“Not too loudly,” I whisper.
Phoebe leans across the aisle to consult with them.
Duane listens to her and then says, “Just say that it’s under the limit. Rosie doesn’t look like she’d be smuggling drugs or anything, even if she is from Woodstock.”
Phoebe turns to me and crosses her eyes.
Duane’s so obnoxious that he makes my step-mother look like an angel.
As for the lying—it’s easy for him to say to do that. He won’t have to spend his formative teenage years languishing in prison.
I hide my face behind the paper and read the rest of the form. I am not to bring animals, birds, dairy products, plants, or soil into Canada. I check under my nails to make sure that there’s no Woodstock dirt.
I do wish that Mindy had told me how much the present cost. I know it’s a beautiful glass paperweight from Clouds, the Woodstock store that’s like an art gallery. It was already gift wrapped when she brought it home.
Being arrested would be a real down in terms of my trip. It might come in handy, though, for those stupid assignments about “how I spent my summer vacation.”
We’re sitting in the first-class section, which is definitely a first for me.
The seats are larger and the service is great.
Mindy would definitely think it’s an extravagance.
It’s becoming clear how different it is for Phoebe to live in both places.
Mrs. Carson leans over and talks to us during the flight. Her husband reads The Wall Street Journal and doesn’t say a word. Something tells me that if he knew the words “slug slime” he would use the phrase to describe Phoebe and me. He’s probably too proper. He’d probably refer to us as “people pollution.”
One hour and twenty minutes after the plane takes off, it lands. It took almost less time to get to a foreign country than it did to go from Woodstock to the airport.
After getting off the plane, we go down a long hall and arrive at this area where people are lined up waiting to go up to counters to talk to customs officials.
The signs explaining what to do are written in English and French.
I get in line behind the Carsons.
They get through quickly.
I hope to see them again.
I step up to the counter and try to look innocent.
The customs guy asks me if I have anything to declare.
I think of Butterfly McQueen’s line from Gone With the Wind, “I do declare, Miss Scarlett . . .” But decide not to say it.
I’m not sure this guy’s got a sense of humor.
I just say, “A little present.” After all, the paperweight is tiny.
He lets me go through.
If there’s a heaven, I hope that God didn’t see me lying. I’d hate to be kept out for a paperweight.
We’ve actually arrived in Canada.
As we go out the doors into another area, I hear someone yell, “Duane, over here.”
“Hello, Michael.” Duane nods to his brother.
It’s obvious that his brother was going to hug Duane but ends up nodding too.
Phoebe’s absolutely right about Duane.
Introductions are made.
Mr. and Mrs. Carson hug us, saying that we should call them by their first names, Michael and Bev. They seem like nice people, sort of Woodstocky . . . casual and caring.
They’re at least ten to fifteen years younger than Duane, more the age of Phoebe’s and my parents.
We go out to the parking lot, then crowd into their car.
I’m actually in a foreign country.
As the car pulls out of the lot, I wonder why Duane’s an American and his brother’s Canadian.
Once before I asked Phoebe. She wasn’t sure but said, “If you had Duane as an older brother, wouldn’t you want to move to another country?”
Driving into Toronto, Michael points out some of the sights. The CN Tower stands over the city. Toronto is such a beautiful, clean city. There’s a Chinatown and other ethnic areas. There are sections that look like suburbs with homes and little apartment buildings.
We travel along until we reach Russell Hill Road. Michael pulls into a long driveway and stops at a house that looks like an old English mansion.
“Home,” he says.
Well, Phoebe, I guess we’re not in Woodstock anymore.
CHAPTER 13
“Oh, Rosie. I miss Dave so much I could die.”
“You saw him yesterday,” I remind her. “We just got here. We’re unpacking.”
“But my heart hurts, I miss him so much.” Phoebe puts one hand to her forehead and the other to her heart.
She’s been watching too many soap operas.
“Do you think that he’s thinking of me at this very moment?” She swoons on the bed. “That our two hearts are throbbing in unison across the continent between the two nations?”
I may puke.
She sits up. “He’s at work. I’ll call him later.”
Changing the subject, I say, “Isn’t this house incredible? Have you ever seen so many beautiful things in one place? It’s so comfy and warm.”
“The art, the pottery, antiques. It’s great.” Phoebe hangs up her clothes.
I guess she’s neater visiting than living.
“Who would have thought that Duane would have human relatives?”
“I wonder what their kids are like.” I finish putting my clothes in the dresser.
“We’ll find out when they get back from their music lessons. Bev said that Jason’s a little older than we are and Aviva’s our age.” Phoebe sits down on the bed. “Listen, Rosie, I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
“Rosie! Phoebe!” Bev calls up the stairs. “Jason and Aviva are here. Come on down to meet them.”
Phoebe brushes her hair and says, “Well, let’s check them out.”
I put on some lipstick and say, “They’ll be checking us out also.”
She grins. “Oh . . . right. I wish you hadn’t mentioned that.”
We go down the stairs, Phoebe first, and enter the kitchen.
Aviva and Jason are emptying grocery bags.
They look like brother and sister. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Both are cute without being so attractive that you’re afraid of them.
Jason in fact is very cute and seems very nice.
Phoebe notices.
She begins to flirt with him.
I wonder how Dave’s heart is feeling right this second. I also wonder if I’ll ever get over feeling shy around boys that I might like.
Phoebe asks him what sign he is.
I’m a goner if that’s what it takes to have boys pay attention.
He grins. “My sign? . . . ‘Slow Children at Play.’ That’s always been my favorite sign.”
I laugh. “I’ve always liked the ‘No Standing’ sign. I feel guilty about being upright around one of them and wonder if I should lie down and roll through the area.”
Jason looks at me and smiles.
Phoebe says, “The two of you are very silly.”
We agree and then we all ask each other some questions to get to know each other, like school grade, interests, favorite ice cream flavors.
Aviva’s a drummer.
Jason’s a guitar player and singer.
Phoebe’s standing right next to Jason, acting like he’s the most important person in the world.
It’s not fair. She’s got Dave.
I hope she’s not going to pair off with Jason. I’d really hate that.
I’m getting so good at pretending it doesn’t matter that even I’m beginning to believe it.
CHAPTER 14
“Time to go shopping.” Mrs. Carson comes into the kitchen. “Bev and Aviva have promised to give us a guided tour of Eaton Center.”
“Are you going too?” I’m glad that Phoebe asks Jason.
He shakes his head. “I hate malls.”
That’s something that we have in common. I would pre
fer to stay behind but it wouldn’t be right, since Phoebe’s mom and Plastic Pop paid for my trip.
Jason says, “See you later, I hope,” and seems to look straight at me.
As we go out, Phoebe says in a surprised whisper, “He likes you. I can tell.”
I say nothing and hope no one heard her. It would be so embarrassing if someone did hear and Jason really didn’t like me. Once, in the seventh grade, I had this tremendous crush on a boy and let him know. He acted really gross, ignoring me and making me feel like slug slime. Since then I’ve been sort of scared to show my feelings. In dating I guess I’m a late bloomer with an early inferiority complex.
Mrs. Carson and Bev are in the front of the car and we three kids sit in the back.
As the car heads to the mall, Aviva says, “I’m going to be your official tour guide. I did a school report on Eaton Center and I have lots of semi-useless information that I can give you.”
Bev says, “Aviva’s got a photographic memory.”
“Oh, Mom.” Aviva turns red.
Even moms who are great can be embarrassing.
We’re just going to a shopping mall, I think. There’s nothing so special about that. Shopping malls are all over the country. There’re even some in Kingston, the city near Woodstock.
We get to Eaton Center and park.
Walking inside, I realize that it’s not just any shopping mall.
Aviva begins. “This place is 300,000 square meters. That’s over three million square feet in American. Fifteen thousand people work here.”
“That’s more people than live in Woodstock, even in the summer.” I shake my head.
The place is really something. There are glass-enclosed elevators. There’s a fountain that’s timed to shoot water up in the air at certain times in certain patterns. It reminds me of trying to toilet-train the Little Nerdlet.
Aviva takes a deep breath and continues. “There are fifty fashion stores, more than two dozen shoe stores, more than sixty restaurants, fast-food outlets, and specialty food shops. There are also twenty-one movie theaters.”
I think of the Tinker Street Cinema back in Woodstock. It holds 162 people.
Phoebe grins. “I could live in this place. Let’s start checking out some of the stores.”
We take the elevator up to the mall’s third floor and go into a very ritzy-looking store.
Phoebe and her mother immediately start trying on clothes.
Everything is designer-labeled and designer-priced. I don’t even like the clothes. They’re not my style.
Sitting on a chair, I watch as they all look in the mirrors.
Mrs. Carson comes over and says, “Rosie. Pick out an outfit. I’d love to get it for you.”
“Thanks. But there’s nothing here for me.” I smile at her.
They continue to try on clothes.
Phoebe’s smiling. “This is so fun.”
Mrs. Carson looks at her. “Honey, if you lived with us in New York, we’d be able to shop all the time. And the schools are so much better.”
“Mom,” Phoebe says.
“And you’d have your own room,” Mrs. Carson continues.
I’ll just take the knife out of my heart right now, I think.
“Mom.” Phoebe makes a face. “I don’t want to talk about that now.”
I notice that she’s said “now.”
They continue to try on clothes.
Phoebe always used to make fun of the way her mother dresses. It’s weird that she’s so into shopping at this store.
Aviva comes over and sits down beside me. “I’m tired of this already. Why don’t we say that we’ll meet them for lunch and go visit some of the other places that are more fun?”
“Great idea.” I nod.
We tell them and make arrangements to meet them for lunch at a place called Mr. Greenjeans and head out the door.
Going into a store with lots of stickers and fun things, I find the perfect Christmas present for the Little Nerdlet. It’s a pair of earmuffs with each side shaped like mouse heads. I just know that the Little Nerdlet’s going to love it. Even though it’s only August, I buy it to give him in December.
Walking into another place, I ask Aviva about why her family is Canadian and Duane is American.
She stops to try on a pair of earrings. “My father’s much younger than Duane, and his politics are different. During the Vietnam War, my father was going to be drafted if he stayed in the United States. So he and Mom moved to Canada. They had a rough time of it. His family wouldn’t talk to him. He was a fugitive. And then by the time the U.S. offered amnesty, he decided to stay and become a Canadian citizen. He did go back for a while to work it out so that he could go to the U.S. without being arrested. And he kind of made up with his family.”
“That’s a great story,” I say. “He should write it down. I would if it happened to me.”
“He’s not a writer.” Aviva smiles. “He loves working with computers.”
It’s amazing. Duane and his brother are both into computers and they’re so different.
“I’m not great with computers.” I laugh. “Last year in school I was having lots of trouble getting my program to work and I got angry. So I typed in some profanity, telling the computer what to do with its bytes.”
“What happened?” Aviva smiles.
“It printed out ‘Please don’t use such bad language. I’m only a machine and I can’t take it.’”
“Is that true?” Aviva is doubled over laughing.
I nod. “Then I tried all sorts of other words on it and the computer said the same thing. Some teacher must have programmed it in.”
“Can you imagine?” Aviva still can’t stop laughing. “The teacher probably tried to write in every possible combination of words that a student could use to swear. I thought teachers weren’t supposed to know bad words.”
When we finally calm down, it’s time to meet Phoebe, Mrs. Carson, and Bev for lunch.
We go to Mr. Greenjeans. They’re already there. We order hamburgers. They turn out to be the largest I’ve ever seen.
“Where were you?” Phoebe asks.
We tell her and show her the Little Nerdlet’s present.
She’s got several packages next to her but doesn’t show us what’s in them.
Phoebe doesn’t seem too pleased that Aviva and I went off without her.
What else should we have done? Been bored with waiting until she picked out her little designer outfits? When we said that we were going, she didn’t say she wanted to come with us.
She’s very quiet. Too quiet.
I refuse to feel guilty. Enough is enough. I know I was brought along to keep her company, but she was busy buying clothes. That was time to spend with her mother—which was the real reason for this trip. Sometimes I think that the only time those two communicate is when they’re shopping.
I look at Phoebe and try hard to make contact. “We passed a store called Perry’s. They take pictures of people dressed in old-time clothes. Why don’t the three of us go there after lunch and have a picture taken?”
“You and Aviva . . . and me?” Phoebe looks at us.
I stare at her. “The three of us . . . .Don’t be silly . . . .You know that I want you in the picture.”
She holds up a french fry to her face and pretends that it’s a moustache.
Now she’s acting like the Phoebe that I know and love . . . my best friend—sort of sister.
After finishing lunch, we go over to Perry’s. With Bev and Mrs. Carson cheering us on, we dress up.
I’m wearing a 1920s Charleston dress and long beads, and I’m carrying a beaded bag.
Phoebe’s wearing a Victorian dress with lots of ruffles and holding a rose.
Aviva’s dressed in a 1950s skirt with a poodle emblem and a fluffy angora sweater.
We all look like we’ve come from very different eras and met in the present.
The photographer snaps the pictures.
We change, v
isit some other stores, and come back in half an hour. The pictures are really great. Each of us gets one.
We all look different, individual, and yet in a funny way, a team.
I hope we can maintain that feeling for the entire visit without anyone feeling jealous or left out.
Life sure can get complicated when you’re supposed to be having fun.
CHAPTER 15
“It’s R night at the movies tonight,” Jason says, as we all sit down for dinner.
Duane objects. “I don’t think you children should choose to go to a movie simply because of its rating.”
Jason explains that the Canadian movie rating system is different from ours and, anyway, that’s not what he meant.
The Carsons fill us in.
Michael starts. “When we bought the six-foot projection screen, our house became very popular.”
Aviva laughs. “Kids I didn’t even know were coming up to me and asking if they could come over.”
“The football coach asked if he could bring the team over to view the videos of the game.” Jason shakes his head. “I’m not even on the team.”
“And the cheerleaders wanted me to film them at the games and then invite them over,” Aviva says. “Instant Insincere Popularity.”
“We just invite our friends over, the real ones . . . but try to keep it manageable,” Jason says.
“Now a lot more kids have giant screens but our house is still a hangout because the kids seem comfortable here. We do have rules,” Bev informs us. “Every couple of months the kids can have a dance party where videos are shown. Once a month the kids can have an all-night film party.”
I think I could handle rules like that.
Jason continues. “We decided to show the films alphabetically. The first party had films starting with the letter A. Now we’re up to R—so tonight’s R night. We debated rescheduling because you were coming but thought that Rosie and Phoebe might enjoy it.”
Phoebe and I grin at each other.
“Will this party be chaperoned? Won’t it be noisy? How will anyone get any sleep? I hope there will be no drinking or drugs.” Duane demands answers.
Michael shakes his head. “No drugs or alcohol. That’s one of our rules. You know, Duane, you sound like you did when I was a kid . . . always questions asked with obvious disapproval.”
It's an Aardvark-Eat-Turtle World Page 5
