Out of Order

by Betty Hicks

  “She apologized to you,” said Mary Beth gently.

  “Ha!” I answered.

  “Ha?” asked Dad, irritation edging into his voice. “What’s ‘Ha!’ supposed to mean?”

  “It means she should apologize to me,” I said. “She killed fifty plants. She should pay me.”

  Dad sighed. “V, you killed her plant, too.”

  I flung down my pencil. “I did not kill her plant!” Tears of frustration welled up, stinging my eyes.

  Why wouldn’t anyone believe me?

  “V,” said Dad, rising up in anger. “You will stay grounded until you apologize to Lily.”

  He stalked out of the room, Mary Beth slinking behind him. She reached out to touch me as she went by, gently, on the tip of my shoulder.

  So what? Who needs them?

  They sure as hell didn’t need me. Mary Beth treats me like a five-year-old. Helpless. While she—Wonder Woman—works, cooks, cleans, shops—and doesn’t even know that I can help. That I like to help.

  I used to do household stuff for Dad every day.

  As soon as they left the house, I went to the kitchen and cleaned out a cabinet. Mary Beth had pots and pans stacked all over each other. Every time you opened the door to get a bowl or a saucepan, lids fell on the floor. I rearranged the whole mess. Slamming pots into new places. Lids on a separate shelf, stacked by size. I even sponged off the shelves, wiping away a year’s worth of little spills. The organizing made me feel better, but the banging was the best part.

  Then I dusted and vacuumed the den. She should pay me.

  Maybe I could raise money that way. No way would I tell them my soccer ball plan. Who’d believe me?

  They’d been so quick to think I’d lied about Lily’s flower. But why? Am I so bad? I guided the vacuum behind the sofa and tried to think back. Well, maybe there was one time I acted sort of crummy. Or two …

  Eric clomped into the den as I shut off the vacuum. He glanced up from a skinny book he was reading. “Did Mary Beth ask you to clean up in here?”

  “Nope,” I said, picking up the feather duster.

  “Are you crazy?” he asked.

  “Nope,” I answered, swiping his face with it.

  “Gross, V.” He windmilled his arms at me. “Knock it off.” He wrinkled his nose into a twist, then sneezed.

  “Guess what?” he said, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his T-shirt.

  Maybe that’s why he likes black clothes, I thought.

  “I’ve been researching Rock-Paper-Scissors on the Internet,” he continued.

  “Rock-Paper-Scissors?” I repeated. What was he talking about?

  “Yeah,” he said. “You know—the hand game Mud Boy and I’ve been using to make decisions around here. And guess what?”

  “What?” I said, wondering if he’d really finally lost it. Reverted all the way back to age five—the age that Mary Beth thought I was.

  “It’s a big-time game. Adults play it. They have tournaments. Strategies. It’s bigger than chess.” He glowed like a little kid with a brand-new dirt bike.

  “Bigger than chess?” I repeated.

  “Well,” he said, twisting his shirt, “maybe not bigger than chess. But big.”

  “Whatever,” I mumbled, picking up a lamp and dusting under it.

  “Man, V,” he grumbled, then muttered a bunch of stuff that I couldn’t hear as he huffed out of the room and down the hall.

  Maybe Dad was right to worry about him. I stopped dusting. Did Dad worry about him? Sometimes, when Eric and Parker acted super goofy, he definitely seemed irritated, but other times I wondered if Eric didn’t make a big deal out of nothing.

  I pictured Ben—before he died. How old had he been? Fourteen. A whole year younger than Eric is now. Wow. Ben had sure acted a lot older. Or did Eric just seem younger? Except for the old and boring books he read. But hadn’t I just seen him reading a really short book? What was it? I wondered. Rock-Paper-Scissors? Goodnight Moon?

  I looked up and saw Lily standing in the doorway. Why wasn’t she cowering and slinking past me like she usually did? Instead, she was gaping at me like a person who didn’t believe in fairies, and then suddenly saw one in the flesh—real, after all.

  “You had a phone call,” she said, her voice higher than normal, and squeaky.

  “When?” I asked. I hadn’t heard it ring.

  “Just now,” she answered. “I guess you didn’t hear it over the vacuum. And you didn’t answer me when I yelled, so I took a message.”

  “Yeah?” I said. Why was she looking at me so funny? Had someone else in my family died?

  “It was the manager of The Sport Shop,” she said, her eyes wide. “He said to tell you that he can get you a discount on the soccer balls.”

  Parker

  Parker tiptoed past V’s door on his way down the hall.

  Frank’s voice coming from her room stopped him dead. “V,” he said. “You killed her plant, too.”

  Parker flattened himself against the wall beside the door.

  “I did not kill her plant!” screamed V.

  Parker felt himself growing hot all over. Suddenly the air seemed so heavy he could barely breathe it.

  “V,” growled Frank, “you will stay grounded until you apologize to Lily.”

  Parker bolted down the hall to his room and slammed the door. His Shrek poster slid left.

  “Could you be any noisier?” said Lily, who was sprawled across her bed working the daily word jumble.

  Parker, his eyes stinging with tears, disappeared into his closet, frantically pretending to search through a stack of comic books in the corner. No way did he want Lily to see him cry.

  The hall phone rang.

  “I’ll get it,” mumbled Lily.

  Parker backed out of his closet and flung himself onto his bed. He jerked his pillow out from under the spread, buried his head under the dinosaur pillowcase, and tried not to cry.

  What do I do? Lily will kill me. V’s scary. What will she do? Will Eric hate me? What about Frank? I have to tell somebody what I did. No. I don’t. Lily can grow another flower. Can’t she? It was an accident! V won’t stay grounded forever. Will she? No way. I wouldn’t. I’d apologize. Even if I didn’t do it.

  But I did do it.

  Out of nowhere, he pictured Mr. Fitch, his Sunday school teacher, jerking his head in that weird way that made everyone call him “Mr. Twitch.” “The honest way is the only way—even if it hurts,” he preached. Twitch. Twitch.

  Easy for him to say, thought Parker, uncovering his head and turning over. He wiped his eyes dry with the back of his hand.

  Besides, it’s not like I lied. Nobody’s asked.

  Shrek hung lopsided on the wall, smiling down at him.

  “What would you do?” Parker asked the ogre.

  Shrek didn’t answer.

  Parker got up, pulled a tissue out of Lily’s Kleenex box, and blew his nose. He inched to the door to see if Lily was coming back. Eric cruised past muttering, “Man, V. Have you ever turned into a crab. At least I’ve got a brother that’s cool.”

  Neat-o, thought Parker, stepping back from the door and breaking into a grin.

  Then he froze.

  What would happen when Eric found out that he wasn’t cool? That he was a criminal.

  ERIC

  Journal Entry #175

  “Remember as far as anyone knows, we’re a nice normal family.”—Homer Simpson

  Journal Entry #176

  The Old Man and the Sea is incredible. The fisherman fights this monster fish—a record marlin that weighs over 1,500 pounds. He fights it for days. Alone. But he wishes the boy were with him.

  The old man has dignity. So does the fish.

  And my family is falling apart over a flower.

  Parker

  “Kids!” Frank shouted from the hall. “Everybody in the den. Now.”

  Uh, oh, thought Parker. He knew the voice of doom when he heard it. He wiped his eyes one more time with his
fists and wondered if they were red. He hoped not.

  When he got to the den, V and Lily were already there. V stood glaring at Lily with her chin stuck out and her hands on her hips as if her whole body was shouting, I told you so! Lily slumped lower than Snowman when he gets caught chewing somebody’s shoe.

  But when Frank strolled in, they both zapped their posture back to normal.

  “Who…” Frank hesitated to add suspense. “… wants to go to a movie?”

  Parker kept his face lowered. Then it hit him. A movie. They were going to a movie! “Shrek 2!” he shrieked.

  “Let’s go see Troy,” said Eric.

  “How about Harry Potter?” suggested Mom.

  “How about we all go to a different one?” said Eric.

  Parker saw Frank cut his eyes toward Eric in a kidding way that said, you are no help.

  But Eric clenched his jaw muscles as if Frank’s look had said, shut up, dummy.

  Lily and V stood quietly invisible, probably hoping no one would remember they were grounded.

  “V,” said Frank, trading a weird glance with Mom, “we want you and Lily to go with us, but after that, you’re back to grounded.” He threw his arms wide. “So! What’s it going to be?”

  Parker thrust his fist toward Eric and started the Rock-Paper-Scissors countdown.

  “Whoa,” said Mom. “What about my suggestion?”

  Parker and Eric looked at each other and nodded. “Three way,” they agreed.

  Mom pushed her hand into the circle. Pump, pump, pump.

  Mom’s fist ended on rock. Eric’s and Parker’s on paper.

  “You’re out, Mom.”

  Pump, pump, pump.

  Parker was rock. Eric, scissors.

  “Shrek 2, here we come!” Parker gloated. Then he got calm and asked, “Okay, Lily? Okay, V?”

  They both shrugged and nodded.

  Parker felt heat creeping up the back of his neck. Why couldn’t they get over it? Were they going to dump guilt on him forever?

  * * *

  On the way into the movie, Eric and V acted as if they didn’t know Mom, Frank, or anybody. But afterward, everyone walked out together, smiling. Even Lily looked happy.

  It had rained while they were in the theater, but now the sun was out again, making the wet parking lot feel steamy.

  Frank started quizzing everybody the second he cranked up the engine of the minivan.

  “V,” he asked cheerfully, “who was your favorite character?”

  “Dad,” V groaned, sinking lower in the backseat.

  “Puss In Boots,” offered Eric.

  “Hey! Me too,” said Lily, perking up and sounding surprised that she and Eric liked the same guy.

  “Me three,” said Parker. “He was so funny.”

  “And cute,” added Lily.

  “Cute!” Eric blurted. “He was an assassin!”

  “What’s an assassin?” asked Parker.

  “A paid killer,” answered Eric.

  “A painkiller?” Parker asked.

  “No,” Eric chuckled. “Paid—emphasis on the d.”

  “Oh,” said Parker, understanding. Then he laughed at himself and said, “Painkiller. Ha.” He grinned. “Eric’s favorite character is an aspirin.”

  Everybody laughed.

  Parker beamed. He loved it when everyone thought he was funny.

  Then Mom jumped in and said Shrek was her favorite. Frank liked Donkey, and V claimed she loved the hateful fairy godmother. Maybe she did.

  “The giant Gingerbread Man was the best,” said Parker.

  “You already voted,” said Lily, pushing him with her elbow.

  Parker sank back in his seat, happy to hear her complain.

  “Yeah,” said Eric. “He got healed since the last movie—by yeast cell research.”

  Frank tossed his head back and laughed. “I missed that line.”

  Parker announced, “Nobody can catch the Gingerbread Man,”

  “Okay,” said Frank, still chuckling. You could tell he loved this. “Who knows what the moral was?”

  “Dad,” V groaned again.

  “Well.” Mom cleared her throat. “Shrek and Princess Fiona love each other—beautiful or ugly. So, it’s about relationships, and the goodness inside people’s hearts.…”

  “Mom,” groaned Lily.

  Yay! thought Parker. He was glad Lily’s old self was making a comeback. Besides, he’d wished Shrek and Fiona had stayed good-looking. Even if that wouldn’t have been the best ending, he liked it anyway.

  “Come on, guys,” said Frank, trying to hide a goofball grin. “It’s about a thoughtful dad who doesn’t want his daughter to marry a big, green, swamp-dwelling monster. Who can blame him?”

  “Frank,” Mom moaned. She reached across the console and jokingly punched his arm.

  Eric leaned forward, stroking the stubbly hairs on his chin as if he were a genius, and said, “It’s about aging parents who worry unnecessarily about their kids.”

  “Aging?” Frank exclaimed, pretending to be mad. “You twerp.”

  “I thought it was romantic,” said Lily.

  “There’s no such thing as Prince Charming,” declared V.

  “Did we see the same movie?” exclaimed Mom.

  “V’s right,” agreed Lily, but then she crossed her arms and flopped back against her seat, “but it can still be romantic.”

  Yes! Parker cheered silently. Even if he thought that was a very dumb way of looking at a great movie, he was excited to see Lily let fly one of her kick-butt opinions again.

  And what did he think it meant? He stared out the window as they cruised past the King of the Hill gravel pile, then turned onto the road their house was on. A woman in exercise shorts was walking fast along the wet sidewalk, pumping her arms. A gust of wind made the back of her T-shirt flap.

  It had grown cloudy again, and dark. Like another storm coming. Parker looked up at all the tall oaks lining their street, and felt small.

  He was pretty sure the movie meant that, big or little, you needed to do the right thing.

  He was thankful no one had asked him.

  Lily

  I lie in bed with the lights out, trying to figure out what snapped in me today. Why do I feel more like myself—if only a little?

  I picture the deck of cards with red and blue balloons all over it that Parker and I used to play games with. I was one of the cards on top. Then boom, somebody shuffled, and I ended up all the way at the bottom, a mile below V—the queen of diamonds. Barely above Parker, a jelly-smudged three of clubs.

  I think that metaphor works, but I’ll have to ask Eric. He agrees with me that the cat character in Shrek 2 is cool, so he can’t be as scary as he looks.

  I know I won’t ever be the oldest again. And that’s okay. But I’m not going to stay squashed at the bottom either.

  I stare up at the ceiling and make some decisions.

  One, it’s time to reshuffle.

  Two, V needs a serious attitude adjustment.

  Okay, she did not lie about the soccer balls. That was the Surprise of the Month. But, once I thought about it, it fit the good sister, the one who bought my sunflower seeds, played with Barbie, and talked me into shaving my legs.

  But she’s lying about killing my sunflower—which makes her the bad sister. The one who corrects everything I say, and shamed me in front of Jessica.

  So here’s the count as I see it: I have apologized to her three times. Twice for zapping her plants. And once for not believing her soccer-ball story.

  “V,” I told her, “I’m so sorry. You were raising money for kids. Is it too late to plant more tomatoes? I’ll pay for the seeds. I’ll help you plant them.”

  “You dummy,” she sneered, with her hands on her hips. “Of course it’s too late. Don’t you know anything?”

  It’s so not fair that she looks pretty, even when she’s not.

  That’s when Parker slunk into the room, trying to hide his red eyes. What, I won
der, did V do to him? And why has he been acting so quiet and un-Parker-like lately?

  Then Frank announced that we were all going on a major peacekeeping mission to the movies. He and Mom think they’re so clever.

  Come on. We’re not stupid.

  So. The apology score is Lily, 3. V, 0.

  I haven’t been counting all the things she’s done to me, but, if I had to come up with a number, I’d say she owes me about 736 I’m sorrys, not counting the sunflower murder.

  I roll over and listen. Parker is one bed over, squirming, muttering, having a serious-sounding nightmare.

  “It’s okay,” I say into the darkness.

  But it’s not okay, because he keeps twisting and murmuring, and won’t wake up.

  Earlier I tried to get him to play War, I Doubt It, Slapjack—anything so I could pry his problems out of him, and help.

  “No thanks,” he’d said.

  No surprise there. He hasn’t played cards with me since Eric became his favorite sibling.

  “So what’s wrong?” I asked when he got into bed.

  “Nothing.”

  He reached up and switched off the light, and I hadn’t even gotten into my pajamas yet.

  “Parker,” I said, turning the light back on. “Why were you crying this afternoon?”

  “I wasn’t crying!” he shouted at me, then covered his head with his pillow.

  So now I’m listening to him, probably being attacked by a T. rex in his sleep. What does he expect when he sleeps on a pillowcase covered with dinosaurs baring a billion sharp teeth?

  “Parker!” I shout. “Wake up! It’s okay.”

  He snorts and sputters. I hear him sit up. “Wha—? Oh, thanks, Lily.” Then he snuggles back into peaceful sleep.

  This is my favorite time. When I feel alone and the room seems mine.

  Tomorrow I start reshuffling.

  I’m going to raise V’s soccer-ball plan from the dead. Whether she likes it or not.

  V

  “Yikes!” exclaimed Mary Beth from the kitchen. “Who cleaned out my cabinet?”

  Curled up on the sofa in the den, I smiled. Here it came. The awakening. Mary Beth opening her brain and realizing that an intelligent thirteen-year-old daughter came with the marriage.