“Yeah.”
“Well, let’s get you up to the clinic, shall we? I’ll write you a pass—or, do you need me to accompany you?”
“No, thanks. I can go by myself.”
Relieved, the teacher scrawled out a hall pass, handed it to Annie, and watched as she headed for the closest stairway. Annie climbed the staircase, made the circuitous route down one long hallway after another, to the front offices of the sprawling building. She reached the cramped room they absurdly called a clinic, out of breath, and fell into the closest molded plastic chair available. Sandwiched between a large, heavily perspiring girl in obvious distress and a boy with an already swollen left cheek, Annie slumped down. She didn’t look at either one of them.
Seventy-six minutes later, her father arrived to take her home, and Annie followed him out to the car, dreading his reaction. She didn’t have long to wait. As soon as they were on their way, Paul Wren cleared his throat and thrust words out between clenched teeth.
“Now. Tell me what that was all about. The nurse said you vomited in class—making a complete ass of yourself—but that you didn’t have a temperature, so what gives? If you don’t have a fever then you’re not sick. This takes the cake. I get a phone call, have to drop everything, make feeble excuses to my boss that my teen-aged daughter is having a tantrum, and come flying down here. All because of your theatrics. I want an explanation, Annie, and I want it now.”
Annie, sitting up front in the passenger seat, remained silent. Biting her lower lip, she leaned her head against the window. She watched the lines on the edge of the road blur in and out hypnotically as the car ate up the highway. Only when her father barked, “Anne.” did she answer.
“I…don’t…know,” she whispered.
“Not good enough. I want an explanation and I want it now.”
Annie glanced at her father’s rigid jaw and swallowed. “I said I don’t know. We were just about to have a quiz in math when all of a sudden my stomach went crazy…”
“Annie, your stomach is always ‘going crazy’ when things aren’t going your way. How long are we going to have to put up with this childish behavior? You’re almost fifteen, for crying out loud. When are you going to grow up?”
Annie shrugged and that made her father even angrier. By the time they reached the house, he was red-faced and tapping the steering wheel. He didn’t bother to get out of the car but only slammed on the brakes long enough for her to leap out and run to the front porch. She hadn’t even opened the door before he sped away—the smell of exhaust in his wake.
Mrs. Pratt waited for her in the kitchen. She had chicken noodle soup ready to ladle into a bowl. The warm, comforting fragrance of the rich broth made Annie’s stomach rumble. Mrs. Pratt always knew just the right thing to do. And she never lectured. Well, hardly ever. Annie looked at the kind woman and felt the muscles in her neck relax and the knots in her belly unwind.
Flopping down in a chair, Annie lay her head on folded arms and released a long, drawn-out sigh. The housekeeper padded over in the worn slippers she always wore inside and stroked Annie’s curly head. “Okay, Annie-my-love, a nice bowl of noodle soup, and then you can tell me all about it. Your father didn’t say much when he phoned.”
Annie raised her head as Mrs. Pratt placed the steaming bowl in front of her. She dipped a spoon into the golden liquid, blew on it, and took a tentative sip. Good. She knew it would be—the ultimate comfort food. Eyeing the housekeeper, she continued to take in spoonful after spoonful, slurping up the noodles like she’d done when a toddler. Mrs. Pratt made a face and Annie smiled.
“There. That’s more like it. Now tell me what’s going on inside your head today.”
“Nothing.” One look at the older woman’s reproving face and Annie continued. “I mean, nothing out of the ordinary. I was in math class, the moronically stupid teacher was giving a pop quiz—no big deal—and suddenly, without any warning, my stomach started coming up my throat. I threw up. All over my desk. In front of everybody. It was awful. They already think I’m crazy, you know. It was embarrassing, Mrs. Pratt. It was one of the most humiliating things I’ve ever done.” She looked up at the housekeeper and thrust out her chin in defiance. “You know I can’t go back there now. I can never return to that fricking school…”
“Annie…”
“Sorry. But you know I can’t. It’d be too humiliating. I think I’d just about die. Not after losing my breakfast all over the fr—the dumb—desk, floor and everything. Mr. Sheffield is probably so thoroughly disgusted, he’d throw me out before I crossed the threshold.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
“It’s all his fault, anyway. If it weren’t for his penchant for pop quizzes, I wouldn’t have been so stressed out. He’s so incredibly, obsessively stupid. The whole thing is stupid.”
Mrs. Pratt poured herself a cup of tea and sat down at the table beside Annie. “Okay. First of all, your teacher is not—stupid, I mean. Please refrain from using words like that to describe the people that rub you the wrong way. After all, if you can use words like ‘penchant’ then you shouldn’t demean yourself with words like ‘stupid’. Hmm?” She grinned. “Unless, of course, they really are stupid, and then you must feel compassion for them.” She sobered. “And, second, you’ve made a simple study of numbers your nemesis. Why, I haven’t the foggiest idea. When you were three, you loved to count. You counted everything in sight, using every one of your chubby little fingers, and I was forever amazed at how clever you were.”
“Yeah…well, that was then, this is now. I’m not that clever any more.”
“You know…I read once that music is a form of math…or some such nonsense. It said musicians were like mathematicians in a way. With your gift of music, math should come as second nature to you.”
“Well, that’s just peachy-keen, but I’m not into music any more. They took me out of orchestra, remember? They put a plug in my creativity. They wanted me to be a docile capitulating nobody, so that’s just what I am—a nobody…a freaking nobody.”
“Yes, they took you out of orchestra, but you are most certainly not a ‘nobody.’ And you are far from docile. That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard you say. My goodness, Annie, you still have your violin. You should be playing your heart out every day—letting it soothe all those frazzled nerves and ruffled feathers. Seems I haven’t heard you practicing of late.”
Annie lowered her head. “No…you haven’t. And you’re not going to. I-I’ve lost my inspiration—my muse. My heart has been frozen in a way I can’t explain. I can’t play the violin right now, so I’ve put it away in my closet.” Before Mrs. Pratt could interject, she added, “And I really don’t want to hear a lecture on it. I’ve heard enough lectures these past few weeks to last a lifetime.”
“Okay, honey-lamb, no lecture. Finish your soup, then go upstairs and take a long, hot bubble bath. I want you to climb into bed with a good book. I’ll be up after a while.”
That was fine with Annie. She did as Mrs. Pratt suggested, read for a while, and was in that state between sleep and wakefulness when her mother marched into her room without even a cursory knock.
“Annie. What happened? I was in the middle of an art lesson, elbow-deep in clay, when your father phoned to say he’d brought you home from school. Why, for crying out loud?”
Annie sat up, her book falling to the floor with a thud. She blinked up at her mother’s frown and felt the heat rise up into her face. Her mother stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, and brows, one big knot.
“Well, Annie?”
“Well what?” She half barked.
“An explanation, please.”
“I can’t—explain it, I mean. My stomach just started burning again, and I-and I threw up. Okay? I threw up in the classroom in front of everybody. It was horrible. And it was the school nurse who decided I should go home. Not me.”
“Well, I’m making an appointment with the doctor about this stomach of yours. You may have th
at reflex-whatever they call it. I don’t know. I only know I’m sick and tired of this, Annie.”
“Fine.” Annie settled back against her pillows.
Her mother’s face softened. “All right, Annie. I’m sorry you were sick in school. I realize how embarrassing it probably was, but it’s over and there’s no going back. You’re made of sterner stuff, Annie. Life deals us these little blows to our pride whether we like it or not.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Annie muttered.
Her mother forced a smile. “So. On a happier note, I have some more news for you. I’m going to Paris end of May to take an art course I’ve had my heart set on and…”
“Is Dad going with you?”
“Of course he’s not going with me. What a thought. No, he’ll be staying here at the house, working as usual. However, he is planning a fishing trip in the Florida Keys sometime in June, and a brief jaunt up the Colorado River end of July. Anyway… your father and I have discussed this depression you’ve been in lately and, well, we’ve decided to send you to camp for the summer. We thought you’d enjoy attending the same camp in upstate New York that I went to as a girl. Doesn’t that sound like a lot of fun? You’ll get to swim and paddle a canoe, and sit around a campfire, and sing songs, and eat toasted marshmallows, and-and all that sort of thing. Lucky girl, I’d say. Don’t you think?”
Annie buttoned her eyes and a whimper escaped before she could stifle it. Her mother sighed. “What’s the matter, now? I thought you’d jump at an opportunity like that.”
“Oh, yeah, right.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Annie. Here we are, bending over backwards to accommodate you and give you something fun to do over the summer and you whine like a spoiled brat.”
“Sorry. I just don’t want to go to some stupid camp. That’s all. I’d rather go to Nana’s and Doc’s for the summer. Why can’t I stay with them?”
“Well, you can’t and that’s it. It’s just too bad you don’t want to attend a wonderful camp—outrageously expensive, I might add—and be with teenagers your own age…”
“There are kids my age in Charleston. You remember Nancy Johnston? And Danny Fellows? Not to mention the whole Randell family next door?” Annie’s voice had risen an octave.
“Yes, I remember them. But that’s not the point, is it? You need the discipline—the regimen—that this camp has to offer. It did wonders for me, and I’m a better person for having participated in their organized activities. Why, it was at that camp where I realized that I did have a talent for sculpture, believe it or not.”
“Bully for you,” Annie said under her breath. Louder, she said, “Nana and Doc take me to museums and the theater…”
“I realize that. If your grandparents want you for a long weekend, well, then, I guess you can go. But no longer.” She frowned. “For heaven’s sake, Annie. Most kids your age would give anything for two months at a prestigious summer camp. I don’t know what’s wrong with you. I guess we’ve spoiled you. That’s the problem. You’re an only child who’s gotten more than her share of the attention. Well, it’s going to stop. You’ll put on a pleasant face, finish the school year, then go to camp…and you’ll participate in everything they ask you to do. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Good night. Mrs. Pratt will be up with a dinner tray.”
FOUR
The doctor did a thorough examination, then wrote Annie a prescription for something to quiet what he called acid reflux. Although she balked at having to take the medicine, she had to admit that after a few days, her stomach did feel much better. She returned to school and endured the acute humiliation of facing her classmates and Mr. Sheffield although none of them seemed to care one whit whether she was there or not. She managed a full week with no further attacks of nausea, decided she could manage without too much embarrassment, and things quieted down to a dull routine.
She got up every morning and ate a bowl of cereal topped with a sliced banana. She dressed without a glance in the mirror then went to school. She attended each class with a modicum of attention and did just enough work to maintain a C+ average, which was good enough to keep her parents off her case but nothing more. Mrs. Pratt was the only one who clucked at her over papers brought home with marks of C or lower and nagged her to put forth just a little more effort.
“Tut, tut, Annie-lamb,” she admonished in a gentle voice. “You can do better. I’m not looking for A’s, just a few B’s now and again. Show me some spirit, girl, will you? Do it for your old nanny? And how ’bout taking out your violin and playing for me sometime?”
Annie threw her arms around the housekeeper’s neck and made a lot of promises. But, even with the good intentions, the grades remained average and the violin stayed in the closet.
It was on a Friday afternoon in April as they were leaving social studies class when Jenny Kim had the brilliant—if offbeat—idea of going to the dollar movies the coming Saturday. Her favorite movie in the world was re-playing: Star Wars: The Return of the Jedi, and she wanted Annie to see it with her. Annie didn’t like science fiction movies or TV shows, declaring them an insult to what she called the celestial realms and vetoed the suggestion.
“Oh, Jen, I don’t know…”
“Come on, Annie, please? You’ve never seen it, have you?”
Annie shook her head.
“I know you’d like it. You like Harrison Ford, don’t you? He’s Han Solo and is totally dead handsome for a guy over twenty-five. And Luke. He’s tolerably adorable. Please?” Jenny pleaded.
“Jenny, you know I hate that stuff. Stars and planets, comets, novas—they’re all real, significant, pristine. If you wanted to see a documentary on the Milky Way, for example, you know I’d jump at the chance. But outer space and overly made up guys pretending to be aliens? Give me a break. Isn’t there another movie we can see?” Annie argued.
“Oh, come on. I never ask you to do things I like very often. I really want to see it again on the big screen. My gosh, I own the thing, for heaven’s sake. But it’s not the same. On the big, wide screen you really feel like you’re out there. It’s so tight. So awesome.” Jenny eyed Annie with obvious curiosity. “You’re different than you were in seventh grade. How come you’re no fun anymore? You used to be such a blast to hang around with. Now…well, all you do is go around with a scowl.”
Annie knew deep down that her friend spoke the truth. She hadn’t been herself for quite some time, and Jenny didn’t ask much of their friendship—usually going along with whatever Annie wanted to do. Giving her friend two hours of her time wasn’t a huge sacrifice. She valued their friendship too much to be petty. And there was always Carolyn Hunter. If Annie made too big a fuss, Jenny would drop her like a hot potato and call her other friend.
“Okay, Jen, I’ll go with you, if my parents let me. They’ve been a little better lately, but you know I’m still kind of grounded because of my grades.”
“Yeah, it’s been a bummer. I’d hate it if my folks made me stay after school three days a week to do math. Like we don’t get enough during the regular class time. Totally gross. I sure hope they give you some slack.”
“Yeah, me, too. I’ll ask after dinner when they’ve had a chance to relax. Since they think you’re a great influence on me, I’m thinking they’ll say yes. But I have one favor to ask. Is it all right if I pick the seats? I don’t want to sit in the front row like you’ve done before. It gives me a headache. So is that okay?”
The pretty Korean-American laughed and squeezed her friend’s arm. “Okay. I get a neck ache when I sit too close, too, so it’s okay with me if we sit back a ways. This’ll be great. I’ll ask my mom or dad to drive us to the mall and call you Friday night so we can fix times and stuff. Awesome. You’re in for the biggest surprise of your life. It’s a classic movie.”
FIVE
Mr. Kim drove the two girls to the mall, which was only two miles from Annie’s house. He dropped them off out front and reminded them to be in t
he same location in four and one half-hours—on the dot. That would give them ample time to see the movie, prowl around the shops, and have their version of a healthy lunch. Both girls agreed.
Since the movie wouldn’t start for another hour and there wasn’t much concern that the lines would be long, the girls headed for a small shop that specialized in inexpensive but funky jewelry. They were rummaging through a basket when one bracelet in particular caught Annie’s eye. She picked it up, squinting her eyes as she examined it.
It was a simple leather cord, strung through blue-colored pieces of glass, shaped into moons, stars, and planets. Something about the bracelet fascinated Annie. She held it up to the florescent light above. Jenny noticed.
“You like that?”
Annie nodded.
“You do? I think it’s rather cheesy, myself.”
Annie grimaced. “Yeah, I know…but this…I don’t know…there’s something about it that just does something to me. I can’t explain it.”
“Then buy it.” Jenny glanced at the tiny sticker attached to a small moon. “It’s not expensive. Get it.”
“I think I will.”
They browsed through half a dozen more stores before it was time to head for the theater at the far end of the complex of shops and restaurants. Passing a large store specializing in outdoor and recreational equipment, they paused for a moment to watch two climbers on the rock-climbing wall. It looked like they were having a lot of fun, but Annie wasn’t too keen on heights. It was something she’d never have the courage to attempt. Jenny, on the other hand, was all for it.
“Oh, neat. Would you mind if I tried that after the movie? I know you’re afraid of heights, but I’ve wanted to for a long time. My sister and her boy friend did it, and they said it was hysterical. I promise I’ll hurry so you won’t have to stand around doing nothing.”
Annie assured her that she wouldn’t mind in the least, just as long as Jenny didn’t expect her to do it, too.
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