“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t realize.”
I shot him a hard look and hissed at him. Then I raised my right hand and clawed at the air.
“Camille, I brought you something,” he said.
I loved it when my father brought me things.
“Jelly beans?” I asked.
But he shook his head and held out a book. It was about Australia.
“Australia?” I asked.
“It has information about dingoes in it,” he said.
“Oh.”
It was a big book. I flipped it open to the dingo chapter. There was a picture of a long fence.
“It’s to keep the dingoes away from the sheep,” my father said. “It’s led to an increased number of kangaroos.”
“That’s horrible,” I said. Because I didn’t want to think about dingoes eating helpless sheep and interesting kangaroos. “I don’t like it when mammals eat other mammals.”
“But you eat hamburgers,” my dad said.
I frowned. “That’s different. We buy them at the store,” I said.
My dad smiled. “Do you want to grab something to eat? Would it be okay to eat pizza? Do cats like pizza?” he asked.
“Meow,” I said, crawling toward his shoes and rubbing my head against his jeans. For added effect, when he bent down to pet me, I licked his hand. I thought about biting him, but I didn’t want to take things too far.
“Let’s leave a note for your mom,” he said.
Once we got in the car, I dropped the whole cat routine. I explained to my dad that for safety’s sake, I abstained from Method acting while in moving vehicles.
“Abstain is a pretty impressive word,” he said.
“It was a bonus spelling word last week,” I said. “My teacher is very advanced.”
Eating pizza with my dad was stressful. He wanted to talk about serious stuff. He kept asking about school, and Mom, and my self-esteem, and Mom, and my friends, and Mom, and Mom’s self-esteem, and blah blah blah. Then he’d go on and on about his love for me and for Mom and how even if he didn’t live at the house, he’d still like to come over and mow the lawn all summer and blah blah blah. Everything always led back to Mom. I wished we’d have been talking on the phone so I could have just pressed the 9 button.
“You’re stressing me out!” I finally said. “I don’t know what Mom thinks. Hello! I’m Camille McPhee, not Maxine McPhee.”
To be honest, when I said this, my mouth was stuffed full of pizza, and no real words came out. I just mumbled in a very angry tone.
“I know, honey. I’m upset too,” my father said, rubbing my shoulder and picking off some more cat hairs.
When we got home, my mother wasn’t there. She had taped two notes on the kitchen chandelier. One for me. One for my dad. My note said that she wouldn’t be home until very late, because she was teaching three aerobics classes in a row. I don’t know what my father’s note said. After he read it, he folded it up and slipped it in his shirt pocket. Then he faked a very fake smile.
That night, it took me a long time to fall asleep because I kept trying to listen for my mother’s car. I planned to eavesdrop on my parents’ conversation so I’d know what in the heck was going on. But all I could hear on the other side of my door was silence. Even though I didn’t have to use the bathroom, I got up and walked to the bathroom several times. On my last trip, I noticed that my mother still wasn’t home. And that my father was stretched out in a sleeping bag on the couch, snoring softly.
When I got up to go to school the next day, my father was outside whacking the weeds. He’d pulled the lawn mower out of the garage too. Which was good. Because Mom had missed several important patches of grass. My father saw me watching him and he waved. I waved back. It was nice having him around again.
When I walked to the refrigerator, I realized that my mom was already gone. I thought it was pretty convenient for her that I hadn’t seen her since I’d found out she’d given my cat away. A little too convenient.
My mom and dad had each taped a note for me on the kitchen chandelier. They both wished me good luck on the play, and told me that they’d be there. My father said he’d be there with bells on. My mother said that wild horses couldn’t keep her away. Reading those notes, I made an important decision. If my parents ever made it to mediation, I was going to write their mediator a letter and explain how screwed up our ability to communicate was. I may have only been in fourth grade, but I knew that taping notes to a chandelier like this was completely weird. In fact, it was so weird I decided I had to call Aunt Stella.
AUNT STELLA: Aren’t you supposed to be in school?
ME: I’m on my way to the bus stop.
AUNT STELLA: What’s going on?
ME: Dad is sleeping on the couch.
AUNT STELLA: Sometimes that happens.
ME: But sometimes it stops happening, right?
AUNT STELLA: Yes, sometimes that’s true.
ME: My play is today.
AUNT STELLA: The one where you’re a cat that dies in a rainstorm?
ME: Yes.
AUNT STELLA: I’m sending you a lot of luck.
ME: I think I’ll need it.
AUNT STELLA: You’ll be spectacular.
ME: What if I fall off my bucket?
AUNT STELLA: You won’t.
ME: (sigh)
AUNT STELLA: I’m going to call you after the play.
ME: I think Mom is taking me out to celebrate.
AUNT STELLA: Well, I’ll call her cell phone. I want to know how things went.
ME: She has a new cell phone. Her ringtone sounds like a parakeet and a hammer. But really it’s the song of the red-bellied woodpecker.
AUNT STELLA: Well, that was always her favorite bird.
ME: She buys a lot of things.
AUNT STELLA: I know.
ME: I wish she didn’t. I also wish we didn’t have a mortgage. Do you have a mortgage?
AUNT STELLA: Yes. Most people who have homes do.
ME: That’s too bad. Hey, Aunt Stella, Mom’s taping notes to the chandelier.
AUNT STELLA: For who?
ME: Me and Dad.
AUNT STELLA: Oh, Camille. Sooner or later, things will improve. They’re in a rut.
ME: The rut makes me sad.
AUNT STELLA: I’m sorry, sweetheart.
ME: Me too. I think I better go.
AUNT STELLA: Break a leg!
ME: That’s exactly what I’m worried about.
I wanted to talk longer, but I knew I couldn’t miss the bus. When I looked out my window, I could see Polly shuffling down to the end of my driveway I wasn’t in the mood to see her. I was in the mood to avoid her. Instead of waiting in line, I decided to run out of my house right as the bus was stopping. I downed a banana for extra energy. Then I cracked open my front door and assumed the position that I’d seen runners take in Olympic races.
When the bus brakes gasped, I acted like somebody had shot the starting pistol. You should have seen me fly. I may not have been good at running long distances, but for a fourth grader, I was a very good sprinter.
Chapter 31
Knee-Locking
All morning long, I avoided Polly Clausen like she was infected with the superbug. In my mind, I imagined that Polly knew she had the superbug, and that she was purposely trying to track me down so that she could give it to me. But I outsmarted her by peeking around corners before I walked around them.
To be honest, avoiding Polly was pretty easy—she being a parrot, me being a cat. I never really had to look around too many corners, because she was getting ready at the opposite end of the school.
Butterflies zipped through my stomach as the cats prepared to enter the stage for our first performance. All seven of us stood in a line outside the gymnasium. Clearly, I had one of the best tails. It was long and velvet and my mother had sewed it herself with material she had bought several years ago, intending to make throw pillows. Gracie
had better ears. She said they were mink, and I believed her, because when I touched them they felt like real fur. Mine were just black construction paper held in place with bobby pins. We all had the same black Lycra bodysuits and tights, although they looked best on Penny, by far the tallest cat. And everyone else had better faces. I couldn’t help myself. All morning long—after Mrs. Zirklezack had decorated our skin with face paint—I kept touching my made-up face, smearing my whiskers and rubbing off the tip of my black nose.
I held my big white bucket by its metal handle and stood in my assigned place in line.
You won’t fall off, I told myself.
When Mrs. Zirklezack opened the back door, that was the cue for the cats to race into the gymnasium and take their places. When we stood on top of our plastic buckets and sang, “We Can’t Go, We Won’t Go,” Mrs. Zirklezack insisted that we do it with snotty faces and taunting body actions. I wasn’t totally sure what a taunting body action was, so I just copied what Penny did.
We were supposed to belt our song right at Nora and her bus of animals as they drove off. We were supposed to sing until the third thunderclap. Then we were supposed to step off of our buckets and curl up and be silent.
I don’t know why construction-paper ears made a head itch so much, but mine sure did. With my free hand, I scratched around my ears again and again. I kept knocking them crooked. But Penny was nice. She kept setting her bucket down and straightening them for me.
“You have really nice hair,” she said. “It’s very silky.”
I smiled. And scratched my head again.
“Stop it,” Penny said, “or you’ll look stupid.”
I nodded. I didn’t want that.
“I think I’m going to yowl,” Penny said, twirling her tail with her hand.
I was surprised to hear Penny say this.
“Mrs. Zirklezack said no noise,” Gracie said, flipping around to face Penny.
I liked Penny’s idea. I hated that I had to die.
“We should do the play the way we’re supposed to,” Nina said.
She looked right at me, like she wanted me to support her, but I didn’t. I liked Penny’s idea better.
“Maybe we could yowl a little,” I said.
Zoey Combs didn’t like this idea.
“Let’s not make a scene. My whole family is coming,” she gushed, “even my grandmother from North Dakota. I’m dedicating my performance to her. I’ve sewn her name into my outfit.” Zoey set her bucket down and lifted her long brown hair off her back with both hands. The name THELMA had been stitched onto her Lycra bodysuit. It sparkled across her upper back in little silver sequins.
I thought that was tacky. But maybe I would have felt differently if I had a living grandma.
“I don’t know if I’ll yowl,” Lilly said. “But I might meow a few times. I mean, we are cats.”
Penny smiled at me.
Standing in line, I couldn’t stop thinking about my mother and my father. I figured they were both already inside the auditorium. They probably wouldn’t speak to each other, but it was still nice having them in the same room.
Mrs. Zirklezack opened the back door and waved her arm as if she were directing traffic. “You’re on,” she said, hitting us on our rears as we rushed past her into the gymnasium. Over a hundred people sat in the bleachers clapping for us. Nora and her bus of animals were almost loaded. She was trying to corral the final pair of chimpanzees.
We stood on our buckets and burst into song, describing how much we wanted to get on the bus. But then, midway through, the song changed its message and we sang about how much fun we were going to have with everyone else gone. We twirled our tails, wiggled our hips, and clawed at the audience with our hands. Mrs. Zirklezack continued to coach us from the sidelines.
“You’re sassy cats,” she whispered loudly. “Sassy cats!”
I was trying so hard to be sassy that I was sweating like a hog. Which really worried me. Because sweat was slippery stuff.
As our song came to a close, I watched the large cardboard bus close its cardboard door. Nora and the animals inched across the gymnasium floor toward a picture of a sunny mountain. Lots of animals poked their heads out of the bus windows. Even Tony and Boone. I looked down our line at the other cats. This was a bad idea, because it made me wobble. But I was determined not to fall. When things got shaky, I lifted up one foot. I was surprised how easy it was to stand on my bucket on my right leg. Because I was right-armed, right-nostriled, and right-eyed, I figured I was right-legged, too.
I know I was the only cat standing on one leg because I watched the other cats. They did an excellent job clawing at the audience. Except for Gracie. Her legs looked stiff and her body kept swaying.
“I think we’ve got a knee-locker,” I whispered to Nina. “Gracie has locked her knees tight. She’s not keeping her pelvis loose like Elvis.”
Nina looked concerned. Since first grade we’d been warned by Mr. Fonseca, the choir leader, that when performing we should always keep our knees soft or else they’d lock.
“Bend your knees a little and keep your pelvis loose like Elvis,” he’d say, circling his hips wide like a hula dancer.
Mrs. Zirklezack had repeated this several times: “If you lock your knees, you’ll faint. And after that, you’ll vomit.”
I remember being surprised to learn this.
Nina was two cats away from Gracie. Nina was bold. She got down off her bucket and walked over to Gracie. Half of the cats stopped singing. Mrs. Zirklezack was yelling at us to keep going. Cameras flashed in the audience. I couldn’t see my mother or my father.
When Gracie went down, she toppled off her bucket like a cut tree. Nina and Penny helped break her fall, lowering her and her stringy hair onto the ground. Which was really nice, because if they hadn’t, she could have suffered a contusion. The audience cheered. They thought it was part of the show. Gracie’s soft moans were drowned out by the applause. I was the last cat off its bucket, because I wanted everyone to be clear that I hadn’t fallen. But in all the excitement, I stepped off my bucket really hard and jammed my big toe. Lightning flickered behind me.
“Ouch!” I said. The pain made me forget where I was. I even forgot I was a cat.
Penny was next to me and she must have thought I had released a yowl, because she started making sounds like she was hurt too, like she was dying.
All of the cats joined in. Even Nina. We cried and shrieked and refused to throw in the towel. It sounded like we were being burned alive instead of slowly drowned. Mrs. Zirklezack had stooped down to our level and was on her hands and knees, slapping the floor from the sidelines and shouting, “No! No! No!”
The lights dimmed as the piano beat out a racket that sounded like thunder.
“I want to live,” Penny hollered. “I want to have a family.”
“Meow,” Nina shrieked.
Lilly, who usually died first in practice, dramatically twitched on the ground.
I looked at the audience. That’s when I realized that I didn’t want to die either. I would be sending the wrong message to everyone, even my parents. Because life has ups and life has downs. Sometimes you struggle, but I don’t think you should ever give up. I think that’s true even for cats. So I did what felt right. I did what I thought I’d do if I actually lived in Nora’s rainy factory world.
I jumped to my feet and clutched my heart. “Nora,” I cried. “There must be room on that bus for one more.” I ran to the bus and pulled at the door.
“You’re supposed to die,” Jasmine Rey snapped at me.
From a small window, I could see Tony Maboney’s gray turtle face glaring at me. But I didn’t care. I pulled hard on the bus door until it swung open. Mrs. Zirklezack stormed onto the stage and grabbed me by my waist.
“I don’t know what this is about,” she said, jerking me off the stage. “You’re going to damage the props.”
The audience laughed. Mrs. Zirklezack pulled me so fast that I couldn’t keep up.
At one point, she yanked my tail and it came right off. But it didn’t hurt. I spotted my mother and father seated in the same row, separated by several people. I blew them kisses.
Chapter 32
Aftermath
It’s hard to find the right words to explain exactly how I felt after being dragged off the stage and having my tail ripped off my butt. But I didn’t have much time to think about it. Because I heard my dad’s voice. He sounded mad. He sounded like he was blowing up.
My father ran out of the audience and zoomed across the gymnasium’s hardwood floor. His thick boot heels left several dark scuffs.
“I can’t believe this!” he said. “Stop it!”
He took my tail from me and wagged it at Mrs. Zirklezack. “Get ahold of yourself, lady!” he said.
“This is Mrs. Zirklezack,” I said.
“Your daughter is ruining the entire play!” she yelled back. “Look at her.”
But he didn’t. My father looked Mrs. Zirklezack up and down. “It’s life,” he said, nostrils flaring. “Fourth graders aren’t perfect. Crap happens.” His face was bright red.
“Don’t use that kind of language with me,” Mrs. Zirklezack said.
My father held my tail in his hands and gripped it firmly. When Mrs. Zirklezack had pulled it off, she’d split open an important seam. White stuffing bulged out of the tail’s middle.
“You broke her tail,” my father said. “Who’s going to pay to fix it?”
Then, the next thing I knew, my mother was racing toward us, her hair flying around her face, her high heels clicking across the floor. She sounded angry too. I guess she’d heard what my father had said about my tail, because she said, “We’re in public. Stop being such a tightwad!”
My mother grabbed my tail out of my father’s hands. “I can patch this,” she said.
Because my mother had called my father a tightwad, I thought he was going to say, “Stop trying to manipulate me, Maxine!” But he didn’t. He just stood there.
“Do you want me to go get my bucket?” I asked Mrs. Zirklezack. During practice, we’d been told that it was our job to carry them off the stage.
Camille McPhee Fell Under the Bus ... Page 17
