I didn’t see a choice, so I started my laps around the gym. The first lap was almost enjoyable. The second lap was mildly intolerable. By the third lap I got completely bored, and that’s when it all fell apart. “Fell” is the key word in that sentence.
My mind started wandering back to years earlier, when my brother started middle school. There was a school orientation and they held the meeting right here in this gym. I remember sitting in the bleachers in between my parents and feeling very small. I was only six years old, so that makes sense.
Mom adjusted the red-and-black bows in my hair (the colors of the University of Georgia Bulldogs) and she squeezed my hand as we watched Jason walk up to get his sixth grade orientation packet. But what I remember most was the look on Dad’s face as he watched Jason.
Pride. So much pride.
It was the same exact look he had on his face a few months ago when we sat in the bleachers at Stanford, watching Jason at his college orientation.
Dad looking very proud.
Mom squeezing my hand.
And me, sitting in the bleachers, feeling very small.
Bleachers. With all my daydreaming, I didn’t even notice that they were pulled out slightly, and on that third lap—without warning—my foot caught the corner of the bottom bleacher and I tripped.
But it wasn’t just a simple tripping. Wham! I wiped out on the hardwood floor.
I banged up my toe, knee, shoulder, hand, and even my ear. MY EAR, Piper. All I could think about was how much I wanted to be at home letting Mom take care of me.
Mrs. Rodriguez let me call home so I could be picked up early, but not before she leaned in and whispered, “I don’t think competitive badminton is your thing, Olivia. Try Drama Club.”
Mom wasn’t home.
Talk about feeling alone in the world. I know you say you feel ignored at your house too, but my feeling ignored means NO ONE IS AROUND. It’s not the same. Sorry for my sudden whiny moment, but I just want to remind you how lucky you are.
Anyway, I had no choice—with my knee beginning to throb and my little toe aching—I had to call Dad at work.
He left work early and picked me up and surprisingly he didn’t even complain about it. CVS was having a sale on first-aid items so I hobbled around and grabbed everything I needed, plus a couple more items just in case I have another falling-while-attempting-to-make-conversation incident.
And get this. Sandy, the cashier at the CVS, was super chatty! I told her all about my injuries and she told me about all their sales and some of their new products. They have a new self-tanner in stock now. It wasn’t a conversation with another student, but it was a conversation.
It was progress.
It’s possible we could invite her to the birthday party if we need someone to play the role of Helpful Cashier with a Kind Smile.
Dad took me home, put the ice pack in the fridge, “buddy taped” my hurt toe to the next toe over, poured me some hot tea, and watched some of season four of Gilmore Girls with me. I leaned on his shoulder and he scratched my head. It was the first time we’d hung out like that in a really long time. It was . . . amazing.
I’ll be honest, I kind of wanted it to last forever.
You would think now that Jason is gone, I’d be smothered with Mom’s and Dad’s attention. But, no. It took full-body injuries to get Dad to watch TV with me.
So now here I am, in bed, thinking over tomorrow. Dad wants me to stay home so he can monitor this toe, which is swollen and may be sprained, and also this bruise, which is as big as my palm. I’ve never gotten a sprain or a bruise from a social situation before. And you know what? It’s awesome! It makes me feel like an interesting person.
So you’ll have to do LARP tomorrow by yourself, sorry. Of course, I’ll call you once this throbbing dies down. Dad said he would drop the notebook on your doorstep in the morning with the Kit Kat.
Even though I didn’t chat up (I love that expression. So British.) many people today, I still have a bruise—an amazing one—that I can use for a conversation starter. Who’s looking on the bright side now?
But I’m thinking let’s stay away from any other clubs involving the word “competitive.”
“Olivia”
Grateful for:
1. Chatty cashiers at CVS
2. Kit Kats
3. That we still have some club choices left
4. The SpongeBob Band-Aids because they’re just so cute
5. A dad who knows exactly how I like my head to be scratched
P.S.!! Get me your notes on my notes to that note to Jackson.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Piper gets her LARP on!
* * *
Ah-live-ee-ahhhh,
I’m saying your name like that because I’m trying to work on enunciating. Sorry. Eee-nun-cee-ate-ing. It’s a LARP thing.
How is Da Bruise? (That’s its name now. You have no say about this.) I’m sorry that it’s grown so big—that picture you sent me was nasty. And I’m sorry you had to waste time at the doctor’s office doing X-rays instead of watching more Gilmore Girls. Especially since their prognostics (prognosis? recommendation?) was to elevate your leg. Which is something you could do at home. In bed. Watching TV.
I’m sending you this email because there is no way I can get you the notebook tonight. Since your parents are crazy protective love you very much, and you have a family email account, your mom or dad might be reading this. Hello, Mr. and/or Mrs. Weston! Ignore any mention of a boy named Jackson (your daughter’s soulmate). And when I say “notebook,” I just mean French homework. Don’t worry about that.
Back to MY family. This was the whiteboard schedule for the Jorgensens for today:
12:30 Pick up twins from preschool
1:30 Gymnastics for Flynn and Spencer
3:00 School carpool
3:30 Piper LARP Club (I made the whiteboard. Woot!)
3:30 Talin Student Council
3:45 Luke coach’s meeting
4:00 Neighborhood-watch meeting
4:45 Talin violin
5:00 Flynn dentist!
6:30 Luke Boy Scouts
7:00 Drop off dinner for Andersons
Mom was so busy that she made the Andersons OUR dinner and we ate McDonald’s in the car. The twins got into a French fry war, and I’m sure we’ll find fossilized potatoes in the minivan seats for months now. Maybe your dad can study old fast food for anthropology. (Hey, look at me, spelling anthropology I’m pretty sure correctly.)
Looking at a regular old day, you can see that there is nothing on the schedule for things like watching Gilmore Girls, at least not with one of my parents. I don’t think I’ve ever watched an episode of TV with my dad. Is that weird? We’ve gone fishing a few times, usually with Luke and Talin. I mean, I love my parents, and they love me, but there’s never much one-on-one bonding.
Most of the time, I’m glad about that. I like doing my own thing whenever and wherever I want (when not on twin duty). But other times, I totally understand what you’re saying. There are different ways to feel alone. Trust me, alone can happen in the middle of busy. Alone can be the best feeling, but it can also be the worst.
But that’s not why I’m writing. You want to hear all about Live-Action Role-Playing—LARP Club. You might be disappointed that today’s adventure did not include people dressed up like mutant lizards with weapons. That’s combat LARP, and this group voted last month that they would focus the semester on theater-style LARP. Yes, there are different kinds of LARP. And I didn’t even know LARP existed until we started this club thing. Also, LARP is the worst word to say over and over again. Try it! LARP, LARP, LARP, LARP . . .
Sorry, now you can’t stop saying it, can you?
So there I was, all ready to smoosh Orcs with a foam sword, and instead I was given the attached sheet for my “character.” And we did this whole murder mystery where we were at some heiress’s weddi
ng on a remote island. I was assigned the Cat Lady, who dies in the first five minutes, because I’m new.
There wasn’t a script. We just got our character info and the Game Master (aka Mr. Gupta) presented scenarios and we went from there. But here’s how the story started. To give you an idea. And as you can see, it took me a while to understand how the staying-in-character part works.
GAME MASTER: You are exclusive guests at the Vanderbeens’ secret wedding. For reasons unknown, the pilot flew away after the ceremony. You don’t know if or when he will return. Do you still hold the wedding reception, or call for help? Begin.
BRIDE (FELICITY) (wails): Why is he ruining my wedding day! This is my special day! MINE!
CAT LADY (Me. I know, I finally do something outside of the animal shelter and it still involves felines!): And you also brought special people here too, special people who seem like they aren’t connected, but they mysteriously are. Sorry, Mr. Gupta, was that too much foreshadowing?
GAME MASTER: Don’t break character, Cat Lady. And call me Game Master.
CAT LADY: Sorry. Uh . . . oh, I miss my cats. I hope I see them again!
BRIDE (stepping in front of me, like we’re on an actual stage and she’s trying to block me): Oh, woe is me! I am the star and my dreams are shattered.
The rest of the LARPers sat there for a little bit, seeing who was going to talk next. I was about to tell the bride about the time my cats got fake married, or this other time when a neighbor’s vengeful cat tried to murder her mother-in-law . . . but then the groom spoke.
GROOM: I’m sorry. You’re pretty. Let’s go eat cake.
Then they pretended like they were eating cake. They didn’t even really chew that much.
DOCTOR DIPPY (played by another guy I don’t know. This club was filled with guys I don’t know. Isn’t it funny how many people we don’t know at our school, people who may make GREAT party guests?): I hope we aren’t here for too long. I have surgery tomorrow. I’m putting a monkey brain in a baby.
MILES FLEMING, FAMOUS DIRECTOR: And my new movie starts production this week! Angelina has a very small window to film because she is having a baby.
ME: I really, really miss my cats. . . . Hey, what if Doctor Dippy took out the monkey brain and put it in the groom? That would be kind of funny, right? Hey, groom. Pretend like you’re a monkey, then admit you’re also the son of a billionaire oil tycoon who—
GAME MASTER: Piper . . . Cat Lady. You need to let the role-players create their own characters. You focus on you.
It went longer, of course. And guess what? I loved it! Who’d have thought? The actual role-playing wasn’t the fun part. I liked writing the script more. And directing is so me. It made me incredibly excited to get the cast set for my own birthday! If I was Game Master, things would have been bananas.
I want to host my own LARP sometime and use some of my subplots from playing Barbies with Andrea . . . I mean, babysitting Andrea. I should start adding brain surgery into my bag of ideas. Also monkeys.
The only UN-fun part was when the grouchy Game Master said Cat Lady had been eaten by a polar bear. Where’d the polar bear suddenly come from? And how did a polar bear get on a tropical island anyway? So many plot holes.
The problem with casting birthday party guests at LARP is that we weren’t allowed to talk to anyone out of character. But I did get a chance to talk to the bride, Felicity, for a little bit after. And I think you’ll agree the convo equals total success. . . .
ME: Wow, you’re really good at crying on cue.
FELICITY: Thanks! I stare in my mirror for hours and think of sad things and it helps.
ME: Seriously? That’s so cool.
FELICITY: I totally liked your coma idea. If LARPing doesn’t work out, you should think about being a director.
ME: Do you ever do any acting outside of LARP?
FELICITY: Tons. Drama Club is amazing too. You should come!
ME: What about . . . a life-situation kind of LARP? Like if I had a birthday party, and wanted you to pretend to be someone else the whole time.
FELICITY (tilts her head): Like . . . a birthday clown?
ME: Or a tragic heroine who is down on her luck but about to write an amazing New York Times best-selling novel. And also has an evil twin?
FELICITY: Sure. I guess. There are no small parts, just small actors.
SO FELICITY IS IN!
Ugh, I’m such a McChatterson! So anyway, LARPing was awesome. And if Felicity doesn’t end up making the cut, maybe she’s someone we could be friends with—if we ever want another friend.
But I’m okay if that “if” never happens.
Tomorrow! French Club! Which means . . . MACARONS!! (Or croissants. Or even baguettes. I will be happy with any pastry.)
Piper
Grateful for: Da Bruise (not the actual bruise, just the name I came up for it), retelling events to you like it’s a movie, macarons, Flynn being potty-trained, the way the name Felicity feels when you say it. Try it. Fill-is-it-eee.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Piper gets her LARP on!
* * *
Piper,
Don’t worry about my parents reading our emails. I know they did this whole family email account because they took a class on Protecting Your Child in a Modern World, but they’re both so busy that they never log in.
I love that you pretended to be a Cat Lady . . . all to cast your birthday party attenders. YOU’RE MY HERO. I’m so impressed you stayed in there and totally committed to that role.
I’m not going to make it to another club tomorrow because I’m going to stay out of school one more day. No, my bruise and toe sprain aren’t THAT much of a medical emergency, but Dad wants to keep an eye on them.
Not seeing you again at school is downright depressing, but get this! Dad and I are going to spend the entire day together having a movie marathon and playing chess games where he will—without a doubt—beat me. I’ve never won a game against him.
I’ll give you a report on how it goes tomorrow by email since you are still the Keeper of the Notebook.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Olivia’s Day Off
* * *
As predicted, my dad beat me every chess game.
I get the feeling he wishes I would win, but I just get so overwhelmed by the bishop that I can’t seem to figure out how to get myself out of a jam.
“It’s a metaphor for life,” Dad said after I lost for the third time. “You use your primitive instinct to methodically build a position, then you analyze your opponent and move in for the kill.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “You mean the win. Speaking of wins . . .” She was in the middle of finishing the buttercream decoration on her football-shaped Rice Krispies Treats.
The “big game” is this Saturday and the house is already covered in University of Georgia decorations: red-and-black streamers, cups, plates, balloons, and several banners that say, “HOW ’BOUT THEM DAWGS!” Jason used to help her decorate because he loves any football game.
But she didn’t need much help this time because it was only the Clemson game. When they play Florida, she goes full-throttle with the party favors and she practically shudders with excitement as she spins around the house getting ready.
Mom’s enthusiasm for Georgia football is equal to her enthusiasm for asking prying questions about my life. Her pep about life in general is sort of exhausting sometimes. I want to tell her about my life . . . I just wish it would happen in some cool, dramatic moment, like in the movies. Eye contact . . . knowing glances . . . a hand squeeze . . . and then me spilling my heart. You know, movie material. It’s not as satisfying to answer a series of questions when she asks them with the same amount of excitement that she uses when questioning the waiter about ingredients in the sweet potato casserole. (She’s very particular about casseroles.)
/> Today Mom wore her “regular” bulldog earrings, but on Florida game day she wears her special silver bulldogs. She had them made—special order—by our local jeweler. “Because our rivalry with those Gators is so huge, it requires sterling silver,” Mom always says. (Note to aliens—I know this doesn’t make a lot of sense. Just go with it. That’s my strategy.)
I tasted Mom’s football Rice Krispies Treat. “Awwfum!” I said, giving her a thumbs-up. Tasting her party food is really the only interaction I have with her on game days, since I know exactly zero-point-zero about football. Dad doesn’t know anything about it either. Which I totally love about him.
We sat down to dinner and Mom was still wearing her apron with the big G on it. Dad made an attempt to get this whole football fascination of hers. “You know, the Romans used to arm gladiators for the entertainment of the audience. So I can understand the appeal.”
“Football isn’t just entertainment.” She passed a casserole around and winked at me. “It’s an institution.”
I had no idea what she meant, and sometimes it feels like none of us understand each other. It’s like we’re orbiting each other, but we’re all on different planets.
So there we sat.
Dad with his newspaper.
Mom with her bulldog earrings.
And me with a sprained toe I got from trying to practice conversation, something I was failing at with my OWN FAMILY.
Jason seemed to be the glue that pulled us all together. Now that he’s not home, my parents talk mostly about him, and I don’t talk much at all. Mom’s latest concern is his eating habits at college. Is he only eating Top Ramen? Is he getting enough vitamin C? They discuss this every night. Like I said, the three of us are missing our glue.
But man, that casserole was good . . . loads of fried onions. Maybe casserole can be our new glue?
What do you guys talk about at dinner? I mean, when you all are around to sit down and eat. I still think you have the numbers in your favor when it comes to aloneness. The twins are by your side constantly, and they are so cute. And they need you. Isn’t it great that your family NEEDS you?
The Pages Between Us Page 6
