Code Name: Whatever

by Emily Asad

  Chapter 7: The Shenton Zoo

  Statistic: Even several years after divorce, on average parents and children have less positive relationships in divorced rather than married families.

  To shake the depression that settled over me, I focused on the enormous task of finding a new identity. I considered developing a British accent – I loved how they sounded – but decided that it might be too drastic. Plus, I didn’t really want to draw attention to myself that way.

  I made a list of my hobbies and talents, and ways to expand them. Singing was out. I no longer had the confidence to sing loudly in class, since I knew Naomi was listening and trying to make me sound bad. However, I could juggle, do rope tricks, paper tricks, and magic tricks, and I liked to write stories. I had acted, briefly, in last year’s spring play. Although I had only been cast as a minor character, I really enjoyed the experience. I liked checkers (even if Matt always beat me) and I was a good sprinter. Surely I could fine-tune one of those talents in some significant way.

  It took a few days to make my decision. But after deciding to concentrate on juggling and acting, I set my goal for the school year: Ignore as many people as possible, juggle during lunch hour, and try out for the school play.

  Of course, try-outs weren’t until the end of September, which, by now, was four weeks away. So I devoted my energies to juggling. I was actually starting to grow bored with my favorite hobby, because I had mastered all the tricks I knew and there was little hope of learning more, when a stroke of luck happened my way.

  It was during lunchtime, naturally, on Friday. I made it alive through my first week as a sophomore! I was so grateful for the upcoming weekend that I juggled my little heart out. I was so absorbed in my patterns that I did not notice Miss Bjornson, the Physical Education teacher, sneak up behind me. She was carrying equipment up to the wrestling room, where she was going to hold the stretching and flexibility tests.

  “You’re pretty good with those,” she said.

  Frightened, I dropped all four beanbags and whirled around to face her.

  “In fact, you’re very good. Where did you learn to do that?”

  My face flushed crimson. “I taught myself,” I muttered, kneeling down to scoop up my fallen bags.

  “You taught yourself? You’re kidding. Be honest with me.”

  “I am. I…I do this every day.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me as if sizing me up, then flashed a huge smile at me. “Well, young lady, what grade are you in?”

  “Tenth.”

  “That’s perfect. You know that all tenth-graders learn to juggle, don’t you? It’s part of the winter curriculum.”

  “I heard something about that last year. I’m taking Phy Ed next semester.”

  “Well, you’ve already passed the final exam, by the looks of it. In any case, you’re a better juggler than I am. What am I supposed to do with you for those six weeks, then?”

  I shrugged. “Just let me juggle? I promise I won’t go anywhere else.”

  She laughed. “I’m sure you wouldn’t. Tell you what. I can’t have my students roaming about in the hall while I’m teaching, but I could really use an assistant. Have you ever taught anyone how to juggle before?”

  “Me? No, I hate people. That is, I… uh…”

  She laughed again. She had a really easy laugh, the kind that made me want to join in. “Well, the world’s full of us. You’re going to have to learn how to get along with us, you know.” She put her hand on my shoulder and walked me down the stairs to her office. “I’ve seen you every day this week at this time, so I’m assuming that it’s your lunch hour right now.”

  I nodded.

  “You’re dedicated. I’m going to leave my office open for you, then. Look. I have clubs, rings, beanbags, boxes…” She opened a closet and began to sort through her various props.

  I was in juggler’s heaven. I had never seen so much equipment before!

  She held out an object that looked like a bowling pin, except that it was covered in red foil and had an aluminum handle tipped with rubber. “Have you ever done clubs before?”

  I shook my head and reached for it.

  “I only have a few minutes, but let me show you how it’s done.” She took me back to my landing – indeed, it was mine since I was the only one who used it – and demonstrated how to hold and flip the club. It looked so easy when she did it. “Now you try.”

  Of course I tried – and failed. Several times. But I was determined to master it. I knew that practice and patience were the only ingredients for success when it came to juggling. Skill has nothing to do with it. Matt is more skilled than I was, but I’m more determined.

  She tapped her watch. “I have to go. You have until January to get good with those, and the rings and boxes too. Think you can do it?”

  I grinned. “It won’t take me until January.”

  “You’re probably right. Be sure you put the props back in my office when you leave.”

  I grasped the clubs tightly. “Wow, Miss Bjornson, thanks so much! This is great!”

  She chuckled and waved good-bye.

  I almost missed my next class because I was so caught up in my new toys. It was hard to leave, but I would have another chance at them on Monday. At least, I hoped she would remember to leave her office unlocked for me. If nothing else, maybe I could use some of my money to buy a set of clubs for my own use.

  It turned out that Erika and Margaret were on split-custody terms with their mother, who kept them on weekends. I saw, in graphic, up-close detail, what Erika meant by ‘being used as ammunition.’ Her mother liked to threaten Roger with not returning the girls if he didn’t do specific things for them, or if she was unhappy with how they were being treated, or this, that, and the other. I only heard the angry phone calls, with ex-Mrs. Shenton’s voice echoing through the earpiece on the other side of the room. At least Roger never yelled, not like that, and certainly not like Mom could.

  I soon realized how lucky I was that my mother had sole custody of us. I would have felt like a yo-yo otherwise. What a stupid game. Couldn’t their parents see that they were making Erika and Margaret miserable? They completely spoiled Margaret, giving her whatever she wanted for fear that she might be upset at being told ‘no.’ As for Erika, all she wanted was her parents to get back together; nothing less than that was good enough, so she was always unhappy.

  I tried to avoid both of them as much as possible. I had enough misery to deal with of my own.

  Three weeks before tryouts, on a crisp September morning, Roger woke us all up at the crack of dawn by bellowing “Wake up and smell the coffee!”

  Matt, Peter, Becky, and I groggily made our way down the stairs to the kitchen, where we stood around looking at each other with sleep-heavy eyes. Even the tempting smell of Mom’s buttery pancakes was not enough to wake us up completely.

  “Why are we awake at six o’clock on a Saturday morning?” groaned Matt.

  Roger was too perky for his own good. We wanted to strangle him. It wouldn’t do to make Mom a widow, though, especially when she really seemed to like the guy.

  “Your mother and I have a surprise for you,” he beamed. “Today we’re filling up the barn with animals.”

  “Horses?” I cried, instantly awake.

  “Not quite. I’ve arranged for various breeders to drop off their animals and give you kids a quick crash-course in taking care of them. In an hour or so, Mr. Piekarski is going to drop off some rabbits. After he’s done, Mr. Nelson will bring the sheep, and then Mr. Richter will show us the goats. The chickens aren’t going to be coming today. I guess we have to hatch them from eggs, so I’ll have to fix up the basement with a heat lamp so they don’t freeze.”

  Becky could not contain herself. “Bunnies! We’re getting bunnies!”

  “I can’t wait to tan their hides,” Matt mused.

  Peter rubbed his eyes. “What does this have to do with me?”

  “We’re teaching you re
sponsibility,” Roger replied, looking awfully pleased with himself. “You’re going to have to feed and water these animals twice a day - early in the morning, and at night before you go to bed. Your mother and I have always wanted to be as self-sufficient as possible. These animals aren’t pets, now. Remember that. We’re raising them for meat.”

  He explained that these first animals were our trial run. If we handled them well, we would eventually get more, and maybe even be able to significantly cut back on our grocery bills. Feeding eight people can be expensive, you know.

  Animals for food? It was gruesome, but also intriguing. We did live in a farmhouse, after all, even though we rented out the twenty acres of field to Mr. Piekarski, whose family raised corn and wheat. They were our nearest neighbors, even though they lived about a half-mile away.

  “Sit down and eat before they get cold,” said Mom, setting a plate full of pancakes on the table with a grin.

  Matt took half the stack, and Peter almost took the other half. I grabbed one before they were completely gone, and set it on Becky’s plate.

  “I want more than just one!” she complained.

  “They’re coming. Be patient,” I told her. “See? I’m waiting for the next round.”

  “But Matt’s eating them all!”

  “Shh.” I put my hand over her mouth.

  She screamed. My fingers muffled the sound.

  “What are you doing to her?” asked Mom, turning her attention away from the frying pan.

  I dropped my hand. Becky had done it now. Familiar shivers began to tingle my spine. I touched my now-faded bruise and prayed she wouldn’t give me a new one.

  “Matt’s eating all the pancakes!” Becky tattled.

  Mom looked at Matt, then swiftly crossed the room and smacked the back of his head, hard. He almost choked. “Shame on you. That’s not good manners. You’re supposed to let the girls eat first. You know there will be plenty. Now go to your room. No breakfast for you.”

  Anger flared in his eyes, and rebellion.

  I shook my head slightly at him.

  He set his jaw, threw down his napkin, and stamped upstairs – but only after shooting Becky a hate-filled glare.

  Mom returned to the stove.

  I glared at Becky. “There were more coming.”

  “Donna, was that necessary? He’s just a hungry boy,” said Roger, ever the good father-figure.

  “He needs to learn good manners. I know what’s best for my son. Don’t question me.”

  “I’m not questioning you, but don’t you think that was a little extreme?”

  “Don’t you think I know my own son?” she asked.

  I knew what was coming. The honeymoon was over, and Mom, in all her splendid glory, was returning to her everyday self. Soon Roger and Mom started arguing in earnest, so I excused myself quickly, grabbed Matt’s full plate, and ran upstairs.

  Roger saw me take the plate. Our eyes met. He dropped his gaze first, so I proceeded with my dangerous task.

  Matt was in his bedroom, lying flat on his back. He thumped his feet on the mattress. I entered quietly. “Go away,” he muttered.

  “I brought you something.”

  He looked at the pancakes and sat up quickly. “I said go away. I don’t need you here.”

  “I know you’re hungry. Come on, eat before it gets cold.”

  “I’m not touching those. I’d rather go hungry that eat her stupid pancakes. I hate her.”

  “I thought you might say that, which is why I brought two forks. I won’t eat unless you eat. You’re not going to keep me hungry, are you?”

  He was still grumpy, but could not refuse my ultimatum. “You know we’ll probably have to skip lunch for this.”

  “Dinner, too, I bet.” I lowered my voice. “Don’t worry, though. I have a stash.”

  “Of what?”

  “Snacks. I hid them out in the barn, in case I get hungry out there. I can spend a whole day out there without coming in. Water, food, matches – I’ve got it all.”

  We could hear Mom and Roger shouting downstairs. I could not tell if my stomach was twisting because of the venom in Mom’s voice, or because I was really hungry.

  “We’d better hurry.”

  We barely chewed, swallowing the pancakes in their maple syrup as rapidly as possible without choking ourselves. I ate fewer pancakes than he did, partly because he could chew faster, and partly because I knew he was much hungrier that I.

  When I was done, I sighed. “I suppose I’d better do the good big-sister thing, huh?”

  “Stay out of it. You know it always comes back to you.”

  “Oh, well,” I said, and then shouted down the stairs. “Peter! Becky! Get up here!”

  My tone of voice was as shrill as Mom’s. What can I say – I learned from the best. They did not dare defy me, and they scrambled up the stairs in seconds.

  They looked really shaken up. “What?”

  “Let’s get dressed,” I said in a quieter voice. “I don’t think we should be downstairs when they’re arguing.”

  “But what about my food?” asked Becky. “I only ate two.”

  “I have a few Twinkies in my bedroom. You can have them.”

  “What about me?” asked Peter.

  “You can have some, too.”

  We used the back staircase to sneak downstairs and outside, where we waited on the lawn. It was almost a shock to me to notice that the leaves were turning crimson and brown. How could I have missed autumn in Minnesota? It was my favorite time of year. I guess stress makes a person miss a lot of good things. And boy, was I stressed, what with the new house, the new marriage, and my new name!

  Becky and I sat on the lawn and talked about the changing season. Peter plucked some long blades of grass and made a whistle out of them by holding them between his thumbs and blowing. Mark disappeared into the thinning tree line, probably to check his snares as an excuse to be alone. Eventually, Mom came outside, scowling.

  She put her hands on her hips. “Aren’t you kids hungry? The food’s getting cold.”

  We all shrugged.

  “I make pancakes for you, and nobody wants them. That’s a fine mutiny. See if I ever make pancakes again. I don’t do these things for my health…” She continued her tirade as she withdrew inside. We could hear her through the walls.

  When I grow up, I’m never yelling at my kids, I thought, and if I do, I’m going to apologize afterward. Or just never yell at them. And if I have to punish one of them, I’ll make it appropriate, not extreme. I pulled my little black book from my pocket, shielded it from my siblings, and added my new rules to the List.