by Tish Cohen
Len nodded. It was possible that the girls had matured enough to accept Olivia’s differences, wasn’t it? Maybe the teacher had spoken to the class again. After all, kids didn’t invite kids they disliked to play after school, did they?
Rachel handed Olivia another cookie and leaned closer to Len, whispering, “Maybe I could take her and stay awhile. Keep an eye on things.”
“That would be the kiss of social death.”
“What do we know about this family? Have you met the mother?”
“I’ve seen her around, at different school events. Seems nice enough. Her father’s an accountant in the city.”
Rachel pursed her lips, deep in thought.
“The house is only two streets over,” said Len.
“Please, Dad,” Olivia said with her mouth full. “Callie Corbin has a fort!” She wheeled the chair backward, then paused a moment. “What’s a fort?”
“It’s a playhouse in the yard,” he said. “Like a very tiny house for kids to play in. You know, Olivia, when you go visit someone at their house, a friend, you need to be on your best behavior. Treat her things with care, say nice things about her house…or her fort.”
“What’s a fort again?”
“A very tiny house. So if she’s showing you her fort, for instance, you might say, ‘Your fort is very pretty.’ Something like that.”
Olivia thought about it. “Okay. Can I go?”
He glanced at Rachel. She would be Olivia’s sole guardian. More than that. Her mother. It was time to start trusting her with this kind of thing. “What do you think, honey?”
“Please, Rachel!”
Rachel drew in a slow breath and folded her arms. She was quiet for a moment, then raised her eyebrows. “It’s sixty minutes…”
Len nodded.
“A lot can happen in sixty minutes.”
“Yes, it can.”
“Then again, it’s important for a child to have a social life,” she said. “I’ve written about this very thing.”
He said nothing.
“I think it’s okay. But just for an hour.” As Olivia spun the wheelchair around in happy circles, Rachel looked back at Len. “It’s a risk worth taking.”
CHAPTER 49
Your Tiny House Is Pretty
On the patio, Olivia pulled Rachel’s container out of her backpack and held it out to the girls, who snatched it away and began gorging on chocolate chip cookies, finishing them off without leaving so much as a crumb for Olivia. When they were done, Jada tossed the plastic container onto the grass. Olivia to pick it up, but Callie Corbin linked arms with her and led her down the wide steps of the wooden deck, toward the fort in the far corner of the backyard. Olivia thought her dad was right. The fort was a very tiny house.
“It’s party time,” said Callie Corbin. “You like parties, Olivia?”
She began to skip. “Sure!”
Jada took Olivia’s other arm, and Samantha took Jada’s. They moved through the yard as a foursome.
“You’re one of the cool kids now,” Samantha told her. “One of us.”
Olivia looked at Callie Corbin’s tanned arms, then at Jada’s pink-sweatered arms. As they stomped toward the back of the yard, Olivia thought of the last time two people linked arms with her, attached themselves to her like this. It was Mommy and Daddy and they were taking Olivia to see her first movie in a theater. Her parents made their way across the parking lot, picking her up and swinging her every few steps. The movie was Stuart Little 2, it was about a mouse, and the theater was freezing cold.
At the door to the very tiny house—fort—the girls dropped Olivia’s arms and, bending down low, scurried inside, one by one. They all dropped to the dusty floor in the center of the room, which really looked like more of a crate than a house once you got inside. Olivia glanced at the wooden boards around her, not certain if she liked the sameness of the floor and the walls and the ceiling. She thought if she spun around too quick, she might not know which way was up, which way was down, which way was out.
Remembering her father’s advice, Olivia said, “Let’s come here every single solitary day after school. It can be our clubhouse and our most favorite kids and teachers can come here.”
“Yeah,” Samantha said, poking Callie Corbin in the leg. “Let’s invite Mr. Lee and old Mrs. Antonio. They’d be a blast. Maybe Mr. Lee could bring his calculator and we could even do math.”
“And we’d bring the librarian!” said Callie Corbin. “You can’t have a party without the librarian. That would suck!”
“She could bring books,” said Olivia, thinking maybe she’d ask the librarian to bring Charlotte’s Web, one of her favorite books in the library.
Jada and Samantha laughed, then scooted closer to Olivia and took hold of her shoulders. “Ready to start the party, Cal?” asked Jada.
“What are you doing?” asked Olivia, moving back but hitting a wall. Or a ceiling. “It hurts.”
“I thought you liked hugging,” said Samantha. “We’re just getting you back for all the hugs you’ve given us.”
Callie Corbin grinned a nasty kind of grin. She lifted up her T-shirt and pulled out a pair of shiny scissors.
Olivia laughed nervously, tucking her legs in closer to her body. “What’s that for?”
Samantha gripped her arm tighter, her fingernails piercing Olivia’s flesh. She held Olivia’s head still by grabbing her by the hair. Olivia tried to pull away by looking from side to side, but she was trapped. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked furiously to hold them back.
Callie sat cross-legged in front of Olivia, gnashing the blades open and shut. Olivia’s breath came in terrified puffs now, she looked at Callie and tried to smile a smile that wouldn’t come. “C-Callie? You’re my friend, right?”
Callie laughed, then climbed onto her hands and knees, crawling over to Olivia. “We’re getting a little sick of looking at that ratty hair of yours. We think you’d look a lot better if we cut it.”
Jada hissed, “But you’re going to tell everyone you did it yourself or we’ll sneak into your new house and steal that hamster.”
“Don’t!”
“Then promise you’ll say you did it…”
“I will!”
“Say I promise!”
“I promise!”
Callie reached for a thick clump of hair and pulled it in front of Olivia’s face.
“Don’t touch it! Please,” Olivia shouted, kicking her legs toward Callie. Samantha straddled her, pressing her legs down, while Jada wrapped her in a hug that was anything but. Trapped, Olivia gulped in sharp breaths, tears blurring her vision. “Callie!” She thought of her father, of Rachel, sitting in the kitchen so far away. “Your…your very tiny house is pretty!”
Someone’s sweaty hand clamped over Olivia’s mouth and, other than the sound of her own muffled screams and pounding heart, all Olivia heard was the sharp rasp of the scissors sawing through her hair.
CHAPTER 50
The Least Perfect Parent
New parents may doubt their decisions at first. This is completely normal. Your confidence will improve with each choice you make.
—RACHEL BERMAN, Perfect Parent magazine
Eleven thirty had never felt so late. Rachel’s head ached, her body felt shattered. Neither she nor Len had had the emotional fortitude right away to consider retribution, so consumed had they been with pacifying Olivia after the “party.” Cocooning her in blankets, tempting her with uneaten snacks. Rachel reeling with her own guilt. Len, too generous with her, saying no one was to blame but the three monsters who did it.
They both lay with Olivia, wrapping themselves around her in an effort to undo the damage they’d enabled. Finally, two hours later, the child fell asleep; eyes nearly swollen shut from crying, hair knotted and chopped to the earlobe on one side. Her perfect little face blotchy and wretched with grief.
The only words the child had spoken were, “I promise I cut it myself.”
Dustin and
Janie had no idea, thank God, their grandmother having picked them up for pizza and a movie before Olivia left. By the time they returned, Olivia and Len were asleep.
While the rest of the family slept, Rachel stumbled around the house in a stupor, locking doors and windows. Janie’s green canvas army bag was lying on its side, covering the floor vent, so Rachel reached for it, accidentally dumping its contents. She quickly began shoving uncapped pens, lip gloss, and change back into the bag. A folded paper lay on the floor. She flicked it open.
It was a magazine article from—Rachel scanned the bottom edge of the paper—Seventeen magazine and, judging from the way the paper fuzzed around the creases, it had spent a fair amount of time at the bottom of a purse. “How to Snare the Guy Next Door.” But the word “Guy” had been crossed out with a black marker, replaced with the word “Goddess.”
Without question, it was from Janie’s magazine. April issue. Rachel had given Janie a subscription to Seventeen for her birthday this year.
Of course it was possible Dustin had gotten hold of one of Janie’s magazines, flipped through it in hopes of checking out the cute girls, and decided he could make use of such an article himself by changing the pronouns. Possible, but not likely.
Dustin wasn’t the one devastated by the ruin of a pouty poster.
Dustin wasn’t the one obsessing over which swimsuit to wear to Tabitha’s pool.
Was it possible for a fourteen-year-old girl to be gay?
Stupid. Of course it was. She’d read somewhere that some people knew from childhood.
But her daughter? Rachel’s mind raced back through time, searching for any possible thing she might have done to cause such a life choice. Was it the time, when Janie was much younger and refused to let her mother comb her hair after a bath, that Rachel took her to the salon and had her hair cut short? Had she not been emotionally available to her daughter? What if she hadn’t been so pushy?
My daughter is gay.
What did it mean? Would her life be tougher? Would friends be harder to come by? What about jobs? Love?
Love. Rachel traced the page with her finger. What was Janie thinking and feeling? Was she confused, ashamed, maybe even scared of what her family might say? The child must feel completely alone. Was she angry that Rachel hadn’t figured it out on her own and somehow figured out a way to help her cope?
Or, worse, had Janie tried to tell her?
She thought back to the night she noticed Janie’s new poster. Now it made perfect sense, but back then…back then she’d missed it. And when she’d asked Janie if she hung it up because she wanted to look like Jessica Simpson, Janie had definitely blushed. Then replied, “Whatever.”
How could she have missed such a blatant sign? Janie didn’t tack the poster to the wall because she wanted her feelings to remain hidden. She did it because she wanted someone to know. For her mother to know.
If only her mother had been listening.
Suddenly, Rachel needed to see Janie. As she bounded up the stairs two at a time, she passed a series of framed magazine covers from Perfect Parent’s very first issues. She paused a moment, staring at a faded, dated cover from 1963, feeling every bit the fraud that she was.
There couldn’t be a less perfect parent on earth.
CHAPTER 51
“All Wound Up”
—CIRCLE JERKS
Lying under the covers in her tartan mini, knee socks, Doc Martens, and shrunken sweater, Janie had been waiting nearly an hour for the hall light to go out—the only sure sign that her mother had gone to bed. She glanced at her clock radio.
11:41. Nineteen minutes to Cody.
Friday afternoon, while Janie had been sitting at her desk in science, doodling on her binder, her cell phone vibrated from inside her bag. It was a text message from a number she didn’t recognize. Looking around, she saw Cody grinning at her.
“Can’t wait till tomorrow,” it read.
Feeling sick, she slipped her phone into her pocket. She couldn’t look at him.
She’d opened her binder to find a note, wondering how Cody managed to get it inside her binder. Cody had turned to face the teacher, so Janie pulled the tiny paper down onto her lap. It wasn’t from Cody at all. It was from her mother.
J.R.W.L.Y., was all it said. Just remember who loves you. Rachel had been slipping the odd cryptic notes in Janie’s lunch bag and books for years. It had started after Janie’s best friend, Mandy, dropped her in third grade for the new girl from Rhode Island. Rachel started leaving “chin up, sweetie” notes on a daily basis right up until Janie landed herself a replacement buddy.
Janie tucked this note further inside her binder. Her mother would die if she knew the plan for Friday. She’d tell Janie that sleeping with Cody wouldn’t accomplish a thing. She’d say the best thing, the most mature thing, was to hold her head up and ignore the taunting because eventually it would end. And she’d probably be right. Eventually people would lose interest in Janie Berman.
Anna and Michelle had snuck past, trying to slide into seats before the teacher noticed and sent them to the office for late slips. Michelle knocked against Janie’s desk as she passed. “Ugh,” she giggled. “I bumped her desk. I hope it’s not catching.” They both collapsed, laughing silently as they sat down.
Fuck maturity, Janie had thought. She pulled Cody’s note from her pocket, typed, “Me too” and hit send.
The clock read 11:42. Janie glanced at the gap between her door and the floorboards. The hall was dark. Just as she began to throw back her blanket, her door creaked open. Rachel. Janie closed her eyes and froze, willing her mother to go away.
In the silence, she heard a faint click as her digital clock added another minute.
She cracked open one eye, just enough to see the shadow of her mother leaning against the doorway. Watching her.
Rachel never did this. Not since Len and Olivia moved in at least. She was usually so exhausted at the end of the day, she could barely make it to bed.
The clock clicked again. 11:44. If she didn’t show up, Cody would go back to school Monday and squeal. They’d all say it was because Janie Berman was gay.
Her mother came closer. Janie’s heart thumped wildly. She prayed the tip of her boot wasn’t poking out from under the blanket. Rachel smoothed out the covers and pulled the sheet up closer to Janie’s chin. Then, so softly Janie wasn’t entirely sure it happened, Rachel whispered, “Janie?” When Janie said nothing, her mother leaned over and pressed a kiss to her trembling cheek.
The clock clicked again and her mother was gone.
Ten minutes later, the house was silent. Janie tiptoed to her bedroom door and turned the handle without making a sound. Her mother’s room was dark—a good sign, since Rachel usually read until she fell asleep. Janie made her way to the staircase, testing each floorboard for squeakiness before putting her weight on it. Halfway to the stairs, she heard humming from the bathroom, then a flushing toilet. Shit. Olivia. Janie ducked into the upstairs study and held her breath while Olivia slipped and skidded back to her new bedroom. She was missing a big chunk of hair on one side.
More arts and crafts, no doubt.
Janie had no choice but to tiptoe past the girl’s room. Light poured out from under the door. Cody must be outside by now, but Janie couldn’t help herself. As quietly as she could, she cracked open the door and peered inside.
Olivia was sitting on the floor, legs sprawled out wide, plunking stones into her old milk bottle, one by one, and listening to bubblegum music with the volume way down low. Janie recognized it as that Aly & AJ song…about sticks and stones or something. Softly, tunelessly, the child hummed along.
Listening to the lyrics, Janie looked at the stones on the rug, then back to Olivia. Sticks and stones. Sticks and stones. Oh God, the song was about being bullied. No wonder the kid was so stuck on it.
Janie had told her to forget about this band. This song. Wrote it off as sugary pop crap and burned her an anarchistic Sex Pistols CD. Wo
rse, she’d yelled at the kid and told her to get the hell out of her room.
The child stopped singing and stomped on a pile of rocks, then rammed them into the bottle with force.
“Brandon.” Plunk.
“Jada.” Plunk.
“Samantha.” Plunk.
Olivia fumbled around for another stone and hurled it into the bottle, which was much more full than the first time Janie saw it, months ago. Nearly to the top.
“Callie Stupid Corbin,” Olivia muttered, touching her hair. She reached for a smooth charcoal pebble near her foot and held it close to her face, examining it before dropping it in with the others and whispering, “Janie.”
Janie leaned against the doorframe. She felt sick with guilt. Olivia hadn’t a friend in the world and Janie had humiliated her, both in public and private.
A quick glance at her watch told her it was midnight. She pulled the door shut and ran down the stairs.
CHAPTER 52
Dead Things That Don’t Stay Dead
Olivia hated going pee in the middle of the night. It was cold, spooky dark and the floors in Rachel’s house squeaked. She ran back to her room but forgot to go to bed. Her bully stones needed counting and she could only count them if she played Aly & AJ. But when the song ended and she remembered to climb into bed, her foot kicked something over—she leaned down the side of the bed and gasped. Jojo’s cage was knocked right over onto its side. She jumped down to the floor, got on her hands and knees, and peered into the cage. Uh-oh. This was bad. Jojo wasn’t moving. He wasn’t moving his nose or his ears or even his legs.
She’d killed him.
Olivia felt something wet on her foot. She pulled her foot out of her liner and saw blood, red blood. She poked at it with her finger and brought her finger up to her face. Licked it. Yup. She wiped the blood on the rug and opened the cage door.
