Mrs. Jones isn’t driving. Rashell is! Torey and Delia are in the backseat together, which doesn’t surprise me.
“Hey, kiddo,” Rashell says after I get into the car and slam the door shut. Before I buckle up, she leans over to hug me. “Long time no see.”
“Yeah, it’s been awhile.” Unlike how Delia lets her curls go wild, Rashell straightens her hair. She’s cut her hair short since the last time I saw her, which makes her look older and more mature. “How’s college life?” I ask after saying hi to Torey and Delia.
“Thank God I finished finals early.” Rashell starts rambling about what it’s like to live in a dorm with a weird roommate who never sleeps, how college classes are different, and why she likes New York so much better than Louisiana. Once Rashell stops at a light, she takes a deep breath and looks over at me. “Little sis says things have been pretty weird lately. What’s up?”
Part of me wants to answer, “Not much.” Torey’s such a gossip that I don’t want her to know the details of my life, but with how close she’s gotten to Delia, I figure she’ll find out anyway. This could be the mega-Intervention I was hoping for, so I fill them in on the last couple of weeks.
Rashell parks the minivan in the mall parking lot, and we stay inside the car for a few minutes to keep talking. Even though she’s left the air conditioner running, it’s stifling hot in here.
“I had no idea things had gotten that bad,” Delia says. “I wish you would’ve said something to me.”
I want to say that she would’ve known if she’d reached out more. That she hasn’t made it easy to open up to her. If I’ve learned anything though, I know that some things are better left unsaid.
“I’m here for you if you need anything,” Torey says, which is pretty nice of her.
“Thanks. Just please keep this to yourself.”
“You have my word.” She leans forward from the backseat and extends her pinky. I wrap my pinky around hers and squeeze.
I expect Rashell to say something all cheesy, but she chuckles. “I never thought you would’ve stood up for yourself like that, kiddo. Didn’t think you had it in ya.”
Delia clears her throat. “No kidding. So, um, Calli, besides finding out what’s been going on, I wanted to talk to you about a really weird phone call I got last night.”
Really weird phone call? This doesn’t sound good. I wipe away the beads of sweat forming on my forehead. “I gave John, the cute guy from Chick-fil-A, your number since I knew you liked him.”
“Well, not anymore! Do you know what he said to me?” She doesn’t wait for me to guess before mimicking his deep voice. “‘I’ve got a ship, you’ve got the harbor, and even though we don’t know each other, we could tie up tonight.’”
His pickup line is so horrible that it makes me laugh! Soon the only one not laughing in the minivan is Delia. I straighten up. “Sorry—I’m a terrible matchmaker. I never would’ve given him your number if I’d known he was a jerk.”
“Well, I hope he loses it. Thanks for trying though. Sort of.”
“Sort of ” is acceptable.
When the four of us finally walk inside JCPenney, I freeze.
There is a familiar-looking girl standing not too far away with her back to me. She has thin, muscular arms. Wavy hair. A light blue shirt with baggy jeans hanging low on her narrow hips.
What is Cherish doing here?
Is there more to this Intervention? Have I been set up?
INTERVENTION II, CONTINUED
Sunday, May 11
DID MICHELLE LIE about Cherish’s detention? Have Mom and Liz withheld information to protect me?
I feel like I’m part of some sort of reality TV show where a person gets confronted with someone from their past. My brain sends mixed messages. Run out of the store. Talk to Cherish. Stay put. Hide behind the purses.
I hold fast to my resolve. No. More. Chicken. Turd.
“Where are you going?” Delia asks as I make my way to a display of dressy shoes.
“Just want to check on something real quick.” I clench my fists in case Cherish tries to repeat what happened during our last encounter.
And then I feel stupid when I get closer.
So incredibly stupid!
The girl is at least two inches taller than Cherish, plus her hair is a lighter shade of brown. And when she turns around, she’s wearing glasses and her face looks nothing like Cherish’s. Her nose is pinchy and her eyes are much closer together.
I reach for a pair of strappy silver sandals so she doesn’t think I’m staring or stalking her.
I jump when Rashell says, “Those are cute.” I hadn’t notice her, Torey, or Delia approaching me because I was too caught up in the moment.
Before we head to the juniors section, Delia leans into me and whispers, “Is it just me, or does that girl over there kind of look like Cherish?”
“It isn’t just you. I almost freaked out when I saw her.”
Most of the prom dresses are on clearance since it’s late in the season. And most of the dresses are a size zero, meaning they probably won’t fit over my head.
Rashell selects a yellow cotton tube top dress. She is a size zero. “What size do you wear, Calli?” she asks as she keeps flipping through the dresses on the clearance rack.
Torey glances over at me like she’s trying to guess my size. She’s practically half my body weight and I’m embarrassed to say my dress size out loud. But just by looking at me, she has to know I’m a sturdy girl. “Thirteen.”
Rashell hands me an emerald green dress and says, “You should try this one. It’ll make you look curvy. It’s a size eleven, but it might fit.”
“Isn’t that the dress you tried on before?” Delia asks.
I look it over. “It sure is.”
“You looked beautiful in it,” Delia says. “Try it on again.”
My cheeks feel warm. Delia had noticed me that day I thought she wasn’t paying attention. She picks out a black strapless dress with ruffles. Torey’s holding the same dress in purple. Size seven.
“This is like old times,” Delia says before we each go into separate dressing rooms.
Delia’s right, especially with Rashell here. And I hate to admit it, but Torey fits right in.
My dress is all but zipped up when I hear a loud boom followed by a thud. Something in the stall next to me has crashed down, and when I look underneath the dressing room divider, I realize it’s not a something that’s fallen, it’s a someone. Torey’s lying on the ground, laughing hysterically.
I rush out of my stall to check if she’s okay. Delia and Rashell help me lift her off the ground.
“First your brother and now you!” Delia says.
“We must be cursed.” Torey then mentions how she lost her balance because the dress was hard to put on, and how it must’ve had something to do with having ear tubes when she was younger. It’s hard to understand her because she’s laughing so hard. She rubs her elbow where she’s cracked it against the door.
I check her pupils. “You know what year it is? Do you know where you’re at?”
My questions are serious, but they make Torey cackle. By this point we’re all laughing harder than we were in the minivan, including Delia.
“Do you need any assistance?” a saleslady asks. We must be causing a big scene.
Torey coughs from laughing so hard before she answers, “I’m okay.”
“Have you been losing weight?” Delia asks when we calm down and the saleslady backs off.
I spin around in front of the mirror. If Torey hadn’t fallen, I might’ve noticed sooner that the size eleven dress fits.
It fits, even if it is tight in the chest! No numbers separate Delia and me right now. None. We’re not related like I always wanted to be, but we’re sort of like sisters again.
“I was right,” Rashell says, sporting the yellow dress. “It looks good on you.”
“Really good,” Torey says. The purple dress makes her butt look big, but I
don’t say a thing.
I close my eyes for a moment and picture myself walking along Bourbon Street. I imagine some incredibly handsome guy stopping me to say, “You’re positively stunning.”
“Thank you, but I have a boyfriend.” I’d smile so wide that he’d notice my braces. Dub thinks they’re cute.
Delia interrupts yet another daydream. “You should buy that dress.” The dress she’s wearing isn’t as tight on her, but it makes her look square shaped like Liz.
I glance at the price tag dangling from the side of the dress. It’s been marked 60 percent off, so it’s now $39.99 plus tax. “It’s more than I can afford. Besides, it’s not a practical dress.”
Rashell smooths her short hair back into place. “Practical is overrated.”
“I can loan you some money if you want it,” Torey says.
I stare back at the gown. I do want it, even if I don’t have any special plans to wear it. Maybe Dub will take me to his junior prom next year, and this dress will still magically fit. “You’d loan me the money?”
“Of course. That’s what friends do,” Torey says. Delia and Rashell offer to pitch in too.
It isn’t practical, but like Rashell said, practical is overrated. I accept my friends’ offer.
SURPRISES
Sunday, May 11
WHEN I GET HOME, papers cover my desk and crayons are scattered across the floor. My stomach churns. Seeing my room this messy reminds me of what happened with Cherish.
I hang the dress up in my closet. After buying it, I couldn’t wait to come home and model it for everyone. Now I have to deal with this.
My nightstand drawer is open. The same drawer that contains the booklet I never threw away about what to expect when you start your period. The thought of Lemond studying female anatomy is too much.
“Lemonhead!” I yell.
“I made the book,” Lemond says after he walks down the hallway and into my room. He crosses his hands behind his back and shifts his weight to his toes. “Look! It’s on your bed.”
I reach for it, smashing a crayon underneath my shoe. Crunch. “Great.”
“Your mom thought it was a great idea too.” After how cool Mom’s been, I can’t believe she’d allow him to trash my room.
Lemond’s eyes are pleading and starting to fill with tears. I grab the book. The pages are folded and stapled down the side, and the edges are flipped out. There’s a drawing of a boy on the cover with red dots all over his face. “You’re not going to hit me are you?”
I look him in the eye. “I’d never hit you, Lemond, no matter how mad I got.” How could he even think this? I don’t want to know the answer, but I have to ask because I can’t stand the thought of anyone hurting this boy. “Did you get hit at home?”
“I deserved it after making a mess.”
I take a deep breath and try to react calmly so I won’t upset him. “Nobody deserves to be hit. Did you tell anyone else about what happened?”
Lemond shakes his head no. “Forget what I said. The guy left Mama anyway.”
I drop the conversation, but there’s no way I’ll forget it. “I don’t appreciate you going through my things or making a mess, but the book is nice. Really nice.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.” The tears spill out of his eyes. “I love you,” he says.
Guilt consumes my words for a moment, and when I can finally speak I tell him, “It is special and it is a surprise. Let’s read your book together.”
Mom comes to check on us while Lemond’s sitting next to me on the bed. He has to read the book to me because most of the words he wrote are unintelligible. Except for one word: “Osum.”
She stands there waiting until Lemond gets to the end before speaking. “Sorry I didn’t hear you come home, Calli. I was on the phone with Liz. She has to work late tonight.” Mom looks around like she’s just now noticed what a disaster my room is. “Oh my.”
“No kidding.” It makes me feel better that she wasn’t aware of what Lemond was up to, but then that makes me worry. The monkey hasn’t been hanging from her door very much lately, and maybe she’s not getting enough rest. “Have you been feeling okay?”
“Fine, I promise. Just busy and apparently spacey.” She holds out an envelope. “I forgot to check the mail yesterday with the festival and all. This came for you.”
I recognize the small, loopy handwriting on the envelope. Cherish’s. First the mall incident and now this.
Mom seems to recognize the significance of the letter. “Hey, Lemond, why don’t we get a snack and you can share the book with me too?”
He lets out a long sigh like he’s relieved he’s not in big trouble, or worse, won’t get hit because of his creative endeavors. “Sure.”
Once they leave me alone, I slowly open the envelope. My heart pounds even though I know Cherish’s words can’t hurt me, not physically.
Calli,
Thanx for your letters.
I did a lot of things wrong. Thought if I caused some trouble, maybe the state would send me to
Maw-Maw’s so they wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore. Didn’t mean to hurt nobody.
Maw-Maw came by to visit me and is trying to get the judge to let me live with her when I get out. My stepdad moved out and that could help the case.
Stay strong. Peace.
Cherish
She drew a flower over the “i” in her name. This little detail gives me the chills.
I feel dazed so I read the letter again to let it all sink in.
She had wanted to get kicked out so she could live with her family. Wanted me to react and fight back. And I did.
It makes more sense about why she lied to Michelle.
I’ve been wanting to change everything that happened, but like Liz said after Mom’s ER incident, maybe things happen for a reason. Maybe this will somehow lead to Cherish’s life being more complete.
Maybe this is just wishful thinking, but I can certainly wish and pray for it to happen.
I plan to write Cherish back, but for now I want to talk it over with Dub. I’ll share the letter with Mom and Liz too, plus tell them about what Lemond revealed tome.
ALL RIGHT
Monday, May 12
“HOORAY!” Lemond shouts when he finds out about our Monday night buffet tradition. His excitement won’t last long. It took him only an hour to realize the Hocus Focus isn’t magical. He pressed every car button imaginable before giving up.
At the buffet I scope out the many dishes. Lemond goes straight to the macaroni and cheese. Mom puts broccoli on his plate, but he dumps it on the ground.
“You shouldn’t waste food,” I say. “A lot of energy went into growing that broccoli and cooking it.”
He looks down at the green stuff. “It was an accident.” His bottom lip sticks out. Liz bends over, picks up the broccoli with a napkin, and sets it on her tray to throw out.
I get a huge salad and a piece of wheat bread but can’t help eyeing the coconut cream pie. One piece isn’t going to keep me from fitting into my dress so I set it on my tray.
“How was school, Lemond?” Mom asks when we get back to the table.
Lemond scoops a giant bite of macaroni and cheese into his mouth. “I hate it. My mom never made me go every day,” he mumbles. A piece of macaroni drops onto his lap.
Mom’s almost done cleaning her hands with the alcohol wipe. “Well, going to school isn’t a choice. It’s the law.”
“Jacob said I’m gay. I felt like punching him in the face!”
Liz quits cracking her crab legs and Mom stops scraping spices off of her fish. I suspend pouring ranch over my lettuce. Face punching is a sore spot for all three of us.
“Some people are mean—you have to ignore them even when it isn’t easy at all,” I say. I worry about his resorting to violence, especially since he’s been hit before. That’s exactly what happened to Cherish, and I don’t want Lemond to get trapped in the same cycle. “Hitting someone is never okay.”
>
“I didn’t hit Jacob even though I wanted to.” Lemond shovels up a big bite of macaroni and cheese and talks with his mouth full. “I broke my ruler in half and the teacher got mad at me.”
Mom picks her fork back up. “I’ll talk to your teacher to make sure Jacob doesn’t bother you. Calli’s right—it’s best to ignore his comments.”
“You could let me stay home from school,” Lemond says before taking another bite.
“Based on experience,” I say, “that doesn’t fix things either. School’s almost out anyway. Just two more weeks.”
Mom bites into her fish. “How was your day, Calli?” she asks like she’s anxious to change the subject.
I replay the day in my head.
It was fun talking to Delia and Torey on the bus about the Intervention.
Madame Mahoney told me my average has increased to a B.
Dub kissed me after French. French-kissed me. Oh là là!
“Fantastic, actually.”
Later in the evening, I’m sitting at my desk and I almost scream when there’s a tap on my back. I turn around quickly. “You scared me, Lemond. Remember to knock on my door before coming into my room.”
“Sorry. I’m bored. Can we write a story together?”
I move the poster I’m working on to the side. “Just for a little while. What happens to Redhots this time?”
Lemond shrugs his shoulders. “I guess don’t want to write a story. I miss my family.”
“I’m sure they miss you too. Want to help me with my science project?”
“Okay.” Lemond wraps his arms around me. He smells like the buffet. Like onions and seafood.
I tell Lemond about some of the things Mr. Hatley has taught us about air pollution and what I’ve learned on the Internet.
“Air can make you sick?”
I nod but don’t go into detail about how the pollution the refineries produce can cause breathing problems and cancer. At six years old, Lemond’s got more than enough to worry about. Mom mentioned my concerns to Michelle, and I hope she’s going to do something about them. I’d like it if Lemond could stay with us longer.
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