My Life in Dioramas (12 page)

I'd just gotten off the bus with Naveen a few minutes ago, but he'd changed clothes and looked like a completely different person. In school, Naveen had the “star student” look—white shirt tucked into khaki pants—but after school he was more of a goof. Today he was wearing orange jeans and a shirt with a Wookiee on it. I liked both versions of him.

“We lucked out,” I said. “My parents aren't even home. My dad could be back any minute now, but hopefully we can figure this out fast.”

“I'm ready,” Naveen said. “Give me the tour.”

“You know Big Red.”

“Ah, but I don't
know
Big Red. I mean, like, secret passageways, old staircases. Anything like that? We usually hang out outside.”

“Hmmm,” I said. “Sort of.”

I took Naveen downstairs—Angus followed—and showed him the closet under the stairs, the room where my dad kept
his tools, the old staircase to nowhere in the craft room, and finally, the bar. “This is the tail end of the tour, right?” he asked. “So people are probably not spending most of their time here.”

“Good point.”

We went back upstairs to the main floor, where I showed him the laundry room, which had a bunch of exposed pipes for a ceiling, and I took him upstairs to my parents' bedroom, where I explained again about the flies—ten more dead ones on the floor.

Naveen took a minute to walk around.

“This house is so weird,” he said.

“I know. That's why I love it.”

He poked his head into the bathroom. “What if you put it way up on that top shelf?” There was a tall rack for towels and toiletries in canvas bins way high behind the door.

My parents always told this story, about the time I'd had a friend over for a playdate when I was maybe six. At that point, I was sleeping in bunk beds that the previous owners had left behind in the room adjoining my parents' room that was now the walk-in closet. My preschool friend, Kayla, had somehow found the car key and had been playing on the top bunk. She left it up there, on top of the wall of the room. My parents had looked for the car key for hours before they thought to send me up to the bunk bed to look on that ledge.

I told Naveen the short version. “I'll use smaller pieces of the food in smaller bags and put them on top of the walls of
all the rooms without ceilings.” I turned around in the hallway, looking at all the air up there. “It will make this whole floor reek!”

“That sounds like an excellent plan.” We high-fived.

We went down to the kitchen and made a snack—melting cheddar cheese onto tortilla chips—then talked through the logistics of how I'd store and plant the stink.

“What's with all the dioramas?” he asked when we were done.

It took me a minute to realize what he was talking about, that he'd have seen them all downstairs.

“I don't know. Just something I'm doing. It's making me kind of sad, actually. But somehow making me feel better, too.”

“Can we go look at them?” He ate another chip, one with a ton of cheese on it.

So we went back downstairs and I showed him the diorama of the clubhouse, and the weeping willow, and my parents' room, and my room. I lined them all up alongside each other. I hadn't actually realized how many there were.

“Kate,” Naveen said. “These are amazing.”

“Thanks. I want to do the old bathroom next. I'm just trying to figure out the best way to make a miniature claw-foot tub.”

Maybe I could use one of the boats I'd made out of milk cartons and straws at a school craft fair a while back?

I climbed up on a chair and dug around through some crates and found them. They didn't look quite right for my diorama but they appeared to be possibly still seaworthy.

“Want to race boats in the stream?” I asked Naveen.

“Absolutely.”

There were some bees flying around the top of the back porch stairs but I took a deep breath and walked quickly past them and down to the stream. We walked along it toward the tennis court and went out onto the boards that formed the bridge into the woods. Kneeling down beside each other, Naveen and I each took a boat and held it just above the water. It was running slow and steady. Perfect for racing.

“On your mark,” I said. “Get set.” We smiled. “Go.”

We put our boats in the water and got up to walk alongside them as they were carried down the current.

“Go, go, go!” Naveen screamed.

“Easy does it,” I said, as my boat went over a rock but managed to remain upright.

They were neck and neck for a while, but then Naveen's boat got caught on a branch and mine hit the small waterfall near the pear tree too fast and capsized. Naveen's broke free from the branch and he called out, “Here she comes!”

He stood beside me as we watched his boat weather the waterfall perfectly.

“Woohoo!” I said. “She made it!”

“Doesn't that mean you lost?” Naveen laughed.

“So?”

“I swear, Kate. You're like the least competitive I person I know.”

“Is that a bad thing?” I was feeling a lot of competition with Stella lately. But it was mostly in my head. Or was it in hers?

“No,” he said. “It's just . . . unusual.”

I retrieved my boat with the help of a nearby stick, and Naveen and I walked downstream to see where his boat had ended up. After we found it, we sat on the bench under the pear tree.

“I'm going to miss you,” Naveen said. “
If
you end up leaving, I mean.”

I couldn't speak.

We both knew it would happen eventually.

“I'm going to miss hanging around Big Red, too,” he said. “But mostly you.”

“Aw, thanks, Naveen.” My heart felt strange, like someone had just grabbed it with a fist. “I think maybe I don't like change very much.”

“Nobody does.” He flicked a bug off his leg.

The wind blew and some leaves skipped across the grass in front of us. “Do you think maybe it's because I've never really had any?”

“I haven't either.” He flicked another bug. “Not really.”

I elbowed him. “What'd those bugs ever do to you?”

I heard the sliding door open and turned toward the house.

“I'm home!” My dad looked so small up there on the back porch. “Hi, Naveen!”

“Hi, Mr. Marino!” Naveen waved.

When my dad waved back he accidently hit my mother's wind chimes and they sang, loudly. My dad covered his ears and laughed.

At dinner, we talked about how
we were going to spend the open houses, 12–2 both days. On Saturday, Mom wanted to go horseback riding. Dad wanted to find someplace to take archery lessons. On Sunday the plan was to go see my grandparents.

“Why can't we just go to a movie? Maybe a Chinese buffet? Or both?” I asked.

“Because we're trying to broaden our horizons,” my mother said.

“We are?” I asked.

“We are.” She was making plates of leftovers. Chicken and rice. Some kind of brown beef dish. I guessed it was good she wasn't going to miss the chicken I'd taken, or the eggs.

“Anyway,” she said. “We'll do some research, figure it out. Maybe we can do both.”

“Isn't that stuff expensive?” If they weren't going to think about this stuff,
someone
had to.

My mom froze and looked at my dad. He said, “Like your mom said, we'll do some research.”

“In the meantime,” my mother said. “You've made quite a mess downstairs. There are tiny pieces of paper and fluff everywhere. You need to tidy up all that craft stuff before Saturday.”

After dinner, when tasked with taking the trash out, I went down into the woods to check on the progress of my Tupperware of Stink. I opened the composting bin and didn't smell much, so I reached for the container and unsnapped the red lid. I sniffed the air then regretted it. Imagine a zombie chicken that threw up a milk shake.

I closed the lid again and put the container back in the composting bin and turned to head inside when I heard a meowing sound. I tried to locate it and saw one of Pants's kittens stuck on the other side of the stream.

“It's okay, cutie.” I went to the nearest footbridge and bent down. “Come on over.”

It took her a while but she came to me and I lifted her back over to Big Red.

16.

“You're up early,” I said,
when I came into the kitchen to find my dad pouring himself a cup of coffee Thursday morning.

“You, my dear”—he yawned—“are quite mistaken.”

He looked pretty ragged.

“You never went to bed?”

“Ding, ding, ding.” He used a finger to tap the air three times.

“Why? What happened?”

“This song I'm working on. I can't get it out of my head. I needed to get some stuff down.”

“What kind of song is it?” I asked.

If my dad was suddenly going to start trying to play in a rock band again, I thought now might be a good time to crawl up into a ball and hide in a faraway corner of some faraway barn.

“Just music, really. I don't know. I'm going to send it on to Shay. See if he can find a home for it.”

“That sounds exciting.” I poured myself some cereal.

“Want to sit outside with me for a few?”

“I would, but the bees always go for my cereal.”

“Suit yourself.” He opened the door to the back porch, put his sunglasses on, and stepped out.

I sat at the kitchen table and looked out the window at him. We used to pretend sometimes that that window between the kitchen and the porch was for a short order cook or fast-food drive-in.

There was a stinkbug on the window, trying to get out and failing miserably. Their numbers seemed to be dropping off, at least. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen one.

I finished my breakfast, said bye to my dad, and headed out. On the bus, Stella asked for my party RSVP.

I snorted. “I already told you I'm coming.”

The party was a little over a week away so I needed to start thinking of a present to get her.

“I know, but I need the form back,” Stella said. “With your song choices.”

“Can't I just decide that day? It's not like I'm going to practice.”

“You're not?”

I shook my head. “It's karaoke, Stella. It's not like I'm going to get discovered.”

“You might! Like by, you know, a
boy
.”

I laughed. “Let it go, Stella!”

“I just think you could put a little effort in.”

“All right, Stella. I'll fill out the form tonight. Scout's honor.”

Megan was waiting just outside the bus for Stella when we got off. She held out an envelope and said, “I may have to leave early, but I'm coming.”

“Great!” Stella said. “Did you pick songs?”

“I did. I don't know why I never thought of having a karaoke party but it's an awesome idea.”

“Thanks,” Stella said.

“I actually don't remember going to
any
of your birthday parties, Megan,” I said. I turned to Stella. “Do you, Stella?”

“No,” Stella said. “But whatever. Thanks for RSVP'ing, Megan.”