Even a magical clover can't make adolescence any easier. Sporty Kate Malone has a powerful ally, full access to a magical clover field. At thirteen, the ability to manifest a pair of designer jeans, an A on a math test, and best yet, a first boyfriend have never been more opportune. Yet Kate's desire to be popular outweighs the prudent decision to keep her clover field a secret, and she jeopardizes both her popularity and her belief system. Then, in an instant, worrying about sitting at the "cool table" at lunch is overshadowed by tragedy. Kate strays into a teenage world that is tempting and destructive. Will Kate sabotage her soccer aspirations and friendships? Can she use the power of the clover to save herself?

The Clover Tree

By Kimberly Foster

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2012 Kimberly Foster
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-4778-7

Chapter One

As I emerge from my room on the first weekend of Christmas break, my late arrival to the family morning creates the reaction I expected, "Getting some beauty sleep?" my dad says. "Good morning Rip Van Winkle," my mom says in a coffee induced lilt. I've never asked her who the heck "Rip Van Winkle" is but she sounds sarcastic so I get the point. My sister Kelsey may or may not beat me to the breakfast table. She's only two years younger than me and having her own "growth spurts" so she can log some serious hours of sleep herself. But, I never wake up before my dad; and today is no exception. Just a few yards from my room, dad is already crunching numbers and staring at blueprints in our home office. It seems to me that being a perfectionist would be a difficult trait in the construction business. He is regularly complaining about project delays or inept contractors. A telltale sign that he is frustrated is when he starts yanking on his bushy eyebrows. You might think that he would be eyebrow-less at this point, but there are plenty left for him to tug on. I inherited the same eyebrows which have just recently become daunting. I turned 13 and now I have caterpillars above my eyes! My mom is no help. She draws in her eyebrows with a make-up pencil, so she thinks I'm lucky, but I don't like the unruliness of them. I stagger into the hallway, "Hey Dad." He's focused so I don't get a response. I turn toward the bathroom and catch a glimpse of my sister. There are no pleasantries.

"Hey, I didn't say you could use my straightener!" I shouted.

"You were asleep!" my sister barked back at me.

"So, you could have waited."

"No, I have Ellie's party and it starts soon. What's the big deal? I always use it."

"Not today."

"You are so mean!"

"Whatever."

"I hate when you say that!"

"Why do you have to straighten your hair anyway?" It bugs me that she has started grooming herself to look like me. I don't wait for an answer. "Put it down."

Kelsey shows some chutzpah, "No."

I lurch for it and inadvertently hit her in the face with my elbow.

In the usual progression, Kelsey lashes out at me, arms flailing and a few bouts of "I hate you Kate, I hate you!" These words tend to get my mom's attention and this morning, my dad's too.

"Girls, what's going on in there?" dad probes evenly.

But, my mom is already on the scene. "The bickering! You two can't even start winter break without fighting? I am not a referee!"

I roll my eyes at my sister and mouth tauntingly, "Dur, dur, dur."

My sister goes crazy. A possessed eleven year old is amusing. But my mom doesn't think so, and goes to comfort my sister. Kelsey is such a mama's girl; it's annoying.

Kelsey starts to explain through her tears, "Kate wouldn't let me use her straightener."

"Even though I told her no, she kept using it. So I grabbed it back," I quickly retort.

"And, hit me in the face!" Kelsey adds.

"And then she attacked me!" I embellish.

Mom interrupts, "I do not need the play by play. You know what to do."

She always makes us say sorry and hug each other. Sometimes we'll have to stay embraced while she goes on and on about how she spent her childhood praying for a brother or sister and how she just doesn't understand why we fight. Every now and then, she'll revisit it with me alone, "Sweetheart, your sister adores you. Why do you antagonize her?" And the truth is, because I'm thirteen and it is my personal responsibility to incite her. But, I usually just mumble something like, "Because she is annoying." Then mom marches off with some comment like, "I would have loved an annoying little sister, blah, blah, blah." However, today we aren't tortured for too long. While we are faking our hug mom says, "That's what I like to see, a little forgiveness."

There is no movement or response from the office. I wonder if my dad wishes he had a son.

* * *

I'm hovering in the doorway while my parents discuss my behavior in the other room. I can just picture the scene. Dad behind his desk, chair pushed back enough so he can cross his legs. Mom is standing on the other side of the desk talking at my dad while her hands do a little dance in front of her to emphasize each point of contention.

"Joe, I need you to intervene now and then. This teenage thing with Kate is everything I heard about. Our sweet little girl is becoming a distant memory and the teenage version is testing me at every turn!" It's possible her hands actually circled around to emphasize "turn".

"Alyson, what would you like me to do?"

"Get out of this office! You've been holed up this past year working while your little girl is growing up. For whatever reason, I cannot communicate with her right now. I need your help and Kate needs your stability."

I'm thinking that she is totally overreacting but whatever, the ball's in my dad's court now. His silence toward my mom's attack seems to represent the path of least resistance. And then, he can't help himself, "This office is my only reprieve from the estrogen that permeates this house." He has caught her by surprise.

"Are you talking about Kate?" she asks.

"I'm just saying ... I've been waiting for this shoe to drop for 13 years; my daughter and wife with raging hormones simultaneously." I think I hear a smile in his voice.

Mom hasn't gone completely sideways because I hear her chuckle at his observation. "Well good. Another reason you can take the teenager under your wing," mom insists.

"Any suggestions?"

"Nope. All this estrogen has clouded my judgment. You are on your own. Let's start now. I'm going to get started in the yard where my plants can't talk back. Can you take Kelsey to her party?" mom asks.

I'm waiting to hear his reply and potential solution for my egregious behavior when my phone starts vibrating on my dresser. A text comes through. An invitation I can't resist.

"SURE. BE RIGHT THERE," I text back.

Pausing in my doorway, I realize their conversation is over. I didn't hear the outcome but knowing my dad, he will "ponder" it for a while. No knee-jerk reactions from Joe Malone.

"Hey Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Can I go to the athletic club?"

"Ah, I guess. What's going on?"

"Oh, Madi and...." I decide to keep it simple. "Oh, Madi just texted me; she's there and wants me to join her."

"Okay, but did you run it by your mom?"

"No."

"Well, you should. You know how it bothers her when you make plans without checking in." Between my mom and my sister, there's a lot of coddling going on. "K."

"And, when she says you are free, I'll run you over to the club."

I use dad's distraction to my advantage. "I could walk," I offer.

He doesn't even look up. "Just run it by your mom."

* * *

With a smirk and perfectly straight hair, Kelsey hops in the car next to dad.

"Hey Kate, I can give you a ride."

"I'm good walking."

"No really, get in. I'd like to spend a few minutes with you." Oh, great. He hardly had any time to ponder the grand solution to fix my behavior but it appears as though his intervention starts now. But, with Kelsey in the car, I'm spared for awhile; that is if playing car games sounds fun.

Kelsey suggests we play "Sweet or Sour" on the drive to Ellie's.

"That is so babyish!" I blurt out, "After all I am so much more mature."

"So what? It's funny! Dad, you'll play won't you?" Kelsey asks.

"Absolutely!" dad says. "Let's find out how many drivers are feeling sweet or sour today."

They start waving and hooting and hollering out the car windows. They try to get the attention of the other drivers and passengers. A smile or wave back means they are "sweet", a scowl means they are feeling "sour" today. Basically, dad and Kelsey are totally making fools of themselves. It's not enough for me to slouch down in the back seat.

"Stop it! You guys are so embarrassing! If I agree to play `Slug Bug' will you pleeeese stop that game?" I beg.

"Sure! I love Slug Bug!" Kelsey agrees.

Dad spots the first VW and yells, "Slug Bug! I'm on the board with two points." And so it goes; a current model VW bug: two points, the harder to find, original, VW beetle: 3 points, and any VW van: 4 points. Luckily it is a fairly short drive to Ellie's. Kelsey pulls off a last minute win as we pull into Ellie's neighborhood. Three Slug Bugs in front of one house? Hope they got a good deal.

Kelsey rattles off, "Slug bug, slug bug, slug bug!" before dad and I even notice them.

"Good win Kelse. Have fun at the party," dad says as she jumps out of the car.

"Thanks Dad. Bye Kate!" She has obviously moved on from the straightener incident.

"Bye." She does look cute. Thank goodness she has me to teach her a few things.

* * *

"Where have you been?" Madi anxiously asks. "The appointment is in 10 minutes!"

"I know, I know, my dad needed to `connect' with me and started rambling on. I don't even know what I agreed to do with him!" I explain.

"We're gonna need to run. The tattoo parlor is four blocks away," Madi exclaims.

Within blocks of Neiman Marcus and Urban Outfitters, we see the tattoo parlor is snuggled beneath a piano store.

"What the heck? How'd you know about this place?" I ask.

"I didn't. Devyn posted the address when she told everyone about her appointment."

The green lights on the sign flashing TATTOOS guide us toward the shop. I expected a crowd gathered. After all, what 7th grader gets a tattoo? Madi and I slow down to catch our breath and assess the situation. Just across the street is the Starbucks my mom frequents and being in the heart of the city, it is likely I'd see someone I know. Walking into a tattoo parlor is not the info I need getting back to my already paranoid parents.

"Should we go in?" Madi asks.

"I don't know. Let's get closer." I say.

The green lights converge in on us. It's clear where we are headed. A small sign to the left of the door reads, SOULFUL SKIN. If they didn't have the flashing tattoo sign, I could've mistaken it for a massage place or something.

"Let's look in the window," Madi suggests.

"Okay. "

I'm surprised by the ambiance. It looks like an upscale nail salon; Persian rugs, comfy chairs, a small waterfall in the corner. And there she is, holding court. Her ladies in waiting surround her in deference.

"Who are all those girls?" Madi wonders out loud.

"I recognize Carly and Joanna. A few of them look older, huh?"

Front and center is Devyn. She is dipped back in a chair with her arm out. The artist is working on her upper arm.

My face is closer to the window and fogging it up. "Madi, no way! She is really doing it. Devyn is getting a tattoo!"

"Should we go in?" Madi asks.

"I don't know. I feel weird. I hardly know her."

"She posted it on Facebook. She wanted everyone to know so she could have an audience," Madi reminded me.

And then, I am so embarrassed to be peering in from the outside. Here we are, lured to the tattoo parlor so we could watch Devyn brand her body. She tosses her hair back and forth while the image continues to appear on her upper arm. She glances over toward the door and the glass we are peering through and gestures for us to come in. I tentatively open the door, looking over my shoulder while Madi checks her phone.

"Hi girls!" Devyn calls out to us. "Just in the neighborhood?"

"Ah, kinda," I say.

"Well, too bad you weren't here earlier to help me pick out the design. I went with a Monarch Butterfly. Isn't it awesome?" Devyn asks.

Looking at the orange and black wings I think to myself that it's not the prettiest butterfly I've ever seen and most importantly, it would be hard to conceal. However, I decide to keep this initial reaction to myself.

"Sure. Yeah, it's cool," I say.

Madi is speechless and keeps looking at the time. I'm glancing around the shop. There are books of designs and an entire area devoted to piercings. A guy with double digit piercings works on a client. Madi mumbles to me, "Let's go. My mom is picking me up at the club soon."

As our spokesperson I say, "Well, we need to go. See you at school in a few weeks."

"Sure. Bye!" Devyn says with enthusiasm.

We barely get out and around the corner when Madi starts texting like a fanatic.

"What are you doing?"

"Telling the crew about Devyn's tattoo; I want to break the news!"

* * *

"Damage control." It's all I can say to Madi who is in the eye of the storm. The wall posts are appearing lightning quick and it occurs to Madi and me that we cannot do anything about it. Morgan arrived for moral support.

"Ugh." Madi falls back onto my bed with the weight of our teenage world on her shoulders.

"The picture; I guess you can tell that it's us?" I ask. It's a statement and question at the same time.

"Thank goodness it was cold outside and our breath steamed up the window a bit. It really could be argued that it isn't us," Madi suggests.

"Yeah, in a court of law but not on Facebook; she's tagged us and everything."

"I never should have sent out that group text," Madi says.

"Well, who knew it wasn't a real tattoo? She played it up like it was."

"Still, I shouldn't have said anything. Devyn is ruthless."

"No kidding. Calling us Pollyanna's and voyeurs and, what else did she call us?"

"Peeping Toms," Madi reminded me.

"Yeah, right, just great; how can we be Pollyanna's and Peeping Toms?"

"Kate, this isn't the time to be logical. Do we answer back?"

"Oh, I don't think so." I think of my dad who rarely has a knee-jerk reaction and it seems to work out for him. "So, we look stupid for a day or two, it'll blow over. She'll find another way to get attention," I insist.

"Well, thank goodness we don't have school until January. I would probably have to transfer," Madi says, half joking.

"Okay, now you're getting dramatic. Don't lower yourself to Devyn the Drama Queen's level," I tell her.

"Easy for you to say; you're just an accomplice."

"What's up with the Monarch Butterfly anyway?" Morgan pipes up.

"I dunno. It was ugly for a butterfly" I say.

"She should have chosen a bee for `Queen Bee'," Madi offers bitterly.

Morgan swipes her phone and bursts out laughing, "No way, get this...."

"What?" we say in tandem.

"I Googled `Monarch Butterfly' and guess what it says?"

"What?" we say with urgency.

"It basically says that the Monarch Butterfly essentially has no brain! Its brain is microscopic. And guess what else? As creatures they are repelled by humans!"

This time Madi falls back onto the bed laughing and I belly laugh my summary, "So, Devyn's tattoo is a brainless creature that doesn't like humans? How fitting!"

Chapter Two

"Dad, you've kidnapped me against my will you know."

"I would have added a blindfold but I can see that your eyes are hardly open as it is," dad replies.

"Yeah, it's a bit early. Don't ya think?" I ask.

"I needed to have you in a bit of a comatose so you couldn't resist."

"Ha ha. Where are we headed anyway?"

"You'll see," dad smirks.

"Well I know it's too early to be going to that Irish pub you make us go to,"

"Oh darn it. Wish I would've thought of that," dad says, pretending to be serious.

"At least I could've slept in."

"Maybe we'll hit it on the way home," dad jokes.

"Please, no! All that weird food like oysters and lamb and soda bread—yuck!"

"It's your heritage, Katherine Mary Malone. You must learn to like it." He's kidding – I hope.

"Dad, remember a few years ago when we were all in Seattle and you made us go there? It was a sunny day and you marched us into that dark, windowless pub!"

"Yes, it was wonderful," he states with confidence as if the passage of time changed the outcome.

"It was gross,"

"But that's when I met the owner and we've been friends ever since. He's on my St. Patrick's day list," dad reminds me.

And it comes rushing back to me and I start laughing, "Oh yeah, he called us `lovely lassies' in an authentic Irish accent and then you introduced us in the same kind of accent, `This is Katherine Mary Malone and Kelsey Colleen Malone' like saying our full names makes them sound more Irish or something." I'm totally making fun of him.

Dad's blue eyes become playful as I mock him. "Hey, hey ...," dad warns.

I continue, "But then, you get to mom and just say, `This is my wife, Alyson.' It was so awkward!"

"I don't remember any of that. I'm sure it didn't happen that way," he insists.

"Oh yes it did. I have cataloged every time you and mom have seriously embarrassed me. Believe me, I know."

"I'm sure you do," he says still smiling.

* * *

"Here's the pay off for getting up early." Dad pulls off the freeway and into the first driveway.

"Maple bars! Sweet!"

"We are early enough to get them fresh out of the oven," dad announces.

"Gooey and melty," I say.

"Yep. Just how we like them," dad confirms.

"Now I know where we are going."

"Some traditions never go away," dad says, looking at me lovingly.

"It's been a while," I admit.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from The Clover Treeby Kimberly Foster Copyright © 2012 by Kimberly Foster. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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