California Diaries #7: Dawn, Diary Two (4 page)

First of all, we met at Maggie’s.

“My dad’s still at work and he has the tickets,” Maggie explained. “But Reg

drove over to pick them up. He’ll be back for us.” (Reg is the Blumes’ new chauffeur.)

“I should say hello to your mother,” I told Maggie.

“She’s by the pool.”

Before we went out to the pool, Pilar, the Blumes’ maid, offered us fresh-

squeezed orange juice. Amalia and I both took a glass.

“Don’t you want some?” I asked Maggie.

“I just ate,” she said. “I’m full.”

Mrs. Blume was sitting on a lounge chair next to another woman, who turned out to be the actor Mel Rand’s wife. Famous people are always hanging out at the Blumes’, so I’m used to it. Amalia, who hasn’t been around the Blumes that long, was very cool about meeting Mrs. Rand, which shows how cool she is. Mrs. Blume loved my dress (borrowed from Carol’s prematernity wardrobe, I must admit) and couldn’t stop raving about Amalia’s hair. “I know a woman who spends two hundred dollars every four weeks to try to have color like that,” she told us.

Maggie had this frozen smile on her face. She always seems uncomfortable

around her mom. And in her fancy house. It’s like she’s embarrassed by everything.

Some kids at school think having a lot of money is a big deal. Maggie does not like this.

Which I can understand.

“It’s seven-thirty,” Maggie told us. “We better go.”

“You girls have some of the best seats in the house,” Maggie’s mother gushed.

“Just show your tickets and mention your father’s name, and you won’t have to deal with the crowds.”

I wonder if Mrs. Blume is one of those people who judge other people by how

much money they have.

“Thanks, Mrs. Blume,” Amalia said.

“See you later,” I added.

We headed back to the house. “Have a ball, girls,” Mrs. Blume called after us.

“And Maggie, ask Pilar to bring us out another pitcher of gin and tonics.”

I saw Maggie flinch when her mother said that. I’ve noticed that Mrs. Blume

drinks a lot, even during the day. I wonder how much it bothers Maggie.

Maggie hates being driven around in her father’s limousine. But I love it. Amalia seemed to be enjoying it too, but she didn’t make a big deal about it. I think she knows how Maggie feels about things.

Maggie hasn’t actually talked to me about how she feels. That isn’t Maggie’s

way. But it’s pretty easy to figure out how she feels about the limo. For example, she asked Reg to drop us off two blocks from the stadium. Which, of course, was because she didn’t want anyone to see her get out of the limo.

We didn’t try to go in ahead of everybody else. I was glad. Half the fun of a concert is being a part of the crowd going in. But I must admit it was great to have seats close to the stage. For two and a half hours I forgot about everything except the music.

Reg picked us up where he’d dropped us off. The crowd from the concert had

spilled out into the surrounding blocks, so we couldn’t exactly hide the fact that we were getting into a limo. A pack of guys was staring at us.

One of them shouted, “Take me with you—aw, come on.”

“Please, pretty please,” added another. “We’ll be good.”

“Right!” shouted a third. “Real good.”

We ignored them.

As Reg pulled the car away from the curb, Maggie mumbled, “I hate that my dad

makes me use his car.”

“It must be hard,” I said, glancing at Maggie. But she dropped the subject.

Mrs. Blume was waiting up for us, or maybe she was waiting for Mr. Blume, who

still wasn’t home from work.

“My father is on a new movie project,” Maggie explained.

“He’s always on a new movie project,” Mrs. Blume commented.

She wanted to know all about the concert. But she didn’t seem to listen to what we were saying. I think she had been drinking quite a bit. I kept the conversation rolling until Maggie suggested we get ready for bed.

“I might as well turn in too,” Mrs. Blume muttered. “There’s food for you girls in the kitchen. Pilar made a late supper for you.”

Amalia and I ate big helpings of Pilar’s sesame noodles, tofu salad, and blueberry pie. Pilar is a fabulous cook. But all Maggie had was a glass of water, about four strands of sesame noodles, and a few blueberries that she picked out of the pie. “I ate before the concert,” she said.

“Me too,” I told her. “But that was hours ago.”

“I don’t like to eat late,” she said.

End of subject.

Maggie’s father came home while we were eating. He wanted to know all about

the concert and really paid attention to what we said. Amalia and I thanked him for the tickets.

He turned to Maggie. “When you’re working in my office this summer, Rod

Flash w ill be coming in. He’s doing a number for the sound track for the new film.

You’ll meet him. I’ve already told him you’re a musician.”

“Dad—” Maggie protested.

He ignored her and kept talking. “I’ll ask him to tell you how he got started in the business and give you a couple of singing lessons.”

“But Dad,” said Maggie, “I don’t want lessons from him. I like Mrs. Knudsen.”

Mr. Blume acted like he hadn’t even heard what Maggie said. “By the way,” he

went on, “have your mother help you pick out some clothes to wear to the office. She knows what to do in that regard.” He laughed. “She should, with the credit card charges she makes.”

“Dad, I have—” Maggie started to say, but Mr. Blume interrupted her again.

“I know, I know. You can figure out what to wear on your own. You’re right. I trust your judgment. But don’t hold back. Get whatever you want. You should look perfect for your first real job.” He stood up and kissed her on the head. “I’m looking forward to showing you the ropes. My chip off the old block.”

Maggie looked incredibly sad after he left.

Amalia and I put our dishes in the sink and we all went to Maggie’s room. We

didn’t stay up talking. Amalia fell asleep right away. Maggie stayed in the bathroom for a really long time. I noticed she took her journal in with her and I heard her humming quietly to herself. Some soulful tune. I figured she was writing a song.

When she came out I whispered, “Did you write a new song?”

She nodded.

“Sing it for me. I’d love to hear it.”

“It needs some more work.”

“Do you want to talk about what happened tonight?” I asked. “In the kitchen.”

“What about it?”

“You didn’t seem very excited about working in your father’s office.”

“Oh, that,” Maggie said. “I’m just not really interested in the film business.”

“Maybe you could tell him that,” I said.

“It’s not big deal. I’d rather not talk about it.” She got into bed. “Sweet dreams.”

“’Night, Maggie,” I whispered.

I’m hurt that Maggie won’t open up to me. Not surprised, really—but still hurt.

Sure, I was closer to Sunny than I was to Maggie. But with Sunny out of the picture, I thought Maggie and I would become closer friends. Now that I think about it, Sunny and I were always much closer to each other than to Maggie. I can’t remember that Maggie ever opened up to any of us.

I’m beginning to think that Maggie isn’t very close to anyone, even Amalia.

Now I can’t sleep. All the things that were bothering me before the concert have come back one by one. I am going to have to study for exams all day tomorrow. Finals start on Monday. I wish I could talk to Sunny about Maggie. I wish I could talk to Sunny about anything.

Wednesday 6/17

What is wrong with me? Why am I so angry at Sunny?

Here’s what happened.

I studied like crazy for my math final. I felt that I was ready.

“Well, I’m not ready,” Maggie said as we walked into our math classroom. “My

mother made me go shopping yesterday afternoon. I only studied for four hours.”

“I didn’t study for four hours and I thought I’d studied a lot. I knew that Maggie would ace the math final and I told her so. She still looked worried but changed the subject by asking if I thought Sunny would show up for the exam. I told her I didn’t know, but that even if sunny did take the final I didn’t see how she could pass math. Not with all the classes she’s cut.

We took our seats. I put out two sharp pencils, folded my hands, and waited for the exam to begin. If Sunny didn’t take any of her finals, she’d fail the year. She’d have to repeat eighth grade. We couldn’t graduate from Vista together.

I thought about the plans we’d made for after high school graduation. We had

been talking about them for years. First we wanted to spend the summer in Europe.

Then we’d go to the same college, hopefully as roommates. I really believed we would do those things. They were our shared dreams. Well, they used to be.

I turned my attention to Ms. Wharten, who was giving her final instructions,

before passing out the exam.

That’s the moment Sunny walked in the room. As she passed me to go to her seat, we made eye contact. She smiled. It was a sarcastic smile, more like a smirk, that said,

“You didn’t think I’d show up, and here I am.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I looked down at my desk.

Then I thought, Had I read the wrong thing into Sunny’s look? Maybe the smile wasn’t meant to be sarcastic. Maybe she was reaching out to me. I decided the next time we passed each other I’d be the first to smile—a real smile. I’d see how she responded.

Sunny finished the exam early and left the room before I did.

I thought about Sunny as I fiddled with my locker.

Then I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned around with a big smile on my face.

There stood Jill.

“Uh, hi,” I said.

“Hi,” said Jill. She was wearing a pink sweatshirt with a big picture of the head of a boxer dog on it. It read, “I ♥ my boxer.” Inwardly I groaned. Sunny and I had given it to Jill for her eleventh birthday.

I sighed. Maybe I was acting childish by being so critical about how someone

dresses.

“How are you doing?” Jill asked.

“Okay,” I said.

I couldn’t believe Jill was talking to me. We’d barely spoken to each other in months.

“The math exam was hard,” Jill commented.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“How’s Carol? I mean with the baby and everything. Isn’t it time for it to be born?”

Maybe that was it. Jill wanted to know about Carol’s pregnancy. Jill loves

babies. I told her that Carol was due any day.

“That is so great,” she gushed. “You must be so excited.”

“It is pretty exciting.”

There is no way Jill would understand that I was not thrilled about the baby. Still, I found that I didn’t feel angry at Jill anymore. I actually felt a little sorry for her. She thinks I don’t hang out with her anymore because of the Carol-is-pregnant incident, when it is about so much more than that. I felt a little guilty about how I’d been treating her lately. I guess that’s why I found myself inviting her out for a soda.

“Sure,” said Jill with a giggle.

We walked out of school together.

“So…how’s Carol feeling about everything? She must be big,” said Jill.

I told her that Carol was bedridden. Next, Jill said she’d heard about the fire.

“No wonder you’re angry at Sunny,” she continued. “I wouldn’t talk to her either.”

I told her it was more complicated than that but didn’t try to explain.

Jill said, “I know what you mean. Sunny’s acting so wild and hangs out with all those older guys. Do those guys go to her house?” Jill’s eyes were sparkling.

I told her I didn’t spy on Sunny and changed the subject by asking about Jill’s dogs—Spike, Shakespeare, and Smee. Unfortunately, none of them are as cute as the boxer on Jill’s shirt. But she loves them and can talk about them endlessly. Which she did.

While we had sodas I told Jill some of the names Carol and my dad were

considering for the baby. I also told her they didn’t want to find out the sex.

“I think that’s cute,” Jill gushed. “I wouldn’t want to know either.” So like Jill.

But I didn’t mind that much. I guess that shows how desperate I am for a friend.

I wonder if I’ll ever have a best friend again.

I can’t believe how fast the time flies. I’ve been sitting on this park bench for an hour writing in my journal. I better go home and help entertain Carol.

Wednesday evening 6/17

What a day.

When I got home I had an eerie feeling something was wrong. It was too quiet.

No music or television sounds coming from Carol’s room. No video game sounds. No Mrs. Bruen calling from the kitchen, “Is that you, Dawn?”

I ran to Carol’s room. Her bed was empty and unmade. I knew that Mrs. Bruen

wouldn’t leave a room looking like that unless it was an emergency.

I thought, Carol must be at the hospital. I should look for a note.

I flew down the stairs and into the kitchen.

There was a note all right.

“Baby on the way. We’ve called the ambulance. We’re going to the hospital.

Your father will meet us there. Mrs. B.”

I was excited and nervous. The baby was being born. Maybe right that minute!

But Carol was going to the hospital in an ambulance. What was wrong? I wanted to be at the hospital with everyone else. I had to know what was happening. I would go crazy if I waited at home alone.

I looked out the window toward Sunny’s house. Mr. Winslow’s car wasn’t there.

I thought, Ducky. I’ll call him.

But Ducky wasn’t home.

I had to get to the hospital. Fast. The only person I could think to call was Maggie. Luckily, she was home.

“This is so exciting!” she yelled. “You have to go to the hospital. Reg and I will pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

Twenty-five minutes later we pulled up in front of the hospital. Reg told Maggie that her father didn’t need him until ten o’clock, that he would wait for us in the parking lot.