“He’s still not as good as Mrs. Foote,” Sprig says loyally, although she hasn’t thought about Mrs. Foote for many days now. “He’s just the substitute. She’s a real teacher.”
Russell kicks her foot under the table. “Bad attitude, Ewing.”
“Keep your feet to yourself, Ezra-Evans!”
“I read Mr. Julius’s essay too,” Bliss says. “His girlfriend’s name is Megan. Wow, she’s so pretty, and she’s in the army, a helicopter pilot in Afghanistan. That is so cool.”
“I don’t think it’s so cool,” Sprig says. “Bliss! Afghanistan is dangerous.”
“Well, she must be really brave,” Bliss says, a little defensively.
“Like my dad,” Sprig says.
“What does that mean?” Russell asks. “Your dad’s not in the Army.”
“Thanks for the information. My dad’s going to Afghanistan to help build schools there.” Sprig pushes away her food. She doesn’t want to talk about it.
“I never want to be in the Army,” Bliss says. “Anyway, I know I couldn’t be a pilot. When we fly to Arizona to visit my grandfather? I can’t even look out the window or I’ll be sick!”
Russell gives his weird laugh, sort of like a seal barking. Bliss seems to like it, though. She laughs with him. Sprig sits back and watches as Russell digs into his pants pocket and brings out a crumpled piece of paper. His essay. “Look at this, Bliss,” he says, “look at all the things Mr. Julius wrote about my essay.”
“The famous four lines,” Sprig says.
“Now the famous ten,” Russell says. “I added stuff about my baby brother. He’s five months old, and” — Russell forks up a chunk of raw broccoli, looks at it dolefully, then puts it in his mouth — “his name is Wheel.”
“Wheel?” Sprig says.
“Clean your ears, Ewing. I said Will. Do you like that name?”
“I like it better than Wheel, Ezra-Evans.”
“It was so fun writing about my family,” Bliss says. “My dad has these math jokes that are sort of corny? But they break him up. I put in one for Mr. Julius. Question: Why was the six afraid of the seven?”
“Why?” Russell asks, obligingly.
“Because seven eight nine.”
“Great joke,” Russell says. He eyes Sprig’s dessert, a double chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting. “That cupcake looks pretty good.”
“It’s yummy, but you can’t have any.”
“Sprig!” Bliss says.
“Well, he’s on a diet.” Sprig pushes the cupcake across the table to Bliss. “But you aren’t, have some. Come on,” Sprig urges. “I know you love chocolate.”
“Maybe just a sliver.” Bliss cuts off a small slice.
Russell pulls the cupcake over to his side. “I’ll have a sliver too. Man cannot live on broccoli alone,” he says, popping a good-size chunk into his mouth. “Bliss, have some more,” he says, as if it’s his cupcake. He watches as she cuts another slice. “Good,” he approves.
“It’s for you,” Bliss says, handing it to him. They smile at each other.
“My turn,” Sprig says, taking back the cupcake. “Okay with you guys if I have a piece of my cupcake?”
It isn’t the remains of her chocolate cupcake that Sprig broods over on the bus going home though, but that shared smile between Bliss and Russell. It doesn’t seem fair! Dad is away, he’s going to be sent to Afghanistan, and as if all that isn’t bad enough, now her best friend is cozying up to — well, not her worst enemy, but the longest-running pest in her life! Her belly aches as if she’s swallowed a tiny, sharp-toothed dog. Could this be … jealousy?
“Come on up, sweetheart,” Miss Ruthie calls from her doorway, as Sprig is going up the driveway. “Where’s your sister? I want you both to meet someone.”
“Dakota went home with her girlfriend,” Sprig says, stamping snow off her boots in Miss Ruthie’s kitchen. She looks around, but she doesn’t see anyone except Cora, who’s lying under the table. “Who did you want me to meet?”
Miss Ruthie beckons her into the bedroom. Cora gets up and comes after Sprig, but Miss Ruthie won’t let Cora in. She closes the bedroom door and says, “Now, Sprig, tell me what you see that’s new in here.”
Sprig looks around. There’s Miss Ruthie’s double bed with its lacy spread, there’s the tall bureau with the long mirror above it and Miss Ruthie’s comb and brush neatly laid out, and there’s the wall covered with multiple pictures of Miss Ruthie’s two nieces, and there’s the window with — “Wow!” Sprig says. “Where did she come from?”
“He,” Miss Ruthie corrects. “Don’t insult my new friend.”
The he is a skin-and-bones, black-and-white-checkered cat sitting on the windowsill and staring at Sprig with a distinctly unfriendly look.
“He’s been showing up on my porch for the past week,” Miss Ruthie says. “I’ve been feeding him and checking the ‘lost cat’ ads, but look how skinny he is, poor thing. I’m sure someone abandoned him.” She presses her lips together. “He’s not going to go hungry again!”
“What’s his name?”
“Plucky, because he’s a survivor. Oh, don’t try to pet him,” she warns as Sprig approaches the cat. “He’s a wary fellow, he still doesn’t even trust me. Look at him! He knows everything we’re saying.”
“Does Cora like him?” Sprig asks.
“Oh, Cora! She’s jealous as can be. You should hear her! She growls at Plucky. Now when did you ever hear Cora growl?” Miss Ruthie laughs. “Oh, she’s got the green disease all right.”
Jealousy again! And why shouldn’t Cora be jealous, Sprig thinks later, going down the steps. After all, Cora was Miss Ruthie’s friend first — as Bliss was hers.
SPRIG and Dakota are sprawled out on Mom’s bed, watching a movie. Mom is supposed to be watching with them but, in reality, she’s only half watching. Every once in a while, she looks up from the book she’s reading and catches up with the movie.
“Mom,” Dakota says, when the movie is over. “Look, it’s almost ten o’clock and Dad hasn’t called. Do you think he’s in a meeting again? Do you think he’ll call you later, like that other time?”
Mom closes her book. “Put the DVD in its case, Sprig, and bring it out to the hall table, so I remember to return it. Dakota, you take the popcorn bowl into the kitchen and wash it. And then both of you come back in here. I have something I need to tell you.”
Sprig shuffles slowly into the hall. Her stomach is beginning to hurt, and she knows it isn’t too much popcorn. It’s those words again: something I need to tell you. Sprig puts the DVD on the little round table, then suddenly sits down on the floor with her back against the wall. She’s going to sit right here. She’s not going back in Mom’s bedroom. She doesn’t want to hear what Mom needs to tell her. She doesn’t have to hear it either. She won’t listen, anyway. She just won’t!
But, of course, she does. She goes back in the bedroom. She perches on the edge of the bed. And she hears what Mom has to say. Dad is on his way, this very moment, to Afghanistan. Even while they were watching that stupid movie, he was leaving them.
“We didn’t even get to say good-bye to him,” Sprig chokes out.
“I know,” Mom says, “and he felt really bad about that, but it’s a security thing. It could be dang —” She cuts herself off. “It’s better that he just goes this way, quietly, and does his work, and then —”
“What about phone calls?” Dakota says. “We’re not going to talk to him again until he comes home?”
“No, no, no,” Mom says. “As soon as he gets settled, he’ll start calling us. He’ll call us every night, the way he always does.”
“How can he do that?” Sprig cries. “He’ll be in Afghanistan.”
“They have very good cell phone service,” Mom says. “It’s not going to be a problem.” She gathers both girls to her. “I want you to remember that your father will be coming home to us in a month or so. A lot of dads won’t be doing that anytime soon.”
“That’s true,” Dakota says. “A girl in my class, Mellissa Katter, her father was in Iraq, and —”
“Don’t tell me about it,” Sprig says. “I know about her, it’s too sad.”
For once, Dakota doesn’t argue with her, but now Sprig is remembering how her class wrote a sympathy letter to Mellissa and her family, and how her father’s picture was in the Alliance Post Herald. All along, the newspaper had been printing pictures of the soldiers killed in Iraq, but this was the first time Sprig knew someone connected to one of those men.
In the middle of the night, Sprig wakes, her heart thrumming in her throat. She can’t find him. She’s been running down one dark street after another, looking for Dad, looking for him everywhere, and not finding him. She can’t find him anywhere.
Before she registers that she’s awake, she’s across the room, pulling at her sister’s blankets. “Dakota, Dakota …” Sprig climbs onto Dakota’s bed. She’s shivering, shaking, still running down those desolate streets, still looking into dark doorways and empty alleys. “What’s happening?” she cries. “What’s happening with Dad? Where is he?”
“Hey, hey, hey.” Dakota sits up. She stares at Sprig, then, her voice still sleep-clogged, she says, “You want to sleep with me?”
Without answering, Sprig scrambles under the covers and wraps herself around Dakota’s back. Her sister’s hair is in her face; it smells good, spicy. Sprig breathes in the smell, holds on to her sister, and in a moment, she’s asleep.
“MR. JULIUS,” Sprig says, standing by his desk.
“Yes, Sprig?” He doesn’t look up from the form he’s filling out.
“My father —” She stops, clutching her books to her chest. “My dad,” she starts again. “Um, I thought you might want to know —” She glances at the bulletin board with the picture of Megan McKenna, the helicopter pilot, still pinned on it. She is so pretty, sitting at the controls, safety glasses pushed up on her forehead, smiling into the camera, as if it’s Sunday in the park and she’s off for a picnic. You wouldn’t know from looking that the picture was taken in Afghanistan.
“What is it, Sprig?” Mr. Julius makes a mark on the form, then puts down his pen. “What can I do for you?”
“My father’s in Afghanistan.”
Mr. Julius looks up. Now she has all his attention. “I didn’t realize your father was an Army man.”
Sprig shakes her head. “He isn’t. Remember my essay? He’s an engineer and an architect, and he’s there to consult about building schools. For everyone. I mean, schools for girls too. You know they wouldn’t let girls go to school, I mean those people, the Taliban, and my father says the schools he’s going to build, they will definitely admit girls.” The words pour out. “When he went there, I mean, when he flew over last week, it was Friday, and we were watching a movie, and my sister and I didn’t even know he was gone. He couldn’t tell us, it was a security thing.”
“I understand,” Mr. Julius says. “So how long will he be gone, Sprig?”
“Too long,” she blurts.
“How long is that?”
“I don’t know exactly. Last night when he called, he said it could be six weeks or even two months.”
“That probably does seem like a long time to you.”
“It is a long time,” Sprig says, and then, checking herself, she asks politely, “When will Miss McKenna be home?”
Mr. Julius drums his fingers on the desk. “Not for another year. Actually fourteen months.”
“Oh! Why is she going to be away so long?”
“Lieutenant McKenna signed up for another tour,” Mr. Julius says. “She felt it was her duty.”
“Oh,” Sprig says again. Fourteen months! “Mr. Julius.” She leans forward. “Maybe she can come home sooner. Maybe things will change there, and they’ll send her home.”
“That’s a good thought, Sprig. I’ll hold on to it.” He looks up at the clock. “You better go back to your desk now.”
As soon as she sits down, Sprig leans over to Bliss and whispers, “I told him about my dad being in Afghanistan. I was stupid to say anything! His girlfriend isn’t going to be home for fourteen months. He probably hates me now.”
“Oh, please! I do not agree!” Bliss grabs Sprig’s arm. “You wanted to tell someone about your dad —”
“Well, why didn’t I just tell you?”
“Because I already know, dodo! Maybe Mr. J. was happy to talk to someone about his girlfriend,” Bliss whispers. “I bet he was really glad someone else understands.”
“That’s a good thought,” Sprig says. “I’ll hold on to it.”
“PEOPLE!” Mr. Julius calls. “Will everyone please pay attention?” He raps on his desk. “Russell has an announcement to make. Bliss and Sprig, could you two quiet down? I know it’s Friday, but we need to stay on task, people. We still have work to cover today. Okay, Russell, you’re on.”
Russell pulls his shirt straight, clasps his hands, and bows. “You’re all invited to a party at my house Sunday night, starting at five P.M.,” Russell says in his deep voice. “In fact, the whole school is invited, ’cause of my sister, Lara, who’s in Sprig’s sister’s class.” He points two fingers at Sprig, and everyone turns and looks at her. “It’s Lara’s birthday. She’s going to be thirteen. There’ll be lots of food — stuff kids like, not real healthy stuff, so don’t worry.” Everybody laughs, and Russell takes another bow. “My parents say be sure to tell your parents that my parents will both be present, so your parents don’t think it’s some wild, unsupervised, party-animal thing.” More laughter. Another bow. “And you’re invited too, Mr. Julius.”
“Thank you, Russell,” Mr. Julius says. “Okay, everybody —”
“Mr. Julius —” Russell puts up his hand. “I have something else to say, okay?”
“All right, Russell, but let’s make it snappy.”
“Well, besides being Lara’s birthday, it’s also a sort of winterfest party to celebrate the new year, that’s what my dad says, even though it’s already February, but we don’t always do things on time in our family, plus my mom says it’s to be happy that we’ve made it safely through last year and this year so far.”
“Amen,” Mr. Julius says, and he turns for a moment to look at the picture on the bulletin board.
“The way Russell just gets up in front of everybody and talks and is so, so all together,” Bliss says later, as she and Sprig walk toward her bus. Sprig is staying overnight with Bliss. “I mean, he doesn’t stumble or anything. I don’t think I could do that. I know I couldn’t.”
“Oh, that’s just Russell. You know how he is. He’s a show-off.”
“I do not agree,” Bliss says. “You don’t give him enough credit, Sprig. It’s a talent, what he does. I think he’s great.”
“You know what, Bliss, you never agree with anything I say.” Sprig means that to be funny, but it doesn’t come out that way.
Bliss looks at her and shrugs. “It’s my dad’s turn to cook tonight,” she says, after a moment. “Are you prepared for falafel?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s this stuff made from chickpeas that you put on pita. You’ll see. It’s really good. Russell loves it.”
“When was that?” Sprig says. “Why didn’t I know?”
“Know what?”
“When did Russell eat at your house?”
“He didn’t,” Bliss says.
“You just said —”
“All I said was —”
“Never mind! I can see what’s going on.” Those sharp dog teeth are snagged in Sprig’s belly, and the words tumble out before she can stop them. Maybe she doesn’t want to stop them. “You like Russell better than you like me. I see the way you look at him.”
They’re standing face-to-face, Sprig’s hot face up close to Bliss’s hot face. “How do I look at him?” Bliss says. “I mean, besides with my eyes?”
“Adoringly,” Sprig says. “You laugh at everything he says, a
nd you ask him about things you know better than he does. You act stupid on purpose around him, just so he’ll be your friend!”
Bliss takes a step back. “I act stupid? Is that what you think? Well, let me tell you something, Sprig Ewing. You were right the other day, when you said you were dumb to tell Mr. Julius about your father and get him all upset. It was really dumb, a really dumb, dumb, dumb thing to do.”
“If that’s the way you feel,” Sprig gets out, “maybe you don’t want me to come home with you.”
“Maybe I don’t,” Bliss says.
Sprig turns and, without another word, stomps off toward her bus, kicking lumps of snow aside.
“What happened?” Dakota says, when she sees Sprig getting on the bus. She’s already seated with Krystee. “I thought you were going home with —”
“Nothing happened,” Sprig says. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“ARE you sure you don’t want to go shopping with Dakota and me?” Mom says Saturday afternoon, as they’re finishing lunch.
“I’m sure,” Sprig says. She doesn’t feel at all like shopping. She doesn’t feel like doing anything. It’s the fight-with-Bliss thing, plus Dad didn’t call them last night, and now she’s having all kinds of worried thoughts.
“Well, what are you going to do this afternoon?” Mom asks.
Sprig doesn’t know what she’s going to do, she only knows she doesn’t want to trail after Dakota! If things weren’t all messed up, she and Bliss would be together, talking about Russell’s party tomorrow night. “Maybe I’ll just take a nap,” she says.
“I hope you’re not getting sick.” Mom puts her hand on Sprig’s forehead. “No fever, that’s good.” She looks at her watch. “Dakota, go get ready, hon. The stores are going to be jammed if we go too late.”
“I am ready,” Dakota says.
“I think you should change your shirt.”
“You don’t like this one?” Dakota looks down at her pink blouse.
“I don’t like it,” Sprig says. “I don’t like that color with your red hair.”
Ten Ways to Make My Sister Disappear Page 5
