California Diaries #7: Dawn, Diary Two (3 page)

“I’m going to test-drive it later,” he told her. “I know the salesman. He’ll let me take it out anytime. I could come by and give you a turn in it. What do you say?”

“I say okay,” Sunny answered. “Just pull into the driveway and honk twice.”

The guy closed the magazine and grinned at her.

I thought, Sunny, if you have time to ride around with some guy you hardly know, you have plenty of time to visit your mother. Then I remembered my resolution to be like Ducky and hang in there for my friend. I decided that if Sunny made a gesture of friendship to me, even a little smile, I would talk to her. I’d say that I knew this was a hard time for her. Maybe I could tell her that her mother needed her.

The guy left. Sunny smiled to herself. Then I saw the corners of her mouth go down and an incredibly sad look come over her face. She looked sad and very lonely, like when we first found out that her mother had cancer. This is the moment, I thought, this is the moment to make up with her.

I was just about to say her name when she turned and saw me. Her sad expression turned to anger. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “Spying on me? Just mind your own business, okay?” And leave me alone.”

In a heartbeat I felt my sympathy turn to anger. “I was not…” I started to say.

But Sunny had already turned her back on me and headed toward the rear exit.

The end.

Thursday night 6/11

I haven’t had time to write. Too busy studying for exams and helping take care of Carol. Endless errands. Carol is bored and restless. I don’t blame her. I would be too if I was trapped in bed for three months. I’m bored enough just keeping her company.

These days Carol has two topics of conversation. One: what to name the baby.

Two: what she’s going to do when she’s “back on her feet.” I don’t think she realizes that Baby No-Name is going to take up most of her time when she’s back on her feet.

Yesterday she made me pick up the summer class schedule at her gym and the new issue of Rollerblade magazine. Carol can’t do the normal things a pregnant woman does, like shop for clothes and decorate the baby’s room. I’m the one who has to do these things.

Tomorrow I have to go to the mall and after school and get the baby’s layette—all the things he or she will need for the first six months.

Dad and I are spending the weekend painting, decorating, and putting together the furniture for the baby’s room. Carol has a whole file of ideas of how she wants the room to look, which she’s cut out of magazines.

Maggie thinks it’s cute that I’m doing all this. She and Ducky are going with me to the mall. Amalia might come too. Thank goodness I have some friends left.

WHEN AM I GOING TO STUDY FOR FINALS?

Friday afternoon 6/12

Here I am at the juice bar at the mall. There are three big shopping bags at my feet—pale yellow bags with pink and blue block lettering that says BABY BOUTIQUE.

Maggie and Amalia are at the music store, and Ducky went to pick up Sunny at the beach and drop her off at the hospital. He asked me if I wanted to go with him. So I can be verbally abused by Sunny? No thank you.

Shopping for baby clothes was worse than I’d imagined. Not because of the baby and not because of the clothes. Because of guys. They drive me crazy (not Ducky). They can be so immature.

When we got to the mall we checked out a few of our favorite clothing stores.

Finally, I pulled out the list of things for the baby.

Maggie read it over my shoulder. “There’s a lot of stuff here,” she commented.

Are you sure Carol’s not having twins?”

I was laughing, but I said, “That’s not funny. I can’t imagine our life with even one baby.”

“It’ll be fun,” said Amalia. “I love my sister.”

“But your sister is older than you,” I pointed out. “When I’m twenty-one, the baby—who is going to be my half sister or brother—will only be eight. We’re different generations.”

“It’ll be like you’re her second mother,” Ducky said brightly.

“I’m thirteen!” I shrieked. “I don’t want to be anybody’s mother—first or

second.”

I turned to Maggie, but she was looking at herself in the store window. I checked myself out too. I looked like your average kid. Straggly blonde hair, a plain white T-shirt tucked in my jeans, a knapsack slung over one shoulder. Maggie looked like a

sophisticated kid in a black linen miniskirt, scoop-neck purple T-shirt, blue suede sandals, and a trendy short haircut. Our eyes met in our reflections.

I was about to tell her how I felt about my dad starting a new family, when she said, “I wish I’d worn my burgundy dress today. It’s more flattering.”

“You look great!” I told her. (She did.)

“My stomach sticks out. They’ll think I’m pregnant in that store.” She slapped her stomach like she was angry at it

“You do not look pregnant,” Amalia commented.

“I’m going to lose five pounds,” Maggie said.

“Five pounds!” I protested. “You look perfect just the way you are.”

“No I don’t,” Maggie snapped.

“But Maggie…” I started to say.

“Thin is in,” said Maggie.

“She’s right about that,” agreed Ducky. “Most of the models look weak and sort of sickly.”

“You and I are the same height,” I told her. “If you need to lose five pounds, what do you think about me?”

Maggie put her left hand around her right wrist. “Look at this,” she said. “Small bones.” Her index finger overlapped her thumb. Next, she put her hand around my wrist.

There was no overlapping. “You have larger bones,” she said. “I should weigh a lot less than you because my bones are smaller.”

I gave up.

“Come on. Let’s go to the baby store,” I said.

I’m worried about Maggie. And I’m disappointed in her as a friend. Anytime

I’ve tried to talk to her about my problems, she starts talking about her weight, which is definitely not a problem.

We went into Baby Boutique.

“It smells great in here,” Amalia said.

“Like baby powder,” I added.

“And look at the shopping carts,” Ducky said as he rolled one toward Maggie.

“They’re baby carriages!”

“Cute,” Maggie commented. “All very cute.” She pushed it toward me. “It’s

your baby. You can push it.”

“It’s not going to be my baby,” I protested.

I pushed the carriage/shopping cart down the aisle. It was hard to believe that whatever was in Carol’s belly would soon be in a baby carriage.

“Look at this,” Amalia cooed. “Isn’t it adorable?” She held up the tiniest orange T-shirt I’d ever seen. In purple lettering it announced, “I’m here!” Amalia insisted I should get it for the baby. I told her it was cute—but I figured I’d just stick to what was on the list.

We were standing at the front desk waiting to check out. The salesclerk was

helping a very pregnant woman with her shopping list.

Amalia was holding up an infant nightie. She laid it against Ducky’s chest.

“Imagine, Ducky, you were this tiny once.”

Ducky wasn’t paying attention. He was looking at the doorway. I saw his

expression transform from happy to fearful to annoyed in a split second.

Two Cro Mags—Marco and Mad Moose—took a few steps into the store.

“Isn’t that sweet?” said Marco.

“Ducky and his girls,” said Mad Moose.

“Just ignore them,” Ducky whispered between clenched teeth.

“I wonder which one of them is pregnant,” Marco said.

“Ducky couldn’t be the father,” Mad Moose added.

“Clear out,” Ducky said to them.

“Get a life,” added Amalia.

Mad Moose shouted, “Maybe Ducky’s the one who’s pregnant.” They roared

with laughter and finally left.

Typical Cro Mag humor—not funny and at someone else’s expense.

“Jerks,” Ducky mumbled. “I can’t believe I used to hang out with some of those guys in sixth grade.”

I could tell he was upset. He looked at his watch. “I have to pick up Sunny. I’ll be back to get you guys in about an hour.”

“Great,” said Amalia. She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Ducky.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you in here,” I told him.

He grinned at me. “I had fun. Don’t let those creeps get you down.”

Just like Ducky. Worrying about us when he’s the one who’s most hurt.

Friday night 6/12

I was nervous while we were waiting for Ducky to pick us up in front of the mall.

What if Sunny was with him? What if she had decided to go the hospital later or not at all? Would I be sitting in the backseat next to her? I didn’t know what I would do or say.

Just imagining the scene made me feel angry at Sunny.

Fortunately, Ducky was alone.

As we rode along, Amalia and Maggie sung one song after another, so I didn’t

notice how quiet Ducky was until after he had dropped them off at Amalia’s house and we were alone in the car.

I told him I was sorry that I had dragged him to the mall. That if I’d known he had to pick up Sunny I would have taken the bus. He said he drove us because he wanted to come with us.

“Well, those guys in the store-” I started to say.

“That’s not what’s bothering me,” he said.

“Is it Alex?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Then process of elimination tells me it’s Sunny. You’re upset about something she said or did.”

“It’s all right. Sunny’s upset about her mother.”

“You should say something to her, Ducky. Don’t let her get away with things.”

Ducky shrugged. “I don’t want to dump on her.”

“I don’t want to dump on her either, but I’m not going to be her doormat.”

“Is that what you think I am?” he asked. “Sunny’s doormat?” I could hear the hurt in his voice, and I felt terrible.

Wee pulled up in front of my house. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean it that way, Ducky. I just get so frustrated with her.”

“That’s all right.”

We were both looking at Sunny’s house.

“The way Sunny’s been acting has to be harder on you than it is on me. You’ve

been friends for so long.”

I nodded. “And we used to be so close, Ducky. I really miss that closeness.” I put my hand over his arm. “I admire you. You’re so loyal to Alex and Sunny. I just can’t be like that and it’s frustrating.”

To my surprise, Ducky replied, “Sometimes I do think I’m like a doormat. That I let everyone walk all over me. I could use a good sweep.”

I told him that he was a good friend to a lot of people, but that he should be a good friend to himself, too. Then I said I better go in.

Neither of us moved.

“So you’re going to be busy all day tomorrow with the baby’s room,” he said. “It can’t be all that much fun for you. Are you and Carol very close?”

I told him how immature carol seems to me. How sometimes we get on each

other’s nerves.

Ducky said that’s pretty normal. I was glad he understood. His one piece of

advice was to not let my feelings for Carol (or lack of them) color how I feel about the baby.

“You must miss talking to Sunny about this stuff,” Ducky observed. “I think

you’re angry at her for not being there for you. Just when you need her.”

I told him I hadn’t thought about it like that. But that I was mostly angry at her because she wouldn’t let me help her. “She’s screwing up all over the place, Ducky.”

Ducky nodded. “It’s rough. But I predict it will all work out in time.”

“Ducky,” I said with a laugh. “You should be a shrink. You would make a great one.”

“You think so? I was sure my true calling was the taxi business.”

“You could be the Shrink-on-wheels,” I suggested.

We laughed.

Ducky helped me carry the packages into the house.

True Ducky chivalry.

Noon on Saturday 6/13

Last night and this morning Dad and I painted the spare bedroom. It is now

officially known as The Nursery. The Nursery is across the hall from Dad and Carol’s room. Carol supervised us from her bed while we worked. We painted the walls a pale, pale yellow and the trim bright white. The room glows.

This afternoon the baby furniture is being delivered. It’s all white. The rocker cushions and curtains are blue-and-white-checkered. The walls look bare, but Carol said as soon as she’s “on her feet” she’ll pick out some artwork for them.

We ordered pizza for lunch. I paid the delivery guy, then brought a tray with pizza and sodas to Dad and Carol. They didn’t see me come in the room. Dad was lying across the bed with his head on Carol’s belly. She was stroking his hair. He was humming a lullaby to Belly Baby. I felt like I was an intruder. I put the tray on the bureau and turned to leave.

My dad saw me and sat up. “Aren’t you going to eat with us, Dawn?” he asked.

“I better study for exams,” I told him. “I’ll eat in my room. Call me when the furniture comes.”

So here I am, eating pizza and writing in my journal. I’m studying for my math final next.

I miss studying with Sunny. We used to make snacks, lock ourselves in her room, and not leave until we thought we were ready for the test. We had fun and we got our work done. The new Sunny would never do anything like that. I miss the old Sunny. I wish she would come back.

Later 6/13

Fabulous news. Maggie’s dad just gave her three tickets to the Flash concert, and she invited me and Amalia to go with her. We’re sleeping over at Maggie’s house afterward. Maybe Maggie and I can become better friends. I love Flash.

I am going to get dressed now, try to forget about Sunny, Belly Baby, exams, and Stoneybrook—and have some FUN! AT least for one evening…

At Maggie’s after the concert 6/13

What a night! The concert was fabulous, extraordinary, GREAT! I’m so wound

up I can’t fall asleep.

Even though there are about a thousand rooms in this house, Amalia and I are

sleeping in Maggie’s room. It’s a sleepover, after all. Besides, Maggie’s room is so big the whole eighth grade could stay there. At the moment, though, I’m in the living room (one of them), writing about what happened tonight.