Amber Brown Is on the Move

by Paula Danziger

  “Look how much we’ve done,” Max says proudly. “We finished the kitchen and made a good start on the living room.”

  I look into what used to be the living room. There are no pictures on the walls, no books on the shelves, no knickknacks on the end tables. Mom is kneeling on the floor with a box labeled SARAH’S SEASHELLS.

  I point to the label. “Bet you can’t say that three times fast.”

  “Careful,” Mom says. “I lost my sense of humor when we hit box number fifty.”

  “But we’ve made such progress!” Max exclaims.

  Mom scowls at him.

  “I think I’ll go fill the tape gun,” he says.

  I kneel next to Mom and start wrapping a seashell.

  “Did you have a good time with your dad?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “You don’t seem very happy.”

  I look around the room at all the boxes. “I don’t want to move. I love this house. And it doesn’t help any that Max is so cheerful about leaving.”

  “Amber, we’ve been over this a dozen times. Max, you, and I need a house that is ours, that is fresh.”

  “You and Max want a house that is fresh. I was perfectly happy with this one. And it’s not stale.”

  Mom’s face gets stern. “The movers are coming in five days, and you just need to accept it.”

  I put down the seashell I was wrapping. “Fine.”

  I do not mean that, of course. I mean just the opposite. I wonder if anyone has ever said “fine” and meant it.

  I get to my feet and head for the stairs.

  “Amber,” Mom calls.

  I don’t answer, and I don’t think she really expects me to.

  I go to my room. I love my room. It has three yellow walls. The fourth wall has dancing ballerina wallpaper. Only these ballerinas are hippos, ducks, elephants, rhinos, and rabbits. I know it’s kind of babyish, and I wanted to change it just a few months ago. But now that I have to leave it behind, I know I’m going to miss it. I bet the new owners will paint over it. That makes me mad just to think about.

  The only thing I don’t like about my room is that stupid box labeled AMBER’S TOYS TO DONATE. It is still sitting there. And it is still empty.

  I hear a knock on the door frame. It’s Max. He is carrying the tape gun. “Can I come in?”

  I shrug. “Sure.”

  “I wanted to get to work on your room while you were gone, Amber, but your mom told me I had to wait for you.”

  “Mom was right.”

  Max frowns. “It’s just that I’m worried your room won’t be ready in time for the movers.”

  Although he stayed calm through the wedding, since Max has been living with us, I’ve learned that “I’m worried” are two of his favorite words.

  And I thought Mom was the worrywart. Now I’ve got two worrywarts to deal with.

  Which is one more thing for me to worry about.

  I hope worrying doesn’t really cause warts. It was one thing to have chicken pox. I don’t want a batch of worry warts popping out all over my face.

  While I am worrying about warts, Max sits down on the edge of my bed. He looks around.

  “I know you love this room,” he says, as if he could read my mind. “But I promise we’ll work to make your new room even better. Don’t forget, you’re going to have your own bathroom. That will be a big improvement, won’t it?”

  “Just because something is better doesn’t mean I want to trade in the old thing that I love to get it,” I say.

  Max nods. “I understand that. But Amber, can you try to understand that I can’t really live here in this house that your mom shared with your dad for so long? I know I might seem a little over-the-top about this move, but I’ve always lived in apartments and I’ve never had a house of my own. Having a new home for our new family just feels right to me.”

  “And leaving this house feels wrong to me!”

  “You’ve known we were going to be doing this for a long time now, Amber.”

  “Well, it’s different now that it’s happening!” As I say that, I realize it is true.

  Max shakes his head. “As my mother used to say, the train has left the station.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means everything is in motion and there’s no turning back. This move is going to happen whether you want it to or not. So the only question now is, how hard are you going to make things for yourself?”

  He points to my shelves, which are full of games, crafts, toys, glitter, and books. “You haven’t even begun to sort through this stuff. Let’s do it now. What do you want to throw out?”

  I know I can’t say, “You!” but that’s the first thing that I think. The next thing I think is that after I throw him out, I want to take the tape gun and tape my door shut so that nobody can get in.

  “I’ll do it later,” I say to him.

  “It’s never going to get done if you don’t get started! Let’s do it now.”

  “I’ll do it later,” I say again.

  “No, we need to start now!”

  I open my mouth, and what comes out surprises me. “You’re not my father!”

  Max’s eyes get wide and his face turns red. But he doesn’t say anything. He just gets up and leaves my room.

  I feel sick. I was kind of mean to Max when Mom first started to date him, but after a while I got to like him, and then I even came to love him. We have never been really mad at each other before, but right now I don’t like him at all.

  It scares me how sad that makes me.

  I pick up Gorilla. “Too bad you aren’t real. Then you could help me pack.” I look around my room. “I could use an army of gorillas.”

  Then I get a brilliant idea. I may not have a gorilla army, but I’ve got a girl army.

  I call Brandi. She can tell from my voice that I’m upset. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

  “I just had my first big fight with Max.”

  “About what?”

  “This stupid packing for this stupid move. I haven’t even started and Max is getting nervous. The movers aren’t even coming until Thursday.”

  “Thursday? Yikes! You do need help, Amber. Lucky for you, you have friends.” She bursts into song. “That’s what friends are for!”

  I giggle.

  “Seriously, I’ll get Kelly and we’ll come over tomorrow. It’ll be fun. And don’t worry about Max . . . . . just tell him you’re sorry and the troops are coming to the rescue. We’ll get this done.”

  Just talking to her makes me feel better. I take a minute to calm down, then go to look for Max.

  He hasn’t gone very far . . . . he’s sitting at the top of the stairs kind of looking at nothing.

  I sit beside him and say, “I’m sorry.”

  He doesn’t say anything.

  “You were right,” I say, trying again. “I do need help. Brandi and Kelly are coming tomorrow and we’ll get my room done.”

  “Fine,” he says.

  I know what that means.

  Then he takes a deep breath. “Listen, Amber, I’m not trying to replace your dad. But I’m in your life and sometimes I have to be the grown-up. We’re going to have fights sometimes. I’m glad you said you’re sorry. And I’m sorry if I was pushing too hard, but I really am worried. I’m glad Brandi and Kelly are coming tomorrow.”

  He takes the tape gun and goes downstairs to help Mom.

  “Max!” I call. “We’ll need your help labeling the boxes.”

  He turns and smiles. “I’m on it!”

  Chapter

  Nine

  “Ta-da! Help has arrived!”

  That’s Brandi. She’s standing in my doorway.

  “And not a minute too soon from the looks of things. Amber, haven’t you done any packi
ng at all?”

  That’s Kelly. She is looking over Brandi’s shoulder into my room.

  I shrug, feeling a little embarrassed. “I kept waiting for the packing fairy, but she never showed up.”

  “Well, the first thing we need is more boxes,” Brandi says.

  “No problem there. Didn’t you see the stacks piled right outside my door waiting to be made up? We’ll have to get Max’s tape gun, though.”

  “Not necessary,” Kelly says. She reaches into her backpack and pulls out a tape gun. “We still had this around from our last move. I figured it would come in handy.”

  It turns out it’s fun to make boxes. I like seeing things that are flat turn into things that aren’t flat. And the tape, which is two inches wide, makes a cool ripping sound as it comes off the big roll.

  “Turn it over,” Brandi says when I get the first box ready for taping. “That’s the top. You don’t want to tape that up yet.”

  I look at her. “What difference does it make which end is the top and which is the bottom? It’s a box.”

  “The top has places for you to write what’s inside,” Kelly explains. “See, there’s a line for your name, another line for what’s in it. That way the movers will put the boxes in your room, which is where you want them, and you’ll know which boxes you want to unpack first.”

  She sounds a lot like Max now. I decide not to mention that.

  Kelly is in her take-charge mode. “You need two boxes and a garbage bag going all the time. One box is for things to keep, one is for things to donate, and the garbage bag is for stuff too junky to give away. We’ve moved three times, and the important thing is not to take too much with you. In our family we have one rule for moving: Throw out, throw out, throw out.”

  “I feel more like throwing up,” I say. “I don’t want to throw anything away. I love my stuff.”

  Brandi laughs. “So do those crazy people you see on TV who can’t walk through their houses because they’ve got so much junk. You don’t want to end up like them, Amber. Most of this stuff you’ll never miss.”

  “That’s what Justin said. But I don’t get it. I’m moving into a bigger house. Why do I have to get rid of anything? I’ll have room for all my stuff.”

  Kelly says, “What you need is room for new stuff. Look, Amber, some of the things you’ve got around here are pretty babyish.”

  “They are not.”

  Brandi laughs again. “Really? What about this?” She goes to my shelf and picks up a plastic duck on wheels that quacks when you pull it behind you.

  I laugh. “You’re quacking me up. Okay, that is pretty babyish. But it was my favorite toy when I was two.”

  This causes Kelly to start singing “My Favorite Things.” Brandi and I join in.

  We dance around the room. As we do, I pick up some of my favorite things . . . . the blue plastic mermaid that plays music when you press the jewel in her belly, the pig-taking-a-bubble-bath bank that is also an alarm clock, and the plastic reindeer that poops miniature jelly beans. I hand each one to Brandi, who wraps it and puts it in the To Keep box.

  The second time we get to the line “These are a few of my favorite things,” Kelly stops singing and says, “Did you notice that the song says a FEW of my favorite things, Amber? Not every single thing I ever owned in my entire life?”

  I don’t think it is fair to use a song against me, but I have to admit that I understand her point.

  Brandi says, “Your new room should be about Amber now, not about baby Amber.”

  She’s making sense. I go to a bottom shelf filled with toys that I haven’t looked at for at least a year. Except for my “passport” from Mr. Cohen’s third-grade class, I throw everything else into the To Donate box. It makes me happy to think of some little kid having fun with these toys. It makes me happy for the toys too since I personally believe that toys want to be played with.

  I probably should have done this sooner.

  When I am finished with the shelf, the box is full. While Kelly shoves it out of the way, Brandi brings me another To Donate box.

  I fill that one too. I realize Justin, Kelly, and Brandi were right . . . . . . it is mostly baby stuff. In fact, some of it is embarrassing, like the stuffed cat that only has three legs because I chewed the fourth one off when I was teething.

  We start on my bookshelves. This is harder because I love my books, even the ones I had when I was very little. It also goes more slowly because Brandi and Kelly and I talk about a lot of the books, especially the ones we’ve all read. Finally I decide to keep them all.

  “I want these in case I ever have kids of my own,” I say.

  Mom comes in and looks at what we’ve done so far. “Wow,” she says. “I think you girls have earned a pizza break.”

  “And here it is,” Max says, walking in with a pizza box and a big bottle of soda.

  We have a pizza-nic on my bed.

  It is a nice break from packing. It is also a good chance for some girl talk.

  “So what’s it like having to dance with Fredrich?” Kelly asks.

  Brandi sighs. “He’s really good. I just wish everyone in class didn’t still think of him as Mr. Booger Paws. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

  “I think Fredrich is nice,” I say.

  I didn’t used to think that. I didn’t used to think about Fredrich much at all, except for the fact that he was a nose picker. But when we had Mom and Max’s wedding at the camp Fredrich’s family owns, I got to know him a little better. Now I am kind of embarrassed about how I used to treat him.

  “It’s weird how you don’t know who would be a good dancer,” Kelly says. “I noticed Bobby isn’t half bad either.”

  “And I’m not half good,” I say.

  Kelly and Brandi laugh a little too hard at that.

  “How is Gregory?” Brandi asks. Gregory is who Kelly got paired with.

  Kelly makes a face. “He’s not bad, except every time he makes a mistake he says ‘sorry’ in burp talk!”

  Brandi laughs. “It’s too bad we need boys for dancing. It would be so much easier without them.”

  I think of Ramón and how easy he made the dancing when I was with him. I decide not to mention that.

  “Okay, we’d better get started again,” Kelly says. “We still have to tackle your closet. That’s going to be a biggie.”

  My closet is scary. Soon my bed is covered with clothes. Brandi and Kelly have very strong opinions on what to keep. Luckily we agree that I don’t need the leggings from second grade that have daisies on them. In fact, we get rid of a lot of the leggings.

  I tell Brandi and Kelly that they are pulling my leggings.

  They groan, but laugh.

  Then Brandi says, “Okay, the rule is if you haven’t worn something since third grade, it has to go.”

  I agree, though I do insist on keeping the I Love London T-shirt that I got from my trip with Aunt Pam.

  As we keep going, the Donate pile gets bigger than the Take It with Me pile.

  I find the daisy dress that went with the leggings. It still almost fits. I hold it up. “I think I’ll keep this.”

  Brandi shakes her head.

  “I’m starting a Maybe pile,” I say.

  Kelly looks alarmed.

  “I promise to keep it small,” I tell her.

  Soon we can see the floor of my closet. I don’t remember the last time I saw my closet floor.

  I haul out my pink glitter bowling ball. Max gave it to me. It has my name engraved on it. It goes in the To Keep box.

  “Bulletin! Bulletin! Bulletin!” shouts Brandi. She’s on all fours halfway in my closet. “Amber Brown has a strange alien artifact in a shoe box in her closet.”

  She backs out, and I see that she is holding the box that has the chewing gum ball. “Amber, what in the world is this?”
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  “Let me see,” Kelly says.

  “Give it to me,” I say. “It’s private.”

  I wrap my arms around the box.

  “What is it?” Brandi asks again.

  “Something Justin and I made. I keep it because it helps me remember him.”

  Kelly laughs. “Wouldn’t a picture be better?”

  “You guys don’t understand. Justin lived next door and he was my best friend. He was in and out of this house almost every day. Now I’ll never live in a house where he was my neighbor. And I will never, ever live in a house where Mom and Dad and I were together.”

  Brandi and Kelly are quiet for a moment. Then Brandi goes over to the bed and picks up the daisy dress. “Maybe you should keep this one after all,” she says.

  We go back to work.

  Chapter

  Ten

  I, Amber Brown, am discombobulated. So is my house. Boxes, boxes everywhere and not a place to think . . . . . or even sit down. That’s because the movers are coming this morning.

  Personally, I think “The movers are coming, the movers are coming!” is an even more frightening sentence than “The Martians are coming, the Martians are coming!”

  Mom puts a paper plate in front of me. “Peanut butter for breakfast,” she says.

  It’s my favorite . . . . . . an English muffin decorated with M&M’s to make a smiley face.

  I am impressed that she somehow managed to keep the toaster from landing in one of Max’s boxes. I think about moving the M&M’s to make a frowny face, but decide it is a bad idea.

  Max is too nervous to eat breakfast. He keeps going to the front door to see if the moving van has showed up yet.

  “They were supposed to be here by eight,” he says.

  “Relax,” Mom tells him. “They’ll be here.”

  Max gives me a smile. It’s his “I’m pretending not to be worried” smile.

  I’ve started making a list of Max’s worried faces. I wonder if I can do them in M&M’s. I wonder if I made him one on an English muffin if he would eat it.

  Mom jangles her keys and says, “All right, Amber, I’ll drive you to school now.”