I don’t tell Ruby any of this, of course. For one, she might just say it’d be fine for Avery to tell people because it’s good news and we can all celebrate together. Or she might call me paranoid. No thanks on either of those.
After school on Tuesday, Joshua takes Ruby, Benji, and me to Central Park to climb rocks. It’s the first time we’ve gotten together outside school since our parents announced their engagement and it actually feels normal. Mostly we don’t talk about it, except once, when we’re at the top of a tall boulder, Benji tells Ruby that after our parents get married and move in together we should convince them to install climbing holds all over the walls of our apartment. I watch Ruby carefully to see what she’ll say but she just shrugs and says, “It’s your apartment. You should ask Willa.”
That evening, I smooth out Ruby’s dog drawing with my palm and then tape it on my wall next to the golden retriever poster. I’d had it stored in my backpack since she gave it to me two weeks ago, but luckily it didn’t get too crumpled in there.
On Wednesday afternoon, right before the end of the day, Ms. Lacey calls a class meeting to firm up Field Day details. It’s happening in a few weeks. We’ve decided we’re going to go to the Central Park Zoo and then take a bus uptown to a grassy area to meet the other classes and have a picnic.
“I emailed all the parents yesterday to ask for chaperones,” Ms. Lacey says. “We have enough for now but if you want your parents to come there’s room for everybody. I just need to know in advance so I can get enough tickets for the zoo.”
Avery’s hand shoots in the air. “My parents can’t make it because they’re taking a mini-vacation to Cape Cod,” she says. “It’s their seventeenth anniversary.”
“Too bad they’ll miss it,” Ms. Lacey says. “We’ll take lots of pictures.”
“It’s okay,” Avery says, shrugging. “My grandma is staying with us and she loves shopping. She’ll buy us anything we want.” Avery jiggles her charm bracelet on her wrist, showing off two new charms: a tiny silver phone and yet another dog charm.
Norie raises her hand next. “Who is chaperoning Field Day?”
Ms. Lacey reaches into her desk for a piece of paper. I’m only half listening because my parents rarely chaperone field trips. Dad says it’s hard to take off the time from work and Mom finds chaperoning overwhelming, especially herding the bad listeners, which is every kid on a field trip. I half hear Ms. Lacey say that Elijah’s mom is chaperoning and Norie and Zoe’s dad and Haley’s aunt. But I quickly tune back in when she finishes with, “And we’ve also got Willa’s dad and Ruby’s mom.”
No. No. No.
I can’t look at Ruby. I can’t look at Avery. This definitely can’t happen. There’s no way my dad and Ruby’s mom can chaperone the field trip together. If they do, we’ll run the risk of them holding hands or, even worse, kissing and blabbering about how they’re getting married. Also if Avery sees them together it’ll definitely signal her to tell everyone in the fifth grade about how lovey they looked at that Italian restaurant, and maybe even how she knew before Ruby and me that our parents were together.
As soon as Ms. Lacey dismisses us, I grab my backpack, race down the stairs, and hurry home, where I immediately call my dad.
“You can’t chaperone Field Day,” I tell him as soon as he picks up.
“Hi to you, too, Waggy,” Dad answers. “How was your day? Oh, that’s wonderful! So is mine, thanks for asking.”
“Please no Dad Jokes,” I tell him. “Just tell me you won’t chaperone Field Day.”
“I always thought you wanted me to chaperone,” Dad says. “I figured since it’s your last field trip at The Children’s School, I’d take the day off and come along.”
I don’t want to hurt my dad’s feelings or invite any nosy questions. “I just want Field Day to be my time,” I say vaguely. “No parents.”
Dad agrees that he’ll email Ms. Lacey, and then he reminds me that he’ll be home by six thirty for Taco Bowl Wednesday.
“But you’re going out tomorrow night, right?” I ask.
“Yes. Sandhya and I are having dinner. Joshua is staying late and putting you to bed.”
I’m so relieved he’s not chaperoning Field Day that yet another date night with Ruby’s mom doesn’t bother me too much.
The next morning during quiet reading, Ms. Lacey calls Ruby and me up to her desk. Ruby and I haven’t talked since I rushed out of the classroom yesterday so I could run home and call my dad. When I was unpacking my backpack this morning, she gave me a funny look, but I quickly set my water bottle on the table and buried my face in The Secret of the Unicorn. My stepdad, Bill, gave me a few Tintin books over the weekend, ones from when he was a kid, and while I like Tintin, I’m obsessed with his dog, Snowy. I think Snowy is a terrier, probably a wire fox. I’m planning to confirm this with Bill when we go up to Tomsville this weekend.
“I got an email from your dad yesterday afternoon,” Ms. Lacey says to me before turning to Ruby, “and also from your mom, Ruby. They both backed out of chaperoning Field Day.”
Ms. Lacey points to the list on her desk, where Greg Garrett and Sandhya Kapoor have red lines through their names. I glance covertly at Ruby. Her tongue is playing with her imaginary palate expander.
“Is everything okay?” Ms. Lacey asks, leaning close to us.
“It’s fine,” I say quickly.
“Yeah,” Ruby agrees. “Totally fine.”
Ms. Lacey clears her throat. “When your parents let me know they couldn’t chaperone they also told me about—”
“No big deal,” I say, cutting her off.
“I just wanted to say congratulations,” Ms. Lacey says. “It’s exciting but it’s also a … unique situation.”
I’m shifting from leg to leg and wriggling my fingers. I glance across the classroom, where Norie and Zoe are flipping through my comic book and oohing about how Tintin has the cutest crest of red hair. Through it all, Ruby is staring at the floor, completely still.
“In all my years of teaching,” Ms. Lacey is saying, “I don’t think I’ve ever had two parents fall—”
“I need to use the bathroom,” I blurt out.
“Me too,” Ruby says.
“Okay,” Ms. Lacey says, eying us closely. “I can see you don’t want to talk about it. But before you go to the bathroom, I wanted to let you both know that there is no need to announce the news to the class. Unless, of course, you wanted to?”
“No thanks!” I say quickly.
As soon as Ms. Lacey excuses us, Ruby and I mad dash toward the door, grabbing two bathroom passes on the way.
“That was awful!” I say as soon as we reach the hallway.
“Double-triple awful!” Ruby says. “I hate being called to the teacher’s desk. I always feel like I’m about to get in trouble, like I’m going to get sent to the guidance counselor or something.”
I shrug. I’m used to that. It was Ms. Lacey offering to tell the class that was double-triple awful to me. “Did you ask your mom to back out of chaperoning?”
Ruby nods. “I texted her as soon as I got out of school. What about you?”
“I called my dad when I got home. That’s the last thing we need, having them holding hands and being all lovey in front of everybody.” I pause. “Hang on. Why did you ask your mom? I thought you were excited that they’re together.”
“I thought it would make you upset, having them together at school.”
“You did that for me?”
“Yep,” Ruby says, nodding.
“Is there anything I can do to thank you?” I ask.
“You can say that our parents being together isn’t the worst thing in the whole world.” Ruby pauses. “Maybe it’s five percent okay?”
I’m about to say no way but then I think about how much fun we had at Puppapalooza until Ruby got sick, and how my dad has been whistling happily when he’s doing the dishes recently and he doesn’t seem as frustrated in the mornings when I can’t find anythin
g comfortable to wear. Finally I shrug and say, “How about point zero zero zero one percent?”
Ruby giggles. “It’s a start. Now can I go to the bathroom? I actually have to pee.”
“Of course you do!” I say.
I wait until she’s done and then we sling our arms around each other and walk like that the whole way back to the classroom.
“How’s dinner at six?” Joshua asks, peeking into my Girl Cave.
“Sounds good,” I say as I press a LEGO into place. If I were a minifigure, I would snap myself right into the middle of my dog kingdom, happily surrounded by LEGO canines.
“What are we having?” I ask.
“Stir-fry,” Joshua says. “And brown rice.”
“You’re making totally veggie stir-fry?” I ask. Joshua knows I’m a vegetarian but I always like to be sure sure sure he doesn’t slip in fish sauce.
“Of course,” Joshua says. “With tofu.”
“Yum,” I say, smiling.
Once he’s gone I click backward on Old Yeller and return to the middle. I listen to the story and build LEGOs until Joshua calls me to the table. Dinner with the three of us turns out to be really fun. Joshua looks up “conversation starters” on his phone, and we go around the table answering questions like What are the three words that best describe you? and What’s the most useful thing you own? When I get the question Are you a very organized person? my brother and Joshua crack up because I’m the opposite of very organized. I stick my tongue out at them, and even though I wasn’t trying to be funny, Benji laughs so hard he spews rice across the table.
After dinner, I get in the bath. On my checklist it says I need to take a bath every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday—and other nights if I’m sweaty or dirty. I don’t love baths but unless I’m in a bad mood I don’t fight things that are on my checklist.
As I swirl my hair around in the water and stretch my toes out, I think about how I can mostly fit in the bathtub. I wonder how much longer I’ll be able to. I have to bend my neck and knees, but it’s nothing like my mom. Sometimes I sit in the bathroom when she’s taking a bath, and she has to fold her knees out of the water like two drippy mountains.
I want to stay small enough to fit in the bathtub forever. As soon as I think that thought, I imagine Maureen saying, If you can’t fit, then get a bigger tub. You’re just right the way you are. I guess it’s lucky that my dad is an architect. When I’m older I’ll have him design a bathroom for me that fits a tub long enough for grown-ups.
After my bath, I towel off and change into my pajamas. When it’s just my dad and Benji, I can wear my towel as I walk through the apartment, but if a babysitter is here I bring in my pajamas with me. I guess that’s how it’ll be when Ruby and her mom live here, no more towel dashes in search of jammies.
I can hear Benji and Joshua laughing in the living room. I get a hairbrush out of the drawer. I can’t find my regular plastic one, so I grab the narrow circular one. It’s left over from when my mom lived here. I never use it for my hair because it’s too bristly, but I keep it around because I like these small reminders that once upon a time my mom and dad and brother and I were an unbroken family.
“What are you guys talking about?” I ask, flopping onto the couch next to my brother.
Joshua holds up the phone for me to see. “He wanted me to look up the weather in Northeast Greenland National Park.”
“It’s negative-seven degrees in the middle of May!” Benji says, his eyes glimmering. If there’s one thing Benji finds even more exciting than geography and history, it’s weather. Last year he had fifteen random locations on my dad’s phone and he’d monitor them on a daily basis.
I start working at my hair. When it’s wet, the curls become ropy, and this circular brush isn’t helping. Every time I try to comb out a section, the brush gets stuck and I have to yank hard to get it out.
“Did you hear the news?” Benji says, glancing up from the weather reports on Joshua’s phone.
“What news?” I smudge my finger on the water droplets on my pajamas. They must have fallen from my hair. Now I’m going to have to change my pajamas before bed. No way will I be able to fall asleep with wet pajamas.
“When you were taking a bath,” Benji says, “Joshua told me his big news.”
I groan and roll my eyes. “Please tell me you’re not getting married too.”
Joshua laughs so hard he starts to gag. For as long as he’s been babysitting us, he’s had a boyfriend named Noah. We’ve met Noah a few times, and he seems nice. But I’m definitely not ready to hear about any more people getting married!
“Nope,” Joshua says, catching his breath. “No marriage plans. Noah and I want to wait until we’re thirty. The big news is that I got into law school. I’m starting in the fall.”
I let out a long breath. “That’s great,” I say. “It’ll be like how you took college classes last fall.”
Joshua shakes his head. “Not really … because this law school is in Chicago.”
I twirl the brush around in my hair. I’m starting to think that I’m not going to like where this big news is going.
Joshua clears his throat. “Noah and I are moving to Chicago in early August to get settled into an apartment. I’ll finish up here at the end of July. Right before your dad takes you guys to Vermont.”
“There’s a great ninja academy in Chicago,” Benji offers.
I can’t believe this. I can’t believe that on top of leaving my school and my dad getting married and Ruby and her mom moving in, we are also losing our sitter! Benji and I have had other sitters in the past—people who were impatient with us or were constantly on their phones—and so we know for a fact that Joshua is the best.
Joshua sets his phone on the coffee table. “Are you okay?”
I shrug like whatever because I’m not going to cry in front of Joshua. But then a wave of horror shoots up my spine.
“It’s stuck!” I cry out.
“What’s stuck?” Joshua asks.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” I shout, yanking at the brush. But the more I pull, the deeper it gets burrowed in my hair. My wet curls are tangled around the bristles, and my skull is prickling in pain.
“Willa,” Joshua says evenly, “can you take a deep breath and let me look at it?”
“I don’t want to take a deep breath!” I yell, even though I know it’s not his fault, getting the brush stuck or even going to law school in Chicago. But the brush is hurting so much I’m having a hard time keeping my voice calm. “Can you call my dad? Can you ask him to come home?”
“He’s at dinner with Sandhya,” Joshua says. “Let me give it a try first.”
Joshua lifts my hair off my shoulder and reaches in for the brush. But as soon as his hand comes near it, I lurch backward.
“Wow,” says Joshua. “That brush is really stuck.”
As Joshua wiggles at the brush and Benji fetches a pair of scissors, I start crying, tears and runny nose and hiccuping and all.
“Can you please call my dad?” I ask again. “Or text him?”
Finally, Joshua agrees to text. I watch as he types, Willa got a brush stuck in her hair and she’s really upset.
“You should say she’s crying,” Benji offers, but Joshua sends it as is.
“Did he write back?” I whimper. My hand is clutching the side of my head where the brush is twisted and trapped deep in a tangle of my hair.
“It’s only been two minutes,” Joshua says, glancing down at his phone. “I can try him again. Maybe he didn’t hear the text.”
After three more minutes with no reply from my dad, I ask Joshua to call my mom.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take another look?”
“No!” I shout, shielding my hand over the hairbrush, which is yanking my hair harder and harder by the second.
“We should just cut it out,” Benji says. He’s on the couch next to me, holding out the scissors.
“No!” I scream, tears running down my face.
Joshua calls my mom but it goes straight to voicemail. I tell him to call Bill next. Bill answers on the second ring. He tells Joshua that Mom is in a meeting with her phone off and won’t be home until nine. Bill offers to drive over and interrupt the meeting, but I tell Joshua to tell Bill that he doesn’t have to.
“Do we have to cut it out?” I ask, feeling like we’ve used up all our options. I’m already imagining how embarrassing it will be to walk into school tomorrow with a chunk of hair missing. Of course Avery will be the first to notice, and of course she’ll say that she’d never be stupid enough to get a brush stuck in her hair. Maybe I’ll have to wear a hat for the rest of the school year to cover the bald patch. Except I hate hats! Too tight around my head.
Joshua’s phone pings. He glances at the text, his shoulders sagging in relief.
“It’s your dad,” he says. “He and Sandhya have jumped in a taxi. They’re on their way.”
I slump backward on the couch. I’m too upset by this point to complain that Ruby’s mom is going to see me like this. Joshua hands me a tissue and then distracts me by looking up cute dog memes until the front door unlocks.
The second my dad walks in I start crying all over again. He strides quickly across the living room and reaches into my hair, feeling around for the brush.
“Oh, Waggy,” Dad says, “it’s really stuck. We may have to cut it out.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying all along!” Benji says, gesturing to the scissors.
“I’m so sorry,” Joshua says. “She was brushing her hair and I was telling her about—”
“Hang on,” Ruby’s mom says. For the first time I notice her standing behind my dad. She’s wearing a pink suit and heels and she’s holding a plastic bag from Walgreens. “We stopped by the store and bought some thick conditioner,” she explains to me. “Let me give it a try before you resort to scissors. If it’s okay with you, of course.”
I wipe at my eyes with a tissue. “I guess,” I say, sniffling. “I mean, if you think it will help.”
Ruby’s mom and I walk together into the bathroom, closing the door behind us. She sits me on the toilet lid and hovers above me, squirting conditioner into her hands and carefully weaving her fingers around, sorting through the strands of hair. The whole time she’s working she’s reassuring me that the brush is coming out, slowly but surely, slowly but surely. As I listen to her voice and feel her fingers in my hair, it’s actually relaxing, sort of like when my mom braids my hair.
Not If I Can Help It Page 12
