by Wendy Mass
“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.
I start to put SpongeBob in the closet again, but think better of it. I cr
oss the room, push open my window, and toss him out. At first he floats up a foot or two, then the weight of his cardboard hands and feet start to pull him back down. He eventually gets tangled on a tree branch. Leo once used that branch to climb into my room when we were eight and I was grounded for stealing a pack of gum. It was the first and last thing I ever stole. Not including Kylie’s diary, which really isn’t stealing since I didn’t take it out of her room.
“Don’t worry,” I call out to SpongeBob. “I’ll rescue you in the morning.”
For the first time in days, I go to bed in a happy mood.
Chapter Ten
When morning comes, it takes the merest glance to see that no balloon rescue will be necessary. SpongeBob is waving happily from the center of my room, just like he always is. My parents’ gift cards are gone from my night table. My mood darkens. I turn off the alarm, and then rip the plug from the wall. I shove the balloon under the bed. I stomp into the bathroom and scrub my face. I stare hopelessly in the mirror. My pupils are so big I can barely see the green around the edges.
Crazy eyes.
Am I crazy? Maybe the whole fight with Leo finally pushed me over the edge and I’m actually locked up in a padded room somewhere, delusional, and unable to move past my eleventh birthday. But even as I think it, I know that’s not true. I sit on the edge of the tub, my head in my hands.
“Are you almost done in there?” Kylie asks, pounding on the door.
I open it, and she squeezes past me, wearing the same pink T-shirt she’s worn for the past four days. It’s almost funny really, since Kylie refuses to wear the same clothes within three weeks of each other. If she only knew!
“You’d better get dressed,” she says. “We have to take the bus today.”
I grunt and head back to my room. Kylie’s door is closed now. It strikes me how differently the same day can go, depending on my choices. I don’t feel like going to the doctor again, so I might as well go to school.
I get dressed in my original birthday outfit, and head down for breakfast. Dad’s in his robe, drinking his tea. I almost change my mind and go hide under the covers, but he sees me lingering at the door.
“Happy birthday, honey!” he says, sneezing four times in a row.
I grunt.
“Hey, that’s no way to be on your birthday. You should be happy today.”
I shake the cereal too hard into my bowl and it spills everywhere.
He puts down his newspaper and comes over to me. “Are you okay, Amanda?”
I nod into my bowl, not looking up.
He sneezes a few times, then asks, “Did you like the balloon?”
I don’t trust myself to answer so I just nod again. Mom hurries in. “Hi, sweetie,” she says, kissing me on my head. “Feel any older?”
I grunt.
“I’ve gotta run,” she says, sticking a granola bar in the pocket of her blazer. “I’ll be home early to help you get ready.”
I open my mouth to tell her not to bother, that I’m not planning on having the party, but what would my excuse be? I nod miserably instead. She doesn’t seem to notice my despair. A minute later Kylie comes in. She grabs her lunch and runs out the door.
Yes! Lunch! Not gonna get me THIS time! I yank my brown bag out of the fridge and stick it in my backpack. I toss in an extra juice box for good measure. I mumble to Dad that I hope he feels better, and run out to the bus stop.
When Kylie continues to ignore me, my bad mood worsens. I can still remember her laughing with me last night, even if she can’t. It almost felt like we were friends. Now it feels like she hates me again. “Just so you know,” I say snidely, “he’s sitting with her on the bus.”
Kylie turns to stare at me. “Who’s sitting with who?”
I bite my tongue. What was I thinking? “Never mind.”
She leans closer until I can smell her peppermint toothpaste. “Did you read my diary?”
I shake my head, but then figure, what the heck. What could she really do to me? “Okay, yes, I read it.”
Her eyes narrow at me. “When?”
“Um, this morning?” It was both a lie, and not a lie, at the same time. “You left your door open when you went running.”
“But you were in the bathroom the whole time.”
Okay, that’s true. “Trust me, I read it. And don’t bother to ask Dustin to the dance, he’s gonna say no.”
Her expression slackens. I’ve gone too far. I quickly try to backpedal. “I mean, it’s not worth it, he just really likes Alyssa.”
Her eyes fill with tears. Clearly that wasn’t the right thing to say, either. Fortunately the bus comes before I can make things even worse. When the door opens I step on ahead of Kylie, who is still rooted to the ground. I see the familiar sight of Dustin with his arm around Alyssa and wish I could shield Kylie. But what can I do? I take my usual seat and don’t even turn my head when Ruby or Stephanie get on. When we get to school, I let them get off first and wait until I see them go up the school steps before I get off.
“Have a nice day,” the bus driver says sweetly. How she can remain calm with thirty screaming kids is beyond me. I notice for the first time that she has a birthmark shaped like a duck on her cheek. It wiggles when she smiles. I don’t think she’s our usual driver, but I ride so rarely I never paid much attention.
I know I should say thank you, but it comes out as a grunt. I’m NOT going to have a nice day, no matter who tells me to. When I get inside, Stephanie and Ruby are in the lobby. When Stephanie sees me, she cuts Ruby off and runs over. Ruby throws me a dirty look.
“Hey, Birthday Girl!” Stephanie says, giving me a hug. I hug her back, but my heart isn’t in it. She walks me to my locker. The streamers and letters look clean and bright again. I mutter something that sounds like a thank you.
“Hey, are you okay?” she asks. “You don’t seem like your cheery self.”
I force myself to smile. “I’m fine. Just a little worried about tonight. You know, I’ve never had my own party before.”
Stephanie nods and glances down the hall toward Leo’s locker. “I know it’s weird, but your party will be fun, you’ll see. You won’t even notice he’s not there.”
I strain to keep the smile on my face, but it’s getting harder. Stephanie gives my arm a final squeeze and runs down to her own locker. “See you at lunch,” she calls back.
I turn to my locker, the smile quickly disappearing. Even the colorful sign can’t lift my mood. I don’t even bother to try my combination. Stopping to readjust my heavy backpack, I notice the lollipop on the floor. Not even looking around, I bend down and grab it. Clutching it tightly, I duck into the classroom. Since I didn’t fight with my locker, I’m actually on time today.
Even before the class reads the board and collectively groans, I’m reaching into my bag for my pen. I don’t even bother to glance at Leo, even though I can see out of the corner of my eye that he’s in his seat. Maybe if the boy studied once in a while, he wouldn’t have to worry so much about failing a pop quiz.
I circle the same answers as before, barely even skimming the questions. I know this test so well I probably could have written it. Jimmy hands me back my 86, and I can’t help but turn to look back at Leo. I’m so sure he’ll be resting his head in his hands as usual, that it takes me a few seconds to realize that he isn’t. What he IS doing is looking directly at ME.
Then he winks.
My heart literally stops. I gape at him for a few seconds before turning to stare down at the desk in front of me. I must have imagined that wink. This isn’t the first time that someone has behaved differently from how they did on my first eleventh birthday, but that was only if I did something different first. But this time I did exactly what I did the first time — I glanced at Leo when the test was finished. Then why isn’t his head in his hands? I’m afraid to look again. Maybe taking the lollipop messed up the natural order of the universe. Or maybe my timing was off, and he always WOULD have winked at me, if only I�
�d looked later. For the rest of the class I stare straight ahead, afraid to do or say anything.
“Yes, Mr. Fitzpatrick?” Ms. Gottlieb says with a few minutes left in the period.
“Can I go to the bathroom?”
My heart starts pounding again. Leo definitely did not ask for a hall pass before.
Ms. Gottlieb sighs. “I’m sure you CAN, Leo.”
The class snickers. Leo corrects himself. “I mean, MAY I go to the bathroom?”
Ms. Gottlieb glances at the clock. “Can it wait till the end of class?”
I turn around in time to see Leo shaking his head.
Another sigh as she fishes the hall pass from her drawer. “You might as well bring your things with you and return this after your next class.”
As Leo makes his way down the aisle toward me, I slide farther down in my chair. I’m so used to knowing what’s going to happen next, that at first I don’t realize that something has just landed on my desk with a gentle plop. I watch the door close behind Leo. Slowly my eyes focus on the folded piece of notebook paper sitting in the middle of my open history book. I tentatively reach for it, afraid to even guess what it says. Ms. Gottlieb is giving out the homework assignment, but since I already know what it is, I bring the note down to my lap and fumble until it’s open. It has been a year since I’ve seen Leo’s handwriting, but it’s as familiar to me as my own.
AMANDA,
MEET ME OUTSIDE THE CAF AT LUNCHTIME. OH, AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY! (For the fourth time!)
LEO
My arms fly up of their own accord and knock my backpack to the floor with a big crash. I have to cling onto the sides of my desk so I don’t fall off my chair.
“Is there a problem, Miss Ellerby?” Ms. Gottlieb asks wearily.
I don’t trust myself to speak, so I shake my head and scramble to pick up my books. I’m still on the floor when the bell rings. My classmates file past me. I sit back on my heels, and shove the note deep into my pocket. Just when I was sure I knew the rules to this whole “day-repeating-thing,” it’s like the rules are changing. Leo could only mean one thing when he wrote “for the fourth time.” He knows what’s going on. But how? Was it something I did that, like, woke him up? Or has he known from the beginning? If he did know, he’s been pretty good at hiding it. I guess I’ll have to meet him to find out. But it’s been a year since I’ve spoken to him, and now I’m just supposed to pretend nothing happened?
