“I don’t think that follows at all.”
“It’s been my experience—”
“It’s been my experience that all children are foolish at times. Don’t you agree?”
“Well … it’s true that children can be foolish, but in this case it’s constant.”
It looks hopeless. I’m sort of surprised to see how my mother’s really coming on strong for me, but still I think he’s made up his mind to throw me out and that’s that. But boy, it would be so great if she could only get me out of this mess … just this one last time. Actually I probably used up my last time about five hundred times ago. Wait a minute. It just hit me that I’m acting like a kid, waiting for my mother to fix everything. This whole business is a lot like when Cici wanted to run away and I talked her into staying and taking responsibility for dealing with her own problems. That was fabulous advice considering I never even tried it myself. Maybe it’s time I did.
“Excuse me …” I practically whisper it, but they both stop talking instantly and turn to me. “Uh … I know saying I’m sorry won’t change things, but …”
“It certainly won’t,” says Mr. Davis. “It’s much too late for apologies. You’d have done well to consider your actions before you took them and not hope to get by with apologies later.”
“But—” He’s so gross he doesn’t even let me finish talking,
“People like you always think you can get by without paying the piper—well, you’re going to learn, young lady, that you’ve got to pay and the price is high.”
God. Cici was right. Growing up stinks; still I make one last try. “I know, Mr. Davis, but—”
“No buts about it…” And he’s off and running.
“Ted.” My mother interrupts in her shut-yourmouth-right-this’ininute voice.
It works.
“Why not let the child finish her sentence?”
“Of course, Victoria, go right ahead.” He says it like it was all his idea.
“Uh …” That’s me again, the groper. “Uh … I only meant to say, you’re right, Mr. Davis. There’s no room in this school for someone who does the dumb things I do.” Suddenly I have tears in my eyes. “And I really want to stay in this school so I’m not going to do them anymore.” I’m swallowing hard.
Now even my mother looks surprised. Still, neither of them make any comment so I bring in the big guns. “I’ve outgrown it, that’s all. Making that kind of trouble is kids’ stuff and I’m just too big for it now.” I hold my breath and wait.
My mother recovers first. “Victoria, that’s the best news I’ve had in ages.” And she looks like she really means it.
“Well, now—” Mr. Davis doesn’t seem all that convinced. “Of course, that’s easy to say …”
But my mother is. “No, it’s not, Ted. It’s really quite difficult. And I’m very proud of you, Victoria.” That makes me feel super. And then to Mr. Davis: “I really think she’s come up with the perfect answer to the problem. Don’t you, Ted?” She’s really pushing for me.
“Well, I don’t know….”
“Well, I do, especially when I think of all the mistakes we made as kids…. You do remember your mistakes, don’t you?” Now she sounds like the Godfather.
And it works. He’s remembering. “On the other hand, it does sound like a mature decision….”
“You certainly have a point there,” says my mother, egging him on.
“Yes, sir, it seems to me we may have come up with the perfect answer to our problem.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more, Ted.”
“In my judgment, and remembering that all children are prone to mistakes at some time …”
“You think Victoria deserves another chance.” My mother’s not taking any.
“… I think Victoria deserves another chance.”
Fabulous! Excellent! Fantastic!
“What do you think, Victoria?” Mr. Davis asks, sticking his head toward me like a giant turtle.
Unbelievable. I mean, what does he think I think? I’m tempted to give it to him a little and say, “Hey, no, don’t give me another chance,” but that would be slipping back to the baby stuff, so I catch myself and with great maturity mumble, “Gee, thanks.”
Now my mother jumps in with another couple of tons of baloney about what a wise decision he’s making and how he’s probably responsible for redirecting my whole life. She stops just before she buries us all, and with a whole string of wonderfulto-see-you-agains and we-must-get-togethers, we leave, colliding with Miss Olerfield, who’s finally come back with the lifesaving water, which naturally goes flying all over the front of her dress.
“Oh, dear,” my mother says, “we’re so sorry. We didn’t see you.”
“It’s nothing,” Miss Good Sport snaps, practically biting my mother’s head off.
“Don’t bother getting me another glass, Miss Olerfield,” I say sweetly. “I’m feeling much better now.”
You can see her mentally adding this to the gum on the seat.
“And Miss Olerfield?” You can’t expect me to resist every temptation. “I hope you find that roach in your bag.”
My mother has me down the hall and out of the building so fast I never even got to see Miss Olerfield’s reaction. Well, next time. Except now, maybe there isn’t going to be any next time, what with the new me. Growing up may be harder than I thought.
Once outside the building my mother lets out a “whew!” of relief and just leans back against the school wall. She looks really beat.
“Am I glad that’s over,” she says. “I don’t think I got two hours’ sleep this whole weekend worrying about that meeting.”
“But I was the one who was in trouble.”
“True. But I happen to be responsible for you, so it’s as much my problem as it is yours.”
“I didn’t think of it that way.”
“That’s because you’re not a mother. Sometimes when I’m dealing with one of your endless arguments with Nina or some god-awful new trouble in school or reminding you for the four billionth time to clean your bedroom, I think I’m not either. Times like that I feel more like a prison matron than a mother. And it makes me very disappointed with myself.”
“I suppose maybe I am a lot of trouble….”
“I don’t know. Maybe I just don’t have the right approach. You won’t believe this, Victoria, but when I was your age I was convinced that when I grew up I was going to be the most fantastic mother in the whole world. I would really understand my kids because I’d remember what it was like for me. But things change and I don’t know—I suppose you forget.”
“I kind of think you did a little.”
“On the other hand … you certainly can be a terror.”
“Used to be. I’ve absolutely changed completely. Almost.”
“Well, you were pretty terrific this morning, and even if the ‘new you’ doesn’t make it all the way through the whole afternoon, it’s still encouraging, and it certainly does wonders for my memory. Which reminds me, Ted Davis is a fink creep.”
“Huh?” For a second I thought my mother called the principal a fink creep.
“Fink creep. Always was and always will be.”
Wow! She did. I turn around to double-check because it sounds just like Cici. And she smiles at me and says, “I think he’s one big jerko.” And then in a perfect imitation of Mr. Davis’s voice, “What do you think, Victoria?”
I think I may be losing my marbles, but this opportunity doesn’t come every day, so I take advantage of it. “Absolutely gross!”
“Not bad. How about geek?”
“Perfect. It sounds foul.”
“It is. Now I was always partial to goofball for Ted.”
“What about grubby freak?”
“Very nice. Although I think I’d throw in wisenheimer too.”
“Okay then, how’s grungy, disgusting, raunchy, horrendous, horrific, outrageous—”
“Jackass loser!” And she says it
so loud two old ladies passing by stop to give her a dirty look. Imagine if they knew she was talking about my principal. She doesn’t seem to care at all. In fact she smiles and grabs my hand tightly.
“Ouch! That hurt.”
“What’s wrong?”
Oh my God, the splinter from the tree! “I have a splinter in my hand,” I say feebly.
“Let me see.” And she examines it closely. “Where’d you get that?”
I got that, mother dear, the night we sneaked out to meet Ted to buy your science test with stolen USO money. You must remember, that was the night Ted—or should I call him Mr. Davis?—tried to get you to “put out”—of course, that was before the police caught us. I could say all that and more, but for once in my life ’m going to play it smart. I’m keeping my mouth shut. Besides nobody wants to hear about anyone else’s dreams. As for the splinter, I could have had it for days and not noticed and then it just worked its way into my dream. That happens, you know, if you hurt your foot for real, you can go limping around in your sleep. And Ted’s name? Why shouldn’t I know it? Everybody knows their principal’s name. Even all those other things I seemed to know about my mother—well, she could have told me them over the years, like I always knew my dresser was a handme-down and that she lived in a house, not an apartment. Besides, I would be a real jerk to ruin what I have going now. This started out to be the worst day in my life and now it’s looking great. Not only did good old Mr. Davis, the freak creep, redirect my entire life by saving me from boarding school, but my mother and I have never had it so good.
She nearly flipped me out the way she stood up for me with Mr. Davis. And now, walking home, we have it together for the first time—we’re really hitting something special. Neither of us said anything much, just that fooling around calling the principal names, but I know we both felt it. Comfortable and easy and liking each other, just the way it used to be with Cici and me….
“Just soak it.”
“Huh?”
“The splinter.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Or you can wait for Daddy. He’s great with splinters. All he needs is a needle and one two three, it’s out.”
I’ll soak it.”
“I thought you would.” And she smiles a nice smile at me. When we reach home, she says, “You must be starving. What can I make for you?”
“Blueberry pancakes.” I swear it just slipped out.
“You’re in luck. I happen to have a box of fresh blueberries.”
“I was only kidding. You don’t have to bother.”
“My pleasure, kiddo.”
“Great! I’ll be back in a minute—just let me throw on my jeans.” And I shoot into my bedroom. I’m practically on the ceiling, I feel so high. Everything in my room looks fabulous. I love everything and everybody, my dresser, my mirror, my mother, everything. I slip my skirt off and pick up my jeans (did you think they were hanging up?) and jump into them. Even the girl in the mirror isn’t so bad. I must have hit the one day in the whole year when there isn’t even a sign of a pimple. At least not from ten feet across the room, and I’m not pushing my luck by going any closer. A zip and a snap and I’m ready. Looking very spiffy, Victoria, except for that gorgeous cigarette burn right in the middle of your T-shirt. Just big enough to ruin everything. Well, nothing to do but change it. Naturally, all my other shirts are in the laundry for a change. Fortunately I still have my friend Steffi’s shirt I borrowed three and a half months ago when she borrowed my suede jacket, which she practically lives in, so I don’t feel so bad about never returning her shirt, it’s stuffed away back in the corner of my secret drawer and when I pull it out a paper comes up from under the drawer lining. So I take it out.
And I unfold it.
And I’m blitzed! I mean, absolutely wiped out! Here it is, black-and-white proof, except my hands are shaking so hard it’s more like a gray blur.
Look at me going on like some kind of nut. You don’t even know what I’m talking about, unless you guessed already. I wish you did, then I wouldn’t have to say it, because … forget it, I’m saying it anyway.
Right smack in front of me is a 1943 science test!
“Victoria! It’s ready. C’mon while they’re hot.” For the last three days all I keep doing is trying to pull myself together. Now here I am, trying again. This time there’s nothing to do but go inside and eat the blueberry pancakes that I’ve just lost my appetite for. Fortunately you can’t tell by looking that my mind has just been practically totaled. I’m pretty good at hiding things when I want to play it cool.
“My God, Victoria, what happened?”
Well, not so much from my mother. “Nothing. I’m just happy that I don’t have to go to boarding school.”
“You look more shocked than happy.”
“I suppose I am. I really thought I was a goner.”
“’m glad it worked out. I like having you home.”
My appetite may be picking up a bit. Imagine fresh blueberry pancakes twice in two days.
“They’re every bit as good as Grandma’s.” “I was worried that I forgot how. I haven’t made them for such a long time.” Then she looks at me. “I’ll have to make them more often.”
I think I may be in love.
“Mom?”
“Mmm.”
“What really happened about that party?” I could never leave well enough alone.
“Nothing.”
“But Mr. Davis said—”
“I thought we agreed what Ted Davis was.”
“Right, but—”
“So do I look like the kind of person that would date a gross wisenheimer jerko?”
Boy, it really is just like being with Cici. Remember, back there when I said how fabulous it would be to have someone like her for a mother?
“Absolutely not,” I say.
“Actually the whole story is completely different, but 1 think he was too embarrassed to say it and I don’t blame him. It’s not exactly a great reference for a principal. Ill tell you if you’re ready to accept the fact that your own mother wasn’t exactly a perfect child one hundred percent of the time.”
“I think I can handle it.”
“Hang on to your hat. I once tried to cheat on a science test.”
“No kidding?”
I suppose I played it too surprised because now she wiggles out a little. “Of course, I was much younger than you are.”
“How much?” I nail her because I know I’m never going to get this chance again.
“Let’s see—it was 1944,1 think—” She kind of giggles. “A month and half. Actually I’ve managed to block most of what happened because it really was a very unhappy experience. But I can’t block out the fact that I did try to buy a science test from guess who?”
“Mr. Davis.”
“The freak creep himself. Only I got caught and he didn’t and it was awful because I thought they wouldn’t let me graduate.”
“What happened?”
“I went to see the teacher and told her the whole story, all except the part about her own son, Ted, being the person who stole the test to sell to me. She kept asking me who it was, but I wouldn’t tell I had this thing about squealing. Anyway it paid off because somehow she knew all along that it was Ted and she was very impressed with my sense of loyalty plus the fact that I had come forward and confessed voluntarily. Maybe it helped that Ted lied and tried to get away with it. Whatever the reason, she let me graduate, but she really fixed old Ted’s wagon. He got shipped off to one of those oppressive military academies. I haven’t thought of that incident in years, but today seeing Ted Davis brought it all back. I remembered for the first time in too long what it felt like to be thirteen and in trouble. That’s why I wanted to make sure he gave you another chance.”
“I appreciate it.”
“I know just how you feel. This time I really do.” And she pops a kiss on the top of my head.
“I found this.” And I give her the paper because now I
have to see it through to the end.
She unfolds it and looks at it. Then she stares, stunned in absolute shock. And her face starts to get blotchy red and fills with fury.
Why did I show her that stupid test?
She looks up at me hard like she’s seeing right into my brain. Now I’ve ruined everything.
“Where did you find this?”
How can I tell her? It’s too bizarre and maybe shell hate me for it, for being there and seeing all those things she wants to forget. Or she might think I was lying.
“I found it in the secret drawer in my dresser. Way far in the back.”
“Of course, that was once my dresser.” “I’m sorry.” Here come the tears.
“Oh, honey, not you,” and she gives me a big squeeze and laughs, not really so angry anymore. “It’s that Ted Davis. That rat fink cheated me. This paper says 1943! He tried to sell me a year-old test paper. Can you imagine, cheating a cheater! How do you like that?”
Of course, I forgot she didn’t know. She never saw the paper because I put it in the secret drawer during the air-raid alarm.
“I think maybe I’ll send him the test and ask for my money back.”
“He’d really freak.”
“On second thought, I think I’ll save it as a reminder. Sometimes it’s useful to remember what it’s like to be a kid.”
I’m feeling super-good now because I know there really has been a change. Things are going to be better from now on. Mostly I suppose because of Cici. Probably every mother has a Cici somewhere deep inside her if you can only find it. Unless, gross thought, when you do it turns out to be a Margie goody-goody Sloan instead. What a nightmare that would be. Well, for sure no Margie Sloan ever got within a hundred miles of my mother.
I’m just standing there lapping it all up with this big dumb smile on my face.
“What’s so funny?” my mother asks.
“Nothing. I just feel good.”
“Me too.” And her smile is almost as dumb as mine. “How about running across to Schrafft’s and picking up some hot fudge and we’ll make sundaes?”
“Great,” I tell her, and she gives me two dollars and I head for the door.
Nineteen
“Mooo-ooom …”
My Mother Was Never A Kid (Victoria Martin Trilogy) Page 16
