by Mary Hogan
“Which I’ve requested for the whole family,” Mom said proudly.
“All of us?” I asked, incredulous. “What did I do?”
“A problem with one family member is a problem with the whole family,” Mom said, obviously quoting Dr Phil. Then she marched out of the door to the car.
“No it isn’t !” I screeched, racing after her. “Rif is the thief, not me!”
Rif said, “They get you hooked on nicotine, then they won’t let you buy cigarettes! It’s a conspiracy to get the parks cleaned up for free.”
Apparently, his community service included a trash bag and a broom in Chatsworth Park. In the car, Dad turned the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot. Mom said, “You got off light, Rif. You could have gone to jail.”
“But we got off heavy!” I whined, repeating, “What did I ever do to deserve counselling?”
Dad suddenly piped up, “She’s right, Dot. This isn’t fair.” Mom glared at him. Buoyed by my father’s resistance, I followed suit. “No. It isn’t fair.”
“In fact,” said my dad, “I’m not going to do it.”
“Me, either,” I said. “I’m not going.”
“Me, either,” Dirk said, then inexplicably began to cry.
“We’re all going,” Mom said.
“No, we’re not.” Rif had jumped on the bandwagon. He crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“You are definitely going, Rif,” Mom said. “It’s a court order.”
“Court schmort,” Rif said. “The judge was on the phone.”
“What difference does that make?” Dad asked, getting annoyed.
“If I’d been allowed to go before the judge, I could have pleaded not guilty on the grounds of conspiracy.”
“Conspiracy! You were caught on tape shoving three cartons of cigarettes down your cargo pants!”
“Which I would have paid for, if I was allowed to!”
Dirk cried louder. Mom said, “This family needs help, and now is our chance.”
“I’m not going,” I said over and over.
“We’re all going,” Mom said firmly, “and that’s an order.”
“An order? An order ?” The car suddenly got very quiet. Dirk’s periodic sniffs were the only sound other than the hissing of steam shooting out of my father’s ears. “The day I take order from you, Dot, is the day you fit into a size two.”
“Big bad man,” my mother said mockingly to my dad.
“Not as big as your ass, my dear,” he shot back.
Ah, geez.
My parents were off and running again, essentially picking up where they’d left off a few weeks earlier when Dad busted up Uncle Randall’s chair. Our brief intermission of family harmony was over. The long-running Madrigal main feature – Scream – was playing again. Dirk, Rif, and I tried to get real small in the backseat. Well, that’s not exactly right. I tried to disappear altogether. By the time we pulled into our brown driveway in front of our beige house, both my parents were seeing red. Mom leaped out of the car before it was totally stopped, slammed the door, and refused to speak to my father at all after that.
Like I said, October was the month from hell. The only bright spot – and I mean the only one – was Zack Nash.
NINE
We were casual hi-bye buddies at first.
“Hi, Zack,” I’d say when I saw him standing by the drinking fountain.
“Bye, Libby,” he’d say, when I was behind him as we left Geometry class.
He never said anything about my dad or his robe or his slobbery tears. I don’t think he even noticed our missing couch or dirt backyard. And, after I summoned the nerve to tell him my name wasn’t Betsy, he never called me it again. All of which made me love him even more.
“I got a ‘B’ on my essay!”
Breathless, Zack came bounding up to my Siberian locker.
“I’ve been looking all over campus for you,” he said.
Of course, I couldn’t think of anything to say back. A sappy smile was pasted on my face and I couldn’t stop hearing five unbelievable words over and over in my head. Looking. All. Over. For. You. He looked all over campus for me? For me?
“Thank you so much, Libby,” he said. His lips were the colour of raspberries. Had his teeth always been so white? I wanted to tilt my head back, lower my eyelids, part my lips, and let him thank me properly. Seriously.
“I owe you a Geometry session,” he said.
“Forget Geometry. Just kiss me. Now. Before your moronic girlfriend shows up and asks if buffalo wings are really made from tiny, flying bison.”
That’s what I wanted to say.
“Yeah,” is what I said.
“Next week, okay? After school.”
“Perfect.”
I was looking at his eyelashes. They were curled and long and perfect. The eyelashes of a seriously kissable boy.
We met in the school library. At my insistence.
“Hi, Mrs Kingsley,” I said, steering Zack past the librarian’s desk before we went to a back cubicle to study. “I found him. Zack Nash. He was at my house the other day. A misunderstanding.”
Mrs Kingsley blinked slowly. I could see her trying to remember who I was. Zack clearly wondered why I was telling her this, too. His thick eyebrows were pressed down into his luscious lashes.
“We’ll start studying now,” I said, smiling smugly.
Zack was already halfway to a table near the back of the room. I scurried after him, popping a piece of sugarless gum in my mouth to make sure my breath was minty fresh.
“Geometry is about sizes and shapes instead of numbers.” Zack dived right in. “You have to sort of see it more than think about it.”
He opened his textbook. I sat next to him and opened mine. Not only was he gorgeous, he smelled of fabric softener.
“Remember the five postulates?”
“Some of the guys in da Vinci’s Last Supper ?”
“Ha-ha, Libby.”
I laughed, he laughed. Amazingly, I wasn’t too nervous to make a joke – dumb though it was. In fact, I felt completely calm only inches away from the boy that I loved. Had the intense stress of seeing Zack Nash in my house with my dad in his robe zapped all the fear out of me? Was this some sort of post-traumatic relaxation syndrome?
“The next quiz is on circumference and congruent triangles.”
I groaned.
“Don’t worry. You can do this.”
When Zack Nash said it, I actually believed it.
We worked together in the library for about an hour. Miraculously, Geometry began to make sense.
“That’s a ninety-degree angle! And so is that one!”
“Right.” Zack beamed and I felt beautiful.
Two days later, as Mr Puente handed out the quizzes in class, Zack flashed me a thumbs-up. For the first time since the semester began, I felt eager to take a maths quiz. At least, I didn’t feel like the class dunce any more. Not when it came to congruent triangles.
After the bell rang, as we shuffled out of class, it was all I could do to keep from flinging my arms around my hero, Zack Nash.
“I got it!” I squealed. “I saw it! You’re awesome.”
“I told you,” Zack said, as proud as I was.
After the triumph of the Geometry quiz, our hi-byes had more depth.
“Hey,” Zack said, as he passed me in the hall. This time, he nodded, too. He may have even raised his eyebrows and everyone knows what that means.
“See ya,” I said, on my way to the bus, trying to sound as sexy as an unnurtured, genetically-challenged, angst-filled, hopelessly gaga girl can.
By freshman Fright Dance, Zack Nash and I were extremely close to actually being friends. All I needed was a little time. Luckily, I had four high school years to make him mine. Seriously mine.
TEN
It’s hard to tell which was more pathetic: Nadine chasing after Curtis at Fright Dance or Carrie chasing after Zack.
“Who are you supposed to be exactl
y?” I asked Zack, the one moment Carrie wasn’t plastered to his side. Whoever he was, he was gorgeous. My heart pounded with the beat of the dance band on the gymnasium stage. Or was it being so close to him?
“I’m Ga—”
Carrie, spotting Ack about to utter a word without her, dived to his side. She tucked her hand into his, nestled up to his side, and shouted, “What are you two talking about? Algebra?”
“It’s Geometry, you idiot.”
That’s what I wanted to say. I also wanted to mention that I’d gotten an “A” in Pre-Algebra, and would probably get another “A” in Algebra next year, but that would have sounded as desperate as she did. Ever since Carrie tried to sabotage my tutoring session with her boyfriend, I’d seen her in an entirely different light. Not a flattering pink glow, either. More like a deep, envious green. She’d started waiting for Zack outside Geometry class, and if she’d see me happen to walk out with him, she’d make some cheesy remark like, “You still need help with your homework, Bethy?” No matter how many times I told her my name was Libby, she never got it right. I could tell Zack was embarrassed. I could also tell Carrie was totally jealous, which was pretty laughable. I mean, she had him body and soul; I had him for quadrilaterals. She could seriously kiss him whenever she wanted to. I had to make do with wishing, hoping, praying, and pleading with the universe that Zack Nash would one day dump Carrie Taylor, then turn to me and say, “You’re it. You’re the only girl I want.” Yeah, right.
“I was just asking Zack who he was supposed to be tonight,” I said to Carrie at Fright Dance.
“We are Gwen Stefani and Gavin Rossdale!” she chirped. Zack rolled his eyes. So that’s why Zack had his hair slicked back.
“I couldn’t think of anything,” he mumbled apologetically.
“That’s why you have me,” Carrie said, kissing his neck and nibbling his earlobe. Now I rolled my eyes. Zack looked about as comfortable as a boy buying his first condom.
“And who are you supposed to be?” Carrie asked me as soon as Zack’s earlobe was out of her mouth. “Einstein?” She giggled.
“I’m Betty. Betty Rubble. Nadine is Wilma Flintstone.”
Zack chuckled. God, I love it when he chuckles. Carrie said, “ Très Stone Age.”
“Thanks,” I said. “We wanted costumes that really rock.”
Zack laughed out loud. Man, I love it when he laughs out loud. Oddly, I felt calm again. Seeing Zack without losing my power of speech, going to my first freshman dance, wearing a gigantic blue bow in my hair – it all felt incredibly normal. Was it possible that my statement to Dirk in the police station really was true? Everything really was going to be okay?
“Let’s dance!” Carrie tugged Zack on to the dance floor, and I watched him self-consciously sway back and forth while she wiggled obscenely all over him. Oh, brother. She’s such a show-off. When being beautiful is just about all you have to offer the world, I guess it feels mighty insecure. I felt sorry for her. (Okay, I tried to feel sorry, but all I really felt was mad that she was such a conniving back-stabbing you know what.)
Fright Dance was totally cool. I had to hand it to the decorating committee. Before you could get into the gym, you had to pass through the Haunted Corridor. It was completely dark except for the black lights that flashed each time thunder roared. Somebody had the majorly ingenious idea of hanging a million pieces of string from the ceiling, just long enough to tickle the top of your head and freak you out. They played lines from scary movies, like the one where Hannibal “the Cannibal” Lecter purrs, “I’m having someone over for dinner tonight.”
But what almost made me run home screaming was the “Guts” initiation at the end of the Haunted Corridor. If you had the guts to blindly put your bare hand into three dark buckets, you were allowed into the dance. Each bucket was covered in a black sheet with a hand-sized slit in it. The first was labelled EYEBALLS. Every girl before me who stuck her hand in screamed. The guys acted tough, but I could tell they wanted to scream, too.
“You go first.” Nadine, a huge raw-hide bone twisted into her hair, dug her fingernails into my arm. My heart was pounding so loudly. I had my own internal thunder. Taking a deep breath, I shoved my hand into the blackness and nearly gagged. Inside, I could feel gooey, slimy, round balls – lots of them. I pulled my hand out as quickly as I put it in.
Nadine did the same, only adding a bloodcurdling shriek.
The second bucket, INTESTINES, was just as slimy and gooey. By the time I reached the third, PUS, I couldn’t wait to yank my hand out and run to the restroom to wash all the “guts” off.
“Peeled grapes, spaghetti, and cream of wheat.”
That was the consensus in the bathroom. Still, everybody scrubbed the “guts” off their hands and felt queasy until the shimmying and sweating of the first big dance of the year made us all forget.
“Have you seen Curtis?” a breathless Nadine, aka Wilma Flintstone, asked me as she rushed off the dance floor. The bone in her still-striped hair was flopped over to one side. She tugged at the top of her leopard-print tube dress.
“How could I see Curtis? Can anyone see Curtis?”
“Ha-ha, Libby.” Curtis had arrived at Fright Dance as the Invisible Man. Which meant he wrapped a gauze bandage around his head, with two eye slits and a mouth slit, and he wore one of his dad’s old hats. Each time I did see Curtis, he was unravelling more and more.
“I haven’t seen him lately,” I said to Nadine.
She groaned. “My mom is picking us up in an hour!”
Nadine’s hair hadn’t grown out an inch before the big Halloween Fright Dance at Fernando High. But it was almost there, so her mom relented and let her go to the dance . with me. Mrs Tilson drove us to the gym, and planned to pick us up at eleven-thirty sharp. Which completely messed up Nadine’s plan to seriously kiss Curtis at midnight.
“You’re not Cinderella,” I told her. “You could kiss him at eleven.”
Exasperated, Nadine whined, “You don’t understand.”
She said that a lot lately, which really ticked me off. Just because one friend almost has a boyfriend doesn’t mean the other can’t understand what it’s like. If explained properly, that is.
“Try me,” I said testily.
“A group of us planned to go to Oakwood Cemetery after the dance.”
Oh. “A group?” I asked.
“You’re invited, of course. I mean, if you won’t feel left out.”
As I glared at my best friend, I made a mental note: I, Libby Madrigal, do solemnly swear never to make my girlfriend feel bad about not having a boyfriend.
“It doesn’t matter anyway, Nadine,” I yelled over the music that had just started up again. “Your mom is picking us up at eleven-thirty, so neither one of us can go.” Then I added, “I’m going to find someone to dance with before the night is over.”
And I left. Hoping to find Greg Minsky or some other guy who felt like dancing with a prehistoric girl who wore a chunky choker made of giant Styrofoam beads that were painted to look like rocks.
“Wanna dance?” Greg Minsky, Old Faithful, held out his hand. He was dressed as Bill Gates, which pretty much meant that he looked like he always did.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s dance.”
Greg asked, “Want to go to Oakwood Cemetery with me at midnight?”
Nadine sulked all the way home in her mother’s car. For some reason she was annoyed with me because her mom refused to let her go to the cemetery with Curtis. Like I could’ve convinced her mom to let her stay out past eleven-thirty if only I’d tried.
I didn’t let it bother me. I knew Nadine would be fine in the morning. So I leaned my head against the window, thought about how kind Greg Minsky is, how fun Fright Dance was, how cute Zack Nash will always be and how my life was finally, finally starting to feel sort of okay.
“Thank you, Mrs Tilson,” I said as she pulled up in front of our house and tossed me an air kiss like she always does.
“Go
odnight, sweetheart,” she said.
“Goodnight, Nadine,” I called into the back seat. Nadine just grunted.
The lights were all on inside our house. It looked rather cosy, lit up like that. I felt happy, actually glad my parents were still up so I could tell them about the Haunted Corridor.
“Elizabeth?”
Mom called me from the living room as I walked through the front door. I was just about to tell her for like the millionth time that it’s Libby when I walked into the living room and noticed the whole family was there. Dirk, Rif, my parents, and Juan.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, my stomach plummeting to the floor.
That’s when Dad dropped the bomb.
ELEVEN
Dad was stone-cold sober on a Friday night, which should have been my first clue that our lives were about to change forever. Rif was home before midnight on Halloween, which should have been my second.
Dad took a deep breath, then said, “We’re moving.”
No one said a word. Not a peep. Had we heard him right?
“Moving?” I asked.
Dirk said, “Huh?”
Rif said, “We’re moving? A new house? For real?”
“Moving?” I repeated. The knot in my stomach tightened.
“Yes. Moving.”
Stunned, nobody moved at all. Mom looked down at her hands and quietly petted her Press-On nails.
“For real ?” Rif repeated.
“For real,” Dad said.
“Cool!”
“That’s incredible!”
“My own room!”
“We’re finally leaving this dump!”
Dirk and Rif whooped and hollered. Rif held up his hand and Dirk slapped a high five. I looked at my mother, who was now slowly rotating her wedding band around and around her finger. Instinctively, I reached down and gripped the seat of the kitchen chair Mom had brought into the living room for me to sit on.
“To Barstow,” Dad said abruptly. Then he plopped down on his recliner with a loud thunk.
“Where?” Dirk’s lower lip glistened.
Mom fixed her stare on the dustballs that were still huddled together where the couch once was. Rif just sat there and stared into space. I suddenly gasped, realising only then that I’d been holding my breath.
