Short for Chameleon

by Vicki Grant

  “So who’s this cowpoke?”

  “I think that’s her boyfriend.” I leaned over from the back seat and showed her how to scroll. “There were lots of pictures of him.”

  Albertina wobbled her head. “Not a bad-looking fella, if he’d do something about that flea-bitten beard . . . She’s got a dog, eh? And a house. She own it?”

  How was I supposed to know?

  “She plays the saxophone . . . Interesting.”

  “Why?” Raylene and I both said it at the same time. We were apparently in some sort of contest.

  Albertina ignored us. She flipped through the rest of the photos, had a good gawk at one in particular, then tossed the camera back at me.

  “Enough of this.” She pulled out. “Got to fix myself up before someone catches me without my face on.” She screeched through a couple of blocks until she found a Starbucks, then beetled into the restroom. She had her sweater pulled over her head like a suspect on a perp walk.

  Raylene and I were stuck in the car alone.

  “I wonder what that Janie’s up to.” Nothing like ditching me the night before to make Raylene all chipper today. “I mean, Dr. Blaine had sleazoid written all over him, but Janie? Didn’t seem like that at all. In fact, I kind of liked her skirt. Wish I’d asked where she got it.”

  “So people whose clothes you like would never do anything bad.” I didn’t really want to be a jerk anymore. I just couldn’t figure out how to stop.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Sure makes life a lot easier, being able to spot the good guys right off and everything.”

  “You’re not serious. Clothes and toenails—that’s how you judge people?”

  She turned around and looked at me, eyes blank as a doll’s. “No. I am not serious. At least about the clothes. Toenails, of course, are a different matter. Why are you so cranky?”

  “I’m not.” I rolled down the window.

  “Are so.”

  “Am not.”

  “Okay. Fine. You’re not. Whatever.”

  “Okay. Fine. I am. I don’t like being called a creep. Guess I’m funny that way.”

  “The guy told you I said that? He shouldn’t have told you that.”

  “You shouldn’t have said it.”

  “You shouldn’t have been prying into my personal life.”

  “Oh, so I’m prying when I ask about your family but not vice versa?”

  I think she laughed, but she was facing the other way now. “Yeah, basically.”

  I pretended I was laughing too. I stared at the Starbucks sign and tried to figure out what was going on with the mermaid’s tail. It had never made any sense to me. Did she have two? One, cut in half?

  I was no further ahead when I saw Albertina walk out the door. She was all done up again in full technicolor. I’d forgotten how hard on the eyes she could be.

  “So, kids, what say I take you out for cheap eats somewhere?”

  Raylene opened her mouth to answer, but no way was I letting her ditch me first.

  “Sorry. Can’t. I’m busy this evening.” I hoped it sounded like I had a hot date. Raylene didn’t need to know it was with Sharon.

  “Me too,” she said.

  I gave a little snort like sure.

  She shook her head like you moron.

  Then Albertina made some crack about “trouble in paradise” and I got out of the car and slammed the door.

  CHAPTER 17

  There were so many reasons I hated Raylene.

  The way she kept ditching me. The way she acted so smart. The way she, like, idolized Albertina. The way she smelled so good.

  I didn’t want to have anything to do with her anymore.

  That’s what I was thinking when I walked into the apartment, so maybe I was a bit distracted.

  Someone grabbed me from behind and said, “Don’t move or I’ll shoot” in a thick Russian accent.

  It pissed me off. I jabbed my elbow back and went, “Dad. Quit it, would you?” I was in no mood to goof around.

  “I’ll shoot. I mean it.”

  He thought he was so funny, crouched down and acting all Mr. Paid-Assassin with that stupid can of Reddi-wip aimed at me.

  I pushed it away and sort of went, “Gaah!” or “Erg!” or something.

  “What are you so cranky about?” he said.

  “Would everyone quit telling me I’m cranky?” I stormed into my room and slammed the door.

  I kicked a bunch of dirty clothes off my bed and flopped down face-first. My bed stunk. My life stunk. I didn’t know why I ever even thought I liked Raylene. I was so much happier when it had just been me and Dad and Suraj and the odd leftover hunk of mortadella.

  Mortadella you could at least count on.

  Dad knocked on the door. I said, “Go away,” and put the pillow over my head.

  He opened the door and came in.

  “Dad!” I grabbed the pillow and threw it at him. I missed.

  “Now now. This’ll make you feel better.” He had two cans of Reddi-wip. He handed me one.

  I wouldn’t take it. He shrugged and put it on the bedside table, then he opened his and sprayed a big swirl into his mouth.

  “I know why you’re upset,” he said. The whipped cream made his voice sound like a boot squelching through mud or something. It was disgusting.

  “No, you don’t, actually.”

  “Yes, I do, actually. I’m not as dumb as you think.”

  Did Suraj tell him about Raylene? I was going to pound that little jerk.

  “Sharon.” He wiped some cream off his lips, then licked his fingers. “That’s what’s bugging you.”

  I almost laughed. Right. Sharon. She was the least of my problems at the moment.

  “I owe you an apology. I was thinking about it today and realized how Nu Luv I’d been.” That was our slang for stunned. If you ever saw Up to No Good, you’d know why. “I get kind of lost in my own little world. I was just thinking it was a gig. I wasn’t thinking about its effect on you. Remember that episode about the Italian sweater?”

  Of course I did. Thanks to the miracles of modern recording technology and Dad’s sad obsession with UTNG, I practically knew every episode by heart.

  I didn’t say anything.

  “It’s the one where the boys in the band buy Bloat this really expensive sweater so he’ll feel good about himself for his big date. He doesn’t want it, but they badger him into wearing it even though he can barely get it on, and in the end he feels even worse about himself than he did before.”

  “. . . until, of course, Nu Luv breaks out into their number-one hit ‘Beautiful Inside’ and he realizes it’s his inner self that really counts blah, blah, blah.”

  “So you do remember it.”

  “Yes, I just don’t know what it has to do with me. Or care, actually.” I wished he’d just go away so I could eat my Reddi-wip in peace.

  “Well, I realized I’m doing the same thing to you that Nu Luv did to Bloat.”

  “Right. Giving me an expensive sweater would be exactly like making me go out with Sharon.”

  “What I mean is I think I’m doing something to help you when I’m actually—if accidentally—doing something that would hurt you.”

  I hated it when Dad got all emo drama-school on me. “If you start singing ‘Beautiful Inside,’ I’m going to puke.”

  “No, I’m being serious here, Cam. You’ve never had a mother. Or at least not a mother like most kids do. And, look, I’m to blame for that as much as anyone. Maddie could have stepped up to the plate a bit more, and I know, in her own way, she’s sorry for that now. But I was the reason she left in the first place. She married me thinking I was a certain person, then I went and turned myself into a whole different one. That’s not what she signed up for. So both of us have things to answer for—but you’re the one who ends up paying the price. And most of the time, you’re pretty darn good about it, but I think I pushed you too far with Sharon. It’s one thing being someone’s grandson or nephew or c
ousin. It’s another thing for a motherless boy to have to play some mother’s son. That can’t be easy. ’Specially the way Sharon looks at you.”

  He had it so wrong.

  Yes. I hated the way Sharon looked at me. Any normal kid would. But the mother thing? Big deal.

  I know it sounds bad, but I really don’t think about my mother at all. I barely remember her. I mean, I remember her. I know what she looks like and everything. And she came here a couple of years ago, so it’s not like we lost touch. But I don’t remember her living with us. I don’t remember her actually being a mother. So what’s there to miss?

  And to tell the truth, I kind of agree with Raylene. Who says families are so great? If they were, Dad wouldn’t have a business. (Frankly, if I’d had a choice between a mother and a dog right at that moment, I’d probably have taken the dog. Spend as much time as I do with the “flesh and bloods”—that’s what Dad calls our clients—and it’s hard to be sentimental.)

  But I’m not an idiot. No way I was telling Dad that. I rolled over and sat up. “So does that mean I don’t have to go then?”

  “No. You still have to go. I’m just saying I’m sorry I signed you up for it in the first place. I owe you one. Now, here.” He tossed me my can of Reddi-wip. “Give yourself a few mouthfuls and let’s get going.”

  I made loud dangerous animal sounds until he was out the door, then I sucked back some Reddi-wip.

  “And if you need help gluing that wig on, just give me a call!” He thought he was so funny. “Can’t have your hair bouncing off and scaring the kiddies!”

  CHAPTER 18

  Sharon was the saddest person I ever met. Her mouth would sometimes sort of quiver up into a smile, but her eyes never did. Dad always said that’s why I wasn’t allowed to do anything stupid. If something happened to me, he’d be exactly like her. I couldn’t do that to the world.

  Sharon picked us up and we drove to High-Jinx Trampoline Park, somewhere out in the burbs. A big poster out front said, “Welcome to Bounce Back: A Fundraiser in Support of Adolescent Suicide Prevention!!!” Gee, that would have sounded really depressing if someone hadn’t thought to add the three exclamation points.

  “This looks like fun,” Sharon said, and gave one of those little U-shaped quivers. She was wearing a brown skirt and a brown sweater and black old-lady shoes. Her glasses were around her neck. Everything about her just positively screamed, “Wheeee!”

  “Yeah!” said Dad. “I love trampolines!” He didn’t. “I can hardly wait to get on!” Right. Two bounces and there’d be Reddi-wip all over the walls.

  We went in, and the first person we saw was Reverend Muncaster. She was taking tickets at the door.

  “Sharon!”

  “Carole.” The Reverend was the type of minister who got called by her first name a lot. “You know my husband, Gary . . . and our son, Josh.”

  I could tell Reverend Muncaster was trying not to laugh. Apparently, the strawberry-blond mushroom-cut and braces did not suit me. It didn’t help, either, that the clothes Sharon made me wear went out of style a good twenty years ago. I looked like an extra from Up to No Good, as Dad had been delighted to point out. At least the glasses hid most of my face.

  “Yes, of course! Isn’t this a wonderful family outing. So glad you could make it.”

  “Oh, wouldn’t miss it.” Sharon was reaching into her purse for her Kleenex, thus beating her previous record of zero to tears in thirty seconds. “A dear friend of mine lost her son to suicide a number of years ago, same age as Josh. Then her marriage broke up and well . . . I think of her all the time and count my blessings. Could just as easily have been me.”

  Reverend Muncaster stamped our hands, then when Sharon wasn’t looking, gave my arm a little shake and whispered, “You’re a saint.”

  We stood at the door and looked in. The gym was like one giant wall-to-wall trampoline. People were on it playing basketball and dodge ball and doing flips. Some were in goofy costumes. I have no idea why. Suicide isn’t usually that festive.

  “Lots of kids your age, sweetie,” Sharon said. “Why don’t you go on in? Dad and I will watch from the viewing stands. Is that okay, Gary? You don’t mind sitting this one out, do you? I just think I’d like some company.”

  Dad said, “No, no. Not at all, sweetheart. Josh and I can always come back together another time.”

  He smiled at me, all smug and everything, and if Reverend Muncaster hadn’t just said I was a saint, I probably would have done something I regretted. Instead I put on my best Gee-Whiz-Josh face and went, “Can I go now? I really want to give it a try!”

  “Teenage boys.” Little chuckle, or as close as Sharon ever got to one. “Go. Go. But be careful, Josh. You have a bad stomach. If you don’t feel well or if there are too many kids jostling you about, we can always leave. Whenever you want. No shame in that.”

  I nodded and gave her a big grin. A real one. Ten minutes bouncing. Bad stomach. Twenty minutes home. With a little luck, I’d be back by the time Suraj finished work.

  I climbed onto the trampoline.

  Raylene was standing at the entrance, smiling at me.

  CHAPTER 19

  I don’t know what my face did, but it must have been something weird.

  Raylene went, “Well, hello there!” Big, twinkly smile.

  I panicked. “Ahh . . .” I looked away. Sharon saw me and waved from the bleachers. Dad would kill me if I blew cover. I waved back.

  I stared at my sneakers and whispered, “Well, this is awkward. Not sure what I should do here.” I figured if I looked right at Raylene, she’d pee herself laughing. Then Sharon would get upset because someone was making fun of Josh, and then there’d be more tears and Dad in a flap. Major scene. Loss of a good client. Bills not paid, etc., etc.

  At least Raylene seemed to be able to control her voice. “Hmm. Well. Let’s see. There are lots of choices. Basketball’s at that end. Free-form bouncing over there. Dodge ball in the middle. You can do whatever you want. Any questions, just look for a volunteer. We’re all wearing these orange T-shirts. Oh, and snacks are in the lobby.”

  I looked up. She smiled and said, “Have fun!”

  No wink. No elbow nudge. No squiggly lips fighting to keep down a laugh. She clearly had no idea who I was. All I could think was thank God for ugly wigs, fake braces, and glasses the size of scuba masks.

  I didn’t hang around to let Raylene get a second look. I scrambled down to the other end of the trampoline. I’d escaped.

  I planned to stay there until she left her post near the door and I could slip out, but I sort of drifted back. Before I could help myself, I was bouncing with a bunch of twelve-year-olds right next to her.

  I kept it low-key. I didn’t want Sharon shrieking (which she did every time I bounced more than six inches in the air), and I sure didn’t want Raylene noticing me. I was basically lurking.

  So much for never wanting to see her again.

  Raylene led a bunch of little kids in some sort of musical game for a while. She held hands and bounced with a disabled guy until he got tired. Then she had a long serious talk with a lady in a Minnie Mouse costume. From what I could hear, it was mostly about volunteering and how wonderful it was to see young people doing their part, but then the lady said, “I know how difficult it must be for you. I understand your family’s been touched by it too.”

  I didn’t hear what Raylene said to that. Her back was to me, and before I could bounce around to a better spot, Dad had started calling and waving from the viewer’s gallery.

  He was like some demented inflatable air dancer at a second-hand car lot. He wasn’t going to stop until I responded. I sighed and went over to see what he wanted.

  “Your mother’s getting tired, so whenever you’re ready . . .”

  “Ten more minutes?” I said.

  He checked with Sharon. “Okay.”

  I turned to go back to Raylene and the Mouse Lady but they’d disappeared. I looked around the gym. No sign of th
em. Maybe they’d gone for a snack. I stumbled full speed across the trampoline. (In any other context, I would have found that hilarious. Try running across a floor that bounces back. Newborn giraffes look more coordinated.)

  I had no idea what I was going to say to Raylene if I found her, but I had to find her. I wobbled off the trampoline and into the lobby. The place was jammed. People were still arriving. Others were leaving. Big kids were elbowing their way to the food table. Mothers were racing little kids to the washrooms.

  I noticed Kev, one of our Almost Family freelancers, over in the corner, chowing down on a chicken wrap. He was dressed in your standard high-school biology teacher uniform—pleated chinos, button-down shirt, and novelty tie. (I’m always amazed how well he manages to cover up his neck tattoo for these gigs. Must take a pile of concealer to hide that beast.)

  “Oh, hi, Mr. Dakin. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Kev looked right at me but didn’t give a thing away. He never breaks character. (Weird guy, but professional.)

  “Oh, hey, Josh. Thought I saw your parents here. How ya doin’?”

  “All right. I’m just looking for someone.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You haven’t seen a girl with silver hair, have you?”

  He chewed thoughtfully, then shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “What about a lady in a Minnie Mouse costume?”

  “You mean like her?” He pointed his chin towards the entrance.

  I turned and saw a large pair of black ears and a red polka-dot bow poking up from behind a bunch of backslapping adults.

  “Thanks, Mr. Dakin!”

  “See you in school, Josh . . . but, hey! No running in the hall!”

  I wiggled through the crowd. I found Mouse Lady by the ticket table chatting with Reverend Muncaster, but no Raylene. I was just going to go over and see if they knew where she was when something weird happened. One second Mouse Lady was talking and smiling, the next second her head was on the Reverend’s shoulder and her ears had fallen onto the floor and she was crying her eyes out.