o ff11b6990c964f75 (3 page)

Maggie thinks I should go ‘70s. Like, orange bell bottoms and beads. I kept saying no to her suggestions. She kept telling me, “But it’s all on sale!”

Please. Does the phrase LAST YEAR mean anything? No one dresses like that anymore.

That’s why it’s on sale.

No, I didn’t say that. I was kind. I suggested she buy the stuff, to wear when she’s singing with Vanish.

Maggie snickered. “If Vanish lasts.”

Amalia turned away and wandered off. She does not like to talk about that group anymore. Ever since James was kicked out. He is still bothering her every now and then. He calls and leaves creepy messages on her phone machine, then acts all friendly the next day at school.

So Amalia was no help either.

Guess who saved the day?

The Duckman.

Yes, a guy who likes shopping.

Ducky is full of hidden talents.

At first he wasn’t too promising. He acted embarrassed to be in juniors. He kept making jokes and saying he was going to hang out in Automotive Parts.

But soon he was flipping through those racks. He found this incredibly cool combo — short cotton skirt, striped Spandex leggings, fringed matching jacket …

Me.

Totally.

My best girlfriends, who know me better than anyone in the world? Clueless compared to a high school sophomore guy I just met this year.

Go figure.

It’s almost like he climbs inside my brain.

I don’t know why I don’t just go out with him.

Yes, I do. It would ruin the friendship.

Besides, Ducky’s not my type. For a boyfriend.

Brock, however, is.

And when he sees this outfit, he is mine.

FRIDAY FRIDAY FRIDAY

WHAT AM I DOING IN SCHOOL?

I CAN’T CONCENTRATE.

Yes, I can.

Whenever I see Brock.

And he sees me. And smiles.

And the whole school is utterly, totally, completely,

stark

raving

jealous.

Well, all I can say to that is —

Poor everybody else.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.

12:25 A.M.

Shall I explain that last entry?

I will. In great detail.

I may want to recapture the moment someday. When I’m older and jaded about men. When the world’s Brocks are flocking around me.

I’ll always remember how it started.

It started in a Trans Am.

Red.

Loud.

Brand-new.

When Brock drove up, Dawn’s mouth was hanging open. I saw it. She was staring out her living room window.

I nonchalantly walked out the front door. Strolled down the walkway. Smiled at Brock as he got out of the car. Not too wide, not too gushy. Just enough to leave him wanting more.

I could feel the neighborhood staring at us. I could feel the heat of their eyes.

Brock held open the passenger door. He looked like perfection.

I kissed him on the lips before I got in.

He looked kind of shocked. But not unhappy.

Off we went. And Brock said two of the things I wanted to hear the most.

“You look fantastic,” and

“You name the restaurant.”

I don’t know what got into me. Something about the Trans Am made me think of glitz and movie stars and photos in the newspaper gossip columns.

So I said, “Sagebrush Grille.” Sort of as a joke.

But Brock didn’t take it that way.

He just drove.

When he pulled up to the valet parking of the Grille, right behind a white stretch limo, I was in deep shock. I asked him if he was sure he could afford this.

He said he went there all the time. He said he got into an argument with Brad Pitt there once.

He handed the valet guy a five. He handed the man at the door a ten. He handed the waiter a ten even before he gave us menus. The waiter gave him a funny look.

“To make sure we get good service,” Brock whispered to me.

I have no idea what we ate. Some kind of seafood. Brock ordered it for me. I was in a daze.

Who cared about food, anyway? I didn’t even eat much of it. Because we were talking so much and trying to spot movie stars.

We didn’t see any. But that didn’t matter either.

After dinner we saw plenty of real stars. In Last Palmas County Park. We happened to run into Brock’s friend Pete, who was there with his girlfriend. And Brock seemed happy to see them, so we all hung out. Which meant Brock and I had to behave.

Well, sort of.

I can honestly say that before tonight, I have not been kissed.

After Brock, everything else is just touching lips.

And I am about to fall asleep with a big, big smile on my face.

Saturday 3/21

11:11 A.M.

I am sitting on my bed in Dawn’s room.

I have just awakened.

My dirty clothes are heaped at the foot of my bed. Along with some of my books and tapes, my shoulder bag, my backpack, and the glass mug I took from the Sagebrush Grille last night.

I don’t know how they got there.

But Dawn’s part of the room is totally spotless. Except for one corner of her dresser, where my makeup is dumped into a pile.

I will count to 100.

And then I will find out what happened.

Well. Dawn says I’m too messy. She says she tripped over my clothes and twisted her ankle this morning. So she dumped my stuff on my bed.

I politely suggested she should tell me whenever she thinks I’m being messy, and I’ll do something about it. But I didn’t want her to throw my stuff around.

Well, forget it. She put on her little hissy face, her I-want-to-know-I’m-angry-but-I’m-too-chicken-to-yell-at-you face.

“What?” I said. “Didn’t I say that nicely enough?”

“I must be misunderstanding something,” Dawn replied. “I didn’t realize I was the guest and you were the host.”

I mean, please.

Before I could answer, she turned away and started stomping off.

I grabbed some shopping bags. I barged up into he room, gathered my stuff into the bags, and shoved them in a corner.

“Better?” I asked.

Dawn was sitting at her desk. “Yes,” she said.

I smiled sweetly. Then I went out, slamming the door behind me. I grabbed a beach towel from home and took a bus straight here.

Maybe I was being harsh.

She asks for it, though.

8:54 P.M.

He can’t be my dad.

I do not have his genes.

We are from two different planets.

We must be.

When he came home, he must have noticed my foul mood.

Couldn’t he have asked what was the matter?

He didn’t even say hello!

Just, “Have you called your mother today?”

So I said, “Fine, thanks, how are you?”

Well, you’d think I’d stabbed him or something. He was furious. “How can you be so

disrespectful? The worse your mom gets, the worse you behave.” Blah blah blah. Same old story.

Then he yelled at me for not making dinner. I hadn’t even thought about dinner. I ate so much at the beach. And how would I know he hadn’t eaten at work.

Then he picked up the phone and began tapping out numbers. “We’re calling your mom.”

“Now?” I said.

“She’s still alive, Sunny. And you mean the world to her, even if you don’t care.”

HE. SAID. THAT.

I can barely write the words.

He might as well have reached into me and ripped out my heart.

And as I stood there in shock, he waited for Mom to pick up, wearing his best bookstore hello-can-I-help-you smile.

I could hear his words. I could see his lips move. But I couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“Hello, sweetheart … yes, Sunny and I were just about to sit down to dinner. … Fine, fine, it’s been a great day. … We’re all in great spirits. … Well, here’s your favorite ray of sunshine.”

And there it was. The receiver. Right in my face.

I took it and mumbled a hello.

Mom sounded about 80 years old. I desperately wanted to scream — to tell her something on my mind. But I couldn’t.

I can never tell her. Not in her state. So I just mumbled some small talk.

Then Dad took the phone back and said, “Have to check the stove. ‘Bye, honey.”

As he hung up, his eyes were full of tears.

He didn’t head for the stove at all. Instead, he ducked into his study, grabbed some papers, and went back out the front door. “I’ll grab a bite on the road. Be back late from the store, Sunny.

Nuke a frozen dinner for yourself, okay?”

I hate him.

That’s all there is to it.

I hate the fact that he lies to Mom.

I hate the way he treats me at the store.

I hate the way he uses our house as a changing room.

I hate feeling like a slave.

I hate being ignored.

As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a dad.

This is it.

I am out of here.

For good.

I should be halfway to Nevada by now.

I tried. I walked all the way to the bus stop before I realized I didn’t have my wallet.

So I slipped into Dawn’s house to get it.

Dawn was talking on the phone to Maggie. She barely nodded as I raced into our room.

If I’d left through the front door, I would have made it.

But I went through the back. And I ran into Carol. She was at the kitchen table, knitting something that looked like an ugly argyle tube sock.

She asked me what I thought of it.

My mind was already outside. My feet were itching to go. I wanted to be miles away.

I had to say something, though, so I asked her if she was making it for Dawn.

Her face fell. “It’s a baby bootie.”

“Are you giving birth to an orangutan?” I said.

Carol practically fell off her chair laughing.

It wasn’t that funny. And I regretted saying it. It was only prolonging the conversation. I did not mean to hang out and joke around.

But it was kind of cool making Carol laugh.

I like the way she laughs.

I thought about how much I’d miss her when I ran away. And how much I’d miss being there for the birth.

All the while I was staring at her face. It was so clear. Not pimple-free clear, but just pure happiness.

And I thought: What a life. How did she get so happy? Was she always like this, even at age 13? Or was she like me?

Then she put her feet up on the next seat. I almost choked when I saw them.

They were enormous. Like elephant feet.

“Lovely, huh?” she said. “I’m retaining fluid. The baby’s making me do it. They really hurt too.

And Jack refuses to rub them.”

“I will,” I said.

Carol gave me a look. “You will?”

I shrugged. “If you want. They’re clean, aren’t they?”

“Last time I checked.”

I pulled over my chair, took her right foot, and began massaging it. The way Mom used to massage mine — and I hers. Back when she first got sick.

Back before the rubbing began to hurt her so much.

Carol was sighing and oohing. It reminded me so much of Mom.

Too much.

I had to stop.

Carol dropped her knitting on the table. She put her feet down and leaned close to me.

“Are you okay?” she asked gently.

A couple of tears started down my cheeks.

I felt like such a fool. I hate crying and I hate people who cry too much.

I was so freaked out, I didn’t know what to say. So I said, “I’m sorry” about ten times.

Carol didn’t seem to mind. She just sat there, her arm around my shoulder. I could hear the rush of a car passing by. Dawn’s chattery voice on the phone. The drone of the TV show that Mr.

Schafer and Jeff were watching.

“Anytime you want to talk, just tell me,” Carol said softly.

“You don’t want to hear,” I replied.

“I do, Sunny. I care about you. I know this is a rough time. Please. I’m in no hurry.”

I didn’t mean to unload. But my thoughts were all bottled up. All the feelings for Mom. All the hate for Dad.

So I told her what had happened over the last few days. Right up to my big argument with Dad.

I expected an adult answer. I figured she’d defend Dad, the way all adults defend each other.

But the first thing she said was, “That’s not fair.”

“He’s such a liar!” I blurted out. “How can he do that to Mom?”

“No.” Carol shook her head. “That’s not the important question. He wants to soothe her, Sunny.

I would do the same thing. It’s you he needs to think about.” She raised an eyebrow at me.

“Don’t you ever tell your dad I said that.”

I told her I didn’t tell him anything anyway. I promised not to start.

“I don’t quite know how to say this,” Carol went on. “What your dad’s facing is a little like what Jack faced when he divorced Dawn’s mother.”

“My mom is not — ”

“I know. I know. But what I mean is, his reality is changing, Sunny. And so’s yours. It’s scary.

You feel like your life is spinning out of control. Well, your dad feels that too. you don’t know what ‘normal’ is anymore. He doesn’t either. But it’s going to take a long time. And a lot of work.”

“Normal? How can we ever be normal, Carol? When Mom’s in the hospital and Dad’s in the store, and I’m over here all the time, freeloading off you.”

Carol smiled and gave me a big hug. “No, you’re not freeloading. We love having you. And don’t worry, sweetie. This won’t last forever. You’ll see. It’ll never be the same as it was, but it’ll be good again. Just give it time.”

Dawn is so lucky.

Carol is the coolest.

I have been thinking of her words ever since we talked.

I guess she’s right. I want her to be right.

But I can’t imagine how she could be.

I try hard to picture a normal life. With Dad. After you-know-what.

But it’s impossible.

Dad won’t have to work less. I’ll still never see him.

He won’t clone himself either. The house will be empty every day when I come home.