“Do you think there was butter in the kettle corn?” Sandhya says. “It said it was dairy-free. Maybe I should give you a Lactaid pill.”
“I barely even ate any,” Ruby moans. “And it’s not my stomach. I just feel … terrible.”
“Why don’t we drive you home?” Dad says. “Our car is parked around the corner.”
I tug at a bracelet on my wrist. I don’t want to be mean but there are hours left of Puppapalooza and dozens of dogs left to pet. I’m definitely not ready to leave.
Ruby’s mom starts to say something but then catches my eye. “Thanks, Greg,” she says quickly. “We’re fine. We’ll take a cab home.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
She murmurs something to him, and before I know it their lips are touching. I pull so hard at the rubber band on my wrist that it breaks and falls onto the pavement.
We end up staying at Puppapalooza until the end of the festival. The best part is that Dad has a conversation with a woman from a rescue place called Manhattan Mutts. She tells him that they’re bringing up a batch of dogs from South Carolina in late June and that there should definitely be a puppy for us. They exchange phone numbers and promise to stay in touch. At around five, Benji and I skip to the side street where we parked the car, our arms full of freebies and flyers.
“I’m going to sleep with the dog in my bed,” I say as Dad merges onto the West Side Highway.
“Me too!” Benji says.
“We could trade nights,” I say. “That’s only fair.”
Dad clears his throat. “A lot is happening this summer.”
“Like what?” I ask. “Other than a dog?”
“There’s something I need to talk to you both about,” Dad says. Then he clears his throat again. “You know, a car ride is a great place to have an honest conversation.”
My legs start trembling. All I can think is: This is it. I knew something was going on when Dad got me the trampoline early, and I knew something was going on when he went out for dinner with Ruby’s mom, and I definitely knew when he was shut in his room talking to her on the phone for hours. I wasn’t being paranoid like Ruby said! I was being realistic.
“It’s about Sandhya and me,” Dad says.
“Dad!” I scream. I bounce up and down and kick hard at the back of my seat. I’m going from zero to sixty and I can’t stop it. “Just tell us! Tell us! Tell us!”
And so he does.
Dad tells us that when Ruby and her mom moved to New York City from Connecticut last summer, they signed a two-year lease on their apartment. But Ruby’s mom just found out that the landlords who own their apartment are breaking the lease, which means she has to move. She’s been looking all over for a new apartment these past few weeks, but then Dad and Ruby’s mom decided that since they were planning to get engaged in the fall, they may as well do it sooner and get married this summer, and then we’d all move in together.
“Isn’t a lease a contract?” Benji asks. “Are those people allowed to break it?”
For a smart kid, Benji can be a dummy sometimes. Talk about missing the forest for the trees!
“You and Ruby’s mom are getting married?” I lean as far forward as my seat belt will let me. “But that’s not possible. You just told us you were together.”
“I’ll explain about the lease later, Benji,” Dad says. “And yes, Sandhya and I are engaged. I gave her an engagement ring last night but we wanted to tell you kids first before she wears it.”
“You got engaged last night?” I ask, my voice rising in horror. “Does Ruby know?”
“She’s going to find out this evening as well. Sandhya and I agreed that we’d talk about it with our own children first,” Dad says. “And it’s something we’ve been talking about for a while … but we made it official last night.”
“But you just told us … hang on …” I pause, counting back on my fingers. “You just told us you were together ten days ago. How can you be getting married all of a sudden?”
“I realize this seems like it happened quickly,” Dad says, “but we’ve been together since last September and we’re ready to take the next step.”
“I still don’t understand about the lease,” Benji says.
Something hits me. “Hang on. Are we moving?”
Dad’s phone rings. He mutes it with his finger. “We’re staying in our apartment. It’s big enough.”
“So who gets what room?” I ask.
“I want to keep my room,” Benji says.
“I was actually thinking that Willa and Ruby could take the big room,” Dad says, “and Benji can move into the little room. Or Ruby can have the little room since she’s never had siblings before, and you and Benji can go back to sharing the big room.”
“But I love my room!” I shout. There’s no way I’m giving up my Girl Cave with my LEGOs and my body sock and my mess that’s all my own! Also, how can Ruby live with us all the time? She doesn’t even know I have a body sock. She doesn’t know that my dad wears my striped socks over his black work socks every morning to pre-stretch them for me. Because that’s what it’s like with friends. A friend is nice to have over, but friends go home. They don’t stay forever.
“We’ll figure it out,” Dad says. “The room arrangements are up for discussion.”
I glance over at Benji, hoping he’ll tell my dad that he’s too much of a geezer to get married. That’s when I notice that my brother’s face has a sickly green hue.
“Were you reading?” I ask, pointing to the dog pamphlets in his hand.
But instead of answering, Benji hunches over and heaves chunks of bagel and kettle corn all over his lap.
“Great,” I say, plugging my nose and trying not to look. “Just great.”
“It’s okay.” Dad flashes his blinkers and steers off the highway. He always keeps paper towels and bags and cleaning spray in the car in case Benji pukes.
“It’s okay,” Dad says again. “It’ll be okay.”
“No, it won’t,” I say, but no one seems to hear me.
Ruby isn’t at school on Monday and that’s fine with me. I’m not mad at her but I’m definitely mad at the fact that her mom is marrying my dad. No, actually, I’m a little mad at Ruby too. If she weren’t so excited about their relationship, then maybe our parents wouldn’t have decided to take the next step. Like, Ruby and I could have banded together and opposed the boyfriend-girlfriend thing until they clearly saw it was a terrible idea and returned to being regular parents.
That’s why I haven’t called Ruby to check if she’s sick or to talk over the big news. My dad told me that Ruby knows about the engagement, but I don’t feel like hearing her say how much fun this is going to be and how we’ll have family game nights and things like that. Plus, if Ruby wanted to talk badly enough, she could have called me, and so far I haven’t heard from her.
In addition to being mad at the news in general, I also don’t want to give up my Girl Cave and have to share a room with Benji or with Ruby. And I don’t want Ruby and her mom to move in and bring their lavender-scented soaps into our apartment. I don’t want new smells, new furniture, new foods in the fridge, like soy cheese and lactose-free milk. But mostly I don’t want to hide who I am, all the Private Willa stuff, in my own home.
Oh, and did they even think about the fact that they could get married and it wouldn’t work out and they’d fight all the time and get divorced? Then where would that leave all of us?
I’m not the only one in a bad mood. The whole class is grumpy because of the middle school letters. Kids are drumming their fingers and bending paper clips and fighting for bathroom passes. Norie and Zoe go to the nurse for stomach-aches. They’re nervous because they both want to go to The Tech School—their parents liked the curriculum and they liked all the cute boys they saw on the tour—and they’re freaking out about what happens if one twin gets in and the other doesn’t.
As we’re headed to gym Avery whispers to me, “Don’t you have that girl on Mond
ays?”
Oh, I’m mad at Avery too. I hate that she was right when—that morning after we found out our parents were dating—she told Ruby and me that my dad and Ruby’s mom looked like they were headed toward marriage when she saw them at the Italian restaurant. If she finds out that her prediction is true, she’ll definitely be rubbing it in.
“What girl?” I ask Avery now as we’re pausing in the hallway while Ms. Lacey tries to get everyone to quiet down.
“You don’t remember?” she asks, rolling her eyes like I’m stupid. “That kindergarten girl you go to therapy with!”
I stare at my feet, my cheeks burning. Why is it that I never have a comeback when Avery is around? Going to the guidance counselor isn’t therapy! Not that there’s anything wrong with the guidance counselor OR therapy, but Avery definitely makes it feel that way.
Ms. Lacey cranes her head down the line. “Everything okay? I really need everyone to be quiet or we’ll never make it to gym.”
“Everything is fine,” Avery says, adjusting her silver headband. She’s also wearing a silver-and-white tank top and silver shoes. “I was just reminding Willa that—”
“It’s okay,” I call out. “I’m just heading down to see that girl, Sophie.”
“Of course,” Ms. Lacey says. “Thanks for remembering.”
Avery huffs. “It was actually me who—”
I push through the doors before Avery can gloat about her amazing memory on top of everything else amazing in her life.
When I arrive at Mr. Torres’s office, he greets me with a cheery “Hello, Willa!” and directs me to the table where Sophie is building.
“Hey, Sophie,” I say.
Sophie looks up at me but doesn’t say anything. She’s wearing a green T-shirt with a picture of a minifigure on the front, and below that it says DO THE LEGOMOTION. From the looks of it, she’s constructing another car-plane.
“Darn!” I say, sitting down. “I was going to bring you my Race Car Driver minifigure. I’m sorry I forgot. It’s been a crazy week.”
Sophie shrugs. If I hadn’t heard her say rock on last week, I wouldn’t believe she actually talks. I’m glad she’s not talking, though, because I really don’t want to go into the craziness of the past week and specifically what I found out yesterday afternoon.
As I’m sinking my hands into the LEGO bin, Sophie slides the cutest little LEGO poodle across the table to me. I eye it curiously. She pushes it even farther in my direction.
“For me?” I ask.
When she nods, her brown eyes open big and she smiles, revealing her toothless window.
I lean into her and quietly ask, “Where did you get it?”
She gestures to the pocket of her jeans.
“You brought it from home?”
Sophie nods again.
“Wow,” I whisper. “Thank you. I’ll add it to my dog kingdom.”
I’m talking quietly so the guidance counselor doesn’t hear us. Adults never understand LEGO trading, and they often want to bust it up to prevent hurt feelings and demands of no-trade-backs.
“I’ll definitely bring the Race Car Driver next Monday,” I say, tucking the poodle into my pocket. “I’m sorry I forgot.”
For the rest of the period we build a prison together. Sophie doesn’t talk so it’s not like we plan it out loud. She just builds a wall and I add a window with bars and she adds another window with bars and we populate it with a bunch of minifigure prisoners and guards wielding swords. When Mr. Torres tells us it’s time to clean up, Sophie grins mischievously and knocks over a wall. I smile back at her as I knock over the other walls, and then we both knead the structure until it’s a heap of bricks.
As we’re leaving, Sophie holds up her fist to bump me, just like last week. “Hang in there, fifth grader,” she says.
I glance around the walls of Mr. Torres’s office. Sure enough, there’s a poster of a kitten hanging upside down from a limb with a caption that says, HANG IN THERE.
The kid is definitely weird. But I also sort of like her. I fist-bump her back and return to class.
At occupational therapy that afternoon, Maureen asks how I’m doing. I swivel around on the spinny stool at her desk as I tell her about Puppapalooza and how my dad told us he’s marrying Ruby’s mom and then Benji puked and I might have to give up my bedroom. I’m about to tell her how this is happening on top of middle school letters and my mom suggesting I move to Tomsville when Maureen places a stretchy band in my hands.
“Pull this,” she says, taking my backpack off my shoulders and setting it by the door. “And I’m going to get you some gum. The good sugary stuff.”
I pull the band between my hands and watch as Maureen digs through her desk and produces Hubba Bubba. It’s the kind of bubble gum you get on Halloween and never see again for the rest of the year. “I keep this around for emergencies,” she explains, handing me a piece. “The sugar-free gum is fine for most chewing needs, but when your mouth really needs to chomp there’s nothing like a wad of Hubba Bubba.”
I unwrap the gum and grind my teeth in, letting the sugary juice seep around my tongue.
Maureen hooks the dachshund-dog swing to the ceiling. “We’re going to get you swinging as you keep on telling me what’s bothering you.”
I stoop over to untie my sneakers. I’m already starting to feel better. It’s good to be here.
“Okay,” Maureen says as I climb onto the dachshund-dog swing and she hands me the rope to pull myself. “What part is feeling worse: your dad getting married or that it’s your best friend’s mom?”
I flatten the gum against the roof of my mouth with my tongue. “I don’t know. I really want to just stay friends with Ruby. I don’t want her to move in. I don’t know why she’s so excited about it. Also, it’s all happening so fast.”
“Maybe they’re ripping off the Band-Aid,” Maureen says. “Doing it quickly so you guys can start dealing with it.”
“But I hate ripping off Band-Aids!”
Maureen says that’s how it is for most sensory kids. I hate ripping off Band-Aids almost as much as I hate getting my toenails trimmed. Whenever I have a Band-Aid on, I get nervous about how much it’s going to sting when it comes off. Ripping isn’t even an option. First my dad tries for a slow peel but that gets me screaming. Then he tries to soak the Band-Aid with a washcloth. That sometimes works. Usually he leaves it on until it’s shriveled and black around the edges and it eventually falls off in the bath.
“Let’s get your belly on this,” Maureen says as she gestures me onto a yoga ball, “and tell me what else is bothering you.”
As she rolls me around on the ball, I tell her how I don’t want to give up my Girl Cave and I don’t want to share a room with Ruby and how she said I was growing fungus and crud under my bed because I had socks and gum wrappers down there. When we’re done I flop limply onto the mat, spit my gum into a tissue, and reach for my water bottle. Maureen takes this downtime to brush my arms and legs with a soft plastic brush. She often does this at the end of a session.
“I also don’t like the idea of their soaps in our apartment,” I say, resting my head on the mat. “They have a lot of them. I mean, it’s fine at their apartment but it would change the smell of our apartment. I like how our apartment smells.”
“A lot of sensory people don’t like perfumed things,” Maureen says. “I’m guessing you’ll never wear perfume when you’re older.”
“Definitely not,” I say, shaking my head. Perfume seems disgusting. Just like how I can’t imagine wearing makeup. Makeup looks so itchy, like a Halloween mask that’s on too tight and makes you feel like you can’t breathe.
“Does Ruby know you have Sensory Processing Disorder?” Maureen asks as she lifts up my right hand and brushes up and down my fingers.
“Of course not!”
“But she’s your best friend,” Maureen says. “Why wouldn’t you tell her?”
I don’t respond. If Ruby really knew how weird I am, I doubt
she’d be my friend. In preschool or even in my first few years at The Children’s School, I wasn’t exactly popular. I think on some level I was always that girl who threw her sneakers at the audience during the preschool Christmas performance.
“Do you think Ruby is perfect?” Maureen asks, brushing my other hand. “Don’t you think she has problems too?”
I glance at Maureen and then look away. I’m relieved she doesn’t force me to make eye contact. I hate when adults say look at me when I’m talking to you. They don’t realize that sometimes eye contact actually hurts.
“Ruby might have problems,” I finally say, “but mostly she’s pretty normal.”
“Define normal,” Maureen says.
“It’s …” I pause, trying to come up with the right words. “Normal. You know … people who aren’t weird. People who know the right things to say and people who play soccer like it’s easy and people who don’t have to be told to settle down all the time.”
“You’d be surprised,” Maureen says, “at all the different ways there are of being a person, and also what people privately struggle with. Life isn’t always easy. Not for anyone.”
I shrug. “I guess.”
“I know,” Maureen confirms.
On my way out the door Maureen gives me another piece of Hubba Bubba. I chew it the whole way home, until it’s long out of flavor.
Ruby still isn’t at school on Tuesday. That evening, Dad tells me that Ruby is finally feeling better and he suggests that I call her or use his phone to text her.
“Why?” I ask. I’m sitting at the kitchen table working on my reading response that Ms. Lacey assigned for tomorrow.
“I just thought it would be nice to break the ice before you see each other tomorrow morning,” Dad says. “We’ve told you kids some really big news, and we know it’s going to have an impact on your friendship. It might be helpful to talk for a bit. Sandhya and I would even be happy to be on the call. We could do it on speakerphone.”
“Yeah, no thanks on that,” I say without looking up from my homework.
Not If I Can Help It Page 9
