She stares at me earnestly. “So, I think I’m going to sit with Lucy tomorrow. At her table. Okay.”
I think okay is supposed to be a question. But it doesn’t come out that way at all.
“Want to see a picture of my cat?” Sara asks.
I’m sitting on the concrete stairs outside school waiting for Mom to pick me up.
“Sure,” I say. I’ll take any distraction from thinking about what happened at lunch, what would happen at lunch tomorrow. Sara takes a seat next to me and pulls out her phone. There are doodles all over the case—monsters and robots and dogs with handlebar mustaches.
“Did you draw all that?”
She smiles sheepishly. “Yeah.”
“They’re really good.”
“Thanks.” She presses the power button and types in a password. She presses the photo icon. The most adorable picture ever pops onto the screen. It’s this gray cat with a tiny white face and it’s wearing a frog hat tied under its chin. Two bulging, fabric eyes stare back it me from the top of its head.
“Her name’s Barbara.” I love when animals have people names.
“Did you make that?” I ask, pointing at the hat.
“Yeah,” she says. “Me and my sister Sasha. We made a business last summer. Cat Couture. We knitted a bunch of those and sold them door-to-door.”
“Did you sell a lot?”
She laughs. “No way. There’s more of a demand for lemonade than cat clothes.” She pauses, thinking. “But we did sell a few, and that’s more than none.”
“You could be at the start of a cat clothes revolution.”
“A cat clothes empire, right here in Ohio.”
“I bet you could sell them online. Put it on Instagram and stuff.” I pull out my phone and scroll to the picture of Bean wearing the crown and Elizabethan collar. “I make my dog clothes, too.”
“So cute! She really looks royal,” Sara says, giggling.
“Thanks.” Her words make me feel warm inside.
“Maybe you could come over sometime. We could use my sewing machine.” I wonder if I could branch out into cat clothes. I bet Pickle would love a frog hat.
I’m putting the last piece of North America in place when Mina walks into the dining room.
“It’s looking good,” she says. She breaks off a piece of her granola bar and pops it into her mouth. Evie says that it’s easier sometimes for Mina to eat when she has her mind on something else, like our puzzle. “Ooh.” She picks up a piece from the table and fits it into Asia.
We sit there for a minute, studying the pieces. Every few seconds, I glance over at my cell phone that I’ve laid down faceup next to me so I can see it.
“Technology addiction is real, Em,” Mina says. “You kids are always on Snapchat or ChattyCat or FishTalk. . . .”
“I don’t think most of those are actually real. And you are a kid. Technically.”
Mina laughs, the same big laugh she did that day with Hector. “I know. And I’m a teen. Technically. But for real, why do you keep looking at it? You interested in that kid who came over? What was his name? Henry?”
“Hector. And he’s just my friend.”
Mina elbows my arm. “All I’m saying is that he’s cute. Not for me, of course. But for a fellow twelve-year-old.”
“Mina!”
“So if it’s not Hector”—she makes her voice all throaty—“then who?”
I sigh. What I want to tell her is that I’m waiting for Hazel to text me. To say that she’s sorry and she didn’t mean the things she said to me today outside at lunch. But that would mean explaining what I had said about food and stuff, and I don’t want to do that.
Instead I say, “It’s confusing.”
“What is?”
“Life.”
Mina nods thoughtfully. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”
I never get a text from Hazel that night, but I do get one from Anita to me and an unknown number. It’s the emoji with the two dancing girls dressed in black leotards.
“Tryouts are SO soon!” she adds. Then she texts a few more exclamation points for good measure.
The unknown number texts the emoji of the salsa girl in the red dress.
I figure it must be Sara. I add her to my phone.
CAFETERIA ADVENTURES: UNCENSORED
I’d bring a knife,” Lloyd says as I sit down at the lunch table—my new table for the past four days. It’s me and Lloyd and Hector—Sara and Anita have second lunch. Lloyd says that it’s okay: good things come in threes. Three Musketeers. Three blind mice. The Three Stooges. I have to say, it’s an interesting theory. I watch as he takes celery sticks from a Ziploc bag and dips them in ranch one at a time. He’s dipping his sleeve in, too.
“A knife? Can you say that at school?” I whisper. I look around for Mustard Tie, aka Mr. Georges, but he’s halfway across the cafeteria waving a crumpled-up napkin in the air in this really stern way. Someone probably threw it.
“Sure. I’m not bringing it to school. That would be dumb. I’m bringing it to the island.”
“What island?”
“The one on Island Adventures: Uncensored. You know, the show?”
“Haven’t seen it.”
“Channel twenty-two. Eight thirty. Tonight,” Hector says, setting his lunch tray down. He’s grinning. “You’ve got to see it. They run around and try to survive on this wild island for twenty-one days with no clothes on.”
“No way!” I say. I shake my head. “Do you see anything?” I cannot even imagine it. I do not want to. I resist the urge to cover my eyes, even though there’s no TV in front of me.
Lloyd slaps his knee and howls. A few kids at the table next to us look over. He doesn’t seem to mind. “Of course not. It’s television.”
“Why no clothes then? That’s weird.”
“It’s hard-core,” Hector replies. “Like the cavemen.”
“Or cavewoman,” I add. “Cave people.”
“Sure. Cave people.” To Lloyd he says, “Did you see the episode with the wild boar? That one was awesomesauce.”
“Well, what would you bring?” I ask.
“Fire starter,” Hector says. “It gets cold there at night and you can’t drink the water unless you boil it.”
“But that’s not authentic,” Lloyd says. “That’s not something a caveman would use.” I get the sense that he’s thought a lot about this.
“Is a knife?” I ask.
“More than a fire starter,” he replies. “Brilliant idea alert. You guys should do this for your project.”
“What does it have to do with movement?” Hector asks.
Lloyd shrugs. “It doesn’t. But it would be cool.”
“Our project is already cool,” Hector says. “The coolest.”
“What are you doing?” Lloyd asks.
“Top secret,” I reply.
Lloyd rolls his eyes. “What would you take, Em?”
I need only a second to think about it. “Clothes.”
They both groan, but frankly, I’d think they’d miss their own if they were stranded on that island. I wonder what Hazel would choose, but when I look over, she and Lucy are whispering. Their heads practically touch. She doesn’t even glance my way.
At eight thirty, Mina finds me and Bean in front of the TV.
“Em, what is this?” she asks, once she sees the screen. She tries to grab the remote out of my hand. “Does Mom know you’re watching this?”
I laugh and wave her away. “It’s Island Adventure: Uncensored. Those people have to survive on it for twenty-one days.”
Her jaw drops. “Without clothes?”
I’m kind of pleased that Mina had the exact same reaction as me. “I know!”
Mina flops down on the couch and curls her feet underneath her bottom. Only Bean’s in between us. We’re a Bean sandwich.
At the end of the hour, Mina turns to me. “Huh,” she says, shaking her head in wonder. “That was actually pretty good.” We decide to watch another episode.
&
nbsp; SCHOOL PICTURE DAY
Posters advertising school picture day start to appear in the hallways.
Each poster features a different kid. Some are wearing scarves around their necks. Others are in colorful, long-sleeve T-shirts. They pose different ways—hands on their hips or heads tilted to the side. All the kids wear big, toothy grins to go with their perfect hair. Between Math and Science class one morning, I study the one near my locker.
There are kids streaming all around me. They’re loud and bumpy, but I stand firm. All my focus goes to the words underneath the photograph. Be the best you, it reads, on your school picture day!
I feel like the words are a sign.
“What are you doing?” Mina asks. She’s standing in the doorway of my room leaning against the frame. She has her Pinehurst journal in her hand and is still wearing her jacket. She must have just gotten home from group. Me, I’m laying out every piece of clothing I have (except for my first-day-of-school outfit, which will remain balled up in the back of my closet) on the bed and the floor because I’ve run out of room.
I let out a deep sigh. “Picture day’s tomorrow. I have nothing to wear.”
“It looks like you have lots to wear,” she says, surveying the clothes and Bean, who has made a comfy nest on a pile of discards.
“I guess. But not the right things.”
“Come on,” she says. She leaves the door and I hesitate, unsure.
“Are you coming?” she calls.
“Yeah, okay,” I say. I follow her into her room. It’s the first time I’ve been in there since she got home. Mom’s vacuum lines have all been stepped over, and there’s a little more dust than usual. Still, Mina’s a neat person. Her schoolbooks are in an orderly pile on her desk. She has a new picture of her and Phoebs tacked up on her bulletin board. Dirty laundry is piling up in her hamper.
The room looks lived in. It’s a good feeling.
She pats the bed. I sit down and she opens her closet. She hums, riffling through hangers. She occasionally pulls something out—a long-sleeved blouse or a sweater—shakes her head, and puts it back. “Okay, try this on,” she says. She holds up a white, short-sleeved top with a glittery navy blue collar.
“Ooh, I love glitter,” I say.
“I know.” She pulls out some slim navy blue pants. “What about these together?” I nod but I really have no idea. I think they look good together, but that’s why I need her now and why I needed her that day at the mall.
I take them both into my room and slip out of my unicorn shirt and jeans I wore to school today. I slip the shirt over my head and button the clasp at the back of the collar. The pants are a little snug, but maybe they’re supposed to be. I’m not used to the way they cling to my legs.
“What do you think?” I ask, going back into Mina’s room. Mina adjusts the bottom of the shirt and taps her cheek with her finger. She goes to her jewelry box and pulls out two of the sparkliest earrings. They’re just studs but they’re so pretty. They catch the light. I put them in.
“Perfect,” Mina says. “But we need a fashion show.”
“A fashion show?”
“Yeah, in the hallway. I mean runway.” And just like that, it’s me and Old Mina. Making over our dolls. Doing fashion shows in the hallway. Playing dress-up in ridiculous outfits. “I’ll put on some music.”
“You do it, too,” I say. I’m feeling giddy now.
“Okay,” Mina says. “I can do your hair tomorrow morning. Big and curly with the round brush.” I picture how that will look. Very fancy-pants. Like a movie star maybe, or at least one of the models in Teen Scene. “There’s some product in the bathroom we can use.”
I walk out into the hallway and practice my fashion show moves. I strut down the length of the carpet runner, put my hand on my hip, and twirl. The outfit feels a little bit like magic, and the fact that Mina picked it out makes it even better. Bean sashays all the way back with me. She’s a natural.
Mina’s taking a while to get dressed, so I peek my head in the door. She’s standing in front of her closet mirror and pulling at the waist of a skirt she’s slipped on.
“Are you ready?”
She doesn’t look at me. “I don’t think it used to fit like this.” She rubs her hands down the length of it, hard, like maybe she could remove the fabric. Her hand moves back up to her stomach. She shifts in the skirt uncomfortably. “Does it look tight? It feels tight.” She takes a shaky breath in.
“Mina, no.” It just looks normal to me. I try to sound confident. But I can tell she doesn’t believe me. A giant fist begins to squeeze my chest tight. “No, it looks good. Great, even. It looks great.” The words tumble out quick. The expression on Mina’s face doesn’t change. “Bean’s waiting for us in the hallway. The fashion show.” I’m desperate to remind her.
Mina looks at me and shakes her head. She puts her hand on her cheek. “I can’t right now.” Just like that, it’s as if a shade has been drawn over her face. The moment is over. “But you look great, Em. Best picture day ever.”
“Best picture day ever,” I say in a soft voice.
I go back to my room and put away all the clothes I had gotten out. I carefully take off Mina’s outfit and hang it up on the doorknob of my closet. Ready for tomorrow.
When I go to see if Mina’s okay, her door is closed.
The next morning, I’m standing in front of Mina’s door again with the round brush and hair dryer and the product stuff she mentioned. It looks like putty and smells refreshing, like peaches. My hair, damp from the shower, hangs straight down. I wear a bath towel around my shoulders like a cape. I don’t want to get Mina’s shirt wet. I’m wearing her favorite earrings. I like how they sparkle when I twist my head from side to side. I’m feeling excited.
It’s still very early because I figure these things take time and I want to get a head start, but she’s up, because I can see the light peeking out from under the door.
“Mina,” I whisper. I don’t want to wake Mom just yet, even though the hair dryer probably will in a few minutes. This is the only day she gets to sleep in a little.
I push open the door.
Mina’s facing away from the door, lying down on her carpet. She doesn’t see me right away, but I watch as she curls up to her knees and then back down. Up, then down. Up, then down, at this impossibly rapid pace. It takes me a minute to process. I see what she’s doing but I don’t fully understand.
“Mina,” I say, louder this time. “What are you doing?” My breath catches.
She stops and turns to me, red-faced—from being caught, from the exertion, I don’t know. “Get out.” She crawls on her hands and knees to try to shut the door, but I keep it open with my foot.
“You’re not supposed to be doing this.” She knows it and I know it and my heart is knocking so hard in my chest that it’s the only thing I hear. Mina’s still sick. Mina could go away again. The thought makes my head feel suddenly woozy. I grab onto the door frame. “Mom! MOM!”
“Shut up, Emily,” Mina hisses. “Just shut up. You don’t understand.”
“I thought you weren’t doing this anymore,” I whisper. I think about yesterday and her picking out my clothes. I think about how nice it was to feel like things were exactly as they used to be. Now everything’s messed up again.
“Girls,” Mom says. She’s emerged from her room, in her pajamas, and yawning. Her hair is still big from sleep. “What’s going on?”
She fumbles with her glasses and slips them on and her eyes go wide. Somehow she knows what Mina’s been doing without me having to explain. Maybe it’s the tiny beads of sweat that dot Mina’s forehead or that she’s on the ground in her exercise clothes. “Mina, no. No.”
Mina lies back down on the floor, defeated, and starts to cry. Little streams of tears run past her nose and onto the carpet. Bean runs in and starts to lick Mina’s face. Mina lets her. “I’m sorry, Mommy,” Mina says in this small voice. She curls up like a pill bug. “I’m so sorry. I don�
��t know why I did it.”
Mom goes to Mina and kneels down next to her. She strokes her cheek. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay.”
The hair dryer goes limp in my hand. “What about my hair?” I say. “You were supposed to do my hair.”
Mom shakes her head. “Oh, Emily, not now.”
“But it was important. You promised.” I just needed her to do this one thing to prove that we could be okay again.
“I know,” Mina says. She hiccups through her tears.
“You don’t.” I’m crying now, too. “You are always doing this. You’re supposed to be getting better. You’re supposed to not be exercising. You’re supposed to do my hair.” I know my hair should be the least important of all, but it doesn’t feel that way.
I throw my hairbrush on the floor. “I’m sick of this. I’m so sick of this.” Everything tangled up inside me is unwinding so, so fast. I’m out of control. “You’re a bad sister.”
Mom gasps. Mina cries harder.
“Emily!” Mom says. Her eyes are hard. “That is enough.”
“No, she’s right,” Mina says.
I should say I’m sorry. I should comfort Mina. But my chest is so tight. “I’m never going to ask you for anything again.”
I leave the brush on the floor and stomp down the hall into the bathroom. I unload the product and the hair dryer onto the counter. I look at myself in the mirror. My face is blotchy and swollen around the eyes. My almost-dry hair hangs in limp clumps. I look absolutely nothing like the image I had in my mind.
I think about this picture in the yearbook. I imagine trading this picture with friends. This is how I’ll remember sixth grade forever and ever. This is not the best me at all. I cry harder.
“I don’t need you,” I yell.
I hear Mom talking to Mina in soft tones. I’m sure she’s telling Mina that I’m the terrible one. I think about Dr. Franklinton-Morehouse. I picture him in the corner, in his chair, stroking his cat and judging me. “You aren’t growing at all, Emily Murphy,” he’d say. Shame and regret wash over me. I can’t bear to face Mom or Mina right now, even though I hear Mom calling my name from Mina’s room.
Things That Surprise You Page 12
