“I know you’re eager to see her, honey. First thing after school tomorrow.”
“No, I want to go now. Right now.”
Mom looked surprised. It wasn’t often that I made demands like that. I was usually a reasonable person. But I wasn’t feeling very reasonable today.
Mom looked at her computer screen for a second. Then she turned back to me.
“Okay, let me text Rhoda. If she’s available, we’ll go see her.”
Ten minutes later, we were on our way to see Rhoda at her mom’s house. Rhoda had her own apartment above a flower shop in town, but a couple of times each week, she went to the house she grew up in to have dinner with her mom, Betty, and her younger sister, Vanessa. Rhoda always said her mom made the best lasagna, and that it was her favorite comfort food. When I asked Rhoda what that meant, she said it was food that felt like a hug. I understood. That was how I felt about the chocolate chip pancakes at Mugsy’s.
Betty and Vanessa lived on a busy street where the houses were close together. Rhoda said when she was a kid, she could open her bedroom window and easily toss things to her friend Jolie, who lived next door. They would trade T-shirts, lipsticks, and even books that way. On my street, the yards were bigger and the houses were farther apart. I couldn’t imagine having that kind of neighborhood, or that kind of friendship.
Betty must have seen us coming, because she opened the door as soon as my foot touched the front stoop.
“So good to see you! Oh, and you brought Goober, the famous kitten! Come here, Elfie girl; I need a hug.”
“Ma, she doesn’t have to hug you.” I heard Rhoda’s voice coming from inside. It was reassuring to hear her sounding the way she always sounded, calling her mother Ma.
“It’s okay,” I called back, handing Goober to Mom in preparation for the hug. Rhoda knew I did not usually like giving hugs. At all. They seemed so unnecessary and invasive. But it really was okay with me this time. Maybe I needed a hug too. And I had to admit, Betty was pretty good at it; this is sort of embarrassing and I would never say it out loud, but with Betty’s giant chest, soft round belly, and apron that smelled of flour and cinnamon, she was a perfect hugger. Hugging Betty was like hugging a pile of pillows.
Mom must have felt the same way, because when Betty was done hugging me, Mom handed Goober back and hugged her for a really long time. They were still hugging when Rhoda waved me in from the kitchen. I heard one of them sniffle.
“Come here, Elf. You have to taste Betty’s sauce.” I always liked the way Rhoda referred to her mom as Betty (instead of “my mom”) when she talked to other people about her. I couldn’t imagine calling my mom Justine when I told stories about her.
“Ooh, you brought Goober!” Rhoda squealed when I walked into the kitchen. Vanessa was there too, peeling a carrot. “Hey, Elfie!” Vanessa gave me a little wave with the vegetable peeler. Vanessa was the prettiest person I had ever seen in real life. She had really dark hair, and the style was always different. The last time I’d seen her, it was wavy and past her shoulders like Rhoda’s; today it was really, really short and a bit spiky. I think it was what Mom would call a “pixie cut,” and it actually made Vanessa look like a magical pixie. It would have made me look like a chimney sweep’s broom.
“Hello, baby furball!” Rhoda scratched Goober behind the ear with one hand, and with the other she dipped a chunk of bread into a pot on the stove and brought it out, covered in red sauce. “Trade you the bread for the kitten?” she said. I took the bread and handed her Goober to nuzzle.
“It’s really hot, so give it a minute. You might want to blow on it first.”
I knew how good Betty’s spaghetti sauce always tasted. Sweet and salty and garlicky all at the same time. And it smelled amazing. But I couldn’t catch my breath enough to blow on it. I held on to the bread and looked up at Rhoda. Our eyes met, and I started to cry. I couldn’t stop myself. What was wrong with me? I never used to cry, and now it seemed like it was happening all the time.
Rhoda took the bread from me and set it on a plate. She put her hands on my shoulders. “Hug?” she asked, tilting her head a bit.
I nodded and she pulled me in. She was thinner and less curvy than her ma was, but it was still a perfect hug. It was Rhoda.
Mom and I didn’t talk much on the ride home. I was looking out the window, and Mom kept making little burping sounds and saying, “Excuse me! That’s not bad manners; that’s good sauce!” (It’s a joke she stole from my grandfather, who always burps and says, “That’s not bad manners; that’s good beer!”)
As we pulled onto our street, Mom said, “I’m glad we went over there, Elf. Thank you for suggesting it.”
“You’re welcome.”
She parked in our driveway and looked over at me. “Did you and Rhoda have a good talk?” While Rhoda and I were in the kitchen, Mom had hung back and talked to Betty. I think she knew I needed time on my own with her.
“I guess. She seems okay, doesn’t she?”
“She does,” Mom agreed. “This won’t be easy, but Rhoda’s a tough bird. And I’m glad she has her family to help her.”
“She said her mom will take her to her chemotherapy appointments.”
Mom nodded. “Yes, Betty told me that too. They’re letting her adjust her schedule at the nursing home on the days Rhoda has her chemo.” Betty was an activities director for old people; she taught exercise classes and played bingo with them.
“Can we go with Rhoda on some of her chemotherapy days? She said she’ll have to sit by herself for hours.”
“Not by herself; Betty will be with her. I think Vanessa is going sometimes too.”
“Okay, but I bet they’ll get bored of each other. Maybe Betty would want company too.”
“Are you saying people get bored being around their mothers for too long?” Mom smiled. “Surely you would never get bored of me!”
“You know what I mean. Can’t we please go?”
“I’ll have to think about that, Elf,” Mom said. “Chemotherapy really weakens people; it might be hard for you to see Rhoda like that.”
“I don’t care; I can handle it.”
“I said I’d think about it. I’ll let you know, okay?”
“Okay.” Unlike some adults, when Mom said “I’ll think about it,” she didn’t always mean no. Sometimes, but not always.
Mom took the keys out of the ignition and opened her car door. “Did you finish your homework?”
My character study. Urft.
“Almost.”
“Okay, well, scoot up and finish it now,” she said as she opened the front door. “It’s getting late.”
Up in my room, I put Goober in his litter box (just in case he had to go) and sat down at my desk.
There were still three unanswered questions on my character study. I was so tired. I decided to just respond with the first things that popped into my head.
What are you secretly afraid of?
Answer: Something terrible happening to someone I love. Also, bugs.
When were you most worried?
Answer: When I found out that someone I love has cancer.
If you could change something about yourself, what would it be?
Answer: I wish I knew how to make friends.
There. I was too tired to make up answers. Ms. Rambutan had asked for a study of my character, and now she would get one. I put the paper in my backpack and got ready for bed.
Right after taking attendance the next morning, Ms. Rambutan asked us to get out our character studies. I glanced at my answers. Suddenly I didn’t feel as confident about being so honest as I had the night before. I flipped my paper facedown onto my desk, planning to quickly slide it onto Ms. Rambutan’s pile as she came around to collect them. I didn’t want Jenna or Esme or anyone else to see my responses.
But
Ms. Rambutan had other plans.
“All right, we’re going to split up into groups and share our character studies!” she announced, as though it was the best news ever. “Please count off from one to seven, and then I’ll tell you where each group will gather.”
Share our character studies?
Watching each student count off to see who would be in my group was a kind of stressful game, like waiting to see who would end up holding a hot potato…or a live grenade. Not that it mattered; there was really no one in class I wanted to talk to about my personality flaws and secret fears.
When the counting was finished, I found myself in group 4 with Will Haubner and of course…of course…Jenna.
I didn’t listen as Ms. Rambutan explained where each group should sit. I was too busy frantically trying to erase my answers, starting with the last one about making friends.
“What are you doing?” Jenna was standing over me, with Will right behind her.
“I…I misspelled a word.”
Jenna rolled her eyes. “You’ve never misspelled a word in your life. Come on.” She took my paper off my desk and started to walk away with it.
“Where are you going?” I swatted at it, trying to get it back from her.
“To the hallway, like Ms. Rambutan said. Weren’t you listening? That’s where our group is meeting. We’re supposed to trade papers and talk about them out there. Will has mine and I’m taking yours. Here, you take Will’s.”
Will bowed deeply and handed me his paper with a flourish. I took it and shuffled into the hall, catching the door before it closed all the way behind Jenna, who was five steps ahead of us.
Jenna was leaning against the wall and was already looking at my paper.
“Ha, group projects,” she read out loud when she saw that answer. “Guess you must be feeling pretty frustrated right now, huh?”
“Can I please just have my paper back for a second, Jenna? I need to change something really quick.”
“It’s not like this is a serious assignment, Elfie; we’re just doing a little game.” She reminded me exactly of Colton Palmer, and the way he said that it didn’t matter if we didn’t take the marshmallow project seriously.
But then Jenna’s face changed as she looked at the bottom of my paper. I hadn’t had enough time to completely erase what I said about making friends; you could still read the faint letters. Great, this is it, I thought. She’s going to read it and laugh, then read it aloud to Will, then tell Esme and everyone else in class when we go back in. It was the second day of school, and already I was hating a group project.
I waited for Jenna to start reading, but instead she folded my paper closed so Will couldn’t see it. “You know what? This is dumb,” she said, sliding the paper under her leg. “We all know each other already; let’s just talk about something else while we’re out here.”
“Fine by me,” said Will, who had been slingshotting erasers with a rubber band since we got into the hallway. “Ooh, but do read what I wrote about my secret fear.” He leaned over and pointed to that line on his paper.
“Someone scooping out your kneecaps with a spoon?” I read. “That’s your secret fear?”
“Yes!” He nodded vigorously. “Imagine how painful that would be! And then I wouldn’t be able to ride a bike anymore, or dance in the school musicals.”
Will was something else. He actually couldn’t wait to share his secret fear, which turned out to be incredibly bizarre. I shook my head. Jenna laughed.
“Here’s a question I’ve always wondered about,” she said. “But it’s not on the paper. If you met someone who looked, talked, and acted exactly like you, do you think you’d be friends with them?”
“You mean, if you met yourself?” I asked.
“No, not your actual self,” Jenna said. “But someone who was just like you.”
“How is that not yourself?” I asked. “Or at least your identical twin?” Jenna’s question seemed ridiculous.
But Will was all over it. “Ooh, I love this!” he said. “So, short answer: yes, I would be friends with someone who was exactly like me. But I think I’d also be really competitive, and of course so would he, and consequently our friendship would end horribly. Possibly even violently.” Will had a glint in his eye; I wonder if he was imagining scooping out his identical friend’s kneecaps with a spoon.
“How about you, Elfie? Would you be friends with someone who was just like you?”
“I don’t know how to answer that. It’s an imaginary question.”
“Can’t you try, just for fun? Will knows how he’d answer it. I know what I’d say too.”
Jenna was so annoying. Why was she trying to force me to answer this made-up question that wasn’t even part of the homework page?
“If you know what you’d say, why don’t you go first, then?” I suggested.
“Okay. If I met someone who looked, talked, and acted exactly like me, would I be friends with her? Well, first, I would notice how beautiful she was.” Jenna did a dramatic flip of her hair and laughed. Will laughed too. I glowered at them.
“Just kidding, just kidding.” Jenna pursed her lips and looked up, like she was thinking. “Yes, I think I would be friends with her. Because we would like talking about the same things, and watching the same shows, and doing the same stuff together. And I think we’d get to know each other pretty quickly, because we’d both be easy to talk to.” Was it my imagination, or did she look at me out of the corner of her eye when she said that?
“Okay, well, that wasn’t nearly as interesting as my answer,” Will said. Jenna made an overly dramatic offended gasping sound.
“It’s your turn, Elfie.”
Will and Jenna were both staring at me, waiting for my response. I looked at the door, hoping it would open and Ms. Rambutan would come out to tell us time was up. No such luck.
I sighed. “Okay, well, I guess my answer is essentially the same as Jenna’s. Of course I would get along with someone who was just like me because we would have so much in common.”
“Okay, you would get along with her,” Jenna said. “But would you really be friends? And what about the other part I said…would you be able to make friends with each other quickly?”
“That wasn’t part of your question.”
“I’m asking it now.”
My face started feeling warm, and my words came out quickly. “Maybe not, Jenna. Maybe it would take forever, or maybe it would never happen at all because I’m not like you or anyone else at school, and I’m not easy to talk to, and so if I met someone just like me, we’d never be friends at all. Is that what you want me to say?”
Jenna shrugged.
“Well, this got awkward!” Will started firing erasers again. “You guys are intense. But my answer was still the most interesting.”
The classroom door opened, and Ms. Rambutan peered into the hallway. “All finished?” she asked.
“Yes,” Jenna said.
I didn’t know what to say. I hoped Ms. Rambutan wasn’t going to make us share our conversation with the class. All we knew from the assignment was that Will was afraid of having his kneecaps spooned out.
“I hope you’ve all gotten to know each other a little better,” Ms. Rambutan said as we settled back into our seats. “I’ll collect your papers so that I can read a bit about you too. We don’t have time for a class share now because we have to go to music, but we’ll revisit this later!”
As we filed into the hall, I couldn’t help but think again about Jenna’s question. Would I want to be friends with someone who was exactly like me? Of course I would. Right? I mean, that’s one thing I’d been hoping to find at Hampshire Academy, someone like me.
Now I wondered if it would ever happen.
Mom wasn’t working when I got home. She wasn’t even anywhere near her compute
r. When I walked in the door, I could hear her laughing, a lot. The sound was coming from the kitchen. I assumed she was on the phone with her friend Carolyn, or maybe Uncle Rex, even though he was going through a bad time. They both always made Mom laugh.
But when I walked into the kitchen, Mom wasn’t on the phone. She was picking clementine oranges up off the floor and putting them in a bowl. Goober was on the counter, licking his paw.
“Oh my gosh, Elf, you have to see this!” Mom said when she saw me. “Watch what he does!” She took the clementines out of the bowl and lined them up on the counter while Goober watched. As soon as Mom was finished, Goober walked the length of the counter and swatted the oranges off, just like he had with my pencil. But this time it was one swat after another in rapid succession, like he was trying to master an obstacle course, or a carnival game. When he was finished, he didn’t expect any praise, the way Larry, Jenna’s dog, did when he sat on command. Goober just sat and licked his paw again. I wondered if one of the oranges was leaking and he was getting the juice off his fur.
Mom clearly thought this was superb entertainment. She was laughing so hard, tears were streaming down her cheeks. I had to admit, it was pretty funny, both Goober’s trick and Mom’s reaction. Dad always says Mom has a contagious laugh, and it’s true. When she’s laughing this much, it’s hard not to laugh along with her.
I took Goober off the counter and tried to reprimand him. “Goober, we don’t throw food on the floor! And now you think it makes Mom happy, so you’re going to keep doing it,” I said as I scratched him behind the ears.
“Oh yeah, like you rubbing his ears is some big punishment.” Mom laughed again. “I can’t get mad at him; he’s just too cute.”
I helped Mom pick up the clementines and put them back in the bowl.
“Why don’t you have one of these for your after-school snack?” Mom was always trying to get me to eat more fruit.
“After they’ve been all over the floor? No thanks.” I opened the pantry door and took out a bag of seaweed chips instead.
Elfie Unperfect Page 9
