by Barbara Dee
“Is it painful?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she said, smiling a little. “I guess when anything’s happening to you, it can be.”
“And do some crayfish not make it?”
“You mean during molting?”
I nodded.
“I think that can happen sometimes, but it’s unusual. Most healthy crayfish molt with no problems, unless they’re eaten by a predator. But I suppose if a crayfish isn’t feeling well, the process of molting can be extra stressful.” She paused. “Why are you asking, Zinny?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
Thursday and Friday Science Class
So we ran the experiment on Clawed. On Thursday we did all the planning—setting up the track, figuring out how to measure speed, and deciding how to motivate him to the finish line. Darius was the one who suggested we dangle a bit of hot dog on a string—I voted against it, arguing that hot dogs were horrible, full of chemicals probably dangerous to crayfish. (I didn’t know this for a fact, but it made sense to me.) Anyway, I said, crayfish preferred shrimp pellets, vegetables, algae, and small fish they could capture with their claws.
But Aspen said crayfish were omnivores—you could tell how proud she was to know that word—and had a strong sense of smell, so we needed something really smelly to get Clawed moving. James Ramos said he personally loved hot dogs (as if that were the slightest bit relevant), and we were using just a tiny chunk of hot dog, so how much harm could it do? Finally I gave up, because it was obvious by then that no one in the group was listening to me anyway.
On Friday we let Clawed out of his tank.
I held my breath as he moved slowly, zigzagging his way through the covered cardboard track—until he made it to the end.
We ran the experiment five times, so we could get Clawed’s average speed.
And, incredibly, all five times he ate the disgusting hot dog.
Saturday Morning at Redwoods Village
Gabriel had scrambled eggs at breakfast, I had a corn muffin, and Aiden had pancakes again. Mom and Dad both had toast and coffee.
We discussed the following topics:
Gabriel needing new jeans and socks.
The too-warm-for-March weather.
Some true-crime podcast Mom was listening to on her runs.
How my science teacher had nominated me for a special summer program.
A basketball team (not the Warriors) that was doing better than anyone had expected.
Gabriel’s high school friend Jack, whose mom said he was planning to visit Gabriel sometime soon, although she didn’t say when.
We did not discuss:
The fact that Jack knew about Gabriel’s secret.
Scarlett not being there.
The teen girl at the next table throwing a tantrum (raisins in her oatmeal).
Whether Gabriel was feeling better.
When he would be getting out.
After breakfast, the five of us took a walk over to see the rock wall and the ropes course. Then Mom, Dad, and Gabriel went to their therapy session.
* * *
Wins at Ping-Pong:
Me: eleven games
Aiden: seven
* * *
Afterward, Gabriel walked us to the car. “I’m glad you came, Monkeygirl,” he told me as we hugged good-bye.
“So am I,” I said, because that’s what you were supposed to say.
“Tell Scarlett hi.”
“Yeah, I will. She’ll probably come next time—”
“Maybe better if she doesn’t,” Gabriel said. “She’s really sensitive.”
And I’m not?
Of all the things Gabriel had ever said to me, that was maybe the most surprising. I knew he didn’t mean it in a bad way, but I still felt crushed.
Did he think I thought visiting him was easy? I had nothing to do at Redwoods Village but babysit Aiden. And seeing Gabriel so pale and un-Gabriel-like made my heart hurt. Did he still think of me as the toddler in the red wagon, the little kid on the sofa afraid of spooky attics? Did he think I didn’t get why he was here—basically trapped in a tank and not allowed to leave?
Or that I had nothing going on with me?
And it was right then, that very second in the parking lot, that I realized I’d completely forgotten about Jayden’s Bad Movie party.
Saturday, Five Thirty P.M.
The second I dragged myself into the bedroom, Scarlett asked how it went.
“Okay,” I said.
“Did Gabriel mention me?”
“Yep.”
She closed her laptop. “Well, so what did he say?”
“He said hi.” At that moment I was too upset with everyone, but especially with my big brother and my big sister, to repeat the whole thing about how Scarlett didn’t have to go to Redwoods Village because she was too “sensitive.”
Scarlett’s face scrunched. “And how was Mom?”
“Mom?”
“Yeah. Did she cry? You know I totally lose it when she does.”
“Scarlett,” I said, my voice rising, “if you care so much about all the details, next time you should visit Gabriel yourself.”
That shut her up for the rest of the evening.
Monday Morning, before Homeroom
ME: Um, hi. Sorry I missed your party on Friday. Something… came up.
JAYDEN (frowning): No problem. Everything okay?
ME: Oh, definitely. Everything’s great. Well, see ya!
JAYDEN: Wait, I brought you something.
ME: You did?
JAYDEN (handing me a sandwich bag full of popcorn): I didn’t know if you liked butter or salt, so I left it plain.
ME (grinning so much it’s hard to talk): Plain is fine! Thank you so much!
JAYDEN: You’re welcome. See you Wednesday?
ME (stuffing popcorn into mouth): Mnnn, scrmpfth.
That Wednesday, Lunch Period
“You know what, folks? The weather’s too great to be stuck indoors,” Mr. Patrick was saying. “What say we do Lunch Club al fresco.”
“You mean like spaghetti?” Jayden asked.
Luz swatted him. “No, you dope, that’s al dente. ‘Al fresco’ means ‘in the fresh air.’ ”
“I thought Al Fresco was some guy,” Keira said.
Luz grinned. “Yeah, right. Albert Fresco. That’s what we’ll call it next week.”
“No, Alfredo.”
“Alfredo is the name of a pasta sauce,” Jayden said.
“It is, but I think it was named after some dude who invented it, Alfredo.” Keira did a Disney princess sigh. “You know what my dream is? A pasta sauce named after me.”
“Waiter, I’ll have some Elbows Keira,” Jayden said.
“Al dente,” Luz added, laughing. “And we’ll eat it al fresco.”
As we walked out of the building, I glanced at Asher. In the group, we were the only ones not joking around, keeping quiet. I was still feeling mad at myself about forgetting Jayden’s party, mad at Mom and Dad for making me spend all Saturday at Redwoods Village, when Scarlett got to stay at her friend’s house. And Asher was… just being Asher, I guessed.
Mr. Patrick led us to a small clearing behind the soccer field. When Luz plopped down on the grass, he said, “Nah, no loafing, folks. Today’s session starts with getting our hearts pumping.”
“My heart pumps fine already,” Luz protested.
“Okay, but let’s get it really going. Up to you how—running, dancing, jumping jacks, however you feel like moving. Come on, you guys, three minutes, no stopping.”
Mr. Patrick began doing jumping jacks. Luz and Keira did a sort of hip-hop dance. Asher jogged in place (not very enthusiastically), while Jayden and I ran four times around the building. He was faster than me, so it wasn’t like we were running together, but once, he turned around and smiled.
“Try to catch up, Umzinnia,” he said. And I smiled back, wondering if it meant anything that he’d saved me some popcorn.
After
three minutes, Mr. Patrick waved his arms over his head. “All right, folks, gather round. Now that we’re energized, I thought we’d play a game.” He reached into his pants pocket and took out one of those squishy stress balls they sometimes hand out for free at pharmacies.
“It’s called Mad-Sad-Glad,” he said. “And the rules are simple. I toss the ball to someone, and whoever catches it names one thing they’re mad, sad, or glad about. The idea is no thinking: it should be the first thing that pops into your head. Then you immediately toss it to someone else. Pretend this ball is on fire, so you want to get rid of it right away. This game is played very fast.”
“It sounds stupid,” Luz said.
“Oh, it is. Dumbest game ever.” Mr. Patrick flipped the small red ball to Luz. “Go.”
“Me?”
“Hurry, Luz, this thing is on fire, remember?”
“Fine. I’m mad that we’re playing this stupid game.” She tossed the ball to Jayden.
JAYDEN: I’m glad that the weather’s nice, even though it’s climate-change-nice.
KEIRA: I’m glad we’re outdoors for once.
MR. PATRICK: I’m mad because my husband got another parking ticket.
ASHER: I’m mad because I failed a math test.
LUZ: You did? I thought you were this super math nerd.
MR. PATRICK: Stay inside the game, Luz.
LUZ: Sorry. I’m sad I messed up the game just now. Not really.
ME: I’m glad about the crayfish experiments in science. Even though I don’t like my team.
KEIRA: Why?
ME: Because they don’t listen. And they gave our crayfish a dumb name.
JAYDEN: I’m sad that my dad is back in the hospital.
LUZ: Oh no. Well, I’m sad that you’re sad, Jayden.
JAYDEN: Thanks. I’m really glad you’re my friend.
LUZ: Awww.
KEIRA: Hey, Jayden. Hello? Remember me?
JAYDEN: You thought I forgot you?
KEIRA: Well, you and Luz are acting like—
MR. PATRICK: Stay in the game, folks.
JAYDEN: Right. I’m mad you thought I left you out, Keira. I didn’t. I was just answering Luz—
KEIRA. Nah, I’m only teasing. I’m glad we’re friends too. And sad about your dad.
ME: Me? I just went.
KEIRA: Your turn anyway. Go.
ME: Um… I’m still mad that my friends want me to apologize when I didn’t do anything wrong.
LUZ: So why should you apologize?
ME: Exactly.
LUZ: Yeah, exactly.
ASHER: I’m mad I’m here. I hate this group.
MR. PATRICK: I’m sad you feel that way, Asher.
ASHER: Well, I do. I’m mad we’re wasting so much time.
LUZ: All right, so what would you rather be doing?
ASHER: I don’t know. Something that actually helps.
LUZ: Throw the ball to me.
LUZ: Hey, Asher. I’m sad your stepdad is so mean to you. But you should be mad at him, not at us, you know?
ASHER: I’m not mad at you.
LUZ: Yes, you are. Every week you come here and grump at us. Like it’s our fault.
MR. PATRICK: Rules of the game, Luz.
LUZ: Fine. Asher, I’m sad you’re mad at us, because we’re here to listen to you. We’re the ones who can, you know?
ASHER: (grunting sound)
KEIRA: I’m glad Luz said that, because I totally agree. Asher, you shouldn’t take it out on us. Also I’m mad at my parents, for having such a crappy divorce and making my sister Jocelyn and me have to deal with it all the time.
JAYDEN: All the time? You mean like a hundred percent of every minute?
KEIRA: Okay, eighty-four percent. Eighty-seven percent.
JAYDEN: You used to say ninety-eight percent.
KEIRA: Yeah? Well, progress, I guess.
ME: Again? Well, I’m not mad at anyone else. Just my friends. Former friends.
KEIRA: Not your brother?
ME: What?
KEIRA: You know. For what he did to your family.
ME:
KEIRA: When he went nuts and smashed up that car. On purpose.
LUZ: Omigod. Keira! I can’t believe you just said that!
MR. PATRICK: All right, folks—
KEIRA: I’m just saying if my big sister did that to me, I’d never forgive her. Ever.
LUZ: Yeah, well, that’s your feelings, not Zin’s! And totally not how to bring it up here!
KEIRA: Don’t yell at me, Luz!
LUZ: Well, you shouldn’t have said that, Keira!
KEIRA (red-faced): Sorry, okay? God. What do you want me to—
MR. PATRICK: Keira, try to calm down. Luz, let it go. Zinny, is there anything you want to say here?
ME: Me? No!
MR. PATRICK: Okay. It’s completely your choice.
ME: Well, I don’t want to discuss it!
MR. PATRICK: That’s fine.
ME: Because Keira doesn’t know how I feel, okay? Nobody does.
LUZ: So how do you feel?
ME: What?
JAYDEN: Don’t force her, Luz.
LUZ: I’m not forcing anybody! I’m just asking if she wants to tell us.
ME: I just said I don’t want to discuss it! Why is that so hard for everyone to understand?
ME (catching my breath):
ME: And how do you guys know about my brother anyway?
KEIRA: Everyone knows. People talk about things.
ME:
ME: Well, he didn’t smash the car on purpose! Gabriel wouldn’t try to hurt himself! Okay?
LUZ: Okay, Zin.
ME: And people don’t know everything, even if they think they do!
ME:
ME:
MR. PATRICK: All right, well, folks. I see the period is almost over, and we’ve kind of exhausted the format here. Why don’t we all stop by the office for a quick slice of pizza—
LUZ: You mean it’s over? Hallelujah.
ASHER: I hated it. And so did Zinny. Let’s not do it again.
MR. PATRICK: Deal. Okay with you, Zinny?
ME:
Afterward
Of course I didn’t “stop by the office” for pizza. I couldn’t eat anything. Or do much of anything all afternoon, even in science.
Keira’s questions had punched me in the chest. Had Gabriel done what she said—smashed the car on purpose?
Like… to hurt himself?
I didn’t know. It hadn’t even crossed my mind before she said it. So whoever had told her that was making it up, or else knew something I didn’t. But who would that be? Nobody. Because he was my brother.
And her other question was almost as shocking: Was I mad at Gabriel? To be honest, I hadn’t known being mad at him was even an option.
One thing I knew for sure, though: going back to Lunch Club again was absolutely not possible. Because what right did those kids have—people who weren’t my friends, who I’d never even spoken to before in my entire life—to tell me how I should be feeling? Or even to force me to describe it?
What exactly was I supposed to say? Mad-Sad-Glad didn’t tell you anything. There wasn’t a scientific name for my emotions, some long chewy Latin-sounding word that got more and more specific as it zoomed in on my heart. Sadnessalia numbveria confusoria worryatum.
And my feelings kept changing, anyway. Sometimes I didn’t feel anything at all. Sometimes I was even happy, like when I was helping Ms. Molina in the lab. So, was that happiness—even if it lasted just an eye blink—supposed to go into the scientific name too? Or would people be all, How dare you distract yourself, Zinny? You should be a sobbing mess every single second!
My best friends—scratch that: former best friends—couldn’t understand this. So why would almost-total strangers?
Because, yeah, I knew they were all in Lunch Club for a reason. But it wasn’t my reason.
* * *
When I got home that afternoon, I did a strange th
ing. I went over to the stairs where Dad had hung the Annual Kid Photos: the Four Stages of Manning. These photos—eight of them, all framed—I had to pass every day, on my way up and down, back and forth, to my bedroom. But ever since Gabriel’s accident, I’d stopped seeing these pictures. It was like a choice my eyes had made: Just look forward. Don’t focus on anything but what’s right in front of you. And only now that I was back home after that horrible Lunch Club game could I actually look sideways, at what was on the wall.
The photos of all of us, but especially Gabriel.
His deep-set hazel eyes.
His slightly crooked nose (a basketball accident).
His hair: too long, or way too short (he cried that time after the barbershop).
His Christmas-tree smile. Even in that end-of-August photo, when according to Scarlett, he was depressed.
Gabriel was always the kid in the foreground, the one we leaned on. Not a perfect person, but a very good brother.
But still, it was like one day Gabriel just went blank on us. How could he do that? Scarlett said he’d never been “big on communication,” but that wasn’t an excuse, really. You needed to tell your family if things were going that bad for you. Because they needed you to be okay. We needed Gabriel to be okay. Every single one of us: Mom, Dad, Scarlett, Aiden, and me. And shutting the door on us, smashing the car, was just cruel. Also selfish.
It shocked me to realize I was thinking this: Maybe Keira was right. Maybe I should be mad at Gabriel.
But I knew that even if it was true, even if I was mad at my big brother, it was only in one miniature room of my heart.
Wednesday, Late Afternoon
After about an hour of homework (all right, more like twenty minutes) I was starting to feel light-headed from not eating all day, so I made myself a giant, blobby peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich. The bread was sort of stale, but adding peanut butter was such a good distraction that I didn’t even mind that the banana was mushy. And while I was chewing, I started a shopping list for Mom: Bread. Peanut butter. Bananas. Stuff for dinner.
