The Girls

by Amy Goldman Koss

  “Well, there aren’t any celery stands open this early,” Mom said. “So what do you think?”

  I took a deep breath, telling myself that I was just in a foul mood because I’d stayed up so late. “Mom,” I said, “why don’t you shoot those sweats and put them out of their misery?”

  She laughed as if I were joking. “I’ll just duck down and drop you,” she said, smiling. “I’ll circle the block and no one at the doughnut shop will know you even have a mother. How’s that?”

  I rolled my eyes at her and she laughed harder.

  I thought of Renée’s picture-perfect mother. Hair, makeup, nails, clothes. My mom could be much, much prettier than Renée’s mom, if she’d only spruce herself up a bit. But Mom dragged herself out of bed in the morning and pulled on the same sweat suit she’d worn the day before.

  Whenever I said anything about the bagged-out knees or the baby-food stains, she just laughed and said something like, “Well, I guess my career as a cover girl is over!” As if caring about her looks would be ridiculous.

  But I’d seen pictures of her before she had me, and she was really beautiful. She could have been a cover girl if she’d wanted to. But no, she decided to have babies. Lots of babies. I just didn’t get it.

  Brianna got it, though. The way she coochie-cooed the twerps, I bet she was going to have tons of kids. I could just see her calling on me to help the way Mom’s friend Joanne was always calling on her. “Candace! I have a cold. Could you drive my kids all over town, then stop and pick up some groceries and fix us lunch?”

  I felt my skin get hot. I had no intention of ending up like my mother, Caretaker of the Universe—taking care of everyone but herself. I’d say, “No, Brianna. You breed ‘em, you feed ’em!” I laughed out loud and my mom smiled over at me.

  “Nick’s game will probably go until about two-thirty,” she said. “But I expect Daddy home by one. So, really, you’ll only be on duty about an hour or so. Okay?”

  “Whatever,” I said.

  “Thanks,” Mom said, patting my leg.

  I wanted to say, “Mom! You could have done anything with your life! You were so cute! You even got good grades!” But instead I said, “You have a big knot in your hair in the back.”

  My mom reached up and raked at it with her fingers. I wondered if she was going to go to my bother’s soccer game like that. Probably.

  Maya

  MY LITTLE SISTER, LENA, knew something was wrong and was dying to know what had happened. But my folks kept shushing her and sending her out to play with Ann. I could see that Momma was aching for me, and that made me feel even worse. She made waffles, my favorite, but I couldn’t eat.

  I climbed as high as I could in the persimmon tree out back and wished I could just keep climbing forever, let the world shrink away to nothing beneath me—my house, my school, my ex-friends becoming nothing more than an anthill underfoot. Or that I could just spread my wings and soar away.

  My foot slipped and I had a split-second sensation of falling. I caught myself and froze, hugging the trunk of the tree until my heart calmed down.

  Then I realized that if I’d fallen, everyone would think I’d jumped. If I’d died from the fall, they’d think it was suicide. The girls would be sure I’d killed myself over them! I could imagine how important that would make them feel—that they could hurt me so badly that I’d think my life wasn’t worth living. They’d mourn and act sad, but deep inside they’d feel great that they were so powerful.

  I climbed down very, very carefully, branch by branch.

  Brianna

  CANDACE CALLED ME when she got home from Sunday school. She said her mom had taken her bother to his soccer game, leaving Candace on duty with the twerps. She asked if I’d come over and help, seeing as I was their honorary auntie.

  I said I’d love to. I loved the twins and I loved, loved, loved Candace’s topsy-turvy, noisy house. Candace once said that my house reminded her of an old library. “Not just because of all the books,” she’d said. “It’s the dusty old drapes and the whole dark silence.” I’d been hurt, but she was right. Candace always spoke her mind, and she usually said what the rest of us thought but were too timid to say. I admired that about her.

  My house was like an old library. Not a bustling busy one, though; mine was just quiet. My mom taught microbiology at the university. Dad taught astronomy. They didn’t believe in TV—as if TV were a religion.

  And when I was a baby, when other kids were reciting nursery rhymes, my parents trained me to rattle off the genus and species of all the plants in our yard. When other kids were wishing on stars, I was learning the constellations. And when I started losing baby teeth, there was no visit from the tooth fairy. Instead, my parents had our dentist demonstrate tooth growth on a model of the human jaw.

  I knocked on my mom’s office door and told her I was going to Candace’s. She turned to squint at me over her reading glasses. I thought of the animal game we’d played at Darcy’s last night. Mom would be a mole—underground, long-nosed, nearly blind. My dad would be a tall, skinny, silent animal, something even ganglier than a giraffe. An insect? A walkingstick or praying mantis, maybe.

  I loved them, of course, and wouldn’t really, really want them to be totally different. But I didn’t want to be like them when I grew up.

  My parents’ idea of fun was to lug the telescope and microscope out to the godforsaken desert—poke in the dirt all day, peer at the stars at night. It was as if they were at work twenty-four hours a day. My mom said that proved they were in the right careers, getting paid to do what they’d do for free anyway.

  But isn’t it possible to be a scientist by day, then play slide trombone in a Dixie band or drums in a rock band at night? Watch TV? Be in plays? Have parties with noisy friends on the weekends?

  “Did you do your homework, Bree?” Mom asked. I wished she’d stop calling me that baby name, but it was pointless to say so. She hadn’t heard me the last nine million times.

  When I’d told Candace that I hated being called Bree, she’d wrinkled her perfect nose in sympathy and said, “I don’t blame you a bit. Isn’t Brie a smelly kind of sticky cheese?”

  Candace didn’t like being called Candy. But when she said, “Candy rots your teeth,” and flashed her perfect pearly whites, people listened. I’d never, ever heard anyone call her Candy twice.

  “Oh, by the way,” Mom said, “Maya called yesterday after you left for Darcy’s.”

  I said a quick prayer that she wouldn’t ask me about Maya, and it worked. Mom turned back to her computer and said, “If you’re absolutely positive that all your schoolwork is complete, you may go, but be home by dinner.”

  I walked the long way to Candace’s, so I wouldn’t have to pass Maya’s house. But when I got to the big stand of shaggy banana trees near the monastery, I remembered her begging me to play in there with her. Maya had wanted to pretend we were apes, or Tarzan or something. I’d thought that was so dorky. And what if someone saw us? I’d die.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t like Maya; it’s just that she got so happy about stuff. Not that happy is bad. It’s ... well, this sounds really snobby, but Maya was like a little kid. She wanted to climb trees, ride bikes around without going anywhere—just play.

  Sometimes it was okay, but other times, being with Maya was like wearing shoes I’d outgrown. I looked away from the banana trees and shook thoughts of Maya out of my head. I wondered instead what I should wear to school Monday that might catch Eric, the new boy’s, eye.

  Renée

  MY DAD ALWAYS WANTED to do something special on our Sundays together, but I didn’t much want something special. I just wanted to go home and curl up in a ball. But he looked worried and asked me if I was feeling all right, so I said, “I’m just tired. We stayed up really late at the sleep-over.”

  “Had a late night myself,” Dad said.

  For a split second I wondered if he could have had a date. But then he continued, “Apparently there was an
all-out cowboy brawl at Nickless Betty’s.”

  I remembered that it used to be called Nick and Betty’s Lounge, but then Nick died and my dad jokingly told my mom and me that it was Nickless Betty’s now. I’d thought that was funny but my mom got annoyed. “That’s exactly the kind of insensitivity I mean!” she’d said and huffed out of the room. I hated memories like that, memories that started out fun but ended in a cringe.

  “Got the call about eleven,” Dad was saying. “I got there, and nine cue sticks were broken in half, and some joker had slashed the felt off the pool table. The boys were all in a lather because the jukebox was dead. But no one thought it might be because they’d knocked it over.” My dad laughed and shook his head. “Cowboys,” he said.

  I didn’t know what to say. I was glad my dad thought I was old enough to hear about his work, but I hated to picture him walking into a bar full of angry drunks late at night, all alone.

  “Want to go to a movie, maybe?” I asked.

  “Absolutely!” he said. “As long as it’s not about cowboys.”

  The only movie that was at the right time and close by was one I’d seen last week with my mom. I didn’t say so, though, because I was afraid it would make him feel bad. I really didn’t mind seeing it twice. And it wasn’t my dad’s fault that he wanted our Sundays to be special. It was his only chance, I guess, to be Dad.

  I wished he could relax, though. In the old days, between service calls and his daily jukebox route, he used to just pick up the newspaper and disappear behind it. I missed that. I missed everyone acting normal. I wished I could just be.

  After the film was over, we picked up Thai food because my dad knew it was my favorite. Actually, I was tired of Thai food, but there we go again, everyone trying to guess what will make the other one happy and no one guessing right. Maybe after the divorce was over and done with, we could all just go back to being ourselves. In the meantime, Dad and I went back to his apartment so I could eat my 900th dish of pad Thai and chicken satay with spicy peanut sauce.

  I looked at Dad’s telephone, and Maya’s number ran through my mind, ruining my appetite. But I didn’t call. I was ashamed of being such a wimp, but I didn’t know what to say to her. And wasn’t life hard enough without having to worry about Maya?

  I reminded myself that I really didn’t have anything to feel guilty about. Mom was right, it wasn’t my squirm. It wasn’t me who didn’t invite Maya to Darcy’s party, and it wasn’t me who made those nasty calls or said that stuff about her breath or her mom’s teeth. I fought down a wave of guilt, telling myself that as long as I acted nice tomorrow at school, I had nothing to feel bad about.

  My dad had fallen asleep in his chair. His mouth was open; he looked dead. Well, not dead exactly, but old. It made me sad to picture him here, alone all the time. No one to listen for his key in the lock. No one to know if he got home safely from late-night service calls.

  I knew he was going to be embarrassed that he’d conked out while I was visiting. I rustled my homework papers, then thumped my book, and saw him lurch awake out of the corner of my eye.

  I looked at the clock. It was too late to call Maya tonight. I felt like a creep, remembering last summer. That’s when my dad moved out and I was sent to that horrible sleep-away camp. I’d been so lonely, I thought I’d die. It was Maya who’d written me cheer-up letters every single day. None of the other girls did that.

  Then a car horn honked. I’m sure the whole apartment building heard it. My dad sprang to his feet.

  Oops, my homework was spread all over the table. I gathered it up as fast as I could, remembering that I’d meant to help Dad with the dishes. I promised myself that next Sunday I’d be more helpful and better company too. Well, there aren’t many dishes from take-out Thai anyway, right?

  My dad walked over to the window and looked down at Mom’s car. He didn’t wave or anything. I kissed him, told him I’d had fun, and dashed out the door.

  When I got to the car, my mom said, “I specifically asked you to be ready!” instead of hello.

  Brianna

  TESS, ONE OF THE TWINS, shot out Candace’s door and ran naked into the front yard just as I got there. When I nabbed her, she squealed with delight. I carried her inside and Candace rolled her eyes. From the way she said “You’re such a natural with babies,” I couldn’t tell if she meant it as a compliment or an insult.

  After I wrestled Tess into a diaper and trapped both twins in high chairs, Candace said, “What did you say the new boy’s name was? Because we got a new kid in my Sunday school today.”

  My heart went thump. “Eric.”

  “No, this guy was Jeremy. He just moved here. He’s nice.”

  “I don’t know if Eric’s nice or not. Haven’t talked to him yet,” I said. “He sat way across the room in art.” Then I remembered and said, “Maya’s in my art class. That’ll be so weird tomorrow!”

  Candace smiled at me.

  “We sit next to each other,” I explained. “What am I supposed to say to her?”

  Candace shrugged, as if that were my problem.

  “Well, what should I say? How should I act?” I asked, hearing myself whine.

  Candace blinked at me as if she barely recognized what species of creature I was. I tried to read her face, but there was nothing else written there.

  Beth dropped her sippy cup and started to howl. After we got her calmed down, Candace laughed. “Wouldn’t you love to have seen Maya’s face when Darcy called her last night?”

  No, I would not have loved to see Maya’s face, I thought. I’m sure she was freaked. Probably cried. Ick and double ick! Why would I want to see that? And I was now completely dreading art class.

  “But Candace,” I said. “How do you want me to act with Maya?”

  “Me?” Candace asked incredulously. “You’re asking me how I want you to act?”

  I nodded, feeling like a total fool, an ant, a nothing.

  “And should I tell you how to walk?” Candace asked. “Talk? Think? Be? My God, Brianna, I’m not your mother!”

  “Well, I can’t hate Maya, I mean, I can’t hate hate her, like she’s the worst person that ever lived,” I stammered, sounding like Renée. My heart beat faster. Why did it feel daring not to hate someone? I got confused, could feel myself blush.

  “You like Maya?” Candace asked, her voice full of scorn.

  “No, not particularly,” I said, not sure anymore what I thought about anyone. “It’s just that I’m sick of the whole Maya thing. It’s boring.”

  “Oh, really?” Candace asked. “Well, Brianna, I’m so sorry to have BORED you!” She picked up a magazine and started leafing through the pages as if she were alone in the room. I watched the twins rub applesauce in their hair.

  I could barely whisper when I said, “I don’t even know, really, why everyone’s so mad at her.”

  “We’re not mad at your little friend.” Candace sneered, flipping her magazine onto a chair. “We just think she’s boring. Mind if I take a shower?”

  She didn’t wait for my answer, just walked out of the room. I wiped the twins’ faces and let them down from their high chairs. Candace’s shower ran for a long, long time. My parents always made me take short showers to conserve water.

  Candace’s dad came home after a while. He seemed surprised to find me watching his babies. The twins ran to climb his legs as if he were a tree. He asked where Candace was. I didn’t hear the shower anymore.

  “In her room?” I suggested. Mr. Newman raised his eyebrows the same way Candace did. A few minutes later I got up and walked home—to my quiet, quiet house.

  Darcy

  I CALLED CANDACE LATER and said, “I’m grounded!” But I never did tell her why I was grounded, because she didn’t ask. She wanted to talk about my party. Actually, she only wanted to talk about Brianna.

  “Don’t you think Brianna acted like a turd?” she asked.

  I thought quickly back over the party, trying to remember what lame thing Br
ianna had done.

  “Well, she called Renée an elephant,” Candace said. “If I was Renée, I would have decked her.”

  “Do you think Brianna meant it like that?” I asked.

  “Don’t you?” Candace asked, as if I were entirely stupid or kidding or something. It made a chill go up my spine. Candace continued, “And who is she to call Renée an elephant? Brianna’s the one with a trunk!”

  I was about to tell her that Renée thought Brianna wanted a nose job, but I didn’t have a chance because Candace was saying, “No, she’s a cow! A big old, sway-backed moo cow. Those eyes of hers!”

  I laughed. Brianna did have cow eyes.

  Candace went on, “Don’t you just see her in a little flowered apron, fussing over all her grubby little cowettes?” Candace put on a slow, dumb voice and said, “Ho-hum, having babies, chewing my cud.”

  I giggled.

  “I tell you, Darcy, sometimes I think the world is turning me into my mother! Forcing me to spend my life taking care of everyone but myself! I mean, it’s not Brianna’s fault or anything, and maybe she doesn’t mean to, but sometimes I feel like I have to remind her to breathe! I practically have to wipe her butt like she’s one of the twerps!”

  I had a creepy moment wondering if Candace included me in “everyone she had to take care of.” But then she said, “Brianna actually asked me what she should say to Maya tomorrow! Can you believe that? She asked me how I wanted her to act!”

  I pretended to be shocked. “Brianna asked that?”

  “Oh, so Brianna can audition for that play all by herself,” Candace continued. “But somehow she can’t make any other decision without me. What does she do when I’m not there? Just sit like a lump with her hands in her lap?”

  I said something or other. Candace sounded really upset, and I knew it was best to just let her roll.

  “Brianna’s parents must be horrified!” Candace continued. “Here they are, science professors, and their own daughter has no more curiosity about the world than a cow!”