I look around for Harrison. I wish we’d come together. He should be here by now, because I’m so late that this lady in a blue dress is already herding sixth graders onto the auditorium stage, where twenty desks and chairs are set up. I file in behind Joyce Ann Jensen and choose a desk as far from the audience as possible. I sit down and rock back in my chair and make my eyes into slits, as if I couldn’t care less about any stupid Math-a-thon. I don’t want to test my brain against other kids. It reminds me of competing with Elizabeth. Every time I’m up against her, I lose. And if I don’t lose, everyone thinks I cheated. Harrison is right. I don’t belong here.
I get up to leave, then I see Just Carol. She waves at me and I wave back. Then I do some lame made-up motions, as if I only stood up to stretch. I do this badly, like I am a close relation to Goofy.
Now, the answer lady in the blue dress starts talking about the rules. She is describing them in such detail she is making them twice as complicated as they really are. “In the event your pencil lead breaks or there’s a disturbance such as a fire alarm blahblahblah …” Finally, she hands out the problems. Then I’m not nervous, I’m bored. It’s so easy, a kindergartner could do it. I draw doodles on mine, because I am done way early. In fact, everybody finishes early, and by the time the buzzer goes off, the answer lady and her student helpers have already checked all the cards. Then the answer lady clicks on her microphone. “Excellent. 100 percent correct on the first heat. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give these kids a hand.”
By the fourth round, things start to get interesting and we lose a few people. Now it takes me the whole time to get the answer right, and I’m wishing I never agreed to do this. Why did I, anyway? Maybe, after this round, I should drop out. I don’t really know how smart I am and I’d rather not find out I’m twice as stupid as I thought. Why didn’t I think of this before? I look out at Just Carol. She is busy talking to Cave Man. Maybe I could develop a sudden case of stomach flu. The trick is I have to get it quick between the rounds. Not with a math problem sitting in front of me. I don’t want it to look like I really couldn’t do the question.
Only I’m too late now as the answer lady’s helper kid has just given me the fifth question. Shoot. I tap my pencil on the desk. I don’t like lies that require a big performance. And besides that, this question is way hard. It’s about a group of kids and how old they are if one is twice another’s age and so on. It’s tricky and I have to do it twice to make sure I have the right answer.
When the buzzer rings and the helper kids check the cards, Keegan and Madison and two other smart kids from my class are out. But I am not. I have my hand raised to tell the answer lady I’ve got to throw up, when one of the smart kids looks back at me. He is clearly surprised that I am up here and he is not. Something about this makes my blood burn, and when the answer lady calls on me, my mouth answers, “Never mind.” But as soon as they hand out the seventh-round questions, I’m furious at myself. Why didn’t I go when I had the chance? This one is way too hard. What if I really am stupid? I shouldn’t try my hardest. This is a dumb idea. If I try my hardest and fail, then what?
My face feels sweaty. My armpits are hot. Now I hate Just Carol. It’s her fault I’m going to make a fool of myself. Why did she come to this Math-a-thon, anyway? Art teachers aren’t supposed to come to Math-a-thons. If she wasn’t here, I’d leave right now. But while I’m thinking this, part of my brain is busy working the problem. My pencil is figuring the computations. They take a long time and that big second hand is ticking loud. Ker-tick. Ker-tick. Ker-tick.
I figure the answer with thirty seconds to spare and I breathe easier. I walk up to give my page to the answer lady, when suddenly I see the mistake. It pops up in my brain, like toast from the toaster. I sit down in a close-up seat and change the answer, then race to the answer lady just as the buzzer goes off.
The answer lady’s head is down as she checks our answer cards. There are only three of us now, so she doesn’t need help from the helper kids. I look over at Joyce Ann Jensen. She got her answer in early. She does her homework early, too. I wonder if she eats her breakfast the night before so she can have that done early, too.
The answer lady’s head shoots up. She smoothes her blue dress. I don’t want to hear what she says. But I am dying to know.
The PA clicks on. I keep looking at Harrison, pretending to ignore the answer lady. “Hmm, I can’t read this,” the answer lady says. “It must be Ann. Ann Mac-Fur-son,” the answer lady says. “The District 2 Math Champion for the sixth grade is Miss Ann Mac-Fur-son from Sarah’s Road School. Jasper Schwartz from Laredo Middle School and Joyce Ann Jensen from Sarah’s Road School are our runners-up. Congratulations to all of you!”
Harrison hears, too. He pushes his hair out of his eyes and smiles at me. Then he jumps on the stage and walks to the microphone.
The answer lady looks very uncomfortable, like he isn’t supposed to be up there and maybe she should call the National Guard. I am wondering what the heck he’s doing. This is very un-Harrison-like behavior.
“Excuse me,” Harrison says. He takes the microphone. “Her name is Ant,” he says. Then he hands the microphone back to the answer lady.
“Ant,” the answer lady tries this out, “Ant Mac-Fur-son.”
Harrison is smiling his one-dimpled smile. Apparently he’s not so worried anymore. He actually looks proud, as if we won this together. And I guess in a way we did.
Everybody is clapping. Just Carol and Cave Man are cheering and stamping their feet. The answer lady gives me a big old trophy cup and a certificate for a free ice cream sundae, and some guy in a knit hat is taking my picture. I think about how there are no trophies this big in my house.
There is a big smile on my face. I don’t mean for it to be there, it just is. It isn’t a phony smile, either. It’s like the feelings inside me are spilling out the hole in my face. I look out at the audience. There isn’t one person in this whole auditorium who thinks I’m stupid. No one here thinks Elizabeth is smarter than me, either. No one cares about Elizabeth at all. Everyone is clapping for me! No wonder Elizabeth likes this so much.
Just Carol seems very excited. She can hardly stop talking about what happened. She insists I describe every single problem, even the easy ones. I do, except I leave out the part about the stomach flu I was planning to get and how if I hadn’t seen her I would have walked out before the thing even started. I’m so happy I didn’t do this.
When Just Carol is finally out of questions, she looks around, and I think she is wondering if my mother is here. Then she says, “I’d love to take you two to lunch. Would you like to call your parents and see if it’s okay?”
“Sure,” I say, mostly because I don’t want this all to end. I want her to keep asking me questions and thinking I am smart for the whole rest of the day.
When I call, no one is at my house. I leave a message on the tape where I am, then Harrison and Just Carol and me go to lunch. We go to McDonald’s and I have only French fries. Just Carol lets me, too. That is how great this day is.
When we get to my house, my mom is in the yard clipping dead lavender off a bush. Kate is sitting in the shade of our maple tree, rolling pennies. My mom looks up at the sound of Just Carol’s car. She sets her clippers down, straightens her straw hat, and walks toward us. The trophy is so big, Just Carol put it in the trunk and now she has jumped out of the car to get it. She picks up my shiny brass trophy and hands it to me. The way she does this, it is as if I’ve won it all over again.
“So what is this?” my mother asks. She holds her chin with one hand and her elbow with the other. She stares at the trophy like she’s never seen one before.
“Antonia won first place in the Math-a-thon,” Just Carol explains. “We are all very proud of her.” Just Carol is smiling so wide, the corners of her mouth are practically touching her dangly earrings.
“You know, I’ve always been good in math, too,” my mother says. She smiles at Just Carol.
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nbsp; Just Carol nods. She stares at the trowel in my mom’s pocket.
“And you were there in your capacity as an art teacher?” my mother asks.
Just Carol frowns. “More or less.”
“I’m surprised they had room for you but not for any of the parents,” my mother says.
“Room?” Just Carol asks.
My mother stares at me. “I thought you told me they couldn’t get the gym space. They had to hold it in the library, so they uninvited all the parents.” She waits for me to say something. I say nothing. I am swinging my trophy by one of its handles. I know I have to be careful here. I can’t lie to Just Carol. That is our deal.
My mother runs her tongue over her teeth. “Apparently, that isn’t true,” my mother says.
“The Math-a-thon was in the auditorium. There was plenty of room,” Just Carol says. She is looking at me. I wonder if she is going to be mad about this.
“Liar, liar, Ant’s on fire,” Kate sings from her patch of shade under the maple tree.
“Well, I couldn’t have gone, anyway. It was my eldest daughter’s dress rehearsal for The Nutcracker. She is Clara, you know,” my mother says as she runs her hand down her neck. It is long like mine. Not squat like Your Highness’s. I have never noticed this before.
“No, of course you couldn’t,” I say as I start toward the house. “Everybody understands that.”
“What exactly do you mean by that, young lady?” my mother asks me.
“Nothing, I’m only agreeing with you is all. I am in complete agreement,” I say as I pull open the front door.
20
FAMILY NIGHT
It is Saturday night and my father is coming home from New York. We are picking him up at the airport and then he’s taking us out to dinner. It’s a Mexican place I love because it has plain tortillas and free refills on root beer, which come with maraschino cherries, if you ask.
My mother has already told us that my father doesn’t know if he got the job or not. She says they are thinking about it and he won’t know until next week. Still, Elizabeth and me aren’t taking any chances. We are going to start working on him as soon as we see him.
When my dad gets in the car, Elizabeth begins right in kissing up to him. She is so good at this. She and my mom and dad are laughing now as if they are the only people in the world. I’m a little unhappy, but not as much as usual, because I know Elizabeth is on special assignment. She is working full-time to get on my dad’s good side. We need her there.
When we get inside, Kate studies the menu to see how much everything costs. “If I order something cheaper than Elizabeth and Antonia, can I have the difference in cash?” Kate asks.
“I like your entrepreneurial spirit,” my dad says. “But I don’t think so, honey. Why don’t you just order what you want to eat.”
“Anything on the whole menu?”
My mother shakes her head no. “Anything on the kids’ menu,” she says.
We order and our dinner comes fast. I gobble down two plain tortillas because I’m really hungry. I am on my second root beer when my father says, “I have some good news.”
Elizabeth and I look at each other. He wasn’t supposed to have any news at all. We look at our mom. She is breaking bits of her tostada shell and making a little pile of fried tortilla pieces. I have never seen her do this.
“I’m not going to be working so hard anymore. I’m going to have a lot more free time for all of you.” My dad smiles his big salesman smile.
“Did you get the job here?” Elizabeth asks. She is staring at my dad like she has X-ray eyes that can see through his brain. I’m afraid to look at him directly. I try to skewer the cherry in my root beer. Kate doesn’t seem to understand what’s happening. She is busy coloring the chili peppers on the kids’ paper place mat.
“I got the job. I’m not going to be in charge of new offices. They’ll be some travel, but not as much. And the lady I’m going to be working for is really terrific. It’s a little more money and a lot more respect.”
My mother is digging at her mashed-up corn with the red cactus-shaped chip, which is supposed to be a garnish. If it were me doing this, she would tell me to stop playing with my food.
My dad’s smile seems uneasy now. He is looking from my mom to Elizabeth to Kate to me.
Elizabeth begins her nervous rocking motion. Her hands are covering her face as if she doesn’t want to see what will happen next.
“You said the job was here, right?” I tap on the table. I’m not looking at him. I can’t bear for him to look me in the eye and tell me this isn’t true.
“Where is the job?” Elizabeth asks.
“Now look, honey …,” my father says.
“Where?” Elizabeth repeats, louder and tougher this time.
My father sighs. “You can’t just look at one isolated factor. You have to look at the big picture. You have to take a step back and consider …”
Elizabeth blows air through her nose and shakes her head. She closes her eyes. The tears squeeze through her closed lids. “Mom, is the car open? May I have the keys?” she asks.
“Elizabeth, let’s talk about this,” my father says. “It isn’t that bad. I’m not taking you to some Godforsaken part of the country, you know. We’re going to Connecticut. It’s lovely there, truly it is. And—”
“Please, Mom, the keys.” Elizabeth wiggles her outstretched hand. Her eyes are wet. She isn’t looking at anyone.
My mother digs the keys out of her purse and drops them in Elizabeth’s hand.
My father’s eyes are confused. He really doesn’t understand. “Connecticut is a beautiful place. You’ve never even been there. You don’t know. We are about to get the things we want in our lives. The things your mother and I have worked so hard for …”
Elizabeth’s chair squeaks against the floor as she pushes it back. She places the cord of her small pink purse on her shoulder, runs her hand through her hair, and walks across the floor. We all watch her go. Other people in the restaurant do, too.
“You know, she’s the last person I expected to act this way,” my father tells my mom. He looks in my eyes. For a second, he seems to think about pitching to me, then he settles on Kate. She is his fan club now.
“I work so hard for you—all of you …,” he tells Kate. “This is a really good move for me. Less travel. More money. I get out from under that lunatic Dave.”
Kate is watching my father with complete attention. She is interested in the way he does everything.
“How much more money?” Kate asks.
“Well, more. Let’s leave it at that.” My father smiles. He loves this.
“Do they have Wells Fargo in Connecticut?” Kate asks.
“I’m not sure,” my father says.
“Because I can’t go if I have to change banks. When you have to change banks, there are fees. They told me that when I opened my account.”
“I’m leaving,” I say. “None of this really concerns me, anyway. I’m not a part of this family. I never have been.” I look straight at my dad.
“Jesus Christ, Antonia, can’t you think of a better game than that?” my mother says. She is holding her head, like it hurts.
I walk past the tortilla machine that is stamping air because no one has fed it any of those dough balls. I walk past the sombrero filled with peppermint candies. I walk out the door.
In the parking lot I find our blue Honda with my dad’s suitcase in the back. Elizabeth is sitting in the backseat. Her face is buried in her hands. She is sobbing like I have never seen her cry before.
I don’t say anything. I sit there watching a man load his groceries into the cab of his metallic green truck. I am angry—angry at myself. I should never have believed my dad. Never.
When we get home, Elizabeth goes straight to her room. I scoop up Pistachio, walk into the hall, and knock on Elizabeth’s door. She has her Do Not Disturb, Dancer in Training sign on the door.
“Who is it?” she calls out.
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“Me,” I say.
“Enter,” she says.
I open the door a crack and poke my head in. Elizabeth is sitting on her bed, needlepointing. She is working on a screen that has two pink satin ballet slippers painted on. The ribbons from the slippers spell the words “Strive for Excellence” in curvy pink handwriting. “Can I bring Pistachio in?” I ask.
“Just don’t put him down,” she says without looking up from her work. I stare at her room. It is so pink, it makes me feel as if I’m looking through pink-tinted glasses. When Elizabeth likes something, she likes it all the way.
“Think Mom will stop him?”
Elizabeth blows air out of her mouth. “Has she ever?
“No. But I don’t think she wants to move.”
Elizabeth shrugs. “She’s sick of rentals. She wants her own house.”
“We need to do something,” I say.
She shrugs again.
“Any ideas?” I ask.
Elizabeth shakes her head. She doesn’t look up.
I look at Elizabeth. She is sad, but there is something else. Something fishy. It isn’t like her to give up. “What’s going on?” I ask.
She jerks the needle through the screen, but says nothing.
“Come on!”
She looks up at me. “If you tell Kate, I’ll kill you,” she says.
“Tell Kate what?”
“Promise on Pistachio’s life. Touch him and say it, but don’t let him down. I don’t want him stinking up my room,” Elizabeth commands.
I put my left hand on Pistachio’s back and my right hand up in the air. “I promise on Pistachio’s life,” I say.
“I’m going to stay with Miss Marion Margo until after The Nutcracker and then maybe the next year. And then who knows, maybe I’ll stay with her forever!
Notes from a Liar and Her Dog Page 12
