“Maybe this is the new me.” I stuck my chin out. “Older and wiser. Never to be duped again. Never again the dupee.”
“Who duped you?”
I turned back to my show. “No one important.”
We sat there quietly side by side, learning all about composting toilets, which are apparently a great choice for off-grid living. I made a mental note.
“Well, this is fun,” Connor said. “Don’t you want to talk about anything at all?”
“I think I’ll try to get one of those composting toilets.”
“Can we talk about something that’s not toilets?”
I sighed. “How are things going with your dad?”
Connor rolled his eyes. “He keeps trying to do all kinds of ‘bonding’ activities with me.” Connor did air quotes again when he said bonding. He laid his head back against the couch and blinked his eyes rapidly. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“What?”
“That I should do them. That anyone can change. That everyone deserves a second chance.” He clucked his tongue.
I stared at the TV. “I wasn’t going to say anything like that at all. Not at all.”
“Wow, you’re really not acting like yourself,” Connor mumbled. We sat in silence while the show moved on to the subject of wind turbines. Connor turned his head to me. “Are you planning on getting yourself a wind turbine as well?”
“Sounds like I’ll need one.”
“This show is maybe the most boring thing I’ve ever seen. Why don’t we play something?”
I relented, and we played video games for a couple of hours. I almost didn’t think about my Great Humiliation for a few minutes of that.
Connor’s mom knocked on the door as we were putting the controllers away. “As exciting as this visit has been, I have to go now.”
I glowered at the floor. “I’m sorry I haven’t been very good company today.”
Connor walked toward the door. “That’s okay. I’ll take a cranky Aven over most other people any day.”
“I’m glad you feel that way because I think this is the new me. Or at least the new me for the next four years.”
“Then I look forward to four years from now.”
“Me too,” I grumbled.
15
Cover my eyes.
Cover my ears.
I don’t want to see.
And I don’t want to hear.
— We Are Librarians
MOM WOKE ME UP FOR SCHOOL the next morning. “I’m sick,” I told her.
She sat down on my bed. “Aven, I don’t know what happened last week, but I wish you would tell me.”
I buried my face in my pillow. “Nothing happened. I’m just sick.”
I could feel her stare boring into the back of my head like she had superhero laser eyes. “Whatever it was, you can’t hide from it, and lie about it, forever. Life goes on.”
“Why can’t I be homeschooled?” I said into my pillow, my voice all muffled.
“Because I have to work here at the park. And I don’t know how to teach you algebra.” She tried pushing my hair away from my face, but I buried it deeper into my pillow. “And you can’t hide from life.”
“Maybe I don’t want to do life anymore.”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you’ve kind of got to keep doing life until you die a little old lady at the Golden Sunset Retirement Community. Maybe by then they’ll have a hot tub and shrimp on the menu.”
“I don’t want to eat shrimp.” I flipped over and faced her. “And I don’t want to go to school. I want to stay here in this room. Forever.”
Mom cringed. “It’s going to smell terrible. You’ll stink yourself out.”
“No, I won’t. I’ll still shower.”
“How will you shower if you never leave this room?”
“I’ll take sponge baths.”
She sniffed at the air. “Maybe you should sponge bath it up right now before you go to school.”
I sat up, my hair a tangled mess of red around my face. I gave her the crankiest look I was capable of. “You’re not going to let this school thing go, are you?”
She shook her head and put an arm around me. “No, I’m not.” She squeezed me to her and kissed the top of my head. “Tell you what, though.” She tilted my chin up and kissed my nose. “You don’t have to ride the toaster oven on wheels today. I’ll drive you.”
• • •
“I am not eating in the cafeteria,” I told Zion when I found him sitting on a bench outside waiting for me. “You can’t make me!” I borderline yelled at him.
He shrugged. “I’m not fighting you on this. You’re going to get burned, though, sitting outside.”
“Aha!” I cried. “I brought sunblock. So there.”
“Well, I guess you’ve thought of everything.”
“I have. I’ll see you later,” I said, bolting toward my first class of the day.
Zion and I sat under one of the ramadas eating our lunch together. “Thanks for eating outside with me today,” I told him. “I know it’s hot.”
Sweat poured down Zion’s forehead and into his eyes. He wiped at them, then took a bite of his banana. “It’s not that hot,” he said. “I mean, I think I might pass out at any moment. Wake me up if that happens. You do have smelling salts, right?”
“I just can’t bear to go in there.” I looked around. “They’ll be in there.”
Zion nodded, wiped at his forehead. I knew he was a real friend because he had big ole pit sweat for me. That was some serious loyalty. I should have trusted his judgment about everything else. “They’re going to be in there for the next three years,” he said. “Is this how it’s going to be again?”
I sulked as I chewed a fruit snack. “No.”
“Just think—we’d be in there in the nice air conditioning if only you’d listened to me.”
I squinted my eyes at Zion, partially from the bright sun, but mostly because I didn’t need him to keep telling me that. I knew. I knew I should have listened to him. I was about to tell him as much when Lando walked by with Janessa and some friends. “Why the heck are you guys eating out here in this heat?” Lando said as he threw his backpack onto our table and sat down next to me.
I looked at Zion, and he shrugged. “Change of scenery,” he said.
“Dude,” Lando said. “You look like you’re about to fall over. And those giant sweaty pits are not going to go over well with the ladies.” Then he turned me. “How are you feeling, Aven?”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve been sick,” Lando said. “You were sick all week. I was worried about you.”
“Why?”
Lando laughed. “Are you always this suspicious?”
“I just don’t understand why you’d care.”
Lando grabbed his chest. “Ouch. Straight to the heart. So what did you have?”
Oh my gosh. What did I have? I couldn’t think of anything. “Botulism,” I blurted out. “I had botulism.”
Lando looked from me to Zion. Zion nodded seriously. “Yes, that’s what she had.”
“Geez,” Lando said. “We learned about that in bio.”
Oh, shoot.
“That’s really serious,” Lando went on. “And rare. Like super rare. You’re lucky to be alive. How’d you get it?”
I shook my head. Lying was a dangerous game, all right. “Oh, did I say botulism? I meant I had… bronchitis.”
Lando seemed confused. “I guess . . . I can see how you’d make that mistake.” He laughed. “They both start with b. But you sound like you’re breathing pretty well now.”
I took a deep breath. “Bronchioles all clear,” I declared.
Lando smiled. “Have you found a costume for Comic Con yet?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think I’m going to go.”
“What?” Zion and Lando cried out at the same time.
“You have to go,” Lando said. “It’s going to be so much fun
.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m kind of aiming for this hermit lifestyle, and stuff like Comic Con doesn’t fit into that.”
Lando slapped his hand down on the table. “You could go as Hermit!”
I laughed—the first time in a week. “There’s a comic book character named Hermit?”
“Yeah,” Lando said. “There’s pretty much every kind of comic book character you can think of, so you have your pick. Also, I’ve been trying to get Zion to go to homecoming. Why don’t the two of you go together?”
Zion and I both scrunched up our noses at each other.
“I mean as friends, of course,” Lando said. “Geez, you guys.”
“Zion wouldn’t want to go with me anyway,” I said. “I think there’s someone else he’d rather go with.”
“Who?” Lando asked.
Zion kicked my leg. “Aven!”
“Why don’t you just ask her?” I said. “She is homeschooled. She told me she wished she could go to school dances. And she thinks you’re cute.” I totally made up that last part, but I hoped it was true. Sheesh. Lying was getting easier and easier with every passing minute.
Zion’s eyes widened. “Did she say that?”
Lando threw up his hands. “Oh my gosh. Please tell me who you’re talking about.”
“Trilby,” I said.
“Aven!” Zion cried again.
“Ask her,” I said. “Or how about this? I’ll talk to her about it and see how she feels.”
Zion played with his banana peel on the picnic table. “If I agree to let you talk to her, you have to do something, too.”
“What?”
“You have to go with us.”
Lando nodded. “Yep. That sounds like a fair deal.”
Just a week ago, I would have been excited at the idea. Definitely not anymore. Why would I set myself up like that to get humiliated again? “No way am I going to any dance. You do know what happens at school dances, don’t you?”
Zion’s mouth dropped open. “Yeah, Aven, I do. People dance. It’s a nightmare.”
“They don’t just dance,” I said. I leaned in and whispered. “They do the ‘Y.M.C.A.’”
Zion scrunched up his face. “Why does that mat—” Understanding flooded his face. “Ohhhhhhh.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Exactly.”
“You could always do it with your feet,” Lando said. “We’ll do it with you.”
“Yeah, that’s nice of you to offer, but I think I’ll pass.”
“You have to go,” Lando went on. “If Zion and Trilby go—”
“Big if!” Zion cried
Lando punched his brother on the arm. “We’ll still have an extra seat in the van. It needs a butt in it.”
“Or what?” I asked.
Lando smiled. “Or we’ll be one butt short.”
Zion shrugged. “You agree to go or I don’t ask Trilby.”
“It’s me who’d be asking her,” I said. Man, I wanted so badly to see Zion go to the dance with Trilby. I couldn’t be the one to hold him back. I sat there a moment imagining the whole scene: Trilby showing up looking amazingly cute with some new bright streaks in her hair—maybe orange. She and Zion dancing. Maybe she’d let Zion kiss her on the cheek. The incredible progress that could be made with Zion’s confidence was earth shattering.
Zion stared at me, his eyes squinted to slits.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll ask her if she’d like to go with both of us.”
And just as I was starting to feel the slightest bit better, the absolute worst thing that could have happened happened: Joshua walked by. “Hey, Aven,” he called and blew me a kiss.
I whipped away from him.
Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.
Lando watched Joshua as he walked into the cafeteria. Then he turned to us. “What was that all about?”
Zion took a big bite of his banana. “I don’t know,” he said, his mouth full.
Lando looked at me. I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.
Zion swallowed his bite of banana. “Oh, yeah. He told me I should go to Comic Con as Blob.”
Lando clenched his jaw. “I can’t stand that guy. I can’t believe he’s still saying stuff like that to you. I’d kick his butt if it wouldn’t get me thrown off the football team.”
Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.
“It sucks so bad we have to be on the same team together. He’s such a jerk.”
Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.
16
Don’t you ever tire
Of being a liar
And your pants being on fire?
— Screaming Ferret
I WALKED INTO THE GOLDEN SUNSET Retirement Community after school that day. Josephine was in the leisure room as usual, reading some terrible book. As usual. This week’s selection had a pirate with a hairy chest on the cover.
I sat down next to her on the couch. “You should be embarrassed to read those books in public,” I said.
She set it down on the table next to her. “Why should I be? They have them all here in the library. Obviously they intend for someone to read them.”
“Don’t they have any, like, quality reading material here?”
“This is quality,” Josephine insisted. “Listen to this writing.” She licked her finger then turned back a few pages.
“Oh, gosh, please don’t read that out loud.” I glanced around at all the old people. “Someone’s going to have a stroke if you read that out loud.”
Josephine ignored me and read: “‘Demetrius’s love for Antonia was as vast as the universe, as endless as the sea, as deep as the deepest pit on earth. It was an unstoppable force, a ship slicing through the choppiest of waters.’”
I snorted. “That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“‘Demetrius would wait until the end of time for Antonia—’”
“Oh my gosh, and you’re still reading.”
“‘He would wait until he was nothing more than a skeleton, his bones unearthed by an archeologist hundreds of years from now.’” She narrowed her eyes at me. “‘Pirate bones.’”
I couldn’t keep from laughing. “That is the worst writing I’ve ever heard.”
Josephine slammed the book shut and threw it down on the coffee table. “Aren’t we the snooty connoisseur of fine literature?” she said in a huff.
I smiled at her. “I’m sorry I’ve hurt your feelings. You know, I think I feel better after you read that to me. I needed a good laugh.”
She sulked on the couch next to me as Milford shuffled up to us. I looked down and saw he had thankfully exchanged his Bert and Ernie slippers for some blue sneakers.
“Hi, Josephine,” he said, his cheeks pink.
“Hello, Milford,” Josephine said without making eye contact with him. “What can I do for you?”
“Oh, nothing,” Milford said. “I just wanted to tell you how nice your hair looks today.”
Josephine shot him an evil look. “Are you serious? I always look my worst on Mondays.”
“Why?” I asked her.
“Because I have my hair done on Tuesdays, of course!”
I had to admit—one side of her head was awfully flat. But Milford smiled at her. “Well, I think you look lovely,” he said. “Like a new blossom on a beautiful spring day.”
Josephine groaned, but I said, “Hey, that sounds like a line out of one of your books.”
Milford beamed with pride as Josephine glared at him. “Why don’t you go eat some chess pieces?” she said.
His smile fell, and he ambled over to the chessboard.
I turned to Josephine. “You are so mean to him.”
“I want him to leave me alone.”
“But he likes you.”
Josephine humphed. “No, he don’t.”
“Yes, he clearly does.”
“He does not,” Josephine insisted. “Men like that are o
nly after one thing.”
I looked at Milford, sitting over the chessboard, shoulders slumped. “I know. You already said that, but I still don’t understand what that is.”
“Someone to clean up after them.”
“But you have housekeeping here.”
“Someone to cook them all their meals.”
“But you all eat in the cafeteria. No one cooks here.”
“Someone to keep track of all their medicine.”
“But you have nurses to do that for you.”
Josephine jerked her head at me. “Well, don’t you have an answer for everything?” She picked her book up and thumbed through the pages.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?” she grumbled, her face hidden behind her book.
“Do you know if Henry has any family?”
She peeked over the top of her book at me. “Henry? No, Henry’s never had any family. Why you asking?”
“It’s just that he’s so old. Like really, really old. Even older than you.”
Josephine grunted and lifted her book so I couldn’t see her face again.
“If something happened to him, who would we call?”
“You’d call me,” she said. “The almost really, really old person.”
“But you’re not his family.”
“Well, I’m the closest he’s got.”
“He told me he was an orphan, like, in an actual orphanage.”
“Yep.”
“Do you know anything else about it?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t you care about whether he has family or not?”
“Like I said, Henry ain’t got no family.”
I laid my head back against the couch. “Fine,” I said through clenched teeth. We sat there awhile in silence as I watched the other people in the room. One woman hobbled by us pushing a walker, and I found myself suddenly terrified of getting old. How would I push a walker? What would I do when I lost the flexibility in my legs?
“So tell me what’s going on with school,” Josephine said, tearing me away from my alarming thoughts. “Everything going all right?”
I let out another long, loud breath as I stared up at the paneled ceiling.
“That good, huh?”
“I’m considering homeschooling right now.”
“And what does your mother have to say about that?”
Momentous Events in the Life of a Cactus Page 8
