“You’re not old.” I smile, pulling back. “Anyway, I wanted to do this. You know how I am with old pictures.”
“Only you.” She laughs her contagious laugh. “You’re amazing.”
That’s such an overused word and I think people only really mean it about a quarter of the time. But when Bubbie says it, she means it.
“So does it look any better in here?” she asks me, hands on her hips, surveying the rooms of stacked boxes.
“Well, you have the lion doorstopper/pillow thing on the couch, so that’s a start.” I shrug. “You really never used it as a doorstop?”
“No. Too nice to be a doorstop. Too heavy to be a pillow. C’est la vie.” She sits down at the table and sips a half-full glass of seltzer. “Relax for a minute and then we’ll get to work.”
“Okay.”
“So talk to me,” she says after another sip.
“Um.” I giggle. “I don’t really know? I’m happy you guys are here, though.”
“It’s a lot of work.” She shakes her head. “I think we see ourselves as younger than we actually are. So we figured we could handle this move while we were strong and fit. But guess what? I don’t think we’re as strong and fit as we think we are.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t say that. You’re definitely strong and fit. And can I tell you something? In my eyes, you don’t age. I think you’re still, like, in your sixties.”
“Sweetheart, we age. Believe me, we age.”
I look at her crooked for a second, wondering if she’s trying to tell me something. Bubbie has this cryptic way about her. Like she says things without saying them. But then sometimes I think there’s really no deeper meaning and I’m just reading into it. And every time I try to get up the courage to ask her what she’s really saying, I choke back the words and smile instead. Maybe she says what she wants me to know, and that’s it.
“So should we get started on these pictures?” I ask her.
“Yes!” She attempts to hop up from the chair in her usual Bubbie way, but her hop is slower than it used to be. “It’s the top box in the first row of boxes in the den.”
I laugh. “Okay, wow. There are a lot of boxes in the den. Are you sure we can’t get you more help to unpack? When my friend June’s aunt and uncle moved here last year, they hired these two guys to unpack them and they were done in, like, three hours.”
“No, no.” She walks in front of me. “Your father will help us, and we can do it. We’ll let you know if we need to hire extra people.”
“Okay, whatever you say, Bub.” I open the top of the box and see all the framed photos stacked neatly, in bubble wrap. “I think we should try and re-create the order you had in the old house, on the wall leading upstairs. We want this to look as authentic as possible.”
Bubbie laughs. “You’re delicious. Do you know that?”
I wonder if it’s only grandmother types who refer to people as delicious. I never hear young people do it. Maybe it’s something that comes with age.
“Okay, so if I’m remembering correctly, when you first started walking up the staircase, it was the photos of you and Herbie as kids . . . right?”
“You think I remember?” she cracks up. “I lived in that house for fifty years and I have no idea!”
“Yes, you do! Come on. Let’s ask Zeyda.”
I call out to him; he’s working in the bedroom.
“You think he remembers? You’ve got to be kidding! He doesn’t remember what he had for breakfast and we only got up a few hours ago!”
I fall back on the recliner, laughing.
“Ari, there’s a box in the garage I need you to get,” Zeyda instructs. “It has all sorts of hanging materials. I’m going to try and get some of these pictures up on the wall.”
“Oh, no, you’re not.” Bubbie laughs in a sort of sinister way. “We’re not as young as we think we are.”
“I’ll grab it, so it’ll be all ready when the guy comes to hang stuff up, but Zeyda, I can’t allow you to do it yourself.” I hop up and walk through the living room, taking a piece of biscotti out of the jar on my way to the garage. Clearly their priorities are in order—most of their stuff isn’t even unpacked, but they do manage to have baked goods for the taking.
When I make it out to their garage, I find rows of boxes stacked to the ceiling and random other things like an exercise bike and the sign-in board from their twenty-fifth-anniversary party.
My dad said they were getting rid of all the stuff from their basement in the old house, but so much of it is here. It’s hard to throw things away.
I find the box Zeyda was talking about and I’m about to head inside when my eyes land on something else. Something I never saw in their old house.
A unicycle.
Confused, I walk back inside.
“Um, guys,” I say. “Did you join the circus and not tell me? Why do you have a unicycle?”
“You found it!” Bubbie yelps, clapping. “We discovered it when we were cleaning out. Apparently your dad wanted to learn to unicycle at some point! He never succeeded. We forgot all about it, but we brought it with us to surprise you.”
I nod. “Well, I’m definitely surprised.”
“Someone in the family needs to learn,” Bubbie tells me. “It’s brand-new! I mean, it’s probably thirty years old, but it’s new.”
I laugh.
“Take it!” Zeyda exclaims. “If anyone can learn to unicycle, you can.”
I sit back down on the recliner. “But I’m not sure I want to learn to unicycle.”
“Oh yes, you do, Ari.” Bubbie smiles. “My money’s on you,” she says, using one of her favorite expressions. “Take it; you and Gemma can practice together. It’s good exercise.”
“What?” I crack up, intrigued by this, but also realizing I’m not going to be able to say no.
And then it dawns on me: our first organic list item. I text Kaylan.
Me: K, are you ready for this?
Kaylan: just got off a waterslide. Ready for what?
Me: our 1st list item . . .
Kaylan: ????
Ari: learn to unicycle!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kaylan: wowwwwwwwiiiieeeeee
Me: ummm, don’t u want to know how this got on the list????
Kaylan: yes! Tell me later! One more slide to go!
I go back to organizing the pictures. I help Bubbie unpack a box of sweaters and fold them as neatly as I can in her dresser drawer. And then I get another text from Kaylan.
Kaylan: where r u?
Me: @ B&Z’s
Kaylan: oooh! can I come over and say hi? Bub & I totally bonded @ ur bat mitzvah. I miss her!
Me: Ok! Come! They’re in Woodbury Cove, the development across from Fox Hollow Hotel. Unit 703!
Kaylan: K! Be there soon!
I feel a little bubble of happiness that even though Kaylan went to the water park with the lunch table girls, she still wants to come and hang out with me and also see Bubbie and Zeyda. I think if I took a poll of all the BFFs in the world, I wouldn’t find many who would want to hang with the other’s grandparents.
Kaylan shows up pretty soon, her hair wet from the water park. “Hiiii,” Kaylan sings, walking into Bubbie and Zeyda’s house.
“Kaylan,” Bubbie says, pulling her in for a kiss like they’re old friends. “You’ve gotten taller since Ari’s bat mitzvah.”
Kaylan nods. “I have, right? All of my pants are short on me.”
“You’re gorgeous,” Bubbie says. “Two beauties.”
Kaylan looks around the apartment. “Wow, you really love lions,” she says. “You don’t even have a ton unpacked yet, and there are lions everywhere.”
Bubbie replies, “Well, I’m a Leo.”
“She is. And she’s basically a lion,” I tell Kaylan. “Strong and fiery and loyal and powerful and . . .”
“Okay, okay.” Bubbie shakes her head. “Enough flattery for one day!”
Kaylan laughs and suggests, “You should ca
ll this The Lion’s Den. . . . What do you think? Get a sign for the door or something. . . .”
Bubbie and Zeyda look at each other, smiling a little.
“Do you feel like since you love lions, people always buy you lion stuff, though, and it’s kinda too much after a while?” Kaylan talks like she’s a stand-up comic. “Because I went through this phase a few years ago where I was obsessed with rainbows and it was like, that was all anyone bought me for every occasion and it became wayyyyy too much. Rainbow pins, rainbow sweatshirts, rainbow stationery, even rainbow underwear.” She pauses. “I mean, where does it stop? Rainbow toilets? Come on, people . . . ya know? Maybe that’s where the whole too much of a good thing comes from. . . .”
Bubbie laughs so hard she starts coughing a little bit and I rub her back.
We spend another hour in the den, talking and organizing.
When it starts to get dark, Bubbie says, “You guys should go home now. Really. I’ll worry otherwise.”
“Someone could pick us up in a few hours. Really,” I mimic. “And then we could take the unicycle.”
“You’ll take it another day. I’m glad you want it.” She pauses. “Please listen to me. Thank you for coming and thank you for going.”
We all start laughing, and Bubbie and Zeyda hug and kiss Kaylan and me, and we start the walk home. It’s not even that dark yet, and today is one of the warmer winter days, but you can’t say no to Bubbie. When she tells you it’s time to go, it’s time to go.
“That was so great,” Kaylan says. “I really had no idea about the lion thing.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “It’s intense.”
“I like it. Also, she kind of looks like a lion in a way, with her red hair.”
“You think?” I ask.
“Totally. So what do you think about the comedy routine I tried out on Bubbie? It just sorta came to me. I want to be the kind of comic who talks about everyday stuff. . . .”
“The thing about the rainbows?” I ask. “Did you plan that ahead of time?”
“Not really, sort of . . . I think it’s a good bit.”
“It was funny, Kay! Bubbie certainly cracked up.”
She nods, all proud. “Do you think I could be an honorary Nodberg granddaughter now that they live here?”
“I don’t see why not,” I answer. “You’ve known them as long as you’ve known me. Welcome aboard.”
“Should I call them Bubbie and Zeyda, though? Even though I’m not Jewish?” she asks.
I scoff. “Yes, of course. Those are basically their names. It’s Yiddish for Grandma and Grandpa, but anyone can use the terms.”
“I kinda figured that. But wanted to check.” She links arms with me. “Did you think of any ideas for how to tell my mom about comedy camp?”
I look over at her. “I guess just be honest? It’s really the only way.”
We mull it over the rest of the way home, and when I’m inside I realize I never even asked Kaylan how the water park was. But then I realize I don’t actually care all that much.
I don’t have that terrible left-out feeling like I did over the summer when I didn’t get invited to the ice cream place.
I’m okay with doing my own thing, and I’m feeling pretty good about that.
3
KAYLAN
THE NEXT DAY, WE’RE ALL at lunch, telling the other girls we’re about to embark on a new list as soon as we come up with the items, or the items come to us.
“Oooh, can we help come up with some?” Cami asks, popping a sweet potato fry into her mouth.
Ari looks at me, and I look at her, but we don’t say anything.
“What about if you two do most of the stuff, and we help finish it out?” June suggests. “Because, like, you need thirteen things this time, right? That’s kind of a lot.”
I nod. Ari is only half paying attention. She’s more focused on buttering her bagel.
Marie jumps in. “Yeah, we’ll do the polishing items. Stuff you haven’t thought of, and give you an outside perspective.” She nods like she’s trying to get us to agree with her. “Please.”
I say, “Ari? Thoughts?”
“Oh, um.” Ari looks up from her bagel. “Sure, okay. But Kay and I have the final say.”
“Okay, then.” Cami rolls her eyes. “We didn’t think we’d, like, be in charge of the list or anything!” She laughs, but more in an annoyed sort of way.
“Calm down, guys,” I tell everyone. “I like this plan. We’ll keep you posted on our progress.”
“You guys, what’s the deal with that active shooter drill thing they talked about in homeroom today?” June asks, picking the lettuce out of her tuna wrap. “I am so confused.”
“It’s gotta be done,” Cami replies. “That’s the world we’re living in. Can you even believe it? I mean, I can but I can’t, ya know?”
Ari makes eyes at me from across the table. She’s such a zombie at lunch lately, barely talking, just nodding occasionally and usually studying for something with books on her lap.
I make eyes back at her, but truthfully, Cami’s not that bad. Yes, she’s kind of a know-it-all but she does know a lot of stuff, so maybe it’s okay?
“They’ll explain everything, I’m sure, before it happens,” I tell June, but really the whole table. “It’s just something schools have to do now because of all the dumb shootings, but it’s better to be prepared, right? Also, kids are really taking an active role in combating gun violence. Have you all read about it?”
Everyone nods, sort of halfheartedly, like this is something they haven’t thought about much.
“It’s totally ridiculous,” Ari finally chimes in. “I mean, what is wrong with this country? Why are people so insane about their guns? This doesn’t happen in other countries with this kind of regularity.”
Ari’s fired up and I love when she gets like this. Her words are fast and she’s talking with her hands like her whole body wants everyone to agree.
“I totally don’t get it,” Marie adds. “But I have an uncle who owns guns and goes hunting all the time and it’s really intense, but the thing is he knows how to properly secure them and stuff. That’s important. I think people are careless with guns and that’s the main issue.”
“I don’t agree. I’ll never understand why someone would want to own a gun. I’m sorry, Marie. You know I love you, but I don’t get that.” Ari shakes her head and gathers all of her lunch remnants. “I’m so glad all of those teens have spoken up and are taking an active role and trying to make a difference. They’re going to Washington to protest and organizing marches and everything. Anyway, I’m gonna go a few minutes early. I need to cram for this Spanish test.”
I hop up from the table and follow Ari out of the cafeteria.
“Ari.” I put my hands on her shoulders. “Another thing for the list.”
“What?” she asks, a little impatient-sounding.
“Start a movement,” I answer.
Her eyebrows curve inward and she waits for me to tell her more.
“Like you said, about the teens and gun violence and stuff . . . we could start our own movement.”
“What would it be?” she asks.
“That’s what we’ll figure out!”
Ari nods. “I like it! I really do need to go study for Spanish, though. Can we discuss more later?”
“Of course!” I give her a quick hug and walk back to the cafeteria, and when I get to the table Cami asks, “What’s up with her? It was weird she didn’t come to the water park and she’s weird again today.”
She’s asking the whole table, but I feel like she’s directing the question right to me. Because even though we’re all one solid group of friends now and Ari and Marie are pretty close, it’s still Ari and Kaylan as a solid unit and then everyone else. We just go together. I think it’ll always be like that. No matter what.
“She’s fine,” I tell everyone. “You know how she gets with studying and the crazy honors block. And the water park thing
—she just doesn’t like them.”
They all shrug halfheartedly and then move on to other discussions.
When it’s time to clean up from lunch, we all throw out our stuff and walk to our next classes. I’m not super worried about Ari and her out-of-it-ness at school lately.
It’s more the hot and cold. Like sometimes she’s super into something and fired up and other times she’s just sort of blah.
I don’t see Ari again until sixth period, when we’re sitting in our creative writing elective—our favorite time of the day. I think it’s because we can really express ourselves and get all of our feelings out on the page. Plus there’s no homework or tests or stress.
It’s bliss.
Our teacher, Ms. Graham, lets us write pretty much whatever we want. She’ll sometimes give us a prompt and then we go from there, but it can be any kind of writing—Kenny Youn is always writing these bloody horror-thriller pieces and Ms. Graham is fine with it.
“As long as it’s school appropriate,” she says.
So I always try to write something funny and then when everybody laughs, I feel like I can conquer and, like, heal the world with happiness. That’s kind of my goal in life.
I’m halfway into my piece about a hamster who becomes addicted to television when Ms. O’Leary, the new secretary in the main office, knocks on the door.
“Is Arianna Nodberg in this class?” she asks. “I know there’s been some elective switching and I’m not sure I have the most up-to-date version of the schedule.”
“Yes, she’s here,” Ms. Graham says. “Ari?”
I crinkle my eyebrows at Ari, my heart pounding. People only get called out of class when something bad happens, or the administration thinks something bad has happened.
“I have no idea,” Ari mouths to me. I grab her hand as she walks past me, about to leave the classroom. I wish I could go with her.
“Please take your things, Arianna,” Ms. O’Leary instructs. I’m thinking there should be some kind of course for people at schools who need to yank students out of classes. Shouldn’t she be saying something like don’t worry or you’re not in trouble or this isn’t a big deal? Grab your things is pretty much the worst thing you could say.
13 and Counting Page 2
