Amber Brown Is on the Move

by Paula Danziger

  When I am with Dad, things are more relaxed. I like it because it reminds me of the old days. Except, of course, that Mom is not with us.

  Ever since Dad took me to New York City to see a Broadway show, we have started a new tradition. With the Chinese food we watch a movie musical. Tonight it’s Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.

  “The dancing is so amazing,” I say to Dad at the end. “It makes me excited about working with Miss Isobel.”

  Dad grins. “I think the world would be a better place if people burst out singing and dancing more often in real life.”

  Then we sing “Bless Yore Beautiful Hide,” one of the songs from the movie, while we dance around cleaning up the leftovers. We aren’t as good as the people in the film, but it’s still a lot of fun.

  “Time for bed,” Dad sings when we are done.

  I hurry off to brush my teeth and get on my pj’s. When I come back into the living room to tell Dad good night, he is at the computer.

  “Look,” he says. “Your dance teacher has a website. There are videos of her dancing.”

  We watch a few of them. Miss Isobel really is a good dancer.

  “All right,” Dad says after a few minutes. “Off you go.”

  We head for my room and Dad tucks me in and kisses me good night.

  A minute later Mewkiss Membrane hops onto the bed and cuddles up next to me. I stroke his head, and he begins to purr. It’s a very nice sound.

  “No mice!” I tell him sternly.

  I hope he listens.

  Chapter

  Six

  I, Amber Brown, think there should be a law against making kids go to school on a perfect spring Saturday. I am sure I am right about this because Mrs. Holt told us that the Constitution of the United States forbids “cruel and unusual” punishment. I am not sure how unusual Saturday Academy is . . . . . . . but it is definitely cruel.

  Dad pulls up in front of the high school. It is fifty billion times bigger than my school. Well, maybe not that big. But it is so big that it is scary.

  Dad pats me on my shoulder. “Do well on your tests, Amber, and someday you may be going here for real.”

  “Do you think that’s funny?” I growl at him.

  Dad blinks. “It was just a joke, honey.”

  I cross my arms. “There is nothing funny about me having to go to Saturday Academy!”

  Dad looks like he wants to say something else but decides not to, which is probably good. Instead he gets out of the car. I climb out my side. Even though I am a little mad at him, I am glad he is going to walk me into the school. As we get close to the door, I reach out and take his hand.

  A sign taped to the glass reads SATURDAY ACADEMY IS IN THE LANGUAGE LAB.

  “That sign would be more useful if we knew where the Language Lab is,” Dad says.

  Then he opens the door for me.

  It takes us ten minutes to find the right room, and the class has already started by the time we get there. Not only do I get to be the new kid, I get to be the new kid who came late.

  I look around to see if there is anyone I know. I spot two fifth graders who I have never talked to, a fourth grader who goes to our church, and . . . . . I should have guessed . . . . . . . Bobby Clifford.

  Bobby. I really am at the bottom of the aquarium.

  The teacher is talking but stops when we come in. He sees me, then glances down at a list on his desk. “Ah, you must be Amber Brown.” He smiles. “A very colorful name. Colorful, but not an excuse for being late.”

  I like my colorful name. I’m not sure I like him.

  He points to an empty seat. It’s right beside Bobby.

  Next time I’ll make sure I’m here early.

  “My name is Mr. Poindexter.”

  For some reason I think that’s funny. Bobby catches my eyes. I look out the window before he can make me laugh. I don’t need to get in any more trouble in my first five minutes.

  Dad waves good-bye and abandons me.

  Mr. Poindexter puts a math problem on the Smart Board. It’s not smart, it’s stupid. (The problem, not the board.) A girl named Mariella is taking a train. The train leaves Mariella’s town and travels for one hour and forty-five minutes.

  I start to worry about her. They don’t even tell us if Mariella is old enough to take a train by herself. And what if she gets hungry? Is there a snack car?

  After the first stop of ten minutes, the train travels another four hours and forty minutes. It arrives at 12:50 A.M.

  “The question is,” Mr. Poindexter says, “what time did Mariella’s journey begin?”

  Personally, I think a better question would be, “How many times did Mariella have to go to the bathroom before the train reached its destination?”

  This makes me think of a song Aunt Pam taught me:

  Passengers will please refrain

  From flushing toilets

  While the train

  Is standing in the station.

  I love you.

  I think she just added the “I love you” to go with the melody.

  Mr. Poindexter says, “Amber, how would you find the solution?”

  This is difficult to answer since I had gotten so distracted that I forgot what the actual problem was.

  While I am trying to remember, Bobby says, “Why did Mariella’s parents let her take a train that got in at 12:50 A.M. anyway? That doesn’t sound very safe to me.”

  I look at him. I am not sure if he is being a wise guy or if he is trying to help me out.

  Mr. Poindexter sighs and demonstrates how to solve the problem . . . . . which turns out to be “What time did the train leave the station?”

  Writing on the Smart Board, he says, “You just add together the two travel times and the rest time. Subtract the total . . . . . six hours and thirty-five minutes . . . from the time she arrived, 12:50 A.M. Bingo! We find that Mariella left at 6:15 P.M.”

  The girl in front of me says, “But that’s so simple!”

  Mr. Poindexter smiles. “Exactly! For many of these problems, the math is easy. The trick is not to get lost in the extra words.”

  Uh-oh. That was exactly what happened to me. I got lost in the words. Well, the words and my own thoughts.

  Maybe I do have a focus problem!

  “Just look for what the real question is,” Mr. Poindexter says. “And remember, these tests are multiple choice, so you will always have the right answer in front of you.”

  Then he passes out work sheets with ten problems and tells us we have thirty minutes to solve them.

  The problems are all about trains, planes, and automobiles.

  After I read them, I feel like I need training wheels. I am definitely lost in the words.

  I glance over at Bobby. I’ve seen him look silly, mad, goofy, mean, and weird. But until today I didn’t realize he had a sad face. I would feel sorry for him, but he is also driving me crazy. He can’t sit still. He squirms in his chair. He drums his fingers on the desk. He drops his pencil three times. In between he gets up to sharpen it. The last time he also manages to poke me in the arm on his way back to his desk.

  Mr. Poindexter yells at him to sit down.

  Bobby not only sits down, he puts his head down.

  Mr. Poindexter says, “Time’s up! Everyone pass your paper to the person in front of you. People in the front row, take your paper to the last person in the row.”

  This makes me think of the hoedown Dad and I saw in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers last night. If only there was music, this would be a lot more fun. Right now it’s no fun at all.

  Mr. Poindexter puts the answers on the Smart Board. The person I am grading got eight out of ten. I got three. I wonder how many Bobby got. I don’t think it was very many because he has put his head down on his desk again. I’m not sure, but I think he might be
crying.

  I know how he feels.

  Chapter

  Seven

  “How was it?” Dad asks.

  “Next week can I stay home and stick a fork in my eye?” I answer. “It might be more fun.”

  “That bad, huh? Well, cheer up. Let’s get some lunch. Then I’ve got something special planned for this afternoon.”

  “What is it?”

  Dad smiles. “It’s a surprise.”

  “Tell me!”

  “If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise.”

  I roll my eyes at him, but I don’t bug him to tell me more. I like surprises . . . . . as long as they are good ones. And Dad is good at surprises. His last one was our trip to the Broadway musical. It was one of the best things that we’ve ever done together.

  After lunch we don’t go to Broadway. Instead we drive to the next town over. Dad turns into a little mall and parks in front of a store called You’ve Got Nail!

  “Are you getting me sparkly toenails?” I squeal.

  Dad laughs. “No. Look at the next sign.”

  I do. It says MOVE AND GROOVE DANCE STUDIO.

  Dad smiles. “I e-mailed Isobel last night and she invited us to visit her studio. I’m thinking of taking dance lessons myself.”

  “Really?”

  Dad laughs. “Don’t sound so surprised. I need to get out of my comfort zone.”

  “Who says?”

  Dad looks down and mumbles, “Lots of people.”

  I have a feeling that by “lots of people” he really means one person . . . . . his counselor. Dad told me he’s seeing her for “dad lessons” and I know he is trying to be a better dad. But I’ve figured out that he probably talks to her about other things too.

  “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get a move on.”

  I am not sure how I feel about this. It’s like Dad is moving into my territory. Besides, I did dance at school yesterday. Then I went to school this morning. Now we’re back at another school-type thing this afternoon. That’s enough school!

  On the other hand, the dancing was fun.

  On the other other hand . . . . . . which makes three in all, which makes me feel like an alien . . . . . . . part of me just wants to go back to Dad’s and do nothing for a while.

  While I am thinking all of this, Dad has made it halfway to the door. I scurry to catch up with him.

  We step into a small room. It has life-size pictures of Isobel dancing. She is dressed in gowns that have more sparkles than even I have ever dreamed of. In a glass case are several shiny trophies that have dancing couples on top.

  Miss Isobel comes out to greet us. “I’m so glad to see you again, Topaz.”

  “It’s Amber,” Dad quickly says. “Amber Brown. She’s named for the color.”

  Miss Isobel smiles. “Topaz is a color too, no? And they are both jewels. A girl can’t have enough jewels.”

  I never thought I would have nothing to say about my name, but Miss Isobel has me stumped.

  “Come,” she says. “Come see the studio.”

  We follow her into a large room. It has a shiny wooden floor, and one whole wall is covered with mirrors.

  Miss Isobel looks at Dad. “Did you bring your dance shoes?”

  He glances down at his sneakers. “Uh, dance shoes?”

  Miss Isobel rolls her eyes. “Sneakers are not good for the dance! They squeak. It is appalling. You need leather soles for the turns.” She sighs. “For today, you can dance in your socks.”

  She waves Dad to the bench.

  I go with him. “This is my surprise?” I say as he unlaces his sneakers. “I get to watch you have a lesson?”

  Dad looks a little desperate. “Isobel said if I brought you, she’d have a nice surprise for you too.”

  “Ruby,” Miss Isobel calls.

  I don’t even bother to correct her. I am beginning to wonder if she is doing this on purpose. Does she think it’s funny? Is this a joke where she comes from?

  “I asked Ramón to come in today,” she says. “He is one of my students. He is also the teenage New Jersey champion in Latin dance. I am going to bring him to your school later in the program, but I think it will be nice for you to meet him now.”

  Ramón comes in through a door in the back wall. He is wearing a black Move and Groove T-shirt, black pants, and shiny black shoes. He smiles at me.

  If Brandi and Kelly could see me, I know they would be jealous. Ramón is as cute as the boys on the posters that decorate Brandi’s bedroom.

  I wonder if I can get a poster of him for my new room.

  “We will begin with the samba,” Miss Isobel says. “It is a wonderful dance from Brazil, very beautiful. And it is not one that we will be doing at school, Jade.”

  “It’s Amber,” I mutter.

  Miss Isobel waves her hand. Her fingernails are sparkly. I wonder if she gets them done at You’ve Got Nail!

  Ramón smiles at me again and says, “I like the name Amber.”

  I feel myself start to blush.

  Isobel gestures for Ramón to join her in the center of the room. “Now, come close and watch,” she says to Dad and me. “Ramón and I will demonstrate. We will do the steps without music first, very slowly. It starts with the samba bounce.”

  Their feet stay in place, but their hips begin to move.

  “The hip movement is done on the half beat,” Miss Isobel says.

  Dad looks scared. “I have no idea what she’s talking about,” he whispers.

  Ramón and Isobel begin to dance. It is as if a different species has entered the room. They are moving in a way that doesn’t seem possible, but it is beautiful. Then they break apart.

  “Now you will try it with us,” Miss Isobel says. “Don’t worry, we start very slowly.”

  Isobel goes to Dad. Ramón takes my hand.

  “Just follow me, Amber. When I step forward, you go backward with your left leg.”

  I look down.

  “No!” Ramón says. “Look at me, not your feet.”

  I do. Ramón is much better looking than my feet. He’s got the longest eyelashes I have ever seen.

  Miss Isobel counts the beats very slowly. As she does, I try to imitate Ramón’s moves. When he moves forward, my left foot goes back. It’s like magic. My feet are doing what they’re supposed to without my thinking about it.

  “Good,” Ramón says. “Now add the hips.”

  “Not me,” I say.

  “It’s easy, Periwinkle.” He winks at me. “Just move from the knees.”

  I giggle, but I think my hips are moving.

  I look over at Dad and Miss Isobel. He is biting the tip of his tongue, a sure sign that he is concentrating. He looks serious, but happy too.

  We try the dance with music. After several times I am not stepping on Ramón’s feet. I am actually feeling the music . . . . . . moving to it . . . . and turning when Ramón signals me. I’m dancing!

  When the session ends, Miss Isobel curtsies to Dad. I remember what she taught us and I curtsy to Ramón. He bows and smiles at me.

  I look at Dad. He has not bowed. I clear my throat. Then I clear it again. He looks at me and I nod my head toward Miss Isobel. Dad’s eyes get wide. Then he turns to Miss Isobel and bows.

  Sometimes I worry about him.

  As we get in the car, Dad turns to me. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

  I smile at him and say, “Yep.”

  He sighs. “I’ve got to take you home now, remember.”

  “It’s not really fair,” I tell him. “I’d rather spend the whole weekend with you.”

  “I know, but your mom said that you all have a lot to do to finish getting ready for the move. Once it’s over, you and I will get to spend some extra days together.”

  I pout.

 
Dad pats my hand. “Careful, Amber, your face will freeze that way.”

  “You’ve been telling me that since I was two and it hasn’t happened yet.”

  He laughs. “There’s always a first time,” he warns.

  We pull up to my house. Dad has been quiet for most of the drive. When I turn to kiss him good-bye, he looks sad.

  I put my hand on his arm. “What’s wrong, Dad?”

  “This is the last time I’ll ever drop you off at this house.” He sighs. “This is where I brought you home after you were born. It’s where I watched you grow up. I know I don’t live here anymore, but it was my home for a long time, and as long as you and your mom were here, I felt like I hadn’t lost it completely. But now it will be gone for good.”

  Suddenly I feel like crying.

  We sit side by side and stare at the house. I start to sniffle.

  Dad looks at me, then smiles and says, “Don’t cry, Topaz.”

  This makes me laugh a little, even though I am still crying. I think it is very strange that people can laugh and cry at the same time.

  “Come on,” he says. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  “Do you want to come in?” I ask him.

  I’m not sure if I want him to or not, but I feel like I should ask.

  Dad shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He gives me a hug, then turns and walks back to his car.

  Chapter

  Eight

  I, Amber Brown, used to live in a house. I went away for a night and a day and while I was gone, Mom and Max turned the place into a disaster zone.

  They have filled our home with boxes. There are boxes everywhere. Boxes for the books . . . . . boxes for the dishes . . . . . boxes for the glasses . . . . . boxes for the towels. I know what they are for because Max has labeled each one with a Magic Marker.

  He has also numbered them.

  Walking between all the boxes makes me feel like a mouse in a maze.