“Ah, yes,” he says, “I remember that one quite well.”
“You read this?”
“I’ve read all of them. Many times.”
I’m a little stunned. I kind of assumed he read Einstein in his free time. Not pulpy romances.
“Really? They don’t seem very, um, you.”
“Your grandmother used to read them to me when I worked in the lab at night. It passed the time. Then when she died, I read them because it made me feel close to her.”
It’s strangely romantic.
“So, how do you like having Ben as a stepfather?” my grandfather asks.
“He’s great,” I say.
It’s true. Ben never tries to be my dad. He’s more like a cool uncle. Also, he likes to play video games with me.
“I could never do that,” my grandfather says.
“Do what?”
“Get remarried.”
“Why not? Didn’t you date after Grandma died?”
“Your grandmother was the only person I ever dated,” he says, sounding offended.
“You never dated anyone else? Not even once?”
Not that I should talk. I haven’t dated anyone.
“Why would I?”
“But aren’t you lonely?”
He looks past me, an expression on his face I can’t decipher.
“Of course I’m lonely. But I was destroyed when your grandmother died. You can’t imagine what it was like to watch her waste away from the cancer. Two PhDs and a lifetime dedicated to science and I still couldn’t stop a few malignant cells! I would have done anything to save her,” he says fiercely. “Anything.”
The room is quiet for a minute.
“I’m not going to go through that again,” he says, and his voice sounds hollow.
“I’m sorry I brought it up,” I tell him. I feel bad. He must have been so sad when she died.
“It’s fine,” he says, waving his hand, his face composed again.
He picks up a book called The Burning Sands. The cover features a handsome sheikh and a woman against a desert backdrop with camels.
“By the way, this one’s my favorite.”
“Why?” I ask him.
“Oh, that’s easy,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to ride a camel.”
When I walk out of my bedroom and down the hall, I see Ben’s suitcase by the door.
“She lives!” my mom says when I walk into the kitchen. “We were about to send out a search party to see if you’d been abducted by aliens.”
I join them at the table. My mom looks happy and Ben looks rumpled, his hair sticking out in weird places.
“What time did you get home?” I ask him.
“Around two in the morning,” he says, scratching his head. “I think? It’s all a blur. Nothing like a twenty-one-hour flight to knock the stuffing out of you.”
I’ll never complain about the bus ride to school again.
“And I get to do it again in three days,” he adds with a groan.
My mom smiles at him. “But it’s all worth it, right?”
“Always,” he says, and leans over and kisses her.
They’re so mushy together.
“Isn’t it a little early in the morning for that?” my grandfather grumbles as he comes into the kitchen still in his pajamas.
“It’s noon,” my mom says, smiling. Even my grandfather can’t spoil her happiness.
“Good to see you, Melvin,” Ben says. “Lissa mentioned that you’re staying with us.”
Ben thinks my grandfather is my cousin, because that’s what my mom said the last time he lived with us.
“So it seems,” my grandfather says, and blinks blearily. “I’m going back to bed. I’m exhausted.” He leaves the kitchen.
My mom turns to Ben and makes a face. “Must be the Puberty.”
* * *
—
Since Ben is home, we go out for a family dinner at a nice Italian restaurant. I avoid the mushrooms, of course. Afterward, Ben proposes we play a board game.
Ever since my mom married Ben, board games have been accumulating in our house. My mom jokes that he’s really a big kid.
“No, thank you,” my grandfather says. “I don’t like games.”
“Come on,” I plead with him. “We can be a team!”
My mom grins. “I like it! Grown-ups versus teens.”
“Grown-ups? Really?” my grandfather says to her.
She makes a face at him. “Come on, kid. Don’t think you can beat me?”
“Please?” I beg him.
“Fine,” he mutters. “But I refuse to play Risk. It takes too long, and Europe is completely indefensible.”
We sit around the kitchen table playing a board game that involves castles and ghosts and giant spiders that eat you. It looks easy at first glance, but it’s actually pretty difficult. At random points in the game, spiders kill you, and you have to go back to the beginning of the board.
“This is ridiculous!” my grandfather shouts when it happens to our team for the third time. “We have to start over again?”
My mom teases him. “But, Melvin, surely you’ve learned something from almost getting through the game already?”
I know she’s not talking about the game.
But he ignores her and stares at the board. “I know from the math that we are taking the correct route to the dungeon.”
“The math?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says, tapping the board. “Board games are highly mathematical.”
“It’s true,” Ben agrees. “I minored in math in college.”
“What a waste of a college degree,” my grandfather mutters beneath his breath.
“Not really,” Ben says. “There’s a lot involved in creating a good game. Storytelling. Math. Physics.”
“Physics?” my grandfather asks.
“Yes,” Ben says, and picks up the dice. “But this is the most essential thing to a game.”
“Blue dice?” I ask.
“Chance,” he clarifies. “It’s the one variable that a player can’t control.”
Then he rolls. It’s a five.
My mom counts the spaces and slams their piece into the dungeon.
“We won!” she cries.
Ben winks at me. “And it’s also what makes games fun.”
* * *
—
As far as games go, chess is a mystery to me. The only thing I know is that old men in the park like to play it. Do the players wear uniforms? Do you cheer? More important, are there snacks involved? In any event, I’m looking forward to seeing Raj play.
The multipurpose room is a whirl of activity. Players are lined up across from each other at long tables with chessboards between them.
Raj has his whole black-leather-goth thing going on as usual. But he’s added something else that makes him stand out even more from the other kids: he’s wearing sunglasses.
The girl he’s playing doesn’t look the way I pictured a chess player: she’s got long blond hair and is wearing a sparkly sweatshirt with a unicorn. I’m starting to think Hollywood is to blame for all these bad stereotypes I have in my head.
Then it begins. And I’m surprised. Because the whole thing is exciting. Hands fly. Chess pieces are knocked over. Timers smacked. It’s like the board game version of a contact sport. This is no joke.
Raj stares down at the board in concentration, his hand jerking out to move pieces and hit the clock like lightning. He’s focused and confident. He seems so much more than my potato chip–sharing friend. I remember what my grandfather said about looking at something a thousand times and then one day seeing something new.
Because it feels like I’m seeing Raj for the very first time.
The
next day at school, I chat with Raj at my locker.
“What’d you think of the chess meet?” he asks.
“It was pretty cool, but I couldn’t really follow what was going on. I don’t know how to play chess.”
“I can teach you,” he offers.
“Really?”
He smiles. “Sure.”
We decide to do it the next day after school. He has to run a quick errand for his mom and then he’ll come to my house.
When I get home from school that day, there’s an unexpected visitor. But this time I don’t call 911.
Because the criminal is so cute.
Lounging on our couch in the den is the fat orange tabby neighbor cat. He’s curled up next to Jonas like he has a perfect right to be there.
“What are you doing inside?” I ask the orange tabby.
He blinks at me lazily.
“I’m pretty sure this isn’t your house,” I tell him.
My grandfather walks into the room. “You got another cat?”
“It’s the neighbor’s cat,” I say. “He must have followed Jonas in through the cat door.”
“Well, I hope he doesn’t have fleas,” my grandfather says.
“I thought you liked fleas,” I say.
“Drawings of them,” he clarifies.
I pick up the neighbor cat and carry him outside to his yard. He just looks at me.
“Go on home,” I tell him.
Then I head back inside to the kitchen.
Since Raj is coming over to teach me chess, I want to cook something special. I decide on a quiche. It’s easy to make, especially if I use a frozen piecrust. But our fridge is kind of empty: my mom’s been really busy at the theater. There’s no spinach or anything quiche-y. In the end, I use eggs, cheese, and…tofu.
I pop it into the oven. When the timer goes off, I put the quiche on the counter to cool, and in spite of the tofu, it looks delicious.
My grandfather comes into the kitchen, sniffing the air.
“What did you cook?” he asks.
“Quiche,” I say.
“That will hit the spot nicely,” he says, and picks up a knife. He goes to cut the quiche and I wave him away.
“Wait! Stop! You can’t eat it!”
“Why not?”
“It’s for Raj,” I explain.
“The whole quiche?”
“No, of course not. You can have some later, after he gets here.”
“But I’m hungry now,” he grouses.
I shake my head.
“Fine. I guess I’ll just have to walk to the convenience store and get myself a snack. May as well pick up a newspaper while I’m at it.” He stomps out of the kitchen, muttering, “Enjoy your quiche!”
* * *
—
The doorbell rings, and when I open it, Raj is standing there with a wooden box. It looks like he just took a shower, because his hair isn’t styled with mousse; there’s a little curl to it.
“Brought my chess set,” he says with a grin.
“Great,” I say. “Come on in.”
“Where’s Melvin?” Raj asks as he follows me down the hall.
“He walked to the store to get a newspaper.”
Jonas prowls up to Raj and rubs against his leg.
“Hey, Jonas,” he says, scratching the cat’s ears.
I tell Raj about the neighbor cat hanging out in our house. Raj thinks it’s hilarious.
“He’s been having cat parties while you’re out?” Raj asks with a laugh. “How long do you think it’s been going on?”
I wonder. “Hard to say. The cat’s pretty comfortable here.”
“It’s like they’ve got this whole secret life that nobody even knows about.”
We settle in at the kitchen table, and Raj sets up his chess set. He points out the pieces on the board.
“This big one is the king,” he tells me. “The next biggest is the queen. Then there’s rooks, bishops, knights, and pawns.”
It reminds me of Shakespeare. His characters always seem to be court players.
Raj teaches me some basic moves, and then we take a break to eat. I slice up the quiche.
“This is good,” Raj says.
But I’ve mostly been eating the crust. The egg part doesn’t taste right to me.
“I don’t know about this tofu,” I confess. It’s a little soggy.
“I’ll eat it. Problem solved.”
“We’re pretty perfect,” I say.
Something flashes across his face. “Perfect?”
“Yeah! You eat the eggy bit and I eat the crust. We’re perfect quiche eaters!”
“Ellie,” he says, and swallows. “I was wondering if you—”
Just then my grandfather rushes into the kitchen, his hand on his cheek.
“Ellie!” my grandfather shouts.
“Hey, Melvin,” Raj says.
My grandfather ignores him.
“Does your mother have a dentist?” he demands, wincing.
“Why?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
“My tooth hurts! I bit a candy bar, and my crown fell off!”
He holds out his hand to reveal a big gold tooth-shaped crown.
“That’s a lot of gold,” Raj says with a low whistle.
“If I’d been eating quiche, this wouldn’t have happened,” my grandfather says, and scowls.
“I’ll call Mom,” I say.
* * *
—
It’s weird how medical and dental offices are always so cheery. This one has smiling sea horses painted on the walls. Why are they smiling? There’s nothing fun about getting a cavity filled.
“I swear,” my mother says, “this is like having another child.”
“At least you don’t have to pay to send him to college,” I tell her. “He’s already got two degrees.”
“Ha-ha,” she says.
Ten minutes later, the dentist opens the door and calls us into the back. We huddle in the small exam room, where my grandfather is sitting on a dentist chair with one of those little paper aprons around his neck. He looks miserable.
“So, he’s going to need the tooth pulled,” Dr. Green announces.
“Pulled?” my mom says. She touches her own cheek.
The dentist pulls up an X-ray on her computer screen. She traces a gray line at the bottom of my grandfather’s tooth. “The tooth is cracked. It was already a deep cavity with a crown.”
My grandfather moans.
“By the way, where did he get his dental work done?”
“I’m not sure,” my mom hedges.
“It’s just that I haven’t seen work like this on any patient younger than sixty,” Dr. Green says.
She has no idea.
“By the way, I’m happy to give you a referral for an orthodontist. He’s got a prominent overbite.”
“I had an overbite, too,” I say, thinking of the science. “Maybe it’s genetic?”
My mom just sighs. “I can’t believe someone else in this family needs braces.”
“Braces?” my grandfather yelps.
Back in elementary school, gym was fun. We played handball and foursquare. They let us use Hula-Hoops. But gym in middle school is terrible. The teachers are mean and the uniforms stink. Literally. No one takes them home to get washed.
Most of all, I hate running laps. They’re boring, and I’m always one of the last kids to finish.
Today, we have to run a mile. It’s pure torture.
“Hey, Ellie!” I hear a voice call.
I look back to see Brianna jogging up. She’s like my opposite: she plays volleyball for the travel team and is in really good shape.
She slows down to keep pace with me.
; “How’s it going?” she asks.
“Okay,” I huff.
“Your cousin’s in my math class,” she says. “He’s really smart! He finishes his tests before everybody.”
I guess it helps to have two PhDs in middle school.
“What’s new with you?” I ask.
“My dad wants me to go out for softball next year instead of volleyball.”
She doesn’t sound too happy about it. Her dad is pretty pushy. He’s one of those dads who scream at coaches.
“I always liked your dad. He was so fun,” she confides. “Remember that time he picked us up at ballet practice wearing his theater costume?”
He’d been running late and showed up dressed as the Phantom from Phantom of the Opera. My mom said the parents talked about him at pickup for years after that.
As we run laps, we reminisce about our childhood. It’s easy talking to Brianna, comfortable. Like pulling on an old fuzzy sweater.
“Maybe we can hang out sometime?” she asks me as we finish the last lap.
I look at Brianna and see the little white scar on her forehead from when a kid smacked her with his lunchbox in first grade. I was there when it happened; I held her hand in the nurse’s office when she cried. All these little moments that we shared that only we know. I’ve missed her.
But most of all, I’ve missed remembering with her.
“I’d really like that,” I say.
* * *
—
The rest of the day passes in the usual blur of tests and taking notes and not enough time between classes. Finally, it’s over and I head to the vending machines to get a granola bar.
Mr. Ham walks past me.
“Your flies are looking great, Ellie,” he says. “Just be careful with them and don’t let them escape and fly away. We had that happen a few years ago, and I’ve never heard the end of it from the custodian. It was a mess.”
“No problem,” I say automatically.
He walks off and I take a bite of the granola bar. What Mr. Ham said suddenly hits me and I start to choke.
The Third Mushroom Page 5
