Things That Surprise You

by Jennifer Maschari

  “So let’s think—what could represent magma?”

  I try to think of something thick and viscous. “Oatmeal.”

  “That’s gross.”

  “I like oatmeal.” It’s warm and filling. “Okay, what about pudding?”

  “Yes, pudding! Now you’re talking. I love pudding.” He writes it down in his notes. “What about the plates—something flat and movable. Also delicious.” He snaps his fingers. “Candy bars!”

  “Hershey’s and Snickers—for the rock layers.” Even though I had wanted to do something crafty with my art supplies, I do think this is really good idea. Kids cheer when Mr. K passes out Wint-O-Green Mints at the end of Social Studies on Friday. Imagine how they’ll react to this.

  “Brilliant.” Hector makes a list on a sheet of loose leaf with little check boxes down the left side. He glances at the clock. “We still have a half hour,” he says.

  “Can we play with the Unicorn Chronicles figures?”

  Hector grins. His eyes get kind of crinkly. Mom calls them smile lines. They’re the mark of a happy person, she says. “Sure!”

  Turns out, not only does Hector have the Unicorn Chronicles figures, but he also has the official underground lair system complete with the elevator cave entrance (that actually moves!) and does a spot-on voice for Disastero. It’s pretty great.

  Anita comes in and pulls me away right at four thirty like she promised.

  She’s changed into black leggings and a purple tank that’s knotted at the side. A yellow sports bra peeks out underneath. I have one, too, but it’s mainly because all the girls have one for gym changing purposes, not because I really need one.

  “I didn’t bring dancing clothes,” I say, feeling sheepish.

  “That’s all right! I’m just trying to get into the spirit of things. What you’re wearing is fine. I have the video all cued up and ready to go.”

  We sit together on the edge of her bed. It’s cool. It’s like a couch and a bed all in one. Anita calls it a day bed. I look around just like Nightshade would in this kind of situation—whether she was meeting the Sasquatch informant at Fizzy’s or the cockroach king in his hideout. Be aware. Observe, she’d always say. So I do.

  Beyond the day bed, which has the fluffiest pillows that feel like they’re covered in real fur (but not—I asked—Anita says she’s an animal activist), there are bookshelves that are stuffed full of Unicorn Chronicles books in number order and these Western adventures and nonfiction books with the most lifelike pictures on the covers. They look like they’re too nice to be touched, but I think they’ve been read tons judging from the note-covered Post-its sticking every which way out of them.

  There are posters on the wall, too. Not the Nightshade or Starlight posters in my room or the brand-new field hockey ones in Hazel’s. Instead, between black-and-white photos of dancers, Anita has hung ones of astronauts. Some of them even have autographs scrawled at the bottom. And then there’s a framed picture of her and Hector in these official blue uniforms at what must be space camp.

  “Do you want to go into space?” I ask, studying them.

  She nods. “I’m doing my project on it. I want to be the first woman on Mars. Can you see it?” And suddenly I can, even though before this moment I had no idea she was interested in outer space at all. It strikes me that people are kind of like those lollipops with Tootsie Rolls in the center—if you wait awhile, you get surprised by something awesome that sits just below the surface.

  I’m not sure if that idea came from me or from Dr. Franklinton-Morehouse. Either way, it seems true and promising. I’ll have to write it down.

  “Are you ready now?” she asks. She’s practically bouncing. She hits play on her laptop. Girls jump onto the screen one at a time. They get into position. A beat starts. Suddenly, they all start dancing in sync to the music. Sharp movements. Arms and legs and feet all in perfect rhythm. I recognize the gymnasium as ours, but it looks different. There are all these cool stage lights going. Blue and yellow and red, flashing bright. It’s transformed. The girls are transformed.

  At the end of the performance, there’s cheering and clapping.

  It’s so exciting and I wasn’t even there. Then words appear. “Do you have what it takes?”

  I’m not sure if I do. But the video makes me want to try.

  Anita clicks on another clip. In this one, there are only two girls dressed in regular workout clothes. “Hi, I’m Christine,” the first girl says.

  “And I’m Nora,” says the second. “And we’re this year’s captains of the Junior Roosevelts. We’re here to take you through the moves that we’ll be using at tryouts. We welcome girls of any dance ability. It’s important that you’re able to follow choreography, but mainly we want girls who are excited with a lot of spirit. Okay. Let’s get started!”

  Anita sets the computer on her desk so we can still see the screen and we spread out on the carpet. “Put your feet in second position—that is hip distance apart,” Christine says. I think I recognize her from the lunchroom. “Now take your right hand and push left, then out. Good. Do the same with your left hand.”

  Pretty soon, Anita and I are bouncing and twirling to the music in sync, just like with the game. It’s harder, sure. But we get the hang of it.

  “So what do you think?” she says as the last few notes fade out.

  “I think it could be cool.” There’s something here—this being tired and sweaty; the flashing gym lights and the pumping music; this taking a chance with a new friend that feels like it might actually fit with After Em.

  Anita grabs my hands. “Really cool!” She says it in a way that makes me believe it.

  Hector suggests ice cream.

  I think to myself that he might actually be brilliant. Anita and I lace up our sneakers and then we all tell their mom where we’re headed. We find her in the kitchen, in her pajama pants still, spooning meat into tortillas and then rolling them up tight like miniature sleeping bags. The kitchen smells amazing.

  “Okay! Don’t ruin your appetite,” she says, but she grins.

  “She cooks when she’s stressed,” Anita says as she’s closing the front door behind us.

  Hector must see the puzzled look on my face. “She’s a journalist,” he explains. “For the Columbus Chronicle. She writes about crime.” He pauses. “She cooks a lot.”

  But that’s not what I’m confused about.

  I’m wondering what that’s like—to be calmed by food instead of stressed out about it. I picture their family dinner: Hector reciting some strange factoid about zombies, Anita dreaming about space or belonging to the Junior Roosevelts, Mrs. Garcia sharing an exciting interview she’s done, and Mr. Garcia talking about his day at the museum with the dinosaurs and mummies and geologic features. Together.

  I wonder if it would be weird to invite myself.

  THREE THINGS

  It’s Friday and I’m at Dad’s again.

  I guess enough time has passed since the disaster dinner with Mina.

  Things are a little different around here. Bits of grass have finally started to emerge in the front yard, so it doesn’t look quite so terrible. Alice has put more paint samples on the dresser because she hasn’t quite sensed that the problem is not with the colors. There’s a new spread on the bed, too. Before I roll out my sleeping bag on the floor, I run my hand over the comforter. Flowery. Different from my one at home, which is pink with unicorns. This one’s soft and kind of pretty.

  I feel guilty even liking it a little bit.

  “Button,” Dad yells up. “Come on down! I have a surprise for you!”

  I hadn’t even heard the garage door open. I’m trying to do a reread of books one-through-six before the movie premiere and I was on the part in Nightshade and the Secret of Sasquatch Grove where Nightshade first finds the hidden kingdom. I was totally sucked into it even though I’ve read it a bunch of times before. I set the book down on my sleeping bag like a tent.

  “I’m in the dining ro
om.”

  I can tell Dad’s smiling, just from listening to his voice. I wonder what the surprise could be. Maybe he and Alice went ahead and chose the paint color for the room. That wouldn’t be awesome.

  Maybe it’s a new bike. I still have my old one I got when I was seven. It has pink and white streamers in the handlebars and noisemakers stuck on the spokes so it click-clacks when the wheels turn. A new bike wouldn’t be so bad.

  It could be crafting stuff. It would be kind of nice to have that in both houses.

  When I find Dad, he’s standing over the dining room table, right next to the spot where I chipped my tooth playing tag with Mina years ago. I can still see the indentation.

  He’s got a box. It’s brand new—not like the one Mom and I pulled out from the basement. He opens it and dumps the pieces out.

  “I got us a puzzle!” he says, turning toward me, grinning expectantly.

  My mouth forms a hard line.

  Dad’s eyebrows arch in surprise. “I know you’re working on one of these at your mom’s, so I thought it would be nice if you and Alice and I could work on one together here.”

  “You don’t get it,” I say, shaking my head. My voice has this awful edge to it, but I can’t help myself.

  “What?” Dad pleads. “Explain it to me. Please.”

  “You should just know,” I say, and it sounds ridiculous even to me. But it’s how I feel. Because when I’m an adult, I keep thinking I’ll finally know the right things to say and do. And if there’s no hope for Dad, then there’s no hope for me.

  It would mean all the work I had done with Dr. Franklinton-Morehouse was for nothing.

  “Em, I can’t read your mind,” he says softly. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  I take a breath and look at him. “I don’t want two puzzles or family bowling night or some halfhearted awful dinner,” I say. The words unspool out of me fast. “I just want all of us together. Like how it used to be. Before. When Mina was okay.” My words get caught in my throat. “When we were all okay.”

  “Oh, honey,” he says. “I hear you.” And even though I didn’t tell him that’s what I needed, he understood. He knew.

  He puts his hand on my shoulder and this time I let it stay there.

  “We don’t have to do the puzzle,” he says. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

  “Can we just watch a movie?” I whisper. Dad nods.

  I wipe my nose on the back of my hand.

  Dad calls Alice and tells her there’s been a change of plans.

  We watch a movie on this gigantic projector screen in the basement. It’s called Clue and it’s a murder mystery story. I guess it’s based on the board game. It’s old and the characters are a bit ridiculous, but it makes me laugh and that feels good.

  Alice can actually do a really good impression of one of the characters, Mrs. White.

  After the credits roll, I don’t quite feel like going to bed yet. It’s actually cozy on the couch between Dad and Alice.

  “Let’s play a game,” I say. “It’s called Three Things.” I’ve only ever played it with Hazel, but there has to be a first time for everything, I think.

  “All right, Em,” Dad says. “How do we play?”

  “Normally, we’d pick a category and we’d each say three things about us in that category. Like, things I’m afraid of: centipedes, Hazel’s basement, and being lost out in space. But maybe I’ll just name a category and we can each say one thing. Because it’s late.”

  “That sounds fun.” Alice smiles at me encouragingly. I find myself smiling back.

  I rack my brain for a topic. “Okay. A fact about you that nobody knows.”

  “Ooh!” Alice raises her hand like she’s in class. “I’ll go first. I was in the spelling bee. Wait, does that count? I guess some people know that.”

  “It counts,” I say. “I didn’t know that.”

  Dad laughs. “Me neither. Like your school one?”

  “And then the district one. I got out on onomatopoeia. So that means, I forever remember how to spell onomatopoeia.” She spells it for us, standing up and everything like she’s onstage. It’s pretty impressive.

  Then Dad goes. “I wanted to name you Aubrey.”

  “Really?” I say. Aubrey Murphy. It sounds so weird. Not like me at all.

  “But your mom wanted to name you Emily. After Emily Brontë, the author. Wuthering Heights was one of her favorite books in college.”

  “Are you glad I’m Emily?” I ask.

  “So glad,” he replies. “As with most things, your mother was completely right.” I wonder if me being named after a famous author is why I love books so much.

  No, I’m pretty sure that’s 100 percent me. But still, it’s very cool.

  “Your turn, Em,” Alice says.

  “I’m going to try out for the dance team,” I blurt out. Not I think or I might. I am. “They’re called the Junior Roosevelts and they get to wear sparkly outfits.”

  “No way!” Alice exclaims. “Hold on right here.” She jumps up from the couch and runs up the stairs. She returns five minutes later with a yearbook and shoves it into my lap. “Page fifty-seven.”

  I flip past a bunch of girls with poofy bangs and boys with thin mustaches to a picture of a group of girls in matching pink-and-purple leotards. Sequin overload, and I love it. “Third one from the left.”

  It’s Alice. Or kind of Alice. Her hair is big and her smile is braces-filled and too big for her face. She shrugs. “Eighth grade.” I decide I like this awkward, bony, grade school Alice. If that was Before Alice, maybe After Alice is worth getting to know. Then she laughs. “I wasn’t the coolest, but man, that was so fun. . . .” I can tell from the way her voice trails off that she’s remembering.

  “I have to do a routine to try out.” I say the next part quick, before I change my mind: “Maybe you can help me.”

  LIFE

  It’s a beautiful late-September day.

  It’s the kind of day that still feels like summer. The teachers are letting us eat outside today. I’m wondering if it’s because we’re a few weeks into school and everyone’s feeling a little bit stir-crazy looking out the windows. Or maybe it’s because the cafeteria kind of smells like gym class and a little fresh air could do everyone good.

  The reason doesn’t really matter, I guess.

  In the field behind school, there aren’t any tables. That’s good, because I get to stretch my legs out in the freshly mowed grass. It’s also not good, because it’s not just me and Hazel. But at least, out here, I hope there’s room for all of us.

  “I can’t believe I have to miss your party,” Gina says to Annemarie. She frowns. “I’m so bummed.”

  “What are you doing again?” Annemarie asks.

  “Visiting my aunt,” she says. “But it should be cool. She lives up in the mountains, so we’ll get to go hiking and stuff.” Her eyes light up. “We’re going on one of the tougher trails this time.”

  “My dad and I’ve gone hiking,” I say. “Have you ever gone to Hocking Hills?”

  “Yes!” Gina replies. “Have you gone on the zip line?”

  “Amazing—”

  Annemarie frowns. “My party’s going to be amazing.”

  Lucy waves a carrot in our direction. “We can play Truth or Dare. But dares only. And watch scary movies. I’ll bring The Shining.” I’m pretty sure that’s rated R and I’m not allowed to watch it, but I keep my mouth shut. “We can watch it later when it’s dark.”

  Annemarie just nods at all Lucy’s plans, even though it’s her birthday. “My mom’s already started to get ready. Chips and doughnuts for breakfast and—”

  “Vegetables, I hope,” Lucy says. “You remember what Coach says.”

  I can’t keep my mouth shut this time. “What does Coach say?”

  Lucy rolls her eyes like I’ve just asked her to share field hockey secrets. “We have to eat clean foods. Vegetables, fruits, lean meats.” She pokes
Annemarie’s side with her finger. Annemarie’s face flushes.

  I wince. “Um, foods can’t really be clean,” I say, and I realize that the words coming out of my mouth are the same words that came out of Evie’s at one of our sessions just a few weeks ago. “That would mean that some foods are dirty, and that’s just not true. All foods are okay.”

  The conversation around the circle stops and everyone looks at me except for Lucy, who exchanges a glance with Hazel. Gina watches them and frowns. Hazel sets her lunch down, jumps up, and holds out her hand. “I want to tell you something real quick.”

  I’m confused, but I grab it anyway. She pulls me up. She walks fast, taking these long strides, and I have to jog to keep pace. When we reach the edge of the field, she turns to me. She’s not happy. “Why did you have to do that?”

  “Do what? What did I do?”

  “Say that,” she says. “About the food. We were just talking about the party, and now you’ve made it really uncomfortable.”

  “But it’s true,” I say. I lower my voice, even though there’s no one around besides her to hear me. “You know about Mina.”

  “Yeah,” she says. “But not everyone’s Mina. And not everyone knows about Mina. And sometimes people just want to have a regular conversation without you saying something dumb.”

  My heart stops. Time stands still. “You think I say dumb things?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Hazel says. Her cheeks redden. “But you know. I’ll say something about Joey or whoever and you just want to talk about what happened in Language Arts class or the Unicorn Chronicles.”

  “We like that stuff.”

  She shrugs. “I guess I’m more interested in real life right now, you know?”

  “Are you excited about the movie even?” I hate that I sound like I’m pouting.

  “Em, yes!” she says. She seems exasperated, the way Mom sometimes is when I don’t hear her talking to me when I’m deep inside some book. “Why are you making such a big deal about all this? We’re still going to the movie. We’re still going to have fun at the party. All I’m asking is for you to be normal.”