by Judy Blume
Mom lost her big jury trial on the same day I won a major debate against a ninth grader at Kennedy Junior High. Toad Scrudato, the only other seventh grader on our team, said, “Rachel, you were brilliant!” Those were his exact words. So obviously I was feeling pretty good. This was before I found out about Mom. At the time I didn’t even mind that Toad’s father’s car broke down on the Merritt Parkway on the way home from the debate and we had to be towed to a garage, then wait an hour while a new battery was installed.
I called home at quarter to six to say I’d be late. Charles answered. I asked for Dad. He said Dad was coaching at a track meet. When I asked for Mom, he said she wasn’t home yet, either. “And neither is Jessica, so that leaves me, Rachel. Do you have a message for me?” I told him about Mr. Scrudato’s car but nothing else.
Then Toad and I sat on the curb outside the garage and read while Mr. Scrudato made call after call on his car phone. Toad and I have known each other since kindergarten. We’re sort of an odd couple. He’s always been the smallest kid in our class and I’ve always been the tallest, until Max Wilson moved here. But we have a lot in common intellectually.
By the time Toad’s father dropped me off at our house, it was after seven. As soon as I walked in, Dad took me aside and said, “Mom lost her case. She’s pretty upset.”
“Should I say something?”
Dad shook his head. “You know how she is. She doesn’t want to talk about it.”
The same way I was when I missed sesquipedalian and lost the state spelling championship last year.
Still, I was surprised when Mom didn’t come to dinner. It’s not as if this is the first case she’s ever lost.
“She’s just disappointed,” Dad told Jess and me as he grilled hamburgers on the patio. “She wanted to go out on a high note.”
“Who?” Jess asked, as if she lived on another planet.
“Mom,” Dad said. “This is a blow to her pride but she’ll get over it.” He sounded like he was trying to convince not only us, but himself. I must have looked strange because Dad reached out to touch my arm. “Don’t worry, Rachel …”
Until then I wasn’t worried.
Charles passed by, grabbing a roll. He flipped a hamburger onto it and smothered it with salsa. “Is it true?” he asked, taking a huge bite. “Did the perfect litigator really lose her final case?”
Dad snapped at him. “A little compassion is in order this evening, Charles!”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, with a mouthful. “I’ve got compassion. I’m just saying, you know, we’d all be better off if we were less competitive.”
“Speak for yourself,” I said.
“I always speak for myself, Rachel,” he said, going out through the patio gate.
After dinner I went upstairs. The door to Mom and Dad’s bedroom was open a crack. I knocked lightly. “Mom …” No answer. I pushed the door open and tiptoed in. She was asleep with an ice pack across her forehead. I looked around and was surprised to see her suit tossed over a chair and her shoes in the middle of the floor as if she’d kicked them off on her way into bed. “I’m sorry you lost your case,” I whispered as I picked them up and put them in her closet. But she didn’t hear me.
I went down the hall to my room and sat at my desk, staring out the window. I wasn’t in the mood for my math homework. I wondered what my teacher would do if I came in tomorrow and used that as an excuse. Sorry, I didn’t feel like doing my homework last night. She’d probably call Mrs. Balaban, who would send me to Dr. Sparks!
While I was sitting there, Dad came in. “Tell me about the debate.”
I didn’t want to talk about it now. It didn’t seem right to be happy about winning when Mom was so unhappy. So I just gave him the basics.
“I’m proud of you, honey,” he said. “But I’d love you just the same if you’d lost today. You know that, don’t you?”
“Why do you always say that?”
“Say what?”
“That you’d love me just the same if I lost.”
“Because it’s true.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what?”
I wasn’t sure how to explain it. “I mean,” I said, trying to find the right words, “why can’t you just accept good news?”
“I guess I want you to remember that winning’s not the most important thing in life.”
“But it’s a lot better than losing,” I told him. “Just ask Mom.”
He ran his hands through his hair. He does that when he’s thinking. So I quickly added, “Mom would be glad I won. I don’t see why you can’t be, too.”
“I am glad, Rachel. I just want you to keep it in perspective.” He dropped a kiss on top of my head. “I’ve got to run over to the library. Be back in an hour.”
When he was gone, I jotted down Keep it in perspective on my math worksheet. Under that I wrote Victor Robinson, Tuesday, June 9.
The next afternoon, right before school ended, I was called to Mr. Herman’s office. The one time in my entire life I didn’t do my homework and I’ve been reported to the vice principal! I felt sick. I wondered if this would go down on my permanent record. When I got to his office, Toad was there, too, looking as terrified as me. Mr. Herman told us to make ourselves comfortable but neither of us moved an inch. Even though he has a friendly smile, Mr. Herman’s size makes him formidable. Kids call him the sumo wrestler.
“Good news,” he said. “You’ve both been recommended for Challenge, a new program for junior high students who excel academically. If your parents give permission, you’ll be taking courses in math and science at the college next year.”
As he explained it to us, I began to feel like I couldn’t breathe. Another program to separate me from my friends! When he asked if we had any questions, I managed to say, “Do we have to?”
“Have to what, Rachel?”
“Do this?”
Toad looked at me as if I were totally insane. But I didn’t care. I felt light-headed and grabbed hold of the back of a chair facing Mr. Herman’s desk.
“It’s entirely up to you,” he said. “It’s an honor just to be asked.”
“A person can’t do everything just because she’s asked,” I told him.
“A good point,” he said.
I definitely could not breathe! I closed my eyes and forced myself to count backward from one hundred.
Mr. Herman never noticed. He went right on talking. “Well, I guess this has really caught both of you by surprise!” When neither of us responded, he cleared his throat. “Here’s a letter to take home to your parents.” He handed one to Toad and another to me. “Think of this as an opportunity not to be missed.”
As the bell rang, I shoved the letter into my purse. I wish I could explain to Mr. Herman and everyone else that right now I don’t need another opportunity.
On the bus home from school Alison said, “Are you okay, Rachel?”
“Yes … why?”
“You look sort of pale.”
Steph squinted at me. “No, she doesn’t. She’s always that color.”
“She’s usually got some pink in her cheeks,” Alison said. “Maybe she’s coming down with that flu.”
“She looks fine to me,” Steph said.
While they were arguing, some guy shoved Jeremy Dragon, who was getting off at the next stop, right into my lap.
“Sorry about that, Macbeth,” he said as he pulled himself up.
I could feel my cheeks burning, especially when the driver yelled at us to quit fooling around.
As Jeremy got off the bus, Alison whispered, “You’re not pale anymore, Rachel!”
“I wish he’d fall onto me!” Steph said, making all three of us laugh.
The minute I got home, I folded and refolded the letter from Mr. Herman until it was small enough to fit into the secret compartment of my favorite box. Since Mr. Herman says participating in Challenge is entirely up to me, I don’t have to show it to my parents. At least not y
et.
Jessica’s been taking Accutane for a week. The doctor Rowena recommended told Jess about the possible side effects and gave her a booklet to read. But Jess decided to try it, anyway. I don’t blame her. I’d try anything if I had her kind of cystic acne. Before the doctor gave her the prescription Jess had to sign a paper stating she would not get pregnant, because if you take Accutane while you are, it causes serious birth defects. As if Jess would be foolish enough to get pregnant even if she had a boyfriend, which she doesn’t.
Jess will have to see the doctor once a month for twenty weeks. She’ll need blood tests to make sure everything’s going okay. She says Accutane can take up to four months to work but some patients see a difference right away. I hope she’ll be one of them.
Tarren and Roddy came over for dinner on Thursday night. Tarren took one look at Jess and said, “Your skin looks … painful.”
“Well, it’s not as painful as acne,” Jess told her. Her face was totally dried out and peeling. So far Jessica’s only side effects are dry eyes and cracked lips. She carries a tube of medicated lip gloss with her and has to put drops in her eyes twice a day.
Before we sat down to dinner, Tarren cornered me. “Listen, Rachel …” she said, shifting Roddy from one hip to the other, “I wanted to thank you for that day you watched Roddy.”
I nodded. “How’s it going with your romantic obstacle?”
“It’s going great.”
I nodded again, then looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. “Have you by any chance met Paul Medeiros?” I spoke very softly. “He’s a history major at the school of education.”
“You’ve asked me about him before, haven’t you?”
“I thought maybe you’ve met him since then.”
Tarren shook her head. “Is he someone special?”
“No,” I said quickly, hoping Tarren wouldn’t become suspicious. “I mean, he’s Charles’s tutor … and I’m curious … but other than that …”
“Well, I don’t think I know him. Do you want me to ask around?”
“No … forget it … it’s nothing.”
“You’re sure … because I owe you a favor.”
“I’m sure,” I told her.
Charles joined us for dinner. I don’t know why. He hasn’t had a meal with us since Dad’s birthday. He sat next to Roddy, who was in a Sassy Seat, which attached to the table.
We were having corkscrew pasta with vegetables and Mom’s special lemon-and-herb sauce. The green peppers weren’t cooked quite enough for me, so I moved them to the side of my plate. Tarren did the same with her mushrooms.
“Tarren,” Mom said, “I’d like you to come to my swearing-in ceremony. It’s the morning of June twenty-third, in Hartford. After, we’ll all go out to lunch.”
“Oh, Aunt Nell,” Tarren gushed. “I’m honored.”
I wondered how long it would take to drive to Hartford. If it’s more than half an hour, maybe I can take the train. I wouldn’t want to get carsick on the day Mom is sworn in as a judge.
Charles was quiet, intrigued by Roddy, who was slowly and methodically eating Cheerios. He picked up one at a time, using two fingers, brought it to his mouth, got it inside, then mashed it with his gums. He still doesn’t have teeth. Tarren says he will soon.
“Was it always your goal to become a judge, Aunt Nell?” Tarren asked, as Dad served the salad.
“I really hadn’t given the possibility much thought until recently,” Mom said. “But frankly, after this week, I’m beginning to think it will be a relief.”
“What do you mean?” Tarren asked, wide-eyed.
“I lost a case,” Mom told her. “I lost my final jury trial.” She sounded wistful, almost emotional. This was the first time she’d mentioned the verdict.
“I can’t imagine you losing a case!” Tarren said.
“Well, I did,” Mom told her, “and I took it personally, even though I know better.” She kind of sighed as she speared a tomato. “But I did my best and that’s what counts.”
Tarren had tears in her eyes. “That is just so moving, Aunt Nell. To know you’ve done your best even when you’ve failed.”
Charles looked up, suddenly interested. Then Mom said, “I didn’t exactly fail, Tarren. I lost a case that I’d rather have won, that’s all. It happens.” She sounded sure of herself again, like Mom.
“It’s all about goals, isn’t it?” Tarren asked. “In our Life Studies class we had to write down where we hope to be five years from today, then ten, then twenty. It really got me thinking.”
Charles looked over at Tarren. Before he had the chance to pounce, Dad said, “What are your goals, Tarren?”
“Well, some of them are personal,” Tarren said, with a glance in my direction, “and I’d rather not discuss them. But my professional goal is to become the best fourth-grade teacher I possibly can. To make a difference in a few children’s lives.”
Charles let out a snort.
Tarren leaned forward in her seat so she could look directly at Charles. “It would be a good course for you to take,” she told him. “Talk about someone who needs to clarify his goals!”
Didn’t she know better than to start in with him?
“My goals in life are very simple,” Charles told her. We all waited for more but first Charles reached for his water glass and took a long drink. Then he wiped his mouth with his napkin. With Charles, timing is everything. Finally he said, “My main goal in life is to be Batman!”
“Really, Charles!” Mom said, as Charles lifted Roddy out of his Sassy Seat and bounced him on his lap to the theme from the Batman movie.
Roddy laughed and said, “Da da …”
“I’m not your da da,” Charles said, “but speaking of your da da, is he still soaring?”
Tarren sucked in her breath. “As far as I know Bill is still hang gliding, if that’s what you mean. We have almost no contact.”
“Poor little guy!” Charles patted Roddy’s head.
“He doesn’t need your pity!” Tarren told Charles. “He’s going to be just fine.”
“That’s the spirit!” Mom said, squeezing Tarren’s shoulder.
“Having a runaway father is just one obstacle in his life,” Tarren said. “And we all have our obstacles.”
“Yeah, look at me,” Charles said. “I’m surrounded by mine. My father, the wimp … my mother, the ice queen … my big sister, the potato head … and my little sis—”
Before he had the chance to finish, Jessica pushed back her chair. “I hate you!” she hissed.
“I know that, Jess … but you’ll get over it.”
Mom jumped up, her face purple with rage. “You want to hurt us, Charles? Okay, we’re hurt! You want to cause pain? Fine, you have! You want to disrupt the family? Congratulations, you’ve succeeded!” She banged her fist on the table so hard the dishes rattled.
Roddy began to cry. Tarren snatched him from Charles’s lap and whisked him into the kitchen, where his screams grew louder. By then Dad was out of his seat, grabbing hold of Mom, who had lunged at Charles, shouting, “Enough is enough!” A glass she’d knocked over rolled to the edge of the table, tumbled to the floor and smashed.
Charles folded his napkin. “Well,” he said, “this pleasant evening seems to be drawing to a close.”
As he began to get up from the table, Dad pushed him down again. “Stay right where you are!”
Charles looked surprised for a minute. The color drained from his face. He didn’t move.
“We’re not going to tolerate any more nights like this!” Dad shouted. “It’s time for you to get your act together. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Mom stood next to Dad, waiting for an answer.
Charles gave them a long look, then asked, “Is that it? Are you finished?”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Mom said, and I could feel her frustration.
“No, I’m not finished,” Dad told him. “I’m waiting for you to answer the question!”
“I believe I get your point,” Charles said quietly. “Now, may I please be excused?”
Dad didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was flat. “You’re excused to help clean up.”
“Thank you.” Charles stood, stacked the dinner dishes and carried them into the kitchen.
I ducked under the table to pick up the broken glass.
“I’ve had it,” Mom said to Dad. “This time I have really had it.”
“We can’t give up on him, Nell.”
“I’m not saying we should give up on him. I’m saying he’s pushed me to the limit!”
Before I’d collected all the glass, the phone rang. “It’s Stephanie, Rachel,” Tarren called from the kitchen.
“Tell her I can’t talk now,” I said quietly, from the floor. “Tell her I’ll call back.”
But I didn’t call Stephanie that night. And later, as I lay in bed watching the clock, I played the dinner table scene over and over in my mind, angry at myself for just swallowing everything I was thinking and feeling—for just sitting there, totally paralyzed, waiting to hear what Charles would say about me, almost disappointed that Jess stopped him before he’d had the chance to finish.
I got out of bed and crept down the hall to Jessica’s room. But she was sound asleep, breathing evenly. How could she sleep after tonight? How could anyone?
My stomach was killing me. I needed something to soothe it. I moved silently downstairs with Harry right behind me. When I got to the kitchen, I flicked on the light switch and almost keeled over when I saw Charles perched on the counter, gnawing a chicken leg.
“Want a bite?” he asked, holding it out.
“You just about scared me to death!” I told him, keeping my voice low. The last thing I wanted was to wake Mom and Dad. “Why are you in here in the dark?”
“Is there a family rule against conserving energy?”
I didn’t answer. Instead I filled the kettle and turned on the burner.
Charles jumped down from the counter. He opened the refrigerator, pulled out the grape juice and held it up, as if to toast me. “Here’s to you, Rachel Robinson!” He swigged some juice right out of the bottle, then slammed the door. “Here’s to my whole fucking family!”
