeremy, of course—to our family table.” She waved a hand toward Zedediah. “I’d like to present Zedediah, the patriarch of our clan.” He nodded. Melody barely glanced his way. “Next to him is Randolph, his older son and renowned theater director; then Randolph’s wife, Sybil Jameson, author of the bestselling Petunia Grantham mysteries.” Melody reached for her napkin. “They’re the parents of Cordelia, Hal, E.D.—which is short for Edith . . .”

  Wrinkling her nose, Melody gave E.D. a look that reminded her of why she had changed her name.

  “. . . and, of course, Destiny,” Lucille continued.

  “That’s me!” Destiny said, waving at Melody. “They used to call me the baby, but I’m not a baby anymore. I’m five years old and I likes to draw. . . .”

  “And this is Archie,” Lucille went on, overriding Destiny. “Archie is my beloved husband, and the creator of the famed Furniture of the Absurd.”

  Melody sighed loudly, as Govindaswami came into the dining room balancing four plates of something as aromatic and tantalizing as everything else he cooked.

  “And this,” Lucille said, putting her hands together and making a little bow in Govindaswami’s direction, “is my guru, Ravi Govindaswami.”

  “Guru?” Melody said. She could, it turned out, make a single word into a sneer.

  “Yes, indeed! He’s a master in more ways than any of us can know.”

  “My favorite,” Randolph said, as Govindaswami set one of the plates down in front of him, “is master chef!”

  “I’ll help serve,” Cordelia said, getting up and heading for the kitchen as Govindaswami passed the other plates.

  Melody wrinkled her nose when Cordelia brought her serving. “This is breakfast?” She poked with a fork at the steaming golden mixture on the plate in front of her. “Peas? Carrots? Potatoes?”

  As he took his own seat at the table, Govindaswami nodded and added, “Cashews. Peanuts. Noodles. And peppers, of course, to help the body’s cells awaken. It is vermicelli upma!”

  E.D. perked up. Melody was looking at her plate with grave suspicion. The Applewhites were all used to Govindaswami’s cooking, and they had trained their taste buds to handle the heat. Maybe it would be too much for Melody Bernstein?

  Randolph, who had begun eating as soon as he’d been served, wiped at the sweat under his eyes with a napkin. “Spectacular!”

  Good, thought E.D. Looks like it’s a spicy batch! She watched hopefully as Melody took her first tentative bite.

  The girl’s eyes grew round, and her cheeks went pink. But instead of howling in pain, as E.D. had hoped, she broke into a huge smile that made her look even more beautiful than she had before. “This is amazing!” she said, and took another bite, and then another. She didn’t even reach for the glass of grape juice that had been provided at each place setting for cooling the tongue. She had finished her first serving by the time E.D. had taken her first bite, and held her plate out. “Is there more?”

  “The Universe is blessing you once again,” Govindaswami said, his face wreathed in a smile as broad as his ample body. “My intuition told me this morning to make extra.”

  When everyone had eaten, Lucille asked all the kids to clear the table so Jeremy could spread out the contents of his notebook. Melody ignored her entirely, burped loudly, and wandered off. She didn’t even clear her own plate. By the time she came back, the table was clean and Jeremy was ready to plunge into an explanation of his mysterious plans.

  Melody went directly to the stove and was busily scraping Govindaswami’s large frying pan with a wooden spoon to get the last crispy bits of vermicelli. As Jeremy got ready to speak, she sighed loudly. “Hey, Uncle J,” she called, “do I really have to hear all this again?”

  Lucille raised a hand. “Maybe someone can take Melody for a tour of Wit’s End? ‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep,’” Lucille said. E.D. wonde
red whether Melody knew Lucille was quoting a famous poem. “And the pond is wonderfully inviting.”

  “I want to swim!” Destiny shouted, leaping from the step stool. “I’ll go put on my suit. You get yours, too, Melody!”

  Jake sat up quickly. “I’ll take her on the tour. You don’t have to swim,” he told Melody. “I mean, unless you want to. Which you might not. But it’s . . . um . . . pretty nice.”

  Look at him, thought E.D. with disgust as they left the dining room. He can barely speak.

  “All right, Jeremy,” said Randolph when they were gone, “what on earth are these plans you’re talking about?”

  “My new employers, the Rutherfords,” Jeremy said, “agree with you all that the best education comes from creative exploration. They saw what you did, and what art and creativity did, to change the life of a problem kid, and they were so inspired by Zedediah’s definition of education—”

  That definition played itself like a recorded message in E.D.’s brain as Jeremy talked: Education is an adventurous quest for the meaning of life, involving an ability to think things through.

  “They want their money—and they’ve got billions—to support art-based education. They want nothing less than a total reinvention of what school can be! So they’re creating an Education Expedition, where groups of artists and creative types will take students across this vast country on an adventurous educational quest.”

  “‘Across this vast country’?” Zedediah said.

  “Yes. In a bus. Or rather buses. Like the one I’m in! That’s the expedition part.”

  “And this concerns us how?” Randolph asked.

  “Well, you’ll be going, of course!”

  “Going on an expedition,” said Zedediah.

  “That’s right!” cried Jeremy. He was so excited he seemed not to notice how perplexed everyone else was.