“Dad!” Lulu shrieked, staring at him without blinking, the same way she did to Belly when she stole pictures of Johnny Depp off her Hot Guy Wall. Belly taped them in her dollhouse like Johnny Depp lived there with her dolls Genevieve and Rosie.
While we walked around the RV park, we pretended that we knew people. The manny waved at a man wearing a John Deere T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. His arms were covered in black hair all the way up to his shoulders.
The manny said, “Oh, there’s Winslow, bless his heart! I haven’t seen him since we used to work at the Rogaine factory together. It looks like his new hair is coming in extremely well.”
After we passed a pretty blond woman in a red bikini who wasn’t much older than Lulu, India said, “Heavens to Betsy, that was Gladys. She looks wonderful for a ninety-six-year-old. God bless BOTOX!”
I spent the whole time we were walking trying to think of something really funny to say, but I couldn’t. I kept saying, “Oh, look, there’s…” but then I’d stop.
Lulu didn’t join in. She hates pretending. She calls herself a “realist.” India told me that a realist is somebody who doesn’t like to daydream or watch cartoons. They only like things that are real. I guess that’s why Lulu reads biographies and watches The Real World on MTV.
Mom and Dad don’t know that Lulu watches The Real World. She usually watches it when they have gone to the store or out to eat and they’ve left her in charge. Mom thinks The Real World isn’t an appropriate show for kids, even though Lulu is about to go into high school. I saw a little bit of it once when Lulu was watching, and there was a girl sitting in a hot tub talking about how she thought the other roommates didn’t respect her. After she said it, she drank right out of a margarita pitcher, took her shirt off, and jumped into the swimming pool. I’ve never seen anybody in real life do that.
The RV park was like a little town. There were people playing volleyball. There were people eating dinner at folding tables. I even saw a guy reading the New York Times in his boxer shorts and undershirt in a lawn chair. The manny pointed out that the man was reading the Style section and said, “At least it’s a start.”
When we were almost back to our own RV, we saw a little red tricycle barreling toward us. It was Belly on Popcorn, going faster than a tricycle should probably go. Rocks were flying out from underneath the wheels, and Harmony was running after it, screaming through tears, “Give it back! Give back Popcorn! She doesn’t like that!”
Harmony had her forehead scrunched up and looked as though, if she caught up, she might beat Belly with the tricycle. Belly just kept pedaling and smiling, pretending like she had no idea Harmony was running after her. Harmony’s Skipper doll was stuck in the spokes of the front wheel and was going round and round. Thwat. Thwat. Thwat.
When Belly saw the manny, she slammed on the tricycle brakes, and Harmony caught up to her. Harmony grabbed the Skipper doll out of the spokes and said, “I think you killed her.”
Belly shrugged.
Harmony screamed and moaned as tears streaked down her bright red face. She was shaking back and forth and shivering like our dog, Housman, does when we give him baths in the sink. Harmony kept sniffling, and you could hear the snot being sucked back into her nostrils. Most of it, anyway. She wiped some of it on her arm and across her red cheek. When she did it, Lulu looked away and pretended to be distracted by the volleyball game. Lulu hates snot.
The manny picked Belly up off of Popcorn and got a serious look on his face. The manny doesn’t get a serious look on his face very often, usually only when he’s trying on clothes or watching talk shows. He spoke quietly into Belly’s ear. I couldn’t hear what he said, but I hoped he was telling her that she was going to be sent to one of those boot camps in the desert where out-of-control kids go. I saw it on 60 Minutes once. A thirteen-year-old girl had to go to the boot camp because she was smoking cigarettes, dressing in half shirts, and cussing at her mother. After three weeks of being yelled at by a soldier guy with flared nostrils, the same girl was wearing cardigan sweaters, going to church, and calling her mother her “best friend.” I think Belly should go there every summer, like camp.
Belly crossed her arms and looked down at Harmony, who had climbed onto her tricycle and was trying to straighten Skipper’s new frizzy hair. Lulu was rubbing Harmony’s back but still not looking at her face. India was trying to brush Harmony’s hair with her hands, but her hand kept getting caught by a hair clip. Harmony was still gasping in between sobs like she was recovering from hyperventilation.
The manny let out a breath through his lips and it made a motor sound. He asked Belly if she had something to say to Harmony.
“YEAH,” said Belly. “POPCORN’S FAST! HER WAS SCARED!”
Harmony didn’t even look up. She just kept pedaling, with her shoulders stooped.
“No, Belly. I mean, don’t you want to apologize to Harmony for taking her tricycle without asking?”
“NOOOOOO,” said Belly, adding a few extra o’s for emphasis. I taught her that.
“Then, we’ll go back and you can sit in the time-out seat in the RV until you can apologize to Harmony,” the manny said.
I didn’t know we even had a time-out seat in the RV.
“Maybe we should throw her in the bushes. I bet there’s a whole bunch of ticks in there,” I suggested.
“NO!” Belly screamed, and clutched around the manny’s neck with both of her arms. She was too scared to add the extra o’s.
“Yeah, throw her in the bushes,” Harmony agreed. I smiled at Harmony but had to look away because the snot on her face was starting to crust over.
The manny said, “Hey,” and looked down at me to let me know that I wasn’t helping the situation.
“Or the time-out seat sounds good,” I said.
We walked back, and Harmony rode alongside on Popcorn, which was squeaking like it needed oil. I’m not sure if it did that before or if Belly had damaged it with her reckless driving.
India and Lulu kept asking Harmony questions about her life, trying to let her know that we weren’t a whole family of delinquents. Delinquents are people who wear their hair slicked back and fight with knives. Lulu told me what a delinquent was after she read The Outsiders in English class last year. She also told me that the main character in The Outsiders is named Ponyboy. Lulu cried when she read the end of the book and said that someday she wanted to marry somebody like Ponyboy because he was “golden.” I don’t know what “golden” means, but that’s how it described him in the book. I wish I had a name like Ponyboy or Sodapop. Sodapop is another boy in the book. India suggested GingerSnap as a nickname for me, but I don’t think it’s tough enough.
Harmony told us that her mother lived in California at Disneyland and that she’s going to go live with her in Cinderella’s castle.
The manny said, “Oh, how fun! You’re very lucky! I bet you’ll get to sleep in a canopy bed, and the mice will sew you pretty dresses.” I looked at the manny, and he wasn’t teasing Harmony. He was really talking to her.
“I love the mice,” said Harmony, fake-hugging herself. “They’re nice to me when I’m there.” Then she sped off on her tricycle and ran into Grant and Dana’s RV.
We burst through the door of our RV, and Dad quickly started kissing Mom like that’s what they had been doing the whole time we were gone. I could tell they hadn’t been kissing because Mom pushed him away and kept reading the New Yorker. I looked over her shoulder, and she was reading about a man who could train unruly dogs. There was a picture of him in the middle of a mud puddle, with mean-looking dogs jumping all over the place. Maybe Belly should be sent there instead of to the desert boot camp.
The manny sat Belly in the driver’s seat of the RV and explained the whole story to Mom and Dad. About the tricycle. About the Skipper doll being stuck in the spokes. About Belly refusing to apologize. Belly just sat there with her arms still crossed. She kept making “humph” noises. She even told the manny that he wasn’t her fri
end anymore.
Mom told Belly that she thought Harmony was nice and that what Belly did wasn’t very nice.
“Harmony’s bossy!” shouted Belly as she widened her eyes and shook her head back and forth for extra attitude.
I thought that was funny because usually it’s other kids who call Belly bossy. When Belly’s friends come over, they play a game called Mean Babysitter where Belly acts like she’s the babysitter and bosses the other kids around. She threatens to “swat” them and puts them in the time-out corner. We don’t know where she learned the game. Nobody’s ever threatened to spank Belly, but maybe they should.
Belly sat in the time-out chair for an hour and a half. She was there when the manny and I left to go swimming, and she was still there when we got back. I made sure to act like I had never had as much fun in my life as I had swimming.
Belly stuck her tongue out at me when I said, “Oh, man, you missed it. Kids were standing in line waiting to have the manny throw them into the swimming pool. You’ve never seen so many kids flying through the air. It was awesome, dude.” I threw in some surfer talk because surfers always seem like they are having a good time.
“It was sick-nar! Totally tubular!” the manny added in surfer talk too. He made a “hang loose” sign with his hand.
Belly didn’t budge from her chair except once to go to the bathroom. In fact, she ate dinner and fell asleep in the time-out seat. Mom covered her with her silky blanket, the one made out of her old nightgowns that Grandma had made. Belly slept all night long in the time-out chair.
Lulu and India shared the bed above the driver’s seat, and I slept on the couch by the table. I could see the light from Lulu’s reading lamp, and she was reading out loud from To Kill a Mockingbird. She was at the part where the dad says, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view…until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.” Lulu read like she was a book on tape, with a soothing voice and pauses at the end of each sentence. She’s a really good reader.
My head was right next to a window that was cracked open a tiny bit because I love the smell of fresh summer air. Or at least that’s the excuse I gave. I really wanted to crack it open a little because I wanted to eavesdrop. That’s how I found out where babies come from. I heard Mom talking to India about it. I was in the hallway with my notepad, writing it all down like in Harriet the Spy. Sarah and I both did book reports on Harriet the Spy this year. Sarah got an A. I got a B because I included a list of things I had overheard and written down in a spiral notebook just like Harriet had done in the book. Mrs. House didn’t like the list because there was a quote from her when she was talking to Mrs. Grant on the playground and they didn’t know I was eavesdropping. The quote was “I’m so glad it’s Friday. I sure could use a drink.” I thought the list would get me extra credit, but when she returned my paper, the list had been ripped off. I don’t know what she did with it. Maybe it’s in a scrapbook of excellent student work at her house.
Harmony’s grandpa has a portable fire pit, and all the adults were sitting around it. Mom and Dad were snuggled together like somebody was telling ghost stories. The manny had a blanket around his shoulders. He jumped up and screamed like he was on fire when the fire popped, and I had to cover my laughter so they wouldn’t know I was still awake. I’ve gotten really good at eavesdropping. It doesn’t even make me have to pee anymore.
As the smell of smoke seeped through the tiny crack in the window, I could hear Harmony’s grandpa talking. My head was covered with a sleeping bag except for one of my ears.
“She’s been living with us for about a year while her mother tries to get her life in order. Usually she does pretty well, and we do our best to give her a normal childhood, but it’s difficult. She’s seen so many awful things already.”
I tried to get my ear closer to the cracked window so I could figure out who they were talking about, but I didn’t want to get caught like I had when I listened in on Lulu’s telephone conversation with Fletcher, a boy from Lulu’s class that she “like-likes.” The conversation where he asked Lulu to go with him. They didn’t really go anywhere. It just means that they’re boyfriend/girlfriend and they pass notes in the hallway between classes.
Harmony’s grandpa continued, “Her mother named her Harmony because she thought that a new baby would change her life and make it better.” They were talking about Harmony. I took my whole head out from under the sleeping bag but kept my eyes closed and pretended to be sleeping.
“And it did for a while…but then…” He kept pausing like he didn’t know what he was going to say next or like he had forgotten.
Dana put her hand on Grant’s leg and interjected, “It’s just so hard to watch your daughter get so sad and out of control. I can’t imagine what it must be like for Harmony seeing it happen to her mother.” Then there was complete silence. I opened one eye and peeked out from under the blanket. I could see that Dana had her hands covering her face and was crying.
Grant rubbed her back and looked at Mom, Dad, and the manny and whispered something. I could barely hear him: “Harmony’s mother is a math addict. She’s getting help, but it’s always a struggle. It’s very dangerous and takes control of your entire life. At this point we’re just planning on raising Harmony ourselves.” He got quieter and quieter, and then I couldn’t hear anything until Mom, Dad, and the manny walked into the RV and got ready for bed. I still pretended to be asleep when Mom leaned over, brushed the hair away, and kissed me on the forehead.
I couldn’t fall asleep. A math addict? How does somebody get addicted to math? I imagined Harmony’s mother traveling across the country, neglecting or even forgetting all about Harmony while she was searching for long-division problems to solve. Sarah might have a problem. Last year in Mrs. House’s class, when we were practicing multiplication with flash cards, she stood up and yelled, “WRONG!” whenever somebody answered a problem wrong. Then she did a little dance like football players do when they make a touchdown.
Dana was really upset. I think I must have misunderstood her, because I don’t think she would be this sad if her daughter just had a problem with math. I thought about asking the manny in the morning, but then he’d know I was eavesdropping. I fell asleep thinking about Harmony and how she doesn’t get to live with her mother in Cinderella’s castle.
14Harmony’s My BFF
Belly was the first to wake up the next morning. She was still in the driver’s seat and figured that she was still in trouble, so she didn’t get out of it. Instead she honked the horn of the RV and yelled, “MAAAWM! I NEED YOUR HEEEELLLP!” Mom grumbled and lifted up her head from underneath the covers. She looked like a wet cat, with scrunched-up eyes and messy hair. That’s what she always looks like in the morning. Like the before picture on makeover shows.
The manny lifted his head up too. He looked just like he always does, like a cross between Mr. Clean and Vin Diesel without all the muscles. I didn’t think of that. India described the manny that way in a descriptive essay that she had to write for her English class about her family. In the same paper she described me as “adorably tolerable.” I had to look it up. It means “cute and fairly easy to deal with.”
Mom started to get up, but the manny stopped her. “I’ll check on her. You get some rest. You have some speeding to do today.”
Mom grumbled but stayed tucked in underneath her covers. The manny walked to the front of the RV to take care of Belly. Along the way he shook my foot and whisper-sang, “Schoolboy, time to wake up and go to school and learn something so you can grow up and be somebody,” even though it was summer and I wasn’t going to school.
The manny was wearing Uncle Max’s black Basquiat T-shirt, which had a white crown on the front. Jean-Michel Basquiat is another artist that Uncle Max likes. His paintings look like graffiti, and they have lots of words on them. Uncle Max met him once in New York City in the 1980s before he died of addiction. He was addicted to drugs, and it ended up
killing him. I think Harmony’s mother is addicted to drugs.
Belly looked up at the manny, crossed her arms, and said, “YOU’RE NOT HER FRIEND ANYMORE.”
Belly is good at holding grudges. She didn’t talk to me for a week one time when I wouldn’t take her to school as my show-and-tell. She really wanted me to because she had a new dress, but I took a peacock feather instead. I found it in our yard, but I’m pretty sure that it wasn’t from a wild peacock. I’ve never seen a wild peacock in our neighborhood, or anywhere else. I think the feather blew over from Mrs. Waycott’s porch. Belly finally started talking to me when I let her wear the peacock feather to preschool. She duct-taped it to the back of her jeans and wore it like a tail all day.
The manny sat down and started talking to Belly, who was staring out the window and pretending not to hear him.
The manny said, “Hey, Belly. I know that you think you were just having fun, but you really hurt Harmony’s feelings. Popcorn is very special to her because her mother gave it to her as a present. Harmony is not as lucky as you are. You get to see your mother every day, and Harmony doesn’t, so think about how special that tricycle is to her. Imagine if somebody took DecapiTina away from you. Okay?”
Belly didn’t answer. She just looked out the window.
“Okay?” he asked her again, only louder to make sure she understood.
“OKAY!” she answered back, kicking the steering wheel.
“Think about what it’s like to walk around in Harmony’s skin,” I said, remembering Lulu’s reading from To Kill a Mockingbird. Belly looked at me like I was crazy. “Maybe Harmony has a sad life, and Grant and Dana are trying to make it happy. Maybe Popcorn is really special to her. Imagine what it’s like to be her. She doesn’t get to see her mommy,” I added, trying to make sense to Belly.
The manny looked at me, and I stopped talking because I didn’t want to give it away that I had eavesdropped.
Hit the Road, Manny Page 7
