Life, Love, and the Pursuit of Free Throws

by Janette Rallison

  Cami is also more intense. She fights for things harder and holds grudges longer. She can tell you who didn't come to her birthday party in first grade, and why. I can only tell you I was in first grade and probably had a birthday party at that time.

  Oh, and I'm beginning to wonder if this thing she has for making lists is healthy. I mean, really, who spends the time to make a list of how they're different from their best friend? I've seen her daily to-do lists, and number one and number two are always: Get dressed and Eat breakfast. Does she actually need to be reminded to do those things? If she didn't have them on her list, would she come to school naked and hungry?

  I don't make lists. If I remember something I need to do, I do it; and if I don't remember it, it probably wasn't that important.

  Asking my mother to drive us to the mall was not something I needed to put on a list. Going to the mall was important. The cool kids hung out there. I had never been a mall wanderer before, because the mall is way more expensive than the places I buy clothes. I generally shop in stores that end with the word mart, outlet, or thrift. Besides, whenever I ask to go to the mall, my mother comes and generally brings my younger sisters and my five-year-old brother along. This is a totally uncool thing to do.

  On TV, teenagers always have perfect hair and perfect clothes, and they never say stupid stuff. Apparently to be cool I need a makeup artist, a wardrobe assistant, and a personal writer to slip me dialogue before I open my mouth.

  Being "in" is harder than it looks.

  While Mom made dinner that night, I went into the kitchen to talk to her. I had learned this was not the best time to talk to my mother—in fact, this was not the best time to be in the same room with her, because if you happened to be around, you automatically were enlisted to help.

  Still, I walked up to her. "Mom, can you take Cami and me to the mall tomorrow night?"

  She shoved a block of cheese into the food processor and turned it on. "Isn't it your turn to sweep the floor?"

  "Yeah. Sure." I went to the side of the refrigerator where we kept our broom and took it out. "Cami's parents can't take us, because they're going to her brother's band concert. Besides, they took us the last time, so can you do it tomorrow?"

  "Don't forget the corners. Things are beginning to accumulate back there."

  "You wouldn't have to stay the whole time. You could just drop us off and then pick us up."

  She turned off the processor. "You're too young to walk around the mall by yourself."

  "I'm in high school now." I held out my hands as though she ought to see all of the maturity flowing off my body. "None of the other freshmen have parents who follow them around."

  She sprinkled the cheese over a pan of chicken enchiladas.

  "Really, Mom, it's the mall, not some drug-infested back alleyway. I'll be fine." I didn't tell her Cami's parents routinely dropped us off places by ourselves. I was afraid she'd start vetoing my outings if she knew.

  Mom put the pan into the oven. "It's a fifteen-minute drive. It would take me half an hour to drop you off and come home again. Then another thirty minutes to come pick you up and bring you back home. And of course I'll have to drag all the kids along."

  "Why can't they stay with Dad?"

  "Dad's working late for a couple of nights. He's got a quarterly report to finish."

  "Well, can't you just—" I didn't finish the question. I knew Mom wouldn't leave my sisters and brother alone to drive me somewhere.

  Kristen was eleven, Sadie was nine—and both reasonably intelligent beings—but heaven forbid Mom leave them alone in the house for half an hour with Jack. It was like Mom was afraid the roof might spontaneously combust and no one would have a clue to call 911.

  Mom's view of the conversation my siblings would have while the house was burning:

  KRISTEN: So, I notice there are flames leaping from the ceiling. Do you suppose that's a bad thing?

  SADIE: I'm not sure. Let's watch it for a while and see if it gets worse.

  KRISTEN: While we're watching, let's get the marshmallows out and make s'mores.

  SADIE: Well, we're not supposed to get into treats while Mom is gone, but I won't tell if you won't.

  JACK: We're making s'mores? Can I have powdered sugar on mine?

  I mean, I've read the entire Little House on the Prairie series, and back then eleven-year-olds drove teams of horses over rugged terrain past wild bears just to go into town, and my mom is afraid to leave her children alone in the living room.

  I tried to point this out to her gently.

  "Mom, you're way too overprotective."

  Mom set the buzzer on the oven. "Jack is only five years old."

  I held my hands up in the air, pleading my case. "Kristen and Sadie are old enough to babysit him for a half an hour while you take me to the mall."

  She put the cheese bowl in the dishwasher and shut it with a click. "Kristen and Sadie can't remember to feed the dog, let alone watch after their little brother. Don't forget to sweep under the counters. Jack spilled Cheerios over there."

  I walked over to the edge of the counter, running the broom against the baseboard. "So are you going to take us? I need to tell Cami."

  "I'll take you, but as long as I'm driving all the way out there, I might as well stay and do some shopping. The fall stuff is on clearance, and I can pick up some things for next year."

  Mom is a bargain shopper. She says if you can't get something at least 50 percent off, it isn't worth owning. She doesn't even look at the normal racks in a store. My entire wardrobe has come from the clearance sales that stores have before they send the remainder of a clothing line to the fashion graveyard.

  It didn't used to bother me, but lately I've wondered if everyone knows when they look at me—like maybe the reason I'm not one of the "in" kids is that my clothes are always a year behind the trend.

  Mom took a bag of peas from the freezer, dumped them into a bowl, and put them in the microwave. "I hear Sears has a few swimsuits left on the seventy-five-percent-off rack. You need a new swimsuit, don't you?"

  Unfortunately I didn't. I kept hoping that—just like all those videos they made us watch in health class—my body would magically metamorphose into a curvy womanlike structure, but it didn't. I look exactly like I did in the seventh grade, only taller. I'm five foot eight and a half and can wear a lot of Kristen's clothes. I might never need a new swimsuit, but I didn't tell my mother this. I just shrugged and turned the conversation back to the mall.

  "You're not actually going to be shopping with us, right? You'll let Cami and me go by ourselves, and then we'll meet you somewhere to go home, right?"

  "You don't want to be seen at the mall with your mother?"

  "Right."

  Mom took a dishcloth, dampened it under the faucet, and wrung it out. "Having a mother isn't like having a disease, you know. Everyone you see at the mall has a mother."

  But not with them, holding up swimsuits while calling out, Look, Josie, it's only five dollars. I think we could make it fit if we took in the top a few inches.

  At this point Kristen walked into the kitchen. "You're going to the mall? Can I come?"

  Mom ran the dishcloth over the counter. "We're all going, but Josie wants to pretend she's an orphan."

  "An orphan with no brothers or sisters," I added.

  "Can I get some new shirts?" Kristen asked. "I don't have anything to wear."

  Mom paused in her counter wiping, her head cocked at Kristen. "You're in the sixth grade now. I think it's time we get you a couple of training bras."

  "Bras?" Kristen spit out the word like Mom had just suggested she buy a pair of cobras. "I don't want to wear a bra."

  "A training bra," Mom said. "It's not a big deal."

  Jack wandered into the kitchen, carrying two plastic dinosaurs. "What's a training bra?"

  "Never mind," Mom said.

  "How is Kristen going to train it?" he asked.

  "Go wash your hands," Mom said. "It's al
most time for dinner."

  Jack's shoulders slumped, and he shuffled out of the kitchen. "Nobody ever tells me anything."

  Kristen followed him, her arms folded. Over her shoulder she mouthed the words, "I'm not bra shopping with him."

  "I'm not bra shopping with anybody," I said. "I'm an or­phan."

  Cami

  Sometimes my brother turns up his radio too loud, but besides that, my house is pretty calm and quiet.

  Things are different at the Caraway house. It's constant motion. Constant noise. Someone is always talking, walking by you, crawling over you, or asking if you've seen their homework.

  Sometimes, when Josie and her sisters all sit around laughing about something, I feel cheated I never had a sister. Other times, all the commotion makes my head pound.

  The car ride to the mall was commotion. Kristen was sulking, Sadie was complaining because she didn't want to go to the mall ("Why do I have to go? I don't need a bra. The mall is just boring. Boooring. Boriiing."), and Jack kept leaning over the back of his seat to tell me about dog tricks.

  "You can train a dog to fetch," he said.

  "That's nice."

  "You can train them to sit, too."

  "Great."

  Every time Jack said the word train, Josie broke out laughing, and Kristen folded her arms tighter and stared out the window.

  "You can train them to play dead, too," he said.

  "Yes, I'm sure you can."

  Jack put his chin on the seat. "Our hamster never played dead. He was just dead. And I don't think that counts as a trick."

  Kristen pulled Jack off the back of the seat, which made him yell, "Hey!" Only he didn't yell it like a one syllable word. He yelled it like it was one of the longer words in the English language. "H-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ey"

  "Be quiet," she hissed.

  "I don't have to," he said.

  "Yes, you do," she said.

  They argued about this point for the rest of the trip. When we got to the mall, there was more fighting.

  "I'm not shopping with Jack along," Kristen said.

  He stuck his tongue out at her.

  Josie's mom looked at us, but Josie held her hands up. "I'm an orphan, remember?"

  "You can take him just until I'm finished shopping with Kristen. It won't take long."

  Kristen folded her arms and grunted. "Thanks a lot."

  Mrs. Caraway looked around the store as though she was trying to locate one of the departments. "How about we meet back here in half an hour, and I'll take Jack with me then." She took Jack's hand and gave it to Josie. "Actually, let's say thirty-five minutes, in case we run into a line at the cashier."

  She walked a few paces away, then turned and called out, "Make that forty-five minutes. Since I'm here, I might as well buy a bra for myself. My old ones are getting ratty."

  "Mother!" Kristen hissed. "Would you please not talk about your bras in the middle of Sears."

  Mrs. Caraway just clicked her tongue. "Honestly, Kristen, do you think we're the only ones who've ever bought bras? I bet every woman you see here is wearing a bra."

  Kristen rolled her eyes and stomped off toward the lingerie department, arms still folded tightly.

  Sadie followed after her, giggling. "You don't need to be in such a hurry, Kristen." More giggling. "Keep your shirt on."

  Josie sighed, and pulled Jack toward the mall entrance. " I 'm supposed to be an orphan."

  "Where are we going?" Jack asked. "Can we go to the pet store?"

  As we walked past the makeup department, the mall hallway came into view. "Not now," Josie said. "We're going . . . um . . . where do you want to go for forty-five minutes, Cami?"

  With a five-year-old boy in tow? Nowhere.

  I shrugged. "Let's just walk around and look at stuff. It's not like we can try things on while we've got Jack with us anyway."

  Josie nodded, and we sauntered out into the mall. Jack jabbered on about the pet store, asking if we thought they had hamsters and whether or not his mom would let him have a new one. He knew where the pet store was, and since we were walking in that general direction, he must have thought we were going there.

  Josie kept hold of his hand, but didn't answer him. Her gaze darted down the hall and into the stores. I knew she was looking for Ethan.

  We walked down the mall, every once in a while stopping in front of a window to look at clothes.

  "How do you think I should change my image?" Josie asked me after peering at a snug-fitting red shirt on a mannequin. "Do I need to be more sophisticated, or more playful, or more feminine? What do you think I need more of?"

  "Common sense. A shirt isn't going to change your per­sonality."

  "If it's the right shirt, it might."

  "Your personality is fine. Although, now that you mention it, you could try to be on time more. You're always running late."

  Josie cocked her head. "You think that bothers Ethan?"

  "No. It bothers me though."

  She glared at me, turned away from the window, and continued walking down the mall. We weaved around other shoppers while we looked for the guys.

  "You also procrastinate about doing your homework, and you laugh when you shouldn't," I said.

  "What are you talking about? I don't laugh when I shouldn't."

  "Yes, you do. Remember when Kevin first got his license and was driving us to the football game? The car stalled in the middle of the intersection, cars were honking at us, and Kevin twisted the key so hard it made that horrible grinding sound. I thought we were going to die, and you sat there laughing."

  She held out a hand as though explaining. "That's why it was funny."

  "You're hopeless. Which I suppose counts as a personality defect. Do you think you could buy a shirt to fix that?" I knew I was being mean, but somehow I couldn't help it. Ethan was here somewhere, and when we found him, Josie would go up and flirt with him. He'd gaze into her eyes, flirt back, and I'd have to stand there and watch them fall in love. Then Josie would have him, just like she got everything she wanted—and despite our deal, Coach Melbourne would probably still choose her to play with Rebecca.

  Josie swung Jack's hand as we walked and smiled at me, even though I'd just told her she was hopeless. "All right, so what I need is a hopeful shirt."

  What was wrong with me? Josie was my best friend. There were hundreds of guys at our school. Why had I chosen to like the guy my best friend liked? I needed to forget about Ethan for as long as Josie liked him.

  "You're not hopeless," I told her. "Your personality is fine, and you don't need to change yourself. Just show him the smart, funny girl you are. Say something clever and witty to him."

  I was a good friend.

  I was loyal.

  I was not going to flirt with the guy Josie liked.

  Besides, I didn't know if Ethan and Justin had actually come. I was stressing out over nothing. We probably wouldn't run into them at all.

  "There he is." Josie pointed down the hallway. "Over there."

  I had to quell the urge to push her out of the way to get a better look.

  He had just come up the escalator with Justin and was walking over to the Foot Locker.

  Josie took a step toward him, then immediately turned around and took two steps in the opposite direction.

  "Where are you going?" I called.

  "I changed my mind," she said. "I don't want to talk to him."

  If she was always too afraid to talk to him, and I wasn't . . . and I saw him every day at English and at my locker . . .

  I followed her, grabbing on to her elbow. "You can't chicken out now. This is why you came to the mall and dragged the rest of us with you. Your poor sister is somewhere in Sears flipping through training bras and praying no one she knows strolls by, just so you could talk to this guy. You can't leave now."

  Jack suddenly noticed we had turned away from the pet store and tried to pull away from Josie. "He-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ey! I want to see the animals."

 
Josie turned around, facing the pet store so Jack would stop whining. "Jack, we're deciding where to go next."

  B-u-u-u-u-u-t—

  "We won't take you at all if you aren't good," Josie said.

  He stopped whining, but furrowed his eyebrows and stuck out his bottom lip in a frown.

  She whispered to me, "I can't walk up to him with my little brother. That's totally uncool."

  "No, it's not. It's cute. And it shows you're responsible. Your mother trusts you to watch him."

  Josie looked back down the mall, then at Jack, and didn't move.

  I took Jack's hand. "I'll pretend he's my little brother, okay?" I bent down toward Jack. "If you'll be my brother, I'll take you to the pet store, all right?"

  Josie shook her head. "It won't work. I mean, if Ethan ever came to my house or something, he'd wonder why your little brother is living with me." She glanced back down the mall to where Justin and Ethan stood looking at things in Foot Locker's window. "We'll find them again after we drop Jack off with my mom." She pulled Jack toward one of the store entrances. "Right now we'll visit"—she looked up at the sign—"the Kitchen Nook, and keep an eye on the guys until it's time to go back to Sears."

  "I don't want to go in this store," Jack said.

  "Yes, you do. They have toys in this store. Here—" She took a red plastic chicken from the shelf. "Look at this egg timer."

  Great. I was going to spend my evening hiding among kitchen utensils with a five-year-old boy.

  I stepped into the store and sighed. "I just want to know one thing. How many crushes do you think you'll have from now until we graduate from high school? I want to know how many stalker skills I need to develop."