A Snitch in the Snob Squad (5 page)

She shrugged one shoulder and smiled. The sneakers were so big and white that when they caught the light they nearly blinded
me.

“Nice,” Lydia said, examining them up close. “How much did they cost?”

“None of your beeswax.” Max dropped her foot. She snatched the bag of popcorn cakes out of Lydia’s hand.

I knew how much leather sneakers like that cost—a hundred dollars, easy.

Max mumbled, “I got ’em on sale.”

It was quiet suddenly, all of us avoiding eye contact. Could they be wondering what I was? “So, uh, Max,” I asked tentatively,
“how come you got suspended?”

If she said it was because she stole the money, I’d spit my popcorn cake across the van.

Max snapped off an edge of cake and chewed. We all waited. Finally, she answered, “I might’ve called Krupps a couple of names.”
Her eyes narrowed. “But he deserved it. He didn’t even bother to ask if I took the money; just assumed I was guilty.” Her
jaw clenched. Taking another bite, she chewed and swallowed before meeting our eyes and asking, “You don’t think I did it,
do you?”

“No, no, of course not,” we all said together. “No way.”

She added, “I don’t even know how much was taken.”

“Eighty-five dollars,” I informed her.

Prairie gasped. Max blinked at me. “How do you know?”

“I, uh, Lydia told me.”

All eyes zoomed in on Lydia. “I heard Ashley tell Melanie,” she said quickly. “Tell them what else Ashley said, Jenny.”

I repeated Ashley’s comment about people who carry around too much cash deserving to be robbed. Max growled, “That’s cold,
man.” We nodded agreement.

The bag of popcorn cakes made the rounds. “Eighty-five dollars,” Prairie repeated. “That’s a 1-lot of money.”

“Yeah, like my whole summer allowance.” I sighed. Thinking aloud, I said, “I wish I had eighty-five dollars. I could use a
whole new summer wardrobe. Like I’ll ever be thin enough to wear shorts.”

“Oh, Jenny, you look fine,” Lydia lied.

“Yeah, right.”

“K-Kevin thinks so,” Prairie said.

My face flared. He’d never seen my flabby thighs, and he never would.

Prairie added, “I know what I’d do with eighty-five dollars.” She picked off a piece of popcorn from her cake and nibbled
on it.

We waited. Finally Lydia exhaled impatiently. “Well, what, Prairie? What would you do?”

Prairie popped the kernel into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “I’d g-give it to poor people.”

Lydia curled a lip. “Like who?”

“Ashley Krupps,” I answered. “She’s a poor excuse for a person.”

Lydia hyena howled. After she recovered, she said, “Really, Prairie, like what poor people?”

Prairie’s eyes dropped. “Like Hugh.”

“Hugh’s poor?” I gaped at her. It was a sobering thought. He did look poor, come to think of it. Not that I knew what poor
looked like. Everyone looked a little grungy at the end of a school year, but who could blame us? We’d just survived nine
months of incarceration.

Even though Hugh’s shirts were a little shabby, he still dressed nicer than most of the guys. If he wasn’t Kevin’s friend,
I might call him a Eugene. Maybe I did.

Prairie said, “His dad’s on d-disability. And his mom just got laid off.”

“So where’d he get the money to buy you gold earrings?” Lydia asked.

Prairie blushed as she felt her left earlobe. In a small voice she said, “I don’t know. Maybe he found it.”

Lydia snorted.

I didn’t say what I was thinking. Because I didn’t want to be thinking it about Hugh or Kevin. I noticed Max was awfully quiet,
sitting there in her gleaming new Air Zooms. No, I chided myself, don’t go there. Max didn’t do it. “Look, we all know Ashley
stole Mrs. Jonas’s money. But here we are again without any proof.”

Lydia said, “What about what she said to Melanie?”

“It’s incriminating, yeah. But it’s not proof.”

Lydia blinked at me. “Well, she knew how much was taken. Isn’t that proof?”

I shook my head. “She’ll just lie and say someone told her. I mean, everyone has to know by now how much was stolen. No, the
only way to prove it would be to catch her with the money. Unfortunately, anyone with half a brain would’ve already spent
it.” I paused. “Which means she probably still has it.”

Prairie giggled and nudged me with her fake foot.

A plan was coming together in my head. “I bet if we looked in her purse we’d find the money.”

We all exchanged glances. Lydia’s eyes lit up.

“Hey, don’t do anything till I get back,” Max said. “I want to be in on the kill.”

A current of warmth spread around the group. Automatically, we did the Snob Squad salute: finger to nose to Ashley.

D
uring dinner Mom and Dad informed Vanessa and me that we were going with them to marriage counseling that night.

“Why?” I asked. “We’re not married.”

Mom just looked at me. I didn’t say what I was thinking: Neither will
you
be at this rate. I can’t believe they were still angry about family fun night. Geesh. Get over it. Their anger hung in the
air like smog.

“Not that I won’t ever be married,” I added quickly. “Miracles do happen.”

Dad swigged his milk and said, “Are you still dating that boy you went to the dance with? Old what’s-his-name?”

“His name’s Kevin and he’s not old.” My face fried. “We’re not exactly dating.” Okay, we were. But the way Dad said it sounded
so… dated.

Dad added, “Is he the one who calls you every night and talks for an hour so we keep missing the callback from
Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?”

Mom must’ve pinched Dad under the table, because he yelped. That made Mom giggle and Dad smile. Well, good. If nothing else
their mutual enjoyment of humiliating me would keep them together.

For about ten minutes.

The spark between them extinguished the moment we piled into the car. There was no gas and Mom got peeved at Dad for not keeping
the tank full. Then when we reached the interstate, they had to quibble about what route to take downtown because of the construction,
etc., etc. Van and I sighed in unison as we stared out opposite windows.

Mom and Dad’s marriage counselor was Dr. Sidwa, my old counselor. Dr. Sid wasn’t old, really. Just familiar. I’d gone to him
when my mother thought that I was mentally ill because I was fat. He’d pretty much told her my mental illness had nothing
to do with my weight. Or something like that. Anyway, Dr. Sid started counseling my parents right away. What does that tell
you about who needs a shrink?

As the downtown skyscrapers loomed on the horizon, my eyes strayed to Mom and Dad in the front seat, sitting stiffly, staring
straight ahead. Mom still had on her work clothes. She was a suit. You know, corporate executive, professional type? I had
no idea what an executive did for a living. Execute? Who? Even after she took Van and me with her on Take Our Daughters to
Work Day, we came away mystified. Mostly Mom sat in meetings. Mostly we sat in the break room with a bunch of other daughters,
scarfing down donuts.

Dad, on the other hand, was an apron. He did the dishes, cleaned house, shopped. His favorite job in the world was doing laundry.
If I had to rate my parents in order of their work value to the world, I’d say Dad one, Mom two.

“You missed the turn,” Mom sniped at Dad.

“No, I didn’t,” Dad sniped back.

Mom let out a long breath, like, Okay, if you say so, nincompoop.

A stab of sadness pierced my heart. It was hard watching my parents have to work at being happy together. Maybe their problem
wasn’t them. Maybe it was us. I mean, we are problem children. Vanessa’s problems seemed to be getting better. Unlike mine.
Even if my pounds were melting off, you’d need a magnifying glass to notice. At least I didn’t have as much excess baggage
as Ashley Krupps. No way. But I could have, if I let myself go. And keeping control was a constant struggle.

My food diary helped. Until I got to the part where I had to write down how I was feeling. Because I was always feeling hungry.

“Hey, there’s a McDonald’s.” I pointed out the golden arches. “Could we stop for a Big Mac?”

Mom twisted around and frowned at me.

“Well, I had to rush through dinner so I could write down that broccoli-and-tuna casserole crud in my food diary before we
left.”

Mom didn’t reply, just twisted back around.

Dad said, “Maybe we can stop for dessert afterward. We don’t want to keep the good doctor waiting, since he charges by the
minute.”

Mom opened her mouth to retort, but quickly closed it again. Thank God. If we had to hear one more time about how she’s the
one who paid for their counseling through her group insurance, which she reminded Dad of every time we went, I might have
had to roll down the window and scream, “Help! Road rage!”

Dr. Sid welcomed us with his usual, “Ah, the Solanos. My favorite family. Please, zeet, zeet, zeet.”

He was weird, but cool. “How is everyone?” He motioned us to the chairs. The best ones were under the air vent, since his
office was claustrophobic as a closet. “Tell me about the balling,” he said, circling his desk.

We all stopped and stared at him, dumbfounded. Even more than usual.

“The what?” Mom finally said.

“The balling. Your family togetherness activity. When I talked to Robert about having the whole family come tonight, he told
me you went balling.” Dr. Sid swung his right arm back and forth.

“Bowling,” Mom said. “Oh, it was… fun.” She faked a smile and spread it around thick.

“It was boring,” Vanessa said. “And stupid.”

That was the truth. Vanessa doesn’t mince words, even though sometimes I wish she would.

Mom and Dad looked mortified.

“It wasn’t that bad,” I lied.

Dr. Sid sat. “Why was it boring?” He leaned forward over his desk blotter, toward Vanessa.

She shrugged.

He looked at me.

Why do I always have to answer the tough questions? “We mostly threw gutter balls. I swear, the gutters are wider than the
lanes. Probably saves on Mop and Glow, huh, Dad?”

He smiled a little.

That encouraged me. “Plus, Mom and Dad got into a big fight because Mom’s a better bowler than Dad.”

“Jenny!” Mom gasped.

Dad glowered at me.

So much for controlling my mouth. In a tiny voice, I added, “Well, it’s true. Isn’t it?”

“Is this true?” Dr. Sid’s bushy eyebrows arched.

Dad folded his hands between his knees and hung his head. “It was my fault. I’m too competitive.”

Mom said, “No, it was my fault. I’m the one who’s competitive. I know you hate it when anyone gives you advice.”

“No, I don’t,” Dad said to her.

“Yes, you do.”

“All right,” Dr. Sid cut them off. “It doesn’t matter. Does it? I mean, is it something to get so angry about?”

Mom and Dad both burned eye holes in the Oriental rug. “No,” they mumbled together.

“So,” Dr. Sid said, sounding hopeful again, “have you planned another family togetherness activity for this weekend?”

Vanessa said what I was thinking. “Do we have to?”

Dr. Sid cocked his head at her. “What are you saying, Vanessa?”

When she incinerated in her seat, I piped up. “I think what she means is, we don’t have very much fun together. As a family.”

“Jenny.” Mom sounded hurt. “How can you say that?”

“I don’t mean we
can’t,”
I added quickly. “I mean, we can. We do. We have.” I sagged in surrender. “I think we’re trying too hard, you know? To be
the perfect family.”

Dr. Sid met my eyes. He smiled. Shifting his gaze, he said, “Is that what you meant, Vanessa?”

She flinched. “I guess.”

“Robert?”

“Huh?” Dad woke up.

“How do you feel about what Jenny said?”

“Good.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to stop trying, though. I think we just haven’t found an activity
we all enjoy.”

“Excellent!” Dr. Sid clapped his hands together. “I think you hit the button on the nose.”

Dad sucked in a smile. So did I.

Mom said, “We have our own interests, that’s all. We’re individuals. We raised our girls that way, to be independent thinkers.
You can’t expect us to like all the same things.”

“Of course not.” Dr. Sid looked serious. “So, Katherine, do you want to continue your family togetherness activities? I thought
it was a wonderful idea, but if you think it’s tearing you apart rather than bringing you together…” He frowned at Mom.

The room suffocated in silence. After a long moment, Mom said, “I’d like to continue. I enjoy all of us being together, no
matter what we’re doing.”

Dad looked at Mom. He reached over and took her hand.

That made me happy. I snapped my fingers and said, “I know. Let’s go skydiving.”

Dad choked.

Vanessa smirked. “Or bungee jumping.”

“Crocodile hunting,” I said. “No, wait. Let’s climb Mount Everest. Better yet, they have these mules you can ride down the
Grand Canyon. Most people come back alive—I think.”

Dad chuckled. “How about something closer to home? And tamer. Fishing. Or camping, maybe.”

“Camping. Yeah,” I said.

Mom made a face. She sighed and said, “Whatever you decide.”

That made me mad. She hated camping. Last time we went, she complained the whole weekend. We didn’t have any fun at all. “Why
don’t you decide?” I said to her.

“Me?” Her face flushed.

Everyone waited.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s go to a movie.”

Perfect, I thought. We can sit in a dark theater and not have to look at each other. Or talk, or interact at all.

“That sounds fine,” Dad said. “We haven’t been to a movie together in ages. There’s that new DeNiro movie I’ve been wanting
to see. Something about the mob and—”

The three of us groaned.

“What?” Dad said.

We didn’t even have to answer.

“All right, then you decide,” he said to us.

Mom said, “Why don’t we let the girls decide?”

Vanessa’s and my eyes locked. At the same time we said,
“Bloody Tuesday: The Amputation.”