11 Birthdays (7 page)

I’m halfway down the stairs when the phone rings. Dad picks it up then calls my name. I hurry into the den, where he’s now lying on the couch. So much for my plans of watching TV in there. “It’s Stephanie,” he says, handing me the phone.

I take the phone outside into the backyard and lie down on a plastic lounge chair. I’ve barely said hello when she starts in. “Where are you? Don’t you know it’s your birthday? Everyone’s asking for you. Your locker’s decorated, Emma brought you a cupcake for lunchtime, and most important,” she raises her voice, “WE HAVE TRYOUTS TODAY!”

I wait till she’s run out of steam. Then I cough. “I’m sick. Party’s off. No tryouts. I’m sorry.”

“What? How can you be sick? I just saw you last night. You were fine.”

A yellow bird flies by. It’s a really nice day out. I hadn’t appreciated that before, when I was stuck in school. I cough again. “I woke up with it, there’s nothing I can do about it. And something tells me I wouldn’t have done very well in tryouts.”

She doesn’t say anything for a minute. “Are you doing this because of Leo?”

“No!” I yell a bit too loudly. “It has nothing to do with him. Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Is it because you really wanted to try out for marching band?”

I sigh. “No, seriously, I’m just really not feeling well today. But good luck at the tryouts, I know you’ll do great.”

“It won’t be the same without you,” she insists.

“Where are you calling me from, by the way?” Neither of us is allowed a cell phone until we’re twelve.

“I snuck into the guidance counselor’s office to use her phone,” she says, suddenly lowering her voice. “She’s coming down the hall, I better go. Hey, wait.” She pauses for a
second. “Mrs. Philips left her appointment book open. It says here Leo has an appointment today after school.”

“Yeah, I saw him come out of there yesterday. Probably meeting about next year’s schedule.”

“He was here yesterday, too?” I hear pages flipping. “It doesn’t say that in the book.”

Oops! “Oh, right, I’m just confused. You better go. You don’t want to get caught.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “Feel better and I’ll call you after tryouts.” She hangs up right as I hear, “Young lady, what are you doing in my office?”

I click off the phone and lay it down next to me. I hope Stephanie doesn’t get into trouble. Leaning back in the chair, I tilt my face to the sun until I feel its warmth spread across my cheeks. I could get used to this.

After a few more minutes of relishing the fact that I’m not in math class right now, I go back inside and scarf down two muffins and a tall glass of orange juice. Dad is snoring on the couch. Realizing I left the phone by the lounge chair, I go out to retrieve it. The gymnastics mat that Stephanie loaned me is still spread out on the lawn. Now that I don’t have to deal with the pressure of doing a back handspring in front of the coach, it could be fun
to see if I can do it on my own. Dad’s sleeping, so he won’t see me doing something sick people shouldn’t do. I pull off my socks and grip the edges of the mat with my toes. Okay, bend knees, power down with arms, and go!

I land flat on my back. I may have just attempted my last back handspring.

“Ahem,” a woman’s voice says.

I shield the sun from my eyes and look up. First I
see the work boots, then the jeans, then the red flannel shirt, then the silver-and-black hair. Mrs. Grayson. She’s always dressed for gardening, even on a warm day like this. Since her husband died a few years ago, she pretty much gardens all day. “Um, hi,” I say, reddening.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” she says, as I hurriedly put my socks back on. “Your mother had you at death’s door.”

I redden some more and look down. “Yes, I’m feeling a little better.”

“Well, we’d better keep your appointment anyway, just to make sure.”

I nod, still not meeting her gaze. “Let me get my shoes.”

A few minutes later I’m standing in her driveway waiting for her to back her car out of the garage. I expected her to drive something sensible and environmentally friendly. Instead she backs out in a bright orange Jaguar. My mouth falls open.

I cautiously get in the car, afraid to touch the wood or leather, which is what everything seems to be made of. It feels like I’m sitting on a cloud. She laughs when she sees my expression.

“I call this little beauty ‘Late-life Crisis.’ A car like this has got to have a name, you know. I never had a midlife crisis because I was too happy, so that’s where she gets her name. It was either this car or a tattoo.”

“A tattoo? Wow!” Boy, you never really know people.

She laughs again. “I was just kidding on the tattoo.”

I redden again. “Oh. Right. Well, it’s a really nice car.”

She pats the dashboard fondly. “Thank you.”

We don’t talk much on the five-minute drive. I cough once or twice, but my heart isn’t in it. Dr. Frieling sees me right away, and I try not to gag on the flat stick he lays on my tongue. He feels the sides of my neck and checks my
eyes and ears. I have to breathe deeply while he listens to my lungs. Basically the usual checkup. When he’s done he announces with a grin, “Well, my dear. I believe you’ve had a miraculous recovery. Or what we call in this business, ‘a gullible mother.’”

He herds me out of the office, leaving me no chance to explain that, truly, my head
did
hurt this morning and I’m going through a very tough time. “To be on the safe side,” he says as he makes a note on my chart, “lay low this weekend, don’t overexert yourself. You’ll no doubt be anxious to go to school on Monday.” He winks, and then calls, “Next!”

Sure, easy enough for him to say. How can I lay low on a weekend THAT NEVER COMES?

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mrs. Grayson asks on the ride home.

I shake my head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

I shake my head again.

“You know, my grandmother Bessy used to be friends with your great-great-grandmother, the one you were named after.”

This catches my attention. I don’t know much about my
dad’s family. All I know is that many generations of Ellerbys grew up in Willow Falls, but my dad’s parents moved away right after my dad was born. The only reason he and my mom moved back here is because Dad was offered a job nearby. Over the years I’ve heard a few people in town ask him if he was related to the Ellerbys who used to live in the Apple Grove section of town, and my dad will say yes, and the people will nod, sort of
knowingly,
sort of
impressed,
but I never paid much attention. And that was as far as the conversations went.

“Did your grandmother ever say anything about her?” I ask Mrs. Grayson. “About my great-great-grandmother?”

“A little. She called her ‘a feisty ol’ broad.’ She’d have to be, to keep up with her husband.”

“How come? What was he like?”

Mrs. Grayson turns onto our block and starts slowing down. “I don’t know much about Rex. He sure turned this town on end with the whole feud.” She shakes her head. “Every small town’s gotta have
something
to gossip about, I guess.”

Now THIS was interesting enough to make me stop thinking about my situation for a minute. “What feud? My dad never mentioned it to me.”

She pulls into my driveway and shakes her head. “I don’t know anything about it. He probably doesn’t, either, since his parents whisked him away from here so young. Now, you’re gonna be okay? You feeling better?”

I nod. “Thanks for taking me, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” she says. “I welcome any opportunity to drive good old ‘Late-life Crisis.’”

I watch her swing out of my driveway and head down the block. I bet she’s lonely in that house all by herself, gardening all day. I don’t think she has any children. At least I never see anyone around.

Dad’s still asleep on the couch when I come in. I don’t worry about making noise, because it takes a lot to wake him. I make myself a turkey sandwich and settle down in his easy chair to watch daytime TV. I used to think the bizarre things that happened on soap operas could never happen in real life. But I’m living proof otherwise.

Kylie comes home from school hours later and finds me slouched in the chair, eyes glazed, finishing up a huge bag of potato chips. “You don’t look very sick to me,” she says.

“I feel a lot better.”

She drops her backpack onto the coffee table and casually says, “Leo stopped me in the hall today.”

I sit up. “He did? Why?”

“He wanted to know why you weren’t in history class. He said you missed a pop quiz.”

I click off the television. “Did he say anything else?”

“What, do I have all day to chat with your ex-friends in the hall? I have my own life, you know.” She turns on her heel and stomps upstairs. I’m guessing her plan to ask Dustin to the dance during gym class didn’t go too well.

The phone rings and I run into the kitchen to get it. “I made it!” Stephanie’s voice on the other end shouts. “I made the team! So did Ruby!”

“That’s great!” I tell her with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.

“Hey, you’re definitely not having your party, right?” she asks.

“Right. But you can still come over. We could watch movies.” Maybe I’ll get to have the birthday party I wanted after all. “We could make Rice Krispies Treats and I can play the drums and you can —”

She cuts me off. “Um, would you mind if I went to Leo’s party instead? A lot of the kids on the team will be there, and it wouldn’t look good if I didn’t go.”

“Right,” I say. “Team spirit and all.”

“Exactly!”

“No, I don’t mind.” It’s not like I really have a choice.

“Thanks, you’re the best. Have a great birthday. We’ll celebrate on Monday, I promise.”

She hangs up, and I replace the phone in the cradle. I’d settle for there BEING a Monday. I want to go down and bang on the drums until my arms hurt, but Dad is still sleeping. He might be able to sleep through the trials and tribulations of soap operas, Oprah, and Judge Judy, but I think the drums would be asking a bit much. I’m trying to decide what to do with myself when Mom comes home. Her usually perfect hair has slipped out of its knot, and her papers are spilling out of her briefcase. She’s holding two pizzas out in front of her. I help her bring them to the counter.

“How’d it go?” I ask, already knowing her answer.

“It wasn’t my finest day,” she replies, pulling some plates down from the cabinets. “But let’s not talk about work. What did the doctor say?”

“He said I should take it easy this weekend.” I don’t think Mom really needs to know
everything
he said.

She eyes me suspiciously, but only says, “Good thing I brought home pizza for your birthday dinner. We can eat pizza and watch whatever movie you’d like.”

“That sounds great,” I say, relieved.

“Unless of course you’d rather I call everyone back and tell them you’re well enough for the party?”

“No! I mean, I’m fine with the pizza.”

“You’re sure?”

I nod. “Very sure.”

Mom goes into the den to wake up Dad and sends me up to get Kylie. I knock tentatively on her door. “Time for dinner. Mom brought home pizza.”

“I’m not hungry,” she calls out. “Eat without me.”

I wait a few seconds for her to change her mind. “C’mon, Kylie. It’s my birthday.” I hear scuffling in her room, then her door opens.

“Fine,” she says, brushing past me.

I decide not to tell her she’s wearing her Little Mermaid wig. She’ll find out soon enough.

Pizza and a movie
(Escape to Witch Mountain,
my all-time Disney favorite) turns out to be a much better birthday than the costume party. No one rings the doorbell
to drop off presents and run away, and without wearing the tight red shoes for twenty-four hours, my ankles are healing back up. The only thing that ruins it is that I keep wondering how Leo’s party is going. I’m probably the one person in our grade not there.

After the movie Mom gets out the cake she had ordered for the party, and everyone sings “Happy Birthday.” Once again, I wish for tomorrow to be Saturday. It’s not a big wish, not extravagant. Nothing that wouldn’t happen, anyway, in the natural order of things.

As soon as I blow out the candle Mom’s cell phone rings. I cringe at the noise, knowing that the call holds bad news. She answers it and quickly takes it into the other room. Dad follows, looking worried.

“Aren’t you going to open your presents?” Kylie asks. She’s still wearing the wig. Dad had laughed when she came downstairs in it, so she pretended she intended to wear it.

I look down at the two gifts waiting for me on the kitchen table. No big pile of gifts this time. For the first time, I actually get to OPEN my eleventh birthday gifts. I linger over the wrapping, trying to stall until our parents
come back. But they’ve now stepped outside, their voices low. I think it’s going to be a while.

I open Kylie’s first. It’s a diary, identical to hers, but without the warning on the cover. I can’t meet her eyes for a few seconds, sure that she’ll be able to tell that I snooped and read hers.

“I started mine when I was eleven,” she explains. “So I thought, you know, maybe you’d want one.”

“Thanks.” I lean in awkwardly to give her a hug, and my hand gets caught in her wig and it comes off. We laugh. It feels good to laugh with her.

Kylie walks over to the back window and peers out. I can tell she’s wondering what’s going on with our parents. But it’s not like I can tell her. Then she hurries over to the counter, reaches into Mom’s purse, and pulls out her own cell phone. Mom had taken it away during the movie because Kylie kept texting her friends. She slips her phone into her pocket. “Later,” she says, and hurries out of the kitchen.

I glance out the window. They’re still out there. Dad has his arm around Mom’s shoulders. I take the diary and the other gift back up to my room. Even though it’s barely eight
o’clock, I’m exhausted. I bring my parents’ gift to bed with me and open it there. Inside a green silk pouch I find eleven gift cards to my favorite stores, each for ten dollars. What a great gift! I place the pouch on my night table, right next to my alarm clock, which I make sure is OFF. I feel more confident tonight than I did last night that Saturday really WILL come. Maybe this was the birthday I was supposed to have, at home with my family.