Her dad looked up hopefully. “I was thinking after dinner, we could get out the Scrabble board and play,” he said. “You and me, and Adam if he wants to. What do you say?”
“That sounds great,” Jenna responded, thinking, Anything’s better than another movie.
Her dad reached out and fluffed her hair. “Great, kiddo,” he said. “Why don’t you run and get Adam for dinner?”
On her way down to the basement, Jenna heard a car pulling into the driveway. “Are they back?” Adam called up to her, hearing her footsteps on the stairs.
“I think so,” Jenna said, walking over to sit next to him. “Listen, Ad . . . we’re having takeout for dinner again. That car we heard before was the delivery guy.”
Adam looked at her in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” he said, putting down his comic book. “That’s like, three meals in a row. I thought Dad would maybe grill hamburgers or something.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jenna said. She rolled her eyes. “He’s like, trying to be Superdad. How much do you want to bet he tries to take us to the zoo or something tomorrow?”
“Seriously,” her brother said, sitting up. “On the other hand, though, Mom hardly ever lets us eat restaurant food every night. Maybe this’ll be nice—kind of break up the monotony of Mom’s chicken and rice, chicken and noodles, chicken and potatoes . . .“ Jenna laughed. ” Chicken with asparagus . . .“ Adam went on.
Jenna picked up a couch pillow and whacked him with it. “Come on, loser,” she said. “Let’s go eat. And then I’ll kick your butt at Scrabble.”
“I can hardly wait,” Adam said dryly. He got up off the couch and Jenna followed him upstairs to the kitchen, where Steph and Matt were regaling their dad with tales from their long day at the mall.
Looking at the Chinese takeout boxes, Jenna suddenly had no appetite. “I think I’m gonna go to bed, Dad,” she said.
“Why, peanut?” he asked, looking concerned. “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just tired,” she said. “Long day, and all.” She walked out of the room.
“What about Scrabble?” her dad called after her. She stopped and turned back to him.
“Maybe tomorrow?” she said. “I’m really tired.”
Her dad got up and crossed the kitchen to where she stood, her arms crossed over her chest. “Really, Jen, are you feeling all right?” he asked.
“Seriously, Dad, I’m fine,” she snapped.
“Okay,” he replied. “But if anything’s wrong . . .”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just want to go to bed.” She walked away, even though she could tell her dad was still standing there.
In the bedroom that she was sharing with Steph, she lay down on her bed. After a few minutes, Steph walked in. “What’s up with you?” her sister asked accusingly.
“Nothing,” Jenna replied. “I’m just tired.”
“Look, Jen, I’m sure you had a boring day today. And don’t think it’s escaped me that this is the third meal of takeout we’ve had in the last two days. But don’t be so hard on Dad. He’s having a rough time right now.”
“Aren’t you bored too, Steph?” Jenna asked, sitting up on the bed.
“Yes. I totally am. Do you know what I did today?”
“No,” Jenna admitted. She looked up at her sister. “What did you do?”
“I went to the mall with Matt, who just wanted to ditch me and go hang out at the Discovery store or something. So I went to Barnes and Noble and read magazines. Like all the magazines. I was starting on Outdoor Living when Matt finally came and asked if we could go home.”
“Oh,” Jenna said. “I guess it was a pretty blah day for everyone.”
“Yeah, it was. Now, can you come eat dinner and play Scrabble with us?” Steph said, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently. “Seriously. Dad really wants to.”
Jenna got up. “Yeah, all right,” she said.
The two girls walked to the living room, where Adam had set up a card table and was placing chairs around it. Their dad walked out of the kitchen with a huge bowl of popcorn. Catching Jenna’s eye, he smiled. “Nobody wanted dinner,” he said. “Guess we just have to eat ice cream and popcorn.”
Jenna smiled. She had to admit, that didn’t sound too bad.
SUNDAY
In the morning, Jenna woke up before her sister and brothers and wandered out to the kitchen. She was hoping to catch her dad alone to ask him if they could go back home a little earlier than planned, just so she could meet up with friends or get some shopping done before school started. She wanted to get things ready for school after being away all summer.
But she stopped short in the doorway: Her dad was sitting at the table, but he had his head in his hands and his shoulders were shaking. At first, Jenna thought he was laughing—but then she realized that her dad was crying. She tried to back quietly away, but he looked up suddenly.
“Jenna! Good morning, sunshine!” he said, trying to act like nothing was wrong and quickly brushing a stray tear from his face.
“Morning, Dad,” Jenna said. She moved tentatively into the kitchen.
“Eggs? Toast? Sausage? Bacon? Porridge? Oatmeal?” her dad asked jovially, getting up from his chair and moving over to the fridge. As he poked his head in, she saw him again wipe at his eyes.
“Toast would be great,” she said.
“Great,” her dad said. “But you’d better have some eggs, too—I’ve got a big day planned for us. The zoo! Bowling! And I was going to take you guys out for pizza, but now I’m thinking maybe this cool sandwich place where I ate on the day I moved in. They make a BLT that’s six layers high!”
“Yum,” Jenna said halfheartedly. She smiled. “That sounds delicious, Dad.”
“Or we could save that place for next weekend, and go for sushi instead . . .” Her dad pulled a carton of eggs out of the fridge, closed the door, and reached onto the top of the fridge for a loaf of bread. “Whaddya think? Sounds like a great day, right?”
Jenna barely heard him. Looking at the expression on her dad’s face, she felt guilty for wanting to go home early, even though she did have a lot to do—he looked so excited at his idea of the perfect day. But . . .
“Right, Dad,” she said. “Great.”
“This is gonna be great, Jenna,” he replied. Jenna could tell he really wanted it to be, but she had a terrible feeling that not only was her parents’ divorce splitting up their family, it was going to make middle school even harder to get used to.
“Right. Great.” Jenna sighed. She only hoped it was the truth.
To: Aries8
From: NatalieNYC
Subject: happy sunday!
hey, jenna! just wanted to write you a quick note—sorry i had to go without talking much yesterday, but my best friend, hannah, showed up and we had plans to go shopping. i bought so much fabulous stuff! it’s so great being back in the city and being able to see my friends from home. i totally miss all of you guys, though!
are you SO relieved to be home? i mean, i just got back into the normal swing of things. i can’t believe i’m admitting this, but i’m actually kind of looking forward to next summer . . . but for the next 10 months, it’s sushi, frappuccinos, and shopping for me!
hope everything is going well. have a great time, and tell me how school goes once you start!
xoxo, natalie
chapter TWO
grace> MONDAY
Posted by: Brynn
Subject: Good morning, campers!
Can you believe school is about to start already? We’ve only been home for a few days, barely any time to relax, and all of a sudden we have to start getting up early again! I’ve really loved being able to sleep in again, though . . . and watch TV, and go shopping . . .
But I am excited to go back to school. It’s going to be so cool this year! At my school, the sixth-graders aren’t at middle school—they’re still at the elementary school, and next year we go to the junior high school. So this year, we rule
! I can’t wait.
Hey, Grace, are you going to join drama club? You have to! You were the best actress at camp by far (and you know it’s hard for me to admit that!).
My mom is calling—we have a Labor Day barbecue thing, so I better go. Happy Labor Day, everybody, and have a great first day tomorrow! Love, Brynn
Grace sat patiently as her mom slid two strips of bacon next to the steaming-hot eggs already on the plate in front of her. Across the table, her dad was doing the crossword puzzle in the newspaper and sipping a cup of coffee. “Grace,” he said, poking his head over the paper, “what’s a five-letter word for ‘mad,’ first letter L?”
Grace thought for a minute. “I have no idea, Dad, sorry,” she said. She made a funny little “angry” face and shook her fists, but of course, that was no help. Her dad sighed and went back to the paper.
“Livid,” her mom said, sitting down next to Grace with a plate of food for herself. “Need juice, Gracie?”
“I’ll get it,” Grace said. She got up and opened the refrigerator.
“So, Grace,” her father said, folding up his newspaper and looking at her with a serious expression. “How’s your reading coming?”
Grace pulled the carton of orange juice out from behind a stack of Tupperware and sat back down at the table. “Great!” she said. “I finished my last book last night. Bridge to Terabithia. It was really good. It’s about this girl who—”
“That’s wonderful, honey,” her mom interrupted her. “I’m very proud of how hard you’ve worked this summer. You’ll be perfectly ready to get back to school.”
“Definitely,” Grace agreed. “I am so excited. My friend Brynn posted on our camp blog this morning asking if I was going to join drama club, and I’m signing up first thing tomorrow! I can’t wait! Especially since Emily is going to be at a different middle school—this will be a good way for me to . . .“ She stopped when she noticed her parents exchanging one of their famous looks. Her face darkened. They knew she was nervous about making all new friends now that her BFF was zoned to a different school district! “What?” she asked, suddenly worried.
Her mom sighed. “Well, we’ve been meaning to talk to you about this, Grace. Your dad and I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to join the drama club this year.”
Grace put down her glass. “What? Why not?” she asked.
“Your mother and I think you need to focus on getting your grades up,” her dad responded. “You did a great job this summer with your reading, but you have to prove that you can continue working hard.”
“But Dad, I will keep working hard, I swear!” Grace promised. She could feel her face starting to turn red—a sure sign she was about to cry. “You saw how well I did this summer—I can keep working hard and join the drama club!”
Grace’s father shook his head. “Grace, I’m sorry. I’m not going to back down on this one.”
Grace looked at her mom. “Mom? Please?”
“No, honey, I’m sorry. Your dad and I discussed this already; we decided that you wouldn’t be allowed to join any extracurricular activities until we see real evidence that your grades are going up. I’m very sorry, and I am very proud of how well you’ve done so far and we know you can keep it up. You can join the club next year.”
Grace couldn’t believe they wouldn’t let her join the club. Over the summer, she had realized how much she loved to act—she loved being onstage, with people watching her while she performed. It was an amazing rush. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she shoved her plate away and stood up so fast that her chair fell over.
“I can’t believe this!” she exclaimed. Her chin began to tremble, and she had to run away before she completely broke down into tears. As she ran up the stairs, she really started to cry.
Grace threw herself onto her bed and sobbed with her face in a pillow. This stinks, she thought. This totally stinks. She rolled over, with tears still streaming down her cheeks, and sat up. Doing so, she caught a glimpse of her summer reading books, stacked neatly on her desk next to her computer.
She got up and crossed her room, sliding into the chair at her desk. She logged on to Instant Messenger, but none of her friends were online. Great, she thought. No friends, no drama club . . . Before the tears could slide out again, she opened up her Web browser and tried to distract herself. She knew she should respond to Brynn’s question about drama club, but she was mortified that her parents weren’t going to let her—and all because of her grades. Plus, Brynn had sounded excited about school starting, and Grace was decidedly not.
However, Julie, the counselor she’d had at camp, had set a blog up for all the bunkmates to keep in touch when they got back home, and Grace was interested in what was going on in everyone’s lives. She opened the site and found three new messages. One was a welcome note from Julie, which included Julie’s e-mail address, phone number, and mailing address. There was another message from Marissa, the counselor-in-training from their bunk, but Grace was the most excited about the message from her friend Alex.
Dear Other Campers, the letter began. Grace smiled. Typical of Alex to be so formal about something so friendly.
I hope everybody’s having a great time back at home! I know you are all missing getting up at the crack of dawn, smelling funny, and eating terrible, disgusting, horrible food. I am too. Anyway, I just wanted to write to tell you all that I miss you so much . . . and I hope we can get together soon! Let’s keep in touch here as much as possible—I want to hear about everyone’s sixth-grade experience!
Love,
Alex
Grace sighed. She was sure that other people were glad to be back with their friends—and she was, too—but she really wasn’t looking forward to her sixth-grade experience anymore. So far, it just seemed like it wasn’t going to be fun. She logged off of the computer without writing a response.
On the desk, next to her stack of books, was a picture from camp that Grace had framed when she got home. It was the cast from the camp play. She picked up the frame and looked closely at the picture. I look so happy, she thought. I guess part of it is that I thought I’d be able to keep acting. She sighed and put down the photograph.
Then a thought crossed her mind. She knew her parents wouldn’t be home from work until five thirty each night, and this year they’d decided she was too old for a babysitter. They’d given her a key and everything.
And drama club was after school every day from three to five.
So . . . Her mind was whirling. With no parents or babysitter home after school, no one would know what time she came home. And if she came home right away after drama, they would just assume she’d been there since three! It’s the perfect plan, she thought excitedly.
Nervous butterflies hit her stomach. It was risky, even though it seemed like it could work. It was just a matter of pulling it off. She decided she’d calm down, act totally mature through the barbecue, and then ask about drama club again.
And if they said no? Well, then Grace was just going to have to take matters into her own hands.
“Grace,” her mother called. “Let’s get going—it looks like rain, and I’d like to get to your grandma’s before it starts pouring.”
“Coming,” Grace yelled. She pulled on a light hoodie and stepped into her new sandals—well, not new new. She’d bought them before camp, but hadn’t brought them along because she didn’t want to risk them being ruined. They were leather, with awesome purple beading on the straps. She was sure they’d be a hit at the barbecue.
She ran down the stairs, where her parents were waiting by the door. “Grace, honey, don’t you think you ought to change your shoes?” her mom asked. “They’re leather, and if it rains . . .” She trailed off before describing the unspeakable horror of Grace’s leather shoes getting wet in the rain. “Why don’t you wear your sneakers?”
In that instant, Grace’s bad mood sparked back, but she held her tongue. “Good thinking, Mom,” she said, smiling sweetly. She changed into her s
neakers and followed her parents out the door.
It did start to rain the second they reached Grace’s grandma’s house. The barbecue was low-key, just family sitting around Grandma’s living room eating hamburgers off paper plates. Grace thought she did a pretty good job of acting grown-up and mature, so as they were leaving, after she buckled herself up in the backseat of her dad’s green sedan, she leaned forward and tapped her mom on the shoulder.
“So, about drama club,” she said sweetly, figuring it was worth one more shot.
“No, Grace,” her mother said impatiently.
“I’m just wondering if we could work out a deal,” Grace continued quickly. “Like if I can keep a B average, then I get to stay in it.”
Grace’s mother twisted around in her seat. “No, honey. If you get a B average we’ll talk about you joining next year.”
“But at camp . . .” Grace began to counter.
“Camp was different,” Grace’s father jumped in. “Camp was a couple of books, and lots of time to read. And lots of girls helping you. Camp was different than middle school. And you need to learn that, honey. I’m sorry. But the topic is closed.” To illustrate his point, he reached over and turned on the radio. A man’s boring voice droned out of the speakers, and Grace leaned back against the slightly sticky leather of the hot backseat.
“Can you turn on the air-conditioning?” she said, feeling defeated. For a moment, she’d really believed that her parents would have changed their minds while she was upstairs in her room. But she was wrong. Grace wasn’t the kind of girl who normally went against what her parents asked of her. But desperate times called for desperate measures, didn’t they?
TTYL #5 Page 2
