Ten Things We Did (and Probably Shouldn't Have)

by Sarah Mlynowski

  “Hi, Dad,” I said, motioning for Noah to be quiet.

  “How are you feeling today?”

  “Fine,” I sighed.

  “I’m sorry about Donut,” he said.

  “Me too.”

  “But you did the right thing. He would have suffered a lot.”

  He thought Donut was dead. I should tell him the truth. And that Donut was female.

  Or I could make him feel bad.

  “Yes, well, the end was still hard.”

  I was pretending that my cat was dead. What was wrong with me? When did I become a person who pretended to have a dead cat? A person who motioned to her boyfriend in bed beside her to be quiet when she spoke to her dad and lied about having a dead cat?

  “I’m sorry, honey. Is there anything I can do to cheer you up?”

  “No,” I said. Unless . . . I could use more cash. How could I say that without sounding crass? “Maybe I just need to get out. Go to the river. Walk down Main Street.”

  “That’s a great idea. Go do it. Take Vi out for lunch. Buy yourself a present. On me. I’ll put some extra money in your account.”

  Score! “Thanks, Dad.” I kept my voice sad. When did I become a person who used her fake–dead cat for cash?

  “Did you just scam your dad out of more money?” Noah asked after I’d said good-bye.

  “Maybe.”

  “Good. Then you can pay Hudson back faster.”

  Clearly, Hudson giving me money was still a sore spot. Although not sore enough for Noah to lend me the money. Instead of saying any of this to him, I put my hand under the back of his shirt and pulled him on top of me.

  FOLLOW-UP EMAIL FROM MY DAD TO FAKE SUZANNE

  From: Jake Berman

  Date: Sun, 8 March, 8:10 p.m.

  To: Suzanne Caldwell

  Subject: The Cat

  Suzanne,

  I hope all is well. I wanted to check in with you to see how April is handling the situation with her cat. I didn’t even realize she’d gotten a cat. I assume you were okay with it. This seems to have really affected her—she sounded so upset when I last spoke to her. Can you keep an eye on her and let me know how she’s handling it? She went through a mild depression a couple years ago—after the divorce—and I want to make sure she keeps her spirits up. If you have any concerns, please call me ASAP. Thank you.

  Best, Jake

  Sent From BlackBerry

  AFTER READING MY DAD’S EMAIL TO “SUZANNE”

  Who felt like a jackass? I did, I did!

  LOST IN SPACE

  My dad took Matthew and me to Disney the summer after the separation, the summer right before I started high school. I was fourteen.

  I had a panic attack on Spaceship Earth.

  Something about the ride, and the trip through 40,000 years—the Egyptians, the Romans, the future, and I just kept thinking that we were all just small and meaningless and we pretend that our lives matter but really we’re irrelevant. Everything ends. Years. Generations. Civilizations. Everyone dies. I looked over the rim of the ride, and all I saw was a bottomless black hole. If my parents could break up, then nothing was forever. Nothing was unbreakable. Everything was doomed. Breathing felt like knives stabbing at my ribs.

  Back in the sunlight, it got worse. There were people everywhere, strangers, and I was so insignificant, so pointless, it was all so pointless. I was lost, a deflated balloon sinking downward instead of up into the sky. At night in the hotel, I couldn’t stop crying. I tried to muffle my sobs into my pillow so my brother and Dad wouldn’t hear.

  WELCOME TO THE CRAZY HOUSE

  We were never going to find out who ran over Donut. How could we? It wasn’t like there were cameras on the street. No one was going to admit to it, or volunteer any information. “Guess what,” the criminal would say, “I was driving down your street and I accidentally ran over your cat! Sorry!”

  It was the second week of March, after school on a Tuesday, and Vi and I were sprawled across our couch. Donut was on my lap. She had survived the surgery. After three days at the vet she had been back home for a week, and besides the pathetic-looking cast on her back leg, life was back to normal. The doctor warned that she’d probably always have a limp, but at least she was alive.

  I scratched the back of her head and she let out a low meow.

  “Who has nine lives?” I cooed at her. “Who does, who does?”

  She licked my hand.

  I was never letting her out of my sight again.

  “Do you think it was Lucy?” Vi asked.

  “Oh, come on. No. Of course not.” I thought about her dad.

  “She showed up out front exactly when we did. What was she doing on the street in the middle of the night?”

  “She said she heard us,” I said. “Not impossible. We were pretty loud.”

  “But then she got to come with us to the vet.”

  “What, you think she ran over our cat so she could have an adventure?” I asked. “That’s insane. Even for her.”

  The doorbell rang and I jumped up to get it.

  “Probably Lucy. She has a wire in the cactus and she heard us talking about her.”

  But it was Marissa. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. She had a small, navy duffel bag beside her, the bag she brought to camp. Her name was written on it in black cursive.

  “I . . . I . . .” she started sobbing.

  “Come in,” I said, throwing my arms around her. “What happened?”

  “Can I move in?”

  AFTER MY MOM’S AFFAIR

  “April, are you staying for dinner?” Dana, Marissa’s mother, had asked me.

  It was Wednesday afternoon, seventh grade, the day after the phone-sex fiasco.

  I nodded. I was sitting at the wooden kitchen table, pretending to do my homework. Marissa was pouring us glasses of juice. Her little sister was on the kitchen floor doing an art project. Her older sister was chatting on the phone, and her two younger brothers were wrestling on the front hall carpet.

  “How are your parents?” Dana asked me.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but sobbed instead.

  “Oh, sweetie,” she said, sitting down beside me and enveloping me in a hug. “What’s wrong? Do you want me to call your mom?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m just . . . she’s just . . .” I started crying again.

  Marissa ran up behind me and hugged my back. “Is your mom sick?” Marissa asked.

  Yes, I thought. But then I shook my head. “No, not that . . . it’s my mom and dad . . . they’re . . . things are bad.”

  Dana looked surprised, but nodded, and pulled me back into her. She smelled like laundry sheets.

  “Mom, can April stay here tonight?” Marissa asked.

  Dana pulled away and rubbed my arm. “Do you want to?”

  Yes. Yes. Please don’t make me go home. Please don’t make me talk to her. In the car that morning I hadn’t been able to look her in the eye without wanting to reach over and slap her.

  “I’ll call your mom,” Dana said.

  I panicked. “But you can’t say . . .”

  “I won’t,” she said. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay. You two just go relax.”

  “Let’s go watch TV,” Marissa said, pulling me up, taking my hand, and not letting go.

  MY TURN TO HOUSE MARISSA

  After two minutes of incomprehensible crying, Marissa finally explained what went down. “I got on the Israel trip this summer!”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “That’s good news.”

  “No—my parents won’t let me go!”

  Part of me—the good part—felt terrible for her. Part of me—the bad part—felt happy for me.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “It’s a free trip.”

  “I know! But then they discussed it and decided that it’s too dangerous! They’re convinced I’m going to get blown up by a terrorist.”

  “That
seems unlikely,” Vi said. “You’re probably just as likely to get blown up in Manhattan.”

  “I doubt Vi’s right,” I said, hugging Marissa. “But your parents are being a bit overprotective.”

  “I know! They’re ruining everything! Aaron’s going on the trip! All my friends are going on the trip!”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “My summer friends. You know what I mean.” She pulled back and wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “My mom’s acting like a total nut job.”

  “Do you think she’ll change her mind?” Vi asked.

  “I told her I hated her and that she was ruining my life and that I would never speak to her again unless she changed her mind.”

  “And what did she say?” I asked, a little shocked.

  “That she wasn’t changing her mind. So I called my dad at work and he said that he wasn’t changing his mind either!”

  “That sucks, Marissa,” I said. I looked at her duffel. “And you packed a bag because . . . ?”

  “Because I can’t stay there. I’m not talking to either of them.”

  “How did you even get here?” I asked.

  “I walked.”

  Was she crazy? “It’s a half-hour walk. And you had your duffel.”

  “I was pissed. I needed some air.”

  “You should have called me!” I said. “I would have picked you up.”

  “I know but . . . I wasn’t thinking. I just packed and left.” She hoisted her bag over her arm. “It’s not heavy. It was mostly for show.”

  “Do your parents know you’re here?” I wondered.

  “Not exactly,” Marissa said.

  “But they saw you leave,” Vi said.

  “My sisters did. Mom will find out when she gets back from Target.”

  This wasn’t going to go well. “So, basically, you ran away?”

  “Not away,” Marissa said. “I ran here.”

  “Marissa,” I said, shaking my head. “Your parents are going to freak out.”

  “Good,” she said, eyes shining. “Let them! At least they’ll have a reason to.”

  Marissa’s phone rang and she glanced at the caller ID. “It’s them. I’m not answering.”

  “You have to tell them where you are,” I told her. “They’re going to think you got abducted or something.”

  “Whatever.”

  “They’re going to call the police!” I told her. Just what we needed. A massive police hunt, which would end here. With two minors living illegally in a house.

  She considered. “I have at least a few hours before they call the police. Don’t you have to wait twenty-four hours?” She looked at Vi.

  “Not sure,” Vi said. “But I agree. I doubt your parents will call the police yet. It’s only five in the afternoon. They’ll give it at least until eight or nine.”

  I sighed. “So you’ll call them after dinner?”

  “Maybe. But I’m still not going home unless they change their minds.”

  “Stay as long as you want,” Vi said. “You can move into my mom’s room.”

  “She won’t need it?”

  “I don’t think she has a weekend off for a while.” Vi shrugged. I wondered if that was true.

  Marissa’s cell rang again. “Them.”

  “They’re going to call every two minutes until you answer,” I said.

  She turned off her phone.

  GREAT MOMS THINK ALIKE

  Dana called me at seven. I was downstairs changing into sweatpants before dinner. Vi was making stir-fry. Marissa was keeping her company.

  “April, is she there? She must be there.” Marissa’s mom sounded panicked.

  I wanted Marissa to stay but I didn’t want Dana to worry for no reason. Forget Dr. Rosini. If I could adopt a new mom, it would be Dana. “She’s fine,” I said, my voice soft. “She’s here.”

  “Oh, good,” she said. Her tone reminded me of me, when the vet told me Donut was going to be all right. “Can you put her on the phone?”

  “She’s really upset,” I said. I sat down on the corner of the futon.

  “I know. But I have to do what’s best for her even if it upsets her. I’m her mother. That’s my job.”

  I wondered what my mom thought her job was.

  “Did she take a bag with her?” Dana asked.

  “Yeah.”

  She sighed. “I’m coming to pick her up.”

  “Wait. Maybe you should let her stay over for a night or two. She’ll come to her senses and calm down. She’ll miss home.”

  “I don’t know. . . . If it’s okay with Vi’s mom . . .”

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  “Is she home? Let me have a quick chat with her.”

  “Oh . . . um . . . I’m not sure . . . let me find her and I’ll get her to call you right back.”

  Back upstairs, I handed Vi my phone. “Suzanne, would you mind calling Marissa’s mom back and telling her that Marissa can stay here as long as she’d like?”

  “Good idea!” Marissa said.

  Vi took the phone, and walked into the other room. “Hi there,” she began in a low, mom-like voice. “This is Suzanne, Vi’s mom. . . . No, it’s no problem at all, it’s my pleasure. . . . I know, I know. . . . Best for them to blow off steam in a safe environment. . . . Why doesn’t she stay tonight and Vi will drive her to school in the morning . . . perfect. No, no, we have plenty for dinner. I was about to make a meat loaf.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Great. We’ll touch base tomorrow,” Vi said, before hanging up. “Done and done.”

  “Meat loaf?” I asked.

  Vi shrugged. “It sounded mom-like.”

  “Woohoo!” I cheered. Now that I didn’t have to worry about an amber alert, I was free to enjoy the moment. Marissa was staying here! With me and Vi! The three of us living together. Marissa had always been there for me, and now it was my turn to be there for her. “What now?”

  Marissa pointed to Hula. “I’m going to have to borrow a bathing suit.”

  MISS TEEN WESTPORT CLAIMS HER PRIZE

  Wednesday and Thursday with Marissa were awesome. We ate breakfast together, went to school together, came home together, Hulaed together. Stayed up late watching movies and eating Oreos out of the box. It was like a permanent sleepover. I even showed her how to do her wash when she ran out of underwear.

  “Look at you, Suzy Homemaker!” she exclaimed as I measured out the Tide.

  “I’m learning,” I told her.

  “Should I come over?” Noah asked at school.

  “It’s kind of a girls’ week,” I told him. I wasn’t sure why, but having Noah here with us would feel odd. I didn’t want Marissa to feel like she wasn’t wanted. “We’ll do something fun on the weekend.”

  Dana checked in with Vi-as-Suzanne nightly.

  Dana also checked in with Marissa nightly.

  “I am not coming home until you and Dad change your minds!” Marissa told her.

  They did not change their minds. She didn’t go home.

  “I can’t believe my mom hasn’t arrived on your doorstep,” Marissa said, Thursday night while we were Hulaing.

  “Maybe she’s enjoying having one less kid to worry about,” Vi said.

  Marissa leaned her head back against the tub. “You’re probably right. We are a lot to keep track of. Last week my brother locked himself in the garage, and no one noticed for three hours.”

  I couldn’t stop smiling. Sure, I felt bad that Marissa was fighting with Dana, but . . . I loved having Marissa here.

  My phone beeped. Text from Hudson.

  Hudson: What’s up?

  Me: Chillaxing in the tub.

  Hudson: How’s Donut?

  Me: Doing great.

  “Who’re you texting?” Marissa asked.

  “Hudson,” I said while typing.

  “Reeeaaaally,” Vi said with a smile. “Flirting a little?”

  “Why are you so pro-Hudson and so anti-Noah?” I wondered
out loud.

  “I’m not anti-Noah. I just think Hudson’s a great guy. And when he’s around, you’re . . . different,” she went on. “In a good way. Bolder. You’re—”

  “More like you?” I asked, and splashed her.

  “I was going to say fearless, but ‘more like me’ will do. And Noah is a little stuffy, don’t you think? I wonder if you’re really still in love with him or if it’s a comfort thing.”

  Ouch. “I’m still in love with him,” I told her. “I am.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Does he think you’re the hottest girl in Westport?”

  I splashed her again. “He better.”

  “That’s right,” Marissa said. “Otherwise you should dump his ass.”

  I looked over at her in surprise. Marissa used to think Noah and I were the world’s best couple. What had happened?

  “Invite him over to join us,” Vi said.

  “Noah?”

  “Hudson,” Vi said.

  I shook my head. “Now that would be flirting.”

  “Then I’ll invite him over,” Vi said with an exaggerated sigh. “I swear, I have to do everything around here.” She dialed a number and then said, “Hey, Hudson, what’s up?”

  I splashed her with my foot.

  “Stop splashing,” she said to me. “If you get my phone wet I’m going to beat you. Hud? Why don’t you and your delinquent brother come over and hang out with us?”

  Dean had not been over since their fight at the vet. There had been definite weirdness between Vi and him. Weirdness that probably would not just disappear by inviting him over via his brother.

  Vi scowled for a second, but then her face was blank. “Oh. Yeah. Whatever. Don’t worry about it. Later.” She hung up.

  “They can’t make it?” Marissa asked.

  I felt vaguely disappointed, even though I knew it was for the best. Hudson being in my hot tub would not make Noah happy. Also, if he spent too much time with me, surely he would notice that I was not, in fact, the hottest girl in Westport.

  “Dean is at Pinky’s,” she said, eyes steely.

  “Pinky who writes for your paper?” Marissa asked.

  “Yes, that Pinky. Do you know any other Pinkys?” Vi’s voice was tight. She carved her hands through the water like knives.

  “You told her to go for him,” I reminded her.