Family Game Night and Other Catastrophes

by Mary E. Lambert

  I shuffle to the next article in Leslie’s folder and continue reading: “… an Ohio man who, among other things, kept dozens of dogs in his home, was found dead on Friday. The hungry canines had eaten … ”

  I slam the folder shut again.

  “Are you trying to give me nightmares?”

  “I already have nightmares,” Leslie says to her hands. “Almost every night.”

  “Well, duh, you little dummy. I’d have nightmares, too, if I was reading this before bed.”

  She looks up, her Bambi eyes wide with surprise. We stare at each other and then, for some reason, we both burst out laughing. I throw the folder out in the hallway, which is already so full of stuff—mostly Mom’s catalogue and junk-mail collections—that a few more papers will hardly make a difference.

  “Hey,” I say, “wanna sleep in my bed tonight? Instead of on the floor?”

  Leslie nods.

  We cuddle under the covers and I finally get to tell her about holding hands with Drew in the hall between classes and about Rae’s party tomorrow night. Drew’s going to be there.

  He sat next to me and Rae in science this year. Then sometime around spring break, he started eating lunch with us—it was after I stopped him from accidentally burning down the school (rubbing alcohol + Bunsen burner = Max’s idea of a prank on Drew that would have gone horribly, horribly wrong). Tomorrow will be the first time I’ve hung out with him outside of school, and I can’t tell Leslie about it without smiling. I’m lying there in bed beside her, smiling so wide my cheeks hurt.

  Then Leslie tells me about the new kid in her class—the one who started school when there were only three days left in the year. Who does that? Leslie says he just moved here and wanted to make some friends for the summer. But I think he sounds weird.

  We giggle about nothing. She slaps my arm, and I pinch her leg. After a while we get really quiet, the way people do just before they fall asleep. I say, “I hope it didn’t hurt too much when the newspapers fell on you. I wish things were different around here.”

  Leslie doesn’t answer. I think she’s already asleep.

  I love, love, love going to Rae’s house. Every time I walk inside, I feel like I’m stepping into a magazine. Mrs. McKinley keeps fresh flowers on the dining room table. Over the mantle, there’s a framed painting—a real, one-of-a-kind, signed-by-the-artist painting from a gallery in New York City. The books on the shelves are alphabetized, and everything—the furniture, the throw pillows, the curtains—it all matches. Rae said her mom actually hired someone to help decorate. Even before my mom started “collecting,” our house wasn’t half as nice as Rae’s.

  I’ll never forget the first time Rae invited me over. It was the middle of fifth grade, not too long after my tenth birthday. Her family had just moved to Colorado from Maryland, and not only was her house perfect, but her mom fed us homemade cookies and her big sister gave us manicures. I thought families like Rae’s, with houses that perfect, only existed in books or TV shows. And that’s when I knew Rae and I were meant to be best friends.

  So I was excited that the end-of-the-year party was at Rae’s house. And even better, Mrs. McKinley let us invite guys for the first half. We asked Drew and some of Drew’s friends—Joey and Thomas.

  I get to the McKinleys’ house first. A few minutes later, when our friends Melanie and Jenny show up, Rae hands out water balloons and says, “Follow me.” She leads us into the hedge that lines the McKinleys’ driveway and we hide there, waiting and watching …

  My heart is racing a million miles a minute. I guess my future as a spy is out. Evidently, ambushing a couple of guys with water balloons is all the excitement I can handle. When Joey and Thomas’s ride pulls up, Rae yells, “Now!” and the four of us jump out of the bushes screaming at the top of our lungs and pelting the guys with water balloons. Two of my balloons hit their targets, but Joey and Thomas are already wearing their swimsuits, so it really doesn’t matter if we soak them.

  Still, I feel so good about my role in the ambush that I’m rethinking my future as a spy.

  “Ha! James Bond better watch out!” I shout. There’s so much noise that no one hears my brag, which is a good thing, because as the words leave my mouth, I trip and land on my third balloon, soaking myself.

  While I scramble to my feet and give thanks no one noticed my fall, Joey nabs Melanie’s last water balloon. He tosses it at Rae, who squeals and runs around the side of her house. Thomas, Joey, and Melanie follow, yelling things like “You’re so dead!”

  Jenny is even unluckier than me—she doesn’t get nailed by her own balloon. It’s worse than that. As Joey’s dad climbs out of the car, one of her balloons smacks him in the chest, exploding all over his suit and the sandwich he’s eating. I don’t know why he’s driving around with a submarine sandwich, but I doubt he’ll finish it now.

  Jenny and I gasp at the same time.

  “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry,” she says, her hands covering her mouth.

  “My sandwich,” says Joey’s dad in a sad voice.

  Mrs. McKinley must have seen it all from the window, because she comes running from the house, holding a towel and apologizing. Jenny’s face turns as bright red as her hair, and she slinks back in the bushes to hide or pout or something.

  I think about going after her, but I don’t know what to say and I don’t want to be hiding in the bushes when Drew arrives, so I start picking up all the little balloon bits that are now scattered across the lawn. I’ve heard birds can choke on them. After Joey’s dad drives away—minus one soggy sandwich—Mrs. McKinley starts helping me pick up the broken water balloons.

  So I’m alone with Rae’s mom when the last two cars pull up. Amanda and Drew arrive at the same time.

  “What’s in your hand?” Drew asks after climbing out of his car.

  I show him the balloon fragments and say, “You’re just lucky you didn’t get here when Thomas and Joey did. I had a balloon with your name on it.”

  He laughs and helps us pick up the last few bits of neon balloon. Then I take him around the side of the house, and we join the others who are already swimming. Amanda doesn’t come with us. She catches a glimpse of Jenny’s hair and stops to ask why she’s hiding.

  A little while later, Amanda and Jenny join the rest of us, and everything is fine … until Leslie’s first text comes at 7:32 p.m., just as everyone is finishing their pizza and getting back in the pool.

  “Let’s play water basketball,” says Joey, shoving a huge wad of crust into his mouth. I don’t know what Melanie sees in him, but she’s had a crush on Joey for weeks now.

  “What are you waiting for?” says Thomas, and he does a cannonball into the pool, splashing all of us and soaking my last bite. There’s a bunch of squealing, and three or four more people, including Joey and Melanie, jump in after him.

  That’s when my phone buzzes. I set my chlorinated pizza back on its paper plate and dry my hands before plucking it from a pile of towels.

  “C’mon, Drew! Aren’t you gonna play with us?” Joey calls from the water as I glance down at Leslie’s text. It says:

  Dad found my articles. He’s really upset.

  Great. Just great. Now Dad knows about the File o’ Death. This will not go over well.

  “Nah,” Drew answers Joey. “I’m not getting back in the water unless everyone else does.” He’s looking at me.

  I get a little fluttery feeling in my stomach, and suddenly I’m annoyed that Leslie is texting me. I don’t want to think about nightmares and Death Files. There’s an endless summer, trapped in the house of Toy Catacombs and ex–dining rooms, ahead of us. On the rare, special days when I’m away from it all, I don’t want to drag my problems with me. I want to forget them. Sometimes forgetting things is the only way to be happy.

  “But I need you on my team,” says Thomas. “We’ll get creamed without you.”

  “Hey,” says Rae, who is standing at his elbow. “I’m not that bad.” (She is.) Rae throws a bunc
h of water in Thomas’s face and starts a splash war.

  I look back at the message. I don’t want this. Not now. I want to play water basketball and join the splash fight. I want to stay up late watching movies and eating cookie dough. And maybe, if Mrs. McKinley goes to bed early enough, I want to sneak out with the other girls and TP someone’s house. Rae has a bunch of toilet paper hidden under her bed. Just in case.

  I look up from my phone. Drew is still standing there. His head is tilted to one side, like he’s waiting for the answer to a question he hasn’t asked yet.

  “Is something wrong?” he says.

  Yes! My mom stores so much junk in our house that my sister thinks it’s going to kill her. She might not be wrong. But I can’t tell Drew that. None of my friends know, and I plan to keep it that way. I have to keep it that way. I’m not going to be that girl, the one everyone feels sorry for, the one with the disgusting house and the creepy mom.

  “It’s fine.” I toss my phone back into the pile of towels.

  “You in?” He gestures toward the pool.

  “Yeah.” I race past him and jump into the water. When I surface, he’s already in the pool. I kick off the side and race him to see who can steal the ball from Joey first. I win. (But part of me wonders if it’s because he didn’t try very hard.)

  The next text comes at 8:12 p.m., around the time we’re just settling down to watch Friday the 13th.

  I told Dad about my nightmares. I think it was a mistake.

  I ignore the text. I don’t like scary movies and am busy trying to convince Rae that we should watch something else, but Rae promises that Friday the 13th is “from, like, 1980 so it’s super cheesy.” I disagree. It’s not cheesy; it’s terrifying. I start chewing my thumbnail in the very first scene. It only gets worse, and when Annie is being chased through the woods, I freak out and try to dive into the couch cushion at my back. Only I miss the couch cushion. Drew is sitting a lot closer than I realized. I whack my head on his shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” We say it at the same time.

  “I’m fine.” We speak in unison again, and we’re both laughing like huge dorks when Annie’s throat gets slit.

  “Be quiet. Some of us are trying to watch the movie,” says Melanie. She throws a handful of popcorn at me and Drew.

  “Don’t!” says Rae. “Mom will kill me if you get grease on her couch.”

  I try to smother my laughter as I clutch my head where it collided with Drew’s shoulder. It actually does hurt a little, but I completely forget any pain when Drew puts an arm around me. “I don’t really like scary movies either,” he whispers.

  He doesn’t just say it to be nice. I can feel him flinch every time someone else is axed or macheted or impaled. I don’t think Mrs. McKinley knows we’re watching this, but it’s a great excuse to lean in closer to Drew. I feel like I could sit here forever, surrounded by friends and popcorn and Drew’s arm.

  So I can’t do it. I can’t make myself move or get up from the couch or even reply when Leslie’s next text comes, at 8:34 p.m.:

  Mom and Dad are fighting. I think it’s my fault. What should I do?

  Again at 8:47 p.m.:

  Dad said the d-word. I don’t know what to do.

  And again at 8:52 p.m.:

  Please call me.

  After that, Melanie complains all the buzzing is ruining the movie. So I hold down the button until the screen turns black, feeling guilty that I’m so happy for an excuse to turn off my phone. I don’t know what to tell Leslie, and tonight I don’t want to be part of the drama at home. I just couldn’t quite seem to turn it off on my own.

  My phone is still off after the movie ends and Rae’s mom makes the boys go home. I walk Drew out front when his mom calls to say she’s almost to the McKinleys’ house. He’s the last of the guys, and it’s just the two of us on the driveway. We’re far enough away from any city lights that the entire night sky sparkles. My head is tilted back and I’m watching the stars when Drew says: “Hey, we should hang out this summer.”

  A little thrill runs down my spine. I stop looking at the stars and turn toward him. This is the best news … but it’s also the worst news, and I hate that I have to choose my next words carefully. “That would be cool,” I say. “Maybe we can meet in town somewhere.” I’ll meet him anywhere. As long as it’s at least five miles away from home. Luckily for me, his ride pulls up before he can say anything about going over to each other’s houses.

  My phone is still off when Jenny, Melanie, Rae, Amanda, and I play Truth or Dare. I’m not a big fan of Truth or Dare, but I’m lucky again. I don’t have to lie about my mom or my house. They’re all too interested in asking me questions about Drew. Only Amanda asks a different question. She wants to know if Pinocchio is still my favorite Disney movie. It is. I know it’s a weird choice, but for some reason, there was just something I always really liked about that wooden puppet and the carver who loves him so much.

  Since my questions were all so easy, I feel kind of bad when Melanie double-dog dares Amanda to jump in the pool naked.

  I don’t think Amanda exactly wants to do it but she says okay anyway.

  Amanda takes people by surprise sometimes. She’s quiet and dreamy and, honestly, a little different. She notices the things other people miss, and she can be talked into doing the craziest stuff. I think it’s because Amanda doesn’t actually care what people think of her. But at the same time, I know she really, really wants people to like her. Who doesn’t?

  We all troop outside, and I stand at the end of the pool. This time I don’t look up at the stars. I stare at the rippling water and imagine myself saying: Hey, Amanda, you don’t have to do this. It’s a stupid game. We’ll still be your friends if you don’t.

  I’m still staring at the water, trying to make the words come out, when I hear a splash. The other girls are shrieking, and I see Amanda’s clothes in a heap near one of the lounge chairs. A dark shape moves in the water. It’s pitch-black, since we haven’t turned on any lights—Mr. and Mrs. McKinley might not like this game.

  I just stand there, laughing along with everyone else when Amanda shouts, “It’s cold!!!” Jenny tosses her a towel as she climbs out of the water. Amanda laughs along with the rest of us and wraps herself tightly in the towel. But I’m not quite comforted. There are a lot of kinds of laughter.

  My phone is still off when everyone else falls asleep, and Rae and I are the only ones awake. It feels like we’re the only two people in the entire world. I start to nod off a couple of times, but Rae won’t let me. We decide it will be too much work to TP someone’s house, so we sneak into the kitchen. It’s around 4:30 a.m., and we’re both slaphappy and sleep-deprived, which is probably why we decide it’s the perfect time to make pancakes. I start to pull out the just-add-water mix Mrs. McKinley keeps in the cupboard by the griddle, but Rae stops me. “Let’s invent a recipe,” she says.

  This is when I like Rae best—when it’s just the two of us. Rae seems to agree. She says: “Think how jealous everyone will be when they find out we stayed up without them.”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  Rae starts digging around in her mom’s spice rack.

  “You can’t make fun of me if I tell you something,” she says.

  “I won’t.”

  “Sometimes I think I want to be a cook when I grow up.”

  “Why would I laugh at that?”

  She sets the nutmeg and cinnamon on the counter with a shrug. “I usually tell people I want to be a lawyer or a doctor or something important.”

  “What’s more important than food?”

  That’s when I get the idea that if Rae wants to be a professional chef, she should learn to crack an egg with one hand. Like the chefs on TV. We watch a YouTube video, and the girl makes it look so easy that I’m confident we’ll both get it right on the first try. But I’m overconfident, and even though I’ve cracked about a thousand eggs, I slam the egg against the side of the bowl way too hard. The shell shatte
rs and my entire hand is coated in egg vomit. I run to the sink and scrub for a good sixty seconds.

  Rae has better luck. Her shell cracks cleanly, but she can’t separate the two halves of the shell to release the yolk. She drops it, shell and all, into the bowl. I don’t try again. I’m not about to risk salmonella. So I sit on the counter and offer helpful advice while she goes through about a dozen eggs. We finally give up, pick the shell out of one of the eggs, and make the rest of the batter.

  The pancakes are terrible—way too much cinnamon. Also they’re undercooked and full of eggshell. The syrup sticks to the roof of my mouth, making it difficult to swallow. And for some reason, my stomach hurts. I probably ate too much cookie dough and popcorn during the movie.

  By 10:00 a.m., I’m eating another round of pancakes. Rae’s mom cooked these, so they’re not runny in the middle and there’s no eggshell. It doesn’t make me feel any better, though. I’m grouchy. My stomach still hurts, and I’m only half-awake. So I don’t say much—especially once everyone starts in on their parents.

  Rae’s parents and older sister are safely outside, drinking coffee on the back deck, which means it’s just our friends when it starts.

  “My mom is making me take some pottery class.” Jenny rolls her eyes. “She thinks the internet is rotting my brain and art class is going to be ‘so much fun.’ Like my mom’s not constantly online. She should worry about her own brain.”

  “Well, my parents are dragging us all to Family Camp, which is way worse,” Melanie says. “It lasts an entire week, and it’s so embarrassing. Every time we go up there, my dad wears all these lame T-shirts and my mom brings her fanny pack.”

  “Does the camp have horses?” Jenny asks. She’s completely horse-obsessed.

  Melanie rolls her eyes. “Who cares?”

  Rae is laughing. “I know exactly which shirts you’re talking about. Doesn’t your dad have one with something about Velcro on it?”

  Melanie groans. “Yeah. It says, ‘Velcro—what a rip off!’ ”