My Mother Was Never A Kid (Victoria Martin Trilogy)

by Francine Pascal

  “I don’t know how you’re going to do it with those notes you’ve got,” says Betty with such a giggle in her voice that I’d like to push my hand in her silly face.

  Whatever exam they’re talking about is really getting to Cici. She starts to squirm and tries to change the subject real fast, but Joyce isn’t about to let her.

  “You must tell Cici to show you her notes,” she says to me. “They’re the cat’s pajamas.” And both she and Betty double over in hysterics.

  Obviously Cici’s notes are horrendous.

  “Wish I could lend you mine,” Joyce says, gloating so much I may throw up, “but I’ll be using them all weekend. Sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s okay. I’ve got a lot of it in my head already and besides … uh …” Cici is sort of scrambling around for some way to recover. She finds it. “Victoria’s going to help me.”

  No way. Unless she’s only getting a D and wants an F. Of course, I don’t say any of that. I just stand there trying to look very scientific.

  “She’s a straight-A science student….”

  There she goes. Miss Overkill.

  “… In fact she’s so far ahead that she’s already finished all her biology and chemistry and she’s started first-year trigonometry.”

  “Trigonometry?” Joyce announces, real smartass. “Funny, I always thought that was math.”

  “You mean you really thought astral trig was mathr I say brilliantly. “How amusing.” There’s this magnificent silence while we all watch Joyce’s jaw drop down to her knees. Cici is so pleased with me I’m afraid she may break into applause and spoil the whole scene. I feel sensational.

  “Hey, look, we’re really late,” Cici says. “We must get home. See you tonight at the party.”

  “See you later,” I say.

  You should see their faces at the thought of an extra girl at their precious party.

  “Is she coming?” Betty asks Cici, giving her eyes that “Oh, God” roll.

  Cici’s not about to listen to any more jazz from these two, so she tells them straight out, “If you don’t like it, lump it.” And she gives me a little shove and we start running up the hill.

  At the top of the hill, we turn onto a quiet street with big old oak trees. On one side are old wooden frame houses, and on the other, the uphill side, are huge fortress-like brick homes each set about fifty feet up from the sidewalk. They’re all big and dark and sort of loom over the street. Sounds scary but it isn’t. In fact, they’re kind of silly-looking because the structures are so gigantic and the property is so tiny that the houses practically have to hold their breath to fit on the land.

  Cici’s head is down as we walk along the block, and I think she’s forgotten all about me. I feel a little uncomfortable because, you know, I’m very dependent on her.

  “Hey!” she says, and suddenly the kookiness is back in her face and I know what she’s been doing. She’s been cooking up a new plan. “Come here,” she says and pulls me into one of the open garages. “Want one?” she says, coming up with a short unfiltered cigarette from some side pocket of her bag. It’s a little crushed but otherwise perfectly smokable. There’s no point in ruining her surprise by telling her that I hate unfiltered cigarettes. They make me even more nauseous than filtered ones, which do a pretty good job on my stomach.

  She lights the cigarette and takes a puff and hands it to me. “Want a drag?” she says.

  Naturally I can’t refuse. I take the tiniest puff possible, hold it in my mouth for a couple of seconds, and then slowly let it kind of leak out between my teeth. There’s got to be a better way. I hand it back to Cici, who takes another drag.

  “Do you inhale?” she asks me, trying to be real cool as the smoke pours out of her nose and winds its way right into her eyes. “Ohh … that stings.”

  “That happens to me all the time,” I tell her, but she’s too busy jumping around and rubbing her eyes. “And it’s worse when I inhale. I get so dizzy I think I’m going to fall over.”

  “Me too. Sometimes after dinner I sneak up to the bathroom for a butt and I get so woozy that the floor tiles start rolling up and down.”

  “I’m probably not going to be a smoker. It’s really bad for you.”

  “Yeah? Where’d you hear that?”

  Cici has this way of kidding with a deadpan face. At first I didn’t know when she was joking, but now I think I can tell.

  “Except grass.” I keep a straight face too. “Now that’s really good for you.”

  “Really healthy,” she says, “if you’re a cow.”

  “I mean grass, dope.”

  “Hey!” Suddenly she looks insulted. Oh, boy, we’re on different wavelengths. She probably never heard of grass or … wow! She must think I’m calling her a dope. No way to explain so I change the subject fast.

  “I don’t think those two creeps, Betty and what’s-her-face, Joyce, were too happy about me going to the party tonight.”

  “Tough. If they don’t like it, they can lump it.”

  “Yeah, those two really turn me off. Did you see what a kick they were getting out of bugging you about that science test? Please.”

  “Ugh! Don’t even mention it. Old Horseface Davis—she’s my teacher—said that if I don’t get a seventy-five on it, she’s going to flunk me and then I won’t graduate. Can you just see me left back? Doing eighth grade again? I’d die first.”

  “Too right!”

  “I wish Horseface would. She’s such a rat fink and she hates me, which is really unfair because I’ve been trying very hard lately. I even did a project for extra credit—some dumb thing with an egg and a glass jar. What a flop! How was I supposed to know the egg had to be hard-boiled? You should have seen her face when she tried to do the experiment.”

  It must have been horrendous because just the memory of it makes Cici crack up.

  “And then to top things off, I get hysterical. I knew I was in real trouble and it wasn’t funny, but sometimes I get this thing where I can’t stop laughing.”

  “Yeah. I know exactly what you mean.” It’s always such a relief to find someone as nutty as you are.

  “That’s when she exploded and gave me the ultimatum about getting a seventy-five on the final. That stinks because, except for her classes, all my other marks are great. Oh, well maybe sewing is a little problem.”

  “You mean that thing in your bag?”

  “Yeah, my graduation dress.”

  I don’t believe it. I mean, I’m in total shock at the thought of someone actually wearing that rag. And for graduation no less. Naturally I don’t say anything, but I guess she sees it in my face because she shrugs and says, “I know, I hate sewing even worse than science.”

  I would say that’s pretty obvious, except I don’t. All I say is, “I wish I could help you, but science is a killer for me, too. The minute someone mentions anything even vaguely scientific, I turn right off.”

  “Me too. Only I turn so far off that I even forget to take notes. Like now, I’m really up the creek because I’m missing half the notes and the other half is so crummy that I can hardly read them.”

  “Can’t you borrow somebody else’s notes?”

  “No can do. Everybody needs their own notes. Oh, well, you can’t go crazy.”

  That’s what my mother says, “You can’t go crazy,” but I think I would if I wasn’t going to graduate. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll figure something out, I guess.”

  Something’s fishy. I mean, she’s much too cool. I’m really curious, so I level with her. “How come you don’t seem so worried?” One look at her face and I can tell I’m right. She’s got something up her sleeve.

  “Yeah, well”—she looks at me real hard, like she’s deciding something—“I guess I’m not.”

  “How come?” I’m not letting go because now I’m really curious.

  “You won’t say anything?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Well, this is
really secret stuff. I’m finished if even a word gets out.”

  “I swear to God and hope to die I won’t breathe a word of it.”

  “I’m getting the test,” she whispers.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This kid Ted’s giving me the test.” She’s looking over her shoulder like she expects the CIA any second. Then she says, even softer, “His mom’s my teacher.”

  “No way! Wow! I wouldn’t have the guts for something like that. Aren’t you scared you’ll get caught?”

  “Plenty scared. Don’t even remind me. I start to sweat just thinking about it. Boy, I’d die if anyone ever found out. Of course I’d probably be expelled instantly, but what’s even worse, my parents would be absolutely crushed. I know I’m not perfect but I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s almost like being a criminal, but I can’t help it, I’m trapped. I gotta graduate.”

  “What if he tells someone—like brags? You know how boys are.”

  “Yeah, I know, but Ted’s no kid, he’s almost eighteen, and besides he’d be in as much hot water as me. After all, he’s doing the stealing, right?”

  “I guess so, but it’s taking a big chance anyhow.”

  “You don’t know how big. I gotta trust Ted, and, boy, is he a crud. For a teacher’s kid he’s almost a delinquent. I mean it. He practically dropped out of high school last year, and he hangs around with a real tough crowd. And you want to hear the payoff?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He likes me. Ugh!”

  “Is that how come he’s doing this for you?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m paying him a bomb. That’s how come. I didn’t even ask him to do it. He must have heard about it from some of the kids because one time about a week ago we were all in Pop Stiller’s malt shop and he pulls me aside and says, ‘I’ll get it for you.’ I didn’t even know what he was talking about at first so I said something like, ‘Yeah, I’ll bet you will,’ and started to walk away, but then he followed me and whispered that he’d get the science test for me and I nearly fainted.”

  Cici took another drag on the cigarette and coughed three or four times. She handed it to me. This time I inhaled, and I nearly fainted. She didn’t notice.

  “At first I thought he was pulling my leg, but then when I saw he was serious I said forget it—I’m not going to get involved in anything like that—and I just walked away. Then when I got home I started thinking about not graduating. How would I ever face my family or my friends again? And then I thought about when I was in sixth grade and Harold Klinger got left back.

  “He didn’t find out until the last day before summer vacation when we all got our report cards. You know how that’s the best day of the whole term with everyone kidding around, talking and comparing cards? Except Harold. He just sat in his seat, and his face was getting redder and redder, even his ears, and then suddenly he burst into tears—the real sobbing kind where you can’t catch your breath. It was horrible. Then Mr. Bernard, who was a real rat, said to him, no sympathy, nothing, just, ‘Harold, I think you’d better step out into the hall until you can control yourself.’ Harold was crying so hard he could barely find the door.”

  The cigarette was burning down. I handed it back to Cici. “He must have been really dumb,” I say.

  “Yeah, but even so, I felt sorry for him. Everybody did. It was awful what getting left back did to him. He used to be the class joker and very popular, but he didn’t make any friends in his new class, and when you’d meet him in the halls, he was so embarrassed he could barely look at you. I finally stopped saying anything to him because it made him so uncomfortable. And that was only being left back in sixth grade. When it happens in eighth grade and you don’t graduate and all your friends go on to high school and you gotta come back to grammar school, it’s the worst thing in the whole world. That’s when I made up my mind. No matter what, it’s not going to happen to me, even if I have to cheat. … I don’t care. I gotta graduate.”

  Poor Cici. She’s probably found the most sympathetic ear in the whole country. But as bad as my own school problems are, at least I’m not involved in any stealing. Now I feel sort of squirmy for her, so I ask her if maybe there isn’t another way out. Like suppose she talked to the teacher. Or maybe took a make-up test.

  “With old Horseface?” Cici is shaking her head like I’m nuts. “Not even if I broke down and cried. Her greatest joy in life is the sight of tears. It’s hopeless. There’s no other way. If I don’t get that test, I’m going to fail for sure.”

  “What if I helped? Suppose we really crammed all night and all day tomorrow?”

  “With my notes I could cram for about seven minutes.”

  “Hey, I got it. Let’s Xerox somebody’s. It only takes a minute.”

  “Huh? What’s a Xerox?”

  Oh, wow! That was dumb. They probably didn’t even invent the Xerox machine yet. I have to make up something quick because it sounds like a way out, so she’s really curious.

  “It’s a city word for putting the snatch on something.” I could go on and tell how it’s named after this famous robber, Jason Xerox, but I can tell she’s not interested. So instead I ask her, “What about telling your parents and asking them if they can do something with the teacher?”

  “No good. You don’t know my parents, especially my mother. I’d never hear the end of it … and besides it wouldn’t work. Horseface hates parents worse than kids. There’s just no other way, Victoria. I know, because all I’ve been doing for the last five days is thinking about this thing and I’ve got no choice. I gotta get the exam and that’s all there is to it.”

  I guess there’s no point in telling her what a bad feeling I’m getting just thinking about the plan. She’s really trapped. She has to take the gamble, but I’m scared for her.

  We’re so busy with our conversation that the cigarette burns out before either of us has a chance to really smoke it. Thank God. I hated it anyway. I only do it for effect. I mean, I think I look very mature smoking.

  “Let’s go,” Cici says, picking up her bag. “I live just a few houses down.”

  We walk down the street about four houses. At the fifth house Cici stops.

  “Up here’s where I live.”

  Up here turns out to be a huge square stack of dark red bricks in the shape of a house—you know, the kind you draw when you’re about five years old. Two stories high, door in the center, double windows upstairs and down, and smack in the middle of the roof, the chimney. It’s not very beautiful, but it sure looks solid. You could huff and puff forever and it’d still be there.

  “Hey, look, Victoria … uh …”

  I can see Cici’s really worrying, I mean about telling me her secret. Now she’s scared I’ll let it slip. Of course I assure her it’s absolutely safe with me. Cross my heart and hope to die.

  “I’m sorry, Victoria, but you’re the only other person who knows and—well, it occurred to me that I really don’t know you all that well and … oh forget it, that was jerky. I knew the minute I met you that you were going to be my friend … my special friend … and that I could trust you with anything.”

  That’s the way I feel about Cici too, but I’m not ready to tell her my secret yet. Not until I’m absolutely certain that I’m not nuts.

  “Let’s go,” she says, and starts up the steep flight of brick steps.

  “Hey, wait.” I stop midflight. “I forgot to ask you about your family.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Well, do you have any sisters or brothers?”

  “First there’s my brother, the meanest, most despicable, lowest form of creepy crud tease in the Western Hemisphere. Then there’s my mother. I told you a little about her. She’s in charge of the house and the kids—that’s me and the creep. She’s a regular mother type—you know, tells you when to eat, what to eat, where to go, when to come home, what to wear, and when to breathe. Other than that, you’re completely on your own. As for my dad, he’s the policy-maker, the
great white father. Actually I love my parents. Until lately anyway. Now all we do is fight. They just don’t realize that I’m not a baby anymore. I’m fourteen and my mother’s got to stop hanging over me like I’m a two-year-old.”

  “Stop. I know just what you mean. My mother does the same exact thing and it really grosses me out.”

  “I figure she’s probably just going through a stage, but I don’t know if I can wait for her to out-grow it.”

  Cici opens the door. Standing in the hall, I can see a large living room on one side and the dining room on the other. In front of me is a flight of stairs leading to the first floor. There’s a lot of yellows and golds and oranges, and everything looks solid like the house, neat and clean and homey. Cici goes up a couple of steps and calls out. “Mommy! Mom! I’m home and I’ve got a friend with me.”

  “I’ll be right down.”

  Nine

  My God! That voice slams into my stomach like a two-by-four. I can’t catch my breath. Luckily Cici is facing the steps and doesn’t see me. It’s that voice. Oh, God! You won’t believe this, but I know it! I’d know it anywhere, any time. It’s so unreal…. Oh, let it be a dream. I squeeze my eyes as hard as I can, then open them crazy wide, pinch my hand, and will my mind to wake up. But nothing happens. You know that sort of liquid quality you feel in a dream where everything kind of flows and changes easily? Well there’s nothing flowing or fuzzy or hazy or anything less than dead real here, in this hall, in this house, at this minute.

  And there’s another thing. This minute. This damn very minute is happening right now thirty years ago. It’s the creepiest thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m really shook up because now I know that it’s not a dream and soon that woman is going to come down those stairs and I don’t know whether to scream or run away or what. I’ve never been so scared in all my life and nothing’s happening. I mean, I’m not crying or running or anything. Only sweating and standing here like an idiot, waiting.

  “Come on. I’ll make you a malted.” Cici’s voice startles me. I forget she was even there. Now I stare at her. Who is she anyway?