If I Were You

by Leslie Margolis

  Then Reese gets up and knocks me in the head, but it doesn’t hurt. We are all smiles. I love these boys. We are having a blast. Babysitting is fun!

  A few minutes later, I hear something strange and it seems to be coming from the kitchen—a weird sizzling type of noise.

  Uh-oh.

  I run back to find the water has boiled over onto the stove and the flames are shooting up high. I grab the pot and yell, “YEEEOUCH!!!!” I let go and shake out my throbbing hand. I’ve burned myself. And the water is still bubbling over.

  I turn off the flame with my good hand. Meanwhile, my burned fingers are red and swollen. They hurt so, so much that tears spring to my eyes.

  “Where’s dinner?” asks Reese.

  “We’re starving!” yells Ryan.

  I take a deep, shaky breath. “Hold on guys,” I manage to gasp. “I need a minute.”

  Okay, I tell myself. Don’t cry in front of the boys. Don’t cry in front of the boys. If they see you cry, they’ll get scared and that’s not good for anyone. I sniff and take another breath and run my throbbing red fingers under cold water. It helps a little.

  After that I turn the stove back on, add the spaghetti to the pot, and set the table.

  Eight minutes later the pasta looks done. I drain it, careful to use the oven mitts this time, and put it back in the pot and pour the sauce on top, stirring. I’m so proud. While only incurring a minor injury, I have made spaghetti and it looks delicious.

  When I go to get the boys, the living room is a feathery mess. “It looks like a chicken exploded in here!” I scream.

  The boys collapse into fits of giggles.

  “You’re so funny now, Katie,” Ryan says.

  Normally their laughs are infectious. Now I am annoyed, though. What will Jeff and Anya say? Will they blame the exploded pillow on me? Probably.

  “Dinner is ready,” I say. “Come on.”

  The boys run into the kitchen and I’m proud of what I’ve done. Spaghetti and red sauce, and I even set the table with a fancy, red-checked tablecloth and matching napkins. Their sippy cups are filled with apple juice and everything looks lovely.

  Reese sits down and starts to eat but Ryan is standing over his chair, about to cry.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I hate red sauce,” he tells me. “I wanted butter and cheese!”

  “Why didn’t you say so?” I ask.

  “Because I usually don’t have to. If you were really Katie, you’d know.”

  He’s sobbing and I’m not sure what to say. This is so superstressful.

  “I am really Katie. Never mind, Ryan. Of course I’ll make you new spaghetti. I just forgot. It’s been kind of a crazy day.”

  “Can I have orange juice instead of apple?” asks Reese.

  “Apple juice is yuck. I want chocolate milk,” says Ryan.

  “Oh, me, too,” Reese says as soon as I finish pouring his juice.

  This is impossible!

  Two hours later, the boys are bathed and in pajamas and sleeping upstairs. I’m collapsed in Katie’s bed, staring at the ceiling. I’m too tired to read, too tired to sleep, too tired to move.

  At 10 : 15 I hear the door open up. Jeff and Anya walk in, giggling.

  Then a few moments later Anya calls, “Are you still awake, Katie?”

  I drag myself out of bed and head to the top of the steps. “Hi, did you guys have fun?” I ask, peering down.

  Anya is looking at the mess, not happy. “What happened to the living room?” she asks.

  “The boys made a fort,” I say. “They didn’t get a chance to clean it up before bedtime but they promised they would in the morning.”

  “Katie, we talked about this,” says Anya.

  “We did?” I ask, because this is news to me.

  Anya sighs. “You know the kids aren’t allowed to build forts on weekends.”

  “Oh, right, but I don’t get why. If they can build forts sometimes, then why not whenever they want to? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It makes sense because it’s a rule that Jeff and I came up with. You can’t change the rules around here. That’s not your job.”

  “Okay,” I say, wondering why I’m getting a lecture. I sacrificed my whole night, took care of the boys, and did an awesome job of it, if I do say so myself. Meanwhile, Jeff and Anya haven’t even thanked me. But that’s okay. “I’ll definitely remember that the next time I babysit,” I tell them, checking my watch. “You guys have been gone for over four hours, wow! That’s a long time. Um, I can’t remember—what’s my usual rate?”

  Jeff squints up at me, confused. “You don’t get paid to take care of your brothers,” he says.

  “Wait. You’re kidding, right?” I ask. “This wasn’t a piano-practice trade. We already finished with that. And it’s a Saturday night. I just figured—”

  “Oh, Katie. We’ve been over this so many times,” says Anya, sounding tired.

  I am shocked. “Are you telling me that Katie babysits for free?”

  “It’s not babysitting, Katie,” says Jeff. “And why are you talking about yourself in the third person?”

  “I’m not.” I cough. “I mean, I babysit for free. All the time. So, um, can we go over this again? Why do I always have to babysit for free?”

  “We’re a family,” says Anya. “You don’t get paid for spending time with your family.”

  KATIE

  Hanging at the Mall

  As soon as I wake up on Sunday I choose another spectacular outfit: a leopard-print tank top with zebra-striped capris because of course all animal prints go together. Since the mall is overly air-conditioned I also snag Debbie’s faux-fur vest. At least I hope it’s faux …

  Kevin and I are meeting at the mall because he’s got to have brunch with his dad and some of their cousins. I take Melody’s fancy ten-speed and get there with barely enough time to get to our meeting spot at the Gap.

  As I stand there I realize that Kevin never specified whether he meant GapKids or GapBody or plain old Gap for grown-ups and teenagers. It would make sense, if you owned the Gap, to put all of your Gaps in one place at the mall, but for some reason that’s not what they did. GapKids is downstairs and it’s attached to babyGap. GapBody is on level three, next to Victoria’s Secret. And plain old regular Gap is tucked into the corner next to a giant department store on the second floor. That’s where I’m waiting. And I keep checking Melody’s phone but Kevin hasn’t responded to any of my texts. He’s fifteen minutes late.

  Maybe I’ll write a letter to the head of the Gap. Except that’s something I’d do as Katie, not as Melody. Melody would simply shrug her shoulders and say, “Oh well. That’s just how it is.”

  She doesn’t like to criticize. I never understood why. It’s not like Melody has nothing to say. She’s got lots to say. She simply doesn’t bother to actually say things out loud, usually. Even things that are important to her.

  She used to take this painting class a few years ago and she really loved it but it was all the way on the other side of town and it got in the way of her mom’s favorite spin class. Debbie talked Melody into quitting. “It’s not like you’re going to be an artist anyway,” she said. And Melody went along with it. She never complained out loud, but I know it bothered her. Because guess what? Melody loves art and she’s supertalented, too. Like she might grow up to be an artist if she wants to be.

  She used to constantly sketch stuff when we were younger and then she stopped, I thought for good. But I think she’s actually been drawing in secret now.

  I was going through her drawer last night and found an entire notebook filled with her drawings and most of them are really good. I don’t know why she never showed them to me.

  Glancing at my watch, I can now see that Kevin is twenty minutes late. This is unacceptable.

  I look around and notice I’m standing two doors down from Color Me Lovely. Melody and I only went once. It must’ve been four or five years ago, I can’t remem
ber exactly. What I do remember is that we made platters. Melody insisted and I don’t know why. Mine was kind of boring. The problem is that I can’t draw, so I made it blue. And my mom and Jeff actually use it, which is kind of embarrassing. I mean, it’s a dumb blue platter I made, and it even has a chip in it, but they don’t care. They act like it’s so great but I secretly think the issue is that we can’t afford to get a new, nonchipped platter.

  Melody’s platter was amazing. If I were her mom I’d use it every day. Except I’ve been living in her house for weeks and I haven’t seen it anywhere.

  Anyway, I’m standing here in front of regular old Gap, still waiting for Kevin, checking my phone for an apology text that hasn’t yet come. And this guy comes over to me and asks, “Need some help?”

  I look up. He’s tall and his shoulders are wide. He’s wearing a red baseball cap and a red T-shirt with jeans. He’s cute but way too old to be paying any attention to me. I bet he’s in high school. He may even be a senior in high school. He definitely looks old enough to drive. And in fact, he’s got car keys hanging out of his jeans pocket.

  I don’t know why he’s asking if I need help. I’m standing here minding my own business. “No. I’m fine.” I smile to be polite but he takes that as an invitation to stick around when all I want is for him to leave me alone.

  “Doing some shopping today?” he asks.

  “I’m waiting for my boyfriend, actually,” I say.

  The dude grins. “If you were my girlfriend, no way would I make you wait.”

  I look around, even more annoyed, wishing Kevin would get here already.

  “I’m JJ,” the dude tells me, holding out his hand.

  “Melody,” I say. I don’t shake his hand. I don’t want to be rude but I don’t want to be too nice, either.

  I don’t love the attention. I don’t even like it because it makes me so uncomfortable. Next time I check my phone it falls out of my hand and I bend down to pick it up. JJ does, too, and we bump foreheads and then I shout, “Ouch!” And I’m loud about it. Not simply because it hurts, although it does, but also because I’m furious with my boyfriend for not being here, for leaving me alone to deal with this annoying guy.

  “Oh no. You okay? I’m so sorry,” JJ says. He’s holding on to my arms and I don’t want him to, so I shake him off, and now here comes Kevin. Finally! When it’s too late.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Kevin asks me, looking from me to the guy and then back to me, again, confused. I get it. If I walked up to Kevin and found some random girl half hugging him I’d be weirded out, too. But I am too angry to say anything.

  “She’s with you?” JJ asks Kevin, like I’m a trombone or a bicycle or a puppy dog.

  Kevin stands up straighter and puts his arm around me, pulling me closer. “Yup.”

  He kisses me on the cheek.

  JJ waves and walks away.

  I wipe off the waxy residue but my cheek stays sticky and smelly.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks me.

  I guess it’s obvious I’m supercranky.

  “Nothing,” I tell him. But what I actually mean is, everything.

  I thought dating Kevin would be different. I thought we’d be elevated to a whole new social stratosphere. I thought we’d go to movies, take romantic walks on the beach, and have candlelit dinners at fancy restaurants. But instead here we are at the mall. And I’m kind of bored.

  Crazy thing is, I actually miss my real family, and the constant hiking followed by breakfast at Jinkey’s. I’m missing the smell of blueberry jam and the stickiness of the twins. I’m even missing being smushed between their car seats and having them wake me up crazy early to look at their Lego creations or to help them blow their noses or whatever.

  Kevin says, “You’re acting weird, Melo.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “It’s been a weird day.”

  “I’m not talking about today. I mean in general. You’ve been weird for weeks.”

  I don’t know how to respond, because he’s right but I can’t say why. We walk in silence for a while. I try to enjoy the moment, try to remind myself that I am hanging out at the mall with my gorgeous boyfriend, with my perfect body and perfect life. I have everything I‘ve ever wanted, yet somehow it doesn’t feel like I thought it would.

  Soon we run into a few of Kevin’s surfer buddies: Sanjay, Han, and Avi. Kevin gives them high fives. He’s always high-fiving everyone.

  “What are you dudes up to?” he asks.

  “We’re about to see the new Vin Diesel movie,” says Avi.

  “Oh, killer,” says Kevin. He looks at me with his eyebrows raised, like asking permission to go.

  “We saw it last week,” I remind him. But why do I even need to? He knows this. The entire movie was one two-hour chase scene with tons of explosions and noise. He thought it was the best thing he’d ever seen. I could barely keep my eyes open. Afterward we went out for ice cream and I tried to figure out why he thought the movie was so awesome, but all he could say was, “It just was.” And I kept pressing him because I really wanted to understand, but he finally got annoyed and said, “Don’t think about it so much, Melody.”

  And that was that.

  “Want to go again?” he asks me now. “Maybe you’ll like it better the second time?”

  “Are you seriously asking me to sit through that garbage again?” I huff, crankier than ever.

  His friends hold up their hands and laugh, saying, “Whoa, Melo. Not so mellow today.”

  It’s true. I’m not so mellow. I don’t want to be Melo Melody anymore. Melo Melody doesn’t get what she wants and she gets walked all over.

  “Guess the old lady says no,” Kevin says.

  After his friends move on, Kevin tries to grab my hand but I don’t let him.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  “Huh?” Kevin says.

  “Did you really call me your old lady?”

  “Oh, I was only joking around with my bros.”

  “They are not your bros. They’re guys you surf with.”

  “Yeah, but we’re tight,” says Kevin.

  “Know what? Why don’t you go to the movie with them if you guys are so tight? I’ll hang out here on my own.”

  Obviously I don’t mean this. I expect Kevin to apologize and say, “No way, Melody. We had plans. I’d never ditch you to hang out with some random surfer dudes. And by the way, sorry I was late meeting you and you look awesome in that new outfit.”

  Except he doesn’t say any of that. Instead he goes, “Okay, thanks.” And he kisses me on the cheek and takes off, leaving me alone at the mall.

  I am alone at the mall.

  This was not supposed to happen.

  I storm out the front doors, unlock my bike, and ride home. When Kevin comes by later on tonight, I’m totally going to give him a hard time.

  Except Kevin doesn’t come by tonight.

  He doesn’t show up the next night, either.

  And actually, he doesn’t even contact me for three days after that. And when he does? All he does is text.

  K: U missed an awesome movie.

  I ignore him.

  Melo?

  You there?

  Hello?

  He sends me some emoticons with smiley faces and hearts and a hand delivering flowers. Real flowers would be cool. I’ve never gotten any from a boy before, except for my father and he doesn’t count, obviously. But emoticon flowers? That takes zero effort! I am not impressed.

  I am so over this. I turn off my phone. Debbie is out again, so I head to the kitchen in search of a snack. The only thing vaguely appealing is kale chips. They are green and kind of furry, too. Still, desperate times call for desperate measures. I take a bite. I make a face. They are not delicious. Still, they are my only option. And if I close my eyes and crunch they at least sound a little bit like potato chips. I finish the whole bag.

  Later that night there’s a knock on my door.

  It’s Kevin.

  “What
do you want?” I ask.

  “I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

  “I can’t believe you ditched me at the mall,” I say.

  “Ditched you? I invited you to come with me.”

  “And I didn’t want to go!”

  “Right, and I did,” says Kevin with a shrug. “So it’s a win-win.”

  “It’s not a win-win. We had plans. We were supposed to hang out.”

  “Well, we can hang out now.” Kevin smiles and tries to high-five me but I ignore his outstretched hand.

  “No, thanks,” I say. “I’m kind of tired.”

  “I’m going surfing tomorrow,” he says. “Want to watch?”

  I don’t, actually. I want Kevin to be different. I want him to be the guy I thought he was before I knew him. But it’s not like I can ask for that.

  MELODY

  Rocket Ship Dogs

  I don’t know why, but I wake up a few days later thinking about Color Me Lovely again. Not the store, exactly, though. I’m thinking about my platter.

  You can’t take stuff home from Color Me Lovely right after you paint it. Everything has to be glazed and fired so it’ll last forever. And that can take days or sometimes even a week. Katie and I didn’t get to pick up our platters until the following Saturday.

  I remember the moment when I saw my finished work, how my chest swelled with pride.

  Katie’s mom had driven us to the mall that day and I could see she was impressed with my work. “This is extraordinary,” she said. “You are really talented, Melody.”

  “Check out mine,” Katie said, muscling her way in front of me and thrusting her plain blue platter into her mother’s hands.

  “Well, that’s lovely, too,” said Anya. “It’s a nice classic color. We can use this.”

  Anya winked at me like we shared a secret. And we did. Maybe it seems mean and competitive, I don’t know. But I was so used to Katie being better at everything—school, piano, and life in general. She always got what she wanted, was never afraid to stand up for herself. It meant a lot to me to know that my platter was better. That Anya thought I was talented.