Amber Brown Is Feeling Blue

by Paula Danziger

  I feel bad. I didn’t mean to do anything that would make kids tease Kelly.

  Sometimes I think Brandi worries too much and thinks that things are going to happen when they don’t.

  Part of me feels really bad.

  I didn’t mean to do something that would make trouble for Kelly and get her teased.

  I, Amber Brown, know what it’s like to be teased about a name.

  However, I’m having a bad day.

  And it’s partly her fault.

  So, can I help it if she’s having a bad day, too?

  I’m not the one who made her vomit.

  I just told other people what happened.

  Maybe now that they know, they’ll send her a get-well card.

  I give my lunch to Hal to make up for the cookie.

  The lunch bell rings, and it’s time to go back to class.

  Mrs. Holt gives us an assignment to do a project about the Middle Ages. At first I think she’s talking about people who are not young anymore and not yet old …. kind of like my parents and Max …. the middle ages.

  But she explains that it’s the Middle Ages, like in the olden days.

  “By tomorrow I want you to turn in a paper explaining what your project is going to be.”

  Brandi whispers to me, “I’m going to phone Kelly when I go home, and give her the homework assignment.”

  I just hope they don’t end up best friends and I’ll be best friendless.

  Mrs. Holt gives us a surprise quiz in math.

  If she gives extra credit for erasing and crossing out, then there’s a chance that I passed the quiz. Otherwise, there’s not much of a chance.

  I lost my favorite good-luck pencil.

  And then Brandi, Tiffani, Naomi, and I get detention for talking.

  I already stay after school for Elementary Extension, because my mom can’t pick me up until later. So, to make it a punishment, I have to go into a different room and just sit quietly, not able to do my homework or anything.

  It’s torture.

  I, Amber Brown, have trouble sitting still and not doing anything.

  Finally, it’s time to go home.

  Usually, it’s my mom who picks me up, but today it’s Brenda.

  Maybe my day is finally getting better.

  Chapter

  Seven

  Brenda and I hopscotch all the way home.

  By the time we get to the front door, we’re both exhausted.

  Sitting down in the kitchen, we open up a box of chocolate-chip cookies.

  Brenda says, “I’m so excited. Today, this guy that I’ve had a secret crush on asked me out.”

  “What’s his name? What’s he like?” I ask.

  “His name is Ken, and he’s really nice,” she says.

  “A real Ken doll.” I giggle.

  She pretends to bop me with the box of cookies. “He’s cute and smart. He likes a lot of the things that I like. He’s different in some ways, though. He dresses differently.”

  It makes me wonder what it means to Brenda when she says someone dresses differently. I hope that I meet this guy sometime.

  “Brenda, I have a question.” I smile at her.

  “Yes?” She puts a cookie in her mouth.

  “Do you think that you’re ever going to cook for him?”

  She laughs. “Are you trying to tell me that’s not a good idea?”

  I grin. “Maybe you should wait a couple of years until you feed him any of your Tuna Fish Delish.”

  Brenda laughs. “He can cook. He and his dad live alone … and I know that Ken can cook. That’s one of the things that I like about him.”

  The phone rings.

  It’s my father.

  He’s calling all the way from Paris, France, just to talk to me.

  He sounds so excited. “Amber, honey, I can’t wait to move back and be closer to you. It’s been so hard for me not to see you. We’re going to make up for lost time. Just think, I’m returning very soon, and in just two weeks, we’re going to be able to spend the weekend together.”

  “Oh, Daddy, that’ll be so much fun.” I, Amber Brown, am really excited, too.

  It’s been a long time since my dad and I have spent much time together.

  “Amber,” my dad continues, “just think …. it won’t be long until we spend Thanksgiving together. Maybe we’ll go into New York and watch them get ready for the Macy’s parade.”

  “Oh, Dad, that sounds really great,” I say, and then I remember. “Oh, no. Oh, oh….Oh, no.”

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” my father asks.

  I am afraid to tell my father what I’ve just remembered, but I know that I have to tell him. “Dad, Mom and Max and I are going to Walla Walla. I can’t spend Thanksgiving with you.”

  For a minute, there’s no sound from him.

  I just hold on to the phone, waiting for him to say something.

  Finally, he speaks. “But I’ll just be getting back then. I was really looking forward to spending the holiday with you.”

  “Did you tell Mom that?” I bite on my bottom lip.

  There’s another silence.

  My stomach starts to hurt.

  He sighs. “No, I didn’t. She didn’t know. I just figured that I was coming back …. and that you and I could spend the time together. She’s been able to be with you for all of the holidays since I left. I just assumed that we could be together for at least part of the time.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  I don’t know what to do.

  Because he moved to Paris, I’ve never had to deal with this before.

  I just don’t know what to say.

  Max has already bought the tickets.

  I wonder if there is a kind of a dream that is worse than a nightmare. Because that’s what I’m having right now.

  If I go to Walla Walla with Mom and Max, Dad’s going to be unhappy.

  If I stay here with Dad, Mom and Max are going to be unhappy.

  Either way, I lose.

  Either way, one of my parents loses.

  At least, one of them wins.

  But no matter what, I’m going to be the loser.

  There’s just no way there’s going to be a “Thanks” in this Thanksgiving.

  The only thing that I’m going to be thankful for is when it’s over, and then it’ll be Christmas and I’ll have something else to worry about.

  Chapter

  Eight

  I, Amber Brown, think that life used to be so much easier.

  I sit on my bed, looking at my “Countdown to Dad” book and at the “Dad Book,” which I put together when he went away.

  On the bed, I’ve got lots of other pictures. There’s one of Mom and Max and me at the Jersey shore, pretending to be mermaids and a merman. There’s the picture of the bowling team and Max, the coach. We’re at the pizza party celebrating our “First Win in a Row.” With the way our team is bowling, we may never have two wins in a row.

  I, Amber Brown, don’t know what to do.

  Brenda knocks on the door and walks into my room.

  “Are you all right?” she asks. “I thought you were in here doing your homework.”

  “I was going to do it. I just haven’t gotten to it yet.” I don’t know what to say to Brenda.

  It’s like I have three parents, and she’s got only one.

  “Amber, I don’t want to nag you,” she says.

  I, Amber Brown, realize that when someone says “I don’t want to nag you,” they’re going to nag you.

  And Brenda does. “Do your homework. You don’t want to get into trouble with Mrs. Holt again for not doing it, do you?”

  That’s a lot of “Do”s about my homework ….. a lot of do-do.

  I sigh. “Oh, OK.”

  Brenda says, “I’ll go downstairs and finish the dishes. And then I’ve got to study for a civics test. Call me if you need help.”

  I take out my notebook.

  I’ve got to figure out a project on t
he Middle Ages.

  I start planning.

  The Middle Ages…. I don’t want to do a stupid, boring research paper.

  I’ll do a newspaper instead … the kind that there would have been in the Middle Ages, if they could have had a newspaper.

  I, Amber Brown, have to come up with a name for the paper.

  Max reads The New York Times.

  Aunt Pam reads the Los Angeles Times.

  I’ll call my paper The Olden Times.

  And where The New York Times has written “All the news that’s fit to print,” I will put “All the news that fits, I’ll print.”

  I start to list what will go in the paper.

  There will be a news page about all of the stuff that’s happening in the kingdom.

  Then there will be a gossip column: “A Knight on the Town.”

  I’ll have a travel section: “Whatever Floats Your Boat Across the Moat.”

  I’ll draw the costumes and armor for the fashion section.

  There will be a poetry page.

  To show Mrs. Holt what the paper will be like, I write the first poem:

  It’s not a great poem, but it’s better than the one Bobby said in class the other day … “I’m a poet, but my toes don’t show it.”

  There’s a knock on the door.

  This time it’s my mom.

  She gives me a kiss and then looks at my homework.

  “Mom,” I say, “I have something to tell you.”

  Then before I can tell her, I start to cry.

  “Dad …..” I sniffle.

  “Is he all right?” She sounds worried.

  “Dad called.” I sniffle again.

  “And?” she asks, holding my hand.

  “And he wants to spend Thanksgiving with me.” I look at her.

  “Oh.” She takes a deep breath. “For a minute, I thought it was something terrible.”

  I look at her.

  She’s being much calmer than I thought she would be.

  I wonder if she still cares about my dad.

  She thinks for about a minute, and then I can tell she realizes what it will mean to us …. and Walla Walla.

  Trouble. Trouble.

  I watch my mother’s face. First she looks surprised, then angry, and then she bites her lip.

  When my mother doesn’t want to say something, she bites her lip.

  She keeps her teeth on her lower lip for a long time.

  Then she sighs. “Well, it isn’t good, but at least no one is hurt … or sick or anything. It is terrible, though, for our plans.”

  “Mommy, what are we going to do? What am I going to do?” When I get upset, I call my mom “Mommy,” even though it seems a little babyish.

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know, honey. I have to think about this before I say something that I’m going to regret later.”

  I just sit there.

  She sighs.

  Sometimes our family sighs a lot.

  She gets up, gives me a kiss on the forehead, and says, “Give me a few minutes to think about this. I’ll tell Brenda that she can leave now, and then I’ll do some thinking and then come up here and talk to you.”

  She leaves.

  I know that her “thinking” is going to have something to do with phone calls …. to my dad, to Max.

  She goes downstairs.

  I look at my homework, not able to work on it anymore.

  “Amber, see you soon,” Brenda yells up the stairs.

  “’Bye for now,” I yell back.

  I just sit there and wait for my mother to come back.

  She does.

  I can tell that she’s been crying from the mascara on her face and how puffy her eyes are.

  Mom sits down on my bed. “Amber, I’ve talked to your father. He really does want to see you. He thought we’d all be here and you could spend part of the vacation with each of us. I’ve tried to explain to him that we didn’t do it intentionally … to take you away just when he was returning … it’s just that we’ve gotten used to his not being around. It may have been a mistake to plan this right now … but we didn’t do it intentionally.”

  She’s said that twice. I bet my father said that she did plan to do it, to cause trouble. I know she didn’t. I was there.

  Shaking her head, she says, “This is so like your father. He always waited ’til the last minute to make arrangements. It made me nuts then. It makes me nuts now. To say the least, it is SO annoying.”

  I don’t want them to be mad at each other, to blame each other.

  She pats my head. “Oh, honey, what do you want to do for Thanksgiving? Max and I have been talking, and we’ve decided that whatever you want to do, we’ll go along with it. If you want us to cancel the trip, we will. If you want to stay with your father, we’ll try to understand. If you want to go to Walla Walla, we will try to work that out.”

  I don’t know what to do.

  Why do I have to make the decision?

  She says, “Your father and I have talked. He said that whatever you decide, he’ll go along with…. He’ll be very disappointed and sad, but he’ll go along with it.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

  Mom looks at me. “It’s a tough decision, I know. That’s why we’ve all decided to wait until your father comes back. Then you and he can talk … and you and I can talk … and then you and I and your father can all talk together.”

  That’s going to be a lot of talking…. I don’t know what’s going to be said, but I do know that I’m the one who’s got to make the decision.

  I, Amber Brown, just don’t know what to do.

  Chapter

  Nine

  Brandi’s on her way.

  We’re not going to “paint the town red,” but we are going to paint our fingernails all different colors.

  We’re going to Kelly Green’s to do this.

  I, Amber Brown, think that Kelly Green is terrific. She didn’t even get mad at me when she got back after her “first day of school barf beginning,” when all the kids teased her about turning green and some of the boys sang “Happy Barfday to You.”

  I, Amber Brown, think that while Kelly Green is so nice, I, Amber Brown, was not so nice to her. It was my fault that Hal called her Kelly Greenbarf. Now some of the boys are calling her KGB, for Kelly Greenbarf.

  I would feel totally bad and totally guilty about the way she’s being teased about her barfday if I didn’t really have so much on my mind.

  I look down at my “Countdown to Dad” book, which I think should have been named “Countdown to Amber Brown’s Nervous Breakdown.”

  Only four more days until my dad comes back, and I still don’t know what I’m doing.

  The doorbell rings.

  “Amber, Brandi’s here,” my mother calls up the steps.

  “Come on up,” I yell.

  Brandi rushes in. “Are you ready to go to Kelly’s?”

  Shaking my head, I sit down on the bed.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t go. I have to think about what I’m going to do.”

  Brandi sits down on the bed next to me. “Amber Marie Brown, you’ve done nothing but think about what to do. You’re not having fun anymore. You’re not fun anymore. Come on. We’re going to have a great time. Kelly’s bought all sorts of supplies …. polish, rhinestones, sparkles, glitter.”

  I look at Brandi. “Brandi Bonnie Colwin, I just don’t know.”

  Tossing one of my stuffed animals at me, Brandi says, “Come on, Amber. You’re going with me. You can’t stay home all day and think about your problems.”

  “I guess I should go to Kelly’s and think about my problems there.” I grin and toss one of my stuffed animals at Brandi.

  “Yes.” Brandi stands up. “Let’s go.”

  I sigh and get up. “Oh, all right. Wagons Ho.”

  “Wagons Ho” is something that Aunt Pam says when it’s time to go somewhere. Saying that makes me think about the phone talk we had when I called her to beg
her to take me for Thanksgiving. Even though she wouldn’t “rescue” me, she said that I should remember that there is no one right or wrong answer to making the choice. She also said that it was a really tough situation to be in.

  I’m really glad that she told me that.

  “Get your nail polish.” Brandi tugs at my arm. “Kelly is waiting.”

  Going over to my dresser, I go into the top drawer, and pull out my one nail polish.

  It’s light pink. It’s “Barbie.” It’s all dried out. It was a gift from Tiffani Shroeder for my fifth birthday.

  I, Amber Brown, don’t usually wear makeup unless it is for Halloween or unless it’s for a special occasion, like when I went to a slumber party and we all made ourselves up.

  “Yuck. Yuck. Yuckoid. Is that all you have?” Brandi asks.

  I grin. “Brenda … the Amber-sitter … to the rescue. Look at what she loaned me.”

  I pull a little paper bag out of the bureau and empty the contents.

  “Wow. That’s awesome.” Brandi looks through them. “Color Me Cantaloupe. Tangerine. Melon. Candy Apple Red…. Does Brenda put these on her nails, or does she eat them?”

  “Silly,” I say, “of course she doesn’t eat them.”

  Brandi grins at me. “But they’re all named food colors.”

  I grin back. “But they’re liquid. She drinks them.”

  “Yag.” Brandi clutches her throat.

  We both pretend to drink from the bottles.

  Then we pretend to choke.

  And then we fall down on the floor.

  The phone rings.

  I, Amber Brown, used to like it when the phone rang …. especially if it was a call for me.

  Now I hate it.

  I’m always afraid that it’s my dad or Max …. and that they are going to want to talk to me. They don’t even mention Thanksgiving. They are just so nice that it makes me feel bad, because I know that one of them is going to feel bad when I make my choice.

  All of this niceness is driving me crazy.

  “Amber, it’s for you,” my mother calls up.

  I know that Mom is going to feel bad if I don’t choose her and Max.

  “It’s Kelly,” she says.

  I let out my breath.