I swayed as I dug in my pocket again. I gave her the rest of the money. Her palm was hard and bumpy and dirty. Her hand closed over the money.
A Fight
At lunch, Sara was talking about the play. “My father saw it in New York City.” She started listing all the things he had told her to watch for, and how he thought Shakespeare was so great and not all that hard to understand.
I picked at the macaroni in front of me—the same thing we’d had for supper last night. Ladine had eaten with us again. Sitting across from her—listening to her talk, watching her mouth open in a laugh at something Spencer said—I’d started feeling nauseous. I kept seeing her purse on the bureau, my hand dipping into it.…
I couldn’t stop thinking about it at lunch, and it got all mixed up in my mind with the homeless woman, the way she snatched the money, how she had looked at me, so gratefully, as if I’d done something wonderful.
“And he says that this is just a great play to see for your first Shakespeare experience, and the thing to remember—”
“Are you still talking about your father?” I burst out. My head was pounding. “Will you please, at least, talk more quietly, please!”
“Excuse me? What did you say?”
“I don’t want to hear anything else about the play, Sara. In one half hour, we’ll get on the bus, and one half hour after that we’ll be in the theater, and—”
“I know that, Vicki. What is your problem?”
“What is yours, Sara? Cant you ever talk about anything except your father?”
Sara stood up. “I’m going to go sit with Nikkee Garcia. Do you want to come?”
“You don’t want me to come, do you?” I said.
“It’s up to you. I’m not telling you what to do”. She buttoned her sweater and walked over to Nikkee’s table. Nikkee snapped her gum, and Sara laughed as she sat down.
I sat there, watching them talking, as if they were best friends. I stood up and stumbled out of the lunchroom.
On the bus, I sat with tiny-voiced Klaera Leesum. Sara was up front, in the seat behind Nikkee, playing with Nikkee’s long, thick black hair. My head hurt, and I was glad that Klaera had such a soft voice. “Don’t listen to Mr. F.,” I said. “I mean, about your voice. It’s perfect.”
“How come you and Sara aren’t sitting together?”
“Fight,” I said.
“Serious one?”
I stared at the back of Sara’s head. “Dumb one,” I said. “My fault.”
“Oh, you’ll make up.” Klaera patted my knee, as if she was my mother or something. “You’ll make up,” she said again.
In the parking lot, Mr. F. had us all wait while he reminded us of our manners. Then he led the way to the theater. I was with Klaera, behind Sara. Klaera gave me a look and mouthed, Go on.
I touched Sara on the shoulder. “Are you still mad?” Sara shrugged. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I acted stupid. I didn’t feel good. Like, right now, I have a pretty horrible headache.”
“Really?” Sara turned to look at me. “Is that true?”
“Yes.”
She pursed her lips. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I felt too awful to say I felt awful.”
“That is so—” Sara shook her head. “So …”
“Stupid,” I supplied.
“Right. Stupid.” She looked back at Klaera. “Do you agree?”
Klaera lifted her shoulders. “Stuff happens,” she piped. “That’s what my mom always says.”
I fell into step next to Sara. “If you’re not still mad, would you please smile?”
“I’m not mad,” Sara said. She tipped her head in that way she had. “I just don’t feel like smiling yet. Maybe, in about three minutes.”
“I’ll wait,” I said.
The play was good, although toward the end my eyes ached so much and my stomach was doing such strange things that I couldn’t keep track of what was going on. As we were all getting back on the bus, I stumbled on the stairs. Mr. Franklin caught my arm. “Steady there. So, Vicki, I know you didn’t want to come to this play. Are you glad now? Was it worth it, after all?”
“Worth it?” I repeated, remembering Ladine’s money. My stomach heaved, I gagged, and threw up all over Mr. Franklin’s shoes.
Sick Poem
Chattering teeth,
burning lips, swollen eyes,
aching hips, slipping into sleep.
Mom here
bends low
to my ear. Sleep,
my sweetie, it’s the flu,
you’ll be fine in a day or two.
Rest now.
Mom sweet,
Mom, so tender …
must confess … everything …
gather breath … breathe her name … She’s gone
like air
or wind
or the thing that
is the thing that I meant
to say … and I’m asleep again …
asleep …
Vicki, Nikkee, Sara & Klaera
The day I go back to school, Sara, Nikkee, Klaera, and I saunter down the hall together at lunch break as if we’ve been friends forever, and take one of the little round tables, drawing our chairs in close. We are elbow to elbow as they all take turns telling me they missed me this week and I should never get sick again. Then Sara leans over and kisses me on the cheek and I almost start crying, and I’m thinking, I’m not going to be lonely ever again.
We trade food and talk around the table, talking about everything. Tiny Klaera is filled with talk, talk flies out from her mouth and her arms and her fingers, and her hair is almost on fire with talk. She has six sisters and one little brother and six stories about each one. Nikkee is leaning on her elbows and laughing, and Sara keeps looking at me and making funny faces, and I’m happy, I’m so happy, but all the time in some far back part of my brain, like a distant land, like some place I once visited, I see a certain picture—the picture of Ladine’s room—the window, the curtains, the bed, the bureau, and then my hand in Ladine’s purse.
The same picture plays over and over, never changes, like a video on pause. I tell myself Look away, but the picture stays and the pause is endless. The picture is there as I eat, and it’s there as I talk, and it’s there as I laugh, and it’s there as we clear our trays, and it’s there as Nikkee says, “This was so cool,” and it’s there as we all agree to meet again tomorrow for lunch, and it’s there as I think that they all think I’m like them, just like them, but they don’t know anything about me, don’t know that my dad has run away from us, that my mom has a stranger living in our house, and that I am a thief who stole from that stranger.
Ladine Stood in My Doorway Last Night,
a Terza Rima
Crossing her arms, she said, “Let’s have a little chat.”
I sat cross-legged on the cot, eating potato chips.
“We’ll get acquainted, talk about this and that.”
I didn’t know what to say. I licked my lips,
then buttoned my shirt right up to the collar,
and kept busy making an endless chain of paper clips.
“I hear you and Thom are both quite the scholars.”
I gave her a smile, but my legs and arms were weak.
She talked on and on, but she never mentioned dollars.
I kept waiting for her to yell at me, to tell me to speak,
to tell her the truth, the whole truth—some such thing.
By the time she left, I was a mess. Totally freaked.
My mind was a jittery jumble of words and sounds: bling …
blang … ping … pang … I was completely unhinged,
ready to fly out the window, just take off, take wing!
I think she knows, and like a mean drunk on a binge
she was playing with me, teasing me, taunting me.
She left me all done in—cooked, charred, singed.
Words on My Mind and Where They Lead
Mon
ey
many mercenary murmur murder
Bad
bed led fed filed failed foiled soiled
Play
pay price slice sluice juice just justice
Will
chill cold sold seldom sailed soiled boiled
Did
Dad done son sun moon man plan pin sin
i can’t stop thinking of these six absolute worst things
1. ladine knows everything and is waiting to accuse me.
2. softhearted spencer will be utterly forlorn.
3. mom will fly into a rage and refuse me her love.
4. thom will be sure i need help and he’ll just hover!
5. sara will know, too, and show me nothing but scorn.
6. but the absolute worst, the most painful thought i have and what i should have put first: if dad finds out he’ll blame himself and never recover.
Dear Ms. Law
I’m writing this letter to tell you something. You won’t like me when you know what I did, but maybe you already know? I guess I don’t expect you to understand, but I wish you would try. I needed money for the play, and I didn’t want pity. So that was the first part. The next part is this—you left your door open. You left money easy to find. I know you could say that’s an excuse, and maybe it is, but I’ve never done anything like this before. I wasn’t thinking about after, but if I had, I guess I thought it would be over, you know, done. And, for sure, if you didn’t find out, that would be the end of it.
You haven’t said anything, but you’ve been looking at me, watching me. Do you know? Are you suspicious? I had a dream that I think was about you. It was one of those sort of dark dreams, where everything is in shadow, and I was running down a street and someone was chasing me. It was you. I woke up sort of gasping, and that’s when I thought about writing this letter. But now I think I won’t give it to you. What if you don’t know? Why should I tell you? And what about Mom? I don’t want her to know, ever. Okay, right, I should have thought about that before I took your money, but I didn’t plan to do it. That’s the truth. It was an impulse. It just happened. Almost like it was a dream. I’m not a dishonest person. I’m not a thief. I should have put back the rest of the money. I don’t know why I gave it away. I was sick, maybe that’s why. I couldn’t think straight. But I’m going to pay you back. That’s a promise. To you, and to me.
Vicki
Looking for Work
1. I like the name, so I go into The Yakkity Place first. A stubble-bearded man slouches behind a counter loaded with phones—red phones, green phones, silver phones, big phones, little phones, Mickey Mouse phones, even a hound-dog phone. “Yeah?” he says through a cloud of cigar smoke when I ask if he wants to hire me to do … whatever. “Naah,” he says around the cigar, “repairing phones is a one-man operation, which is me.”
2. I try every store I pass. I get a sweet “No way, sorry, honey” from Mr. Ancion in Ancion’s Hardware, and a big smirk plus a finger pointed back at the door from the guy in the Jazz Coffee Shop, but what almost makes me despair is the tall woman with the big hair in Millmark’s Variety who brushes me off with “Go home and drink your milk, doll,” and it’s all downhill from there.
3. I decide to try closer to home. Mrs. Dann says, “Oh, no, no, no,” and tells me she’s used to doing her own work. “That’s what’s kept me going all these years. What would I do, otherwise, sit around and watch TV? It’s very nice that you’re looking for work, but you’ll have to try someone else. Well, now, don’t look at me like that. No need to get discouraged.”
4. But I am discouraged, so I write an if poem
If pigs couldn’t wallow in mud
and books had no words
and cats no whiskers
and wind no whoosh
and we had to wash without water,
wouldn’t that be discouraging?
5. Yesterday, after school, I saw Mr. Rose and Mr. Marty walking the driveway, both wearing short plaid coats. I went up to Mr. Rose and reminded him that I’d asked for work walking Mr. Marty. “And you never said yes or no. I think it’s yes,” I said. “So would you like to hire me right now?”
He tipped his head back and forth, then said in his growly voice, “I’ll try you out. See if you’re a good worker.” He looked at his watch and told me to sweep the outside back staircase. I ran up to his third-floor porch, found the broom, and started sweeping. Down the steps I went as fast as I could, sweeping, sweeeeping, sweeeeeping.
When I swept the last step, Mr. Rose looked at his watch, grunted, and handed me some money. “Five pounds of dog food,” he said. I didn’t waste time asking what brand or if this was part of the tryout, just took off running and ran all the way to the Hughes Super Mart. Fifteen minutes later, I climbed those three flights of stairs again, not running up them this time. I was panting, my heart knocking against my ribs. “Mr. Rose,” I called, knocking on his door. He must have been waiting for me right behind the door. It opened immediately. I handed him the dog food. He gave me a nod, an almost smile, and three dollars.
Fifty-eight to go.
Work Record 1
Swept and got dog food for Mr. Rose—$3.00
Vacuumed Mr. Rose’s apartment—$2.00
Went to the store again for Mr. Rose—$2.00
The Best
things in my life:
Mr. Marty loves me
Mr. Rose knows he can trust me
always.
Work Record 2
Mrs. Dann has a cold. I shoveled the sidewalk in front of the
house after the big snowfall—$4.00
Took Mr. Marty for his first walk—$2.00 (It was fun!)
In Ladine’s Room
The apartment was quiet, nearly dark. My brothers were out. Mom was in bed, and Ladine in the shower. Her door was half open. I slipped in and dropped fifteen dollars on the bureau. My first payment. I arranged the bills, crumpled them a little so they would look as if they belonged there, as if she had left them there. Then I went out, but the moment I was in the hall it struck me that the money, instead of looking casually crumpled, looked planted.
She would know where it came from, who did it. If she had any suspicions, she’d just put two and two together and come up with my name. At the other end of the hall, I heard the bathroom door click open. I rushed back into the room, grabbed the bills, and looked around for a place to leave them. Under the bed? No! On the windowsill? Maybe. I heard her slippers slapping on the hall floor. I spun around, looking for a place, and then she walked in.
“Vicki?” she said. Her face was bare and shiny, her hair wrapped in a towel. “What are you doing in my room?” She almost sounded friendly, but I couldn’t speak. She said it again, a little sharper. “What are you doing in my room?”
I don’t remember doing this, but I must have tried to give her the money, because the next thing I knew, she was pushing my hand away, saying, “What is this? What? What’s going on here?”
I licked my lips. “It’s yours. Your money.”
“What do you mean it’s mine?” she said.
“I mean—I—I owe it to you.” These words came out sort of choked, but also in a rush. “Could you just take it, please. Please just take it.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” she said. “That’s ridiculous. What are you talking about?”
“I do owe you. Would you just take it!”
“No, I won’t just take it.” She tied her bathrobe tighter. “Why should I take it? Tell me what this is all about.”
“I owe it to you.” She stared at me. I licked my lips. “I owe it to you because—I—st—” I didn’t want to say that word. “I took it from you,” I said. “I, uh, borrowed it.”
“What?” She was looking at me with those little black eyes. “When did you do that? I don’t remember that.”
I swayed on my feet. Her voice was loud. I was afraid she’d wake up Mom. I tried to smile. I don’t know why I tried to smile. What I really wanted to do
at that moment was fall down and go to sleep and not be in her room and not be having this conversation and not have to think about what to do next. I tried to give her the money again.
“Stop that,” she ordered.
“It’s yours,” I said. “I took money from your purse.” That was it. I had said it. Done, I thought, and I breathed as if I had been holding my breath for days, weeks, months. It’s over.
I was wrong. It was just beginning. I had to say again that I took money from her purse. The purse she had left on the bureau. I had to say how much I took and why I did it and when I did it. And I had to say what I did with it.
“Gave it away,” she repeated. She yanked open her middle bureau drawer and took out the purse with the gold clasp. She opened it and looked inside. She took out a wad of bills and counted them. Her cheeks were blotched with red streaks.
“You gave away my money,” she said. She was breathing hard.
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. It was a big mistake.” I told her how I was working to pay the money back. I said I would pay it all, every bit of it.
“You stole from me. I worked for that money. I didn’t steal it! Don’t tell me you’re sorry.” She wrapped her arms around herself, as if she was a prize and she was afraid I was going to steal her, too. “Shame! Shame!” Her voice went higher and louder. She was going to wake up Mom. I wanted to shut the door. I wanted Ladine to shut up. I wanted to shut her up.
“Please—I told you—I’m sorry—it was an accident—I mean, I didn’t plan—”
What I Believe Page 6
