Amber Brown Sees Red

by Paula Danziger

  I think about how I love her ... but I also love my father.

  “I don’t want to see things change, have to deal with HIM at holiday time, have to work out custody arrangements, have HIM back in my life.”

  HIM is my father, I think.

  I am just so confused. I haven’t spent a lot of time with my dad since he left, and I’m not even sure of how I feel about him. I just hate it that my mom is acting like this.

  “I have to go upstairs,” I say.

  My mother takes a deep breath. “Honey. I’m sorry. It’ll be OK.”

  “I have to go upstairs,” I repeat.

  “It’ll be OK,” she repeats.

  I go upstairs.

  First, I sit on my bed and cry for a few minutes.

  Then I take out my “Dad Book,” the scrapbook with pictures of my dad, the one that I talk to when I need to feel close to him.

  “This is a mess, a real mess,” I tell him. “Why didn’t you talk to Mom first? Why don’t you two just grow up?”

  Skunk Day has turned into one of the longest days of my life.

  It started out stinking ... and it’s ended that way.

  Chapter Nine

  “Bulletin. Bulletin. Bulletin. Bulletin. Bulletin.” Brandi picks up a twig, pretending that it’s a microphone. “Live ........... from the playground .... it’s Brandi Colwin.”

  “Five bulletins.” I smack my forehead with my hand. “What a busy news day.”

  “This reporter is on the cutting edge of several late-breaking stories,” Brandi tells us. “The first bulletin is about ....... THE NEW STUDENT. He will be arriving in our class, 4-B ... TODAY!”

  “Is he cute?” Naomi wants to know.

  “Does he know how to bowl?” Vinnie Simmons pretends to throw a ball down an imaginary alley.

  “More news about that in the later edition.” Brandi grins. “I’ve just told you all that I know at this time. Now for the second bulletin.

  “The skunks were apprehended.” She holds her nose.

  Tiffani clutches her heart. “Oh no. Did they hurt them?”

  Brandi shakes her head. “No. They caught them in a Havahart trap, one of those that don’t hurt animals. Then they let them loose in a woods, somewhere far away.”

  Bobby snorts. “Yeah, right. If you believe that, I’ve got some land on Mars I’d like to sell to you.”

  “You are soooooooooo mean,” Tiffani whines.

  “Bulletin Number Three.” Brandi holds up three fingers.“The skunks didn’t just wander in. They were put there .... the alleged culprits have been identified.”

  “Who are they? How did they find them?” Alicia asks.

  “Daniel Delaney.... You know, the one everyone calls Danny de Looney .... and his best friend, Marvin Allen.”

  Everyone looks at Fredrich Allen, who is in our class. “I can pick my nose but I didn’t pick my brother.”

  “Ewwwwwww.” Hannah Burton makes a face.

  For once, I agree with Hannah Burton.

  Brandi continues. “The teachers at the high school figured it out by how bad Daniel and Marvin smelled.The principal suspended them. He was going to give them in-school suspension, but they smell so bad, they aren’t allowed back in school for a week.”

  “My parents are really angry. Marvin’s grounded. He’s not allowed to go anywhere except school and church. In fact, he has to sleep out in a tent in our backyard until he stops smelling like skunk. The only time he’s allowed in the house is to go to the bathroom and to take tomato-juice baths.”

  I giggle. “Why tomato juice?”

  “It helps get rid of skunk smell,” Brandi says. “Now for Bulletin Number Four.”

  “Wow. It was a big news weekend,” Naomi says.

  I think about what a big news weekend it was for me, but I know that Brandi won’t blab all of the stuff I told her when I went over to her house on Sunday.

  “Number Four is about Mrs. Owen, the kindergarten teacher. She told my mother that this week she’s going to have a new rule in class. During story hour, when the kids in her class are sitting on the floor listening, they are not allowed to touch her legs and tell her that she needs a shave.”

  Everyone laughs.

  “I bet Mrs. Holt wouldn’t let us do that either,” Jimmy says.

  Tiffani punches him on the arm. “You are sooooooooo gross. Mrs. Owen has the little kids. They do stuff like that.”

  Tiffani should know. Her little brother is in that class.

  “Most of us are more mature.” She makes a face at Jimmy. “Of course, you just might be the exception.”

  I look at some of the kindergarteners, who are going down the slide.

  Just last week, I saw Jimmy go down that same slide.

  Actually, it was right before I went down that same slide.

  “Bulletin Number Five.” Brandi looks at me.

  For a minute, I am very nervous. What if Brandi tells everyone about how my dad is going to move back and how much that upset my mom? What if she tells everyone how my mom called my dad up and they talked for a while and then my mom hung up on my dad? And how then my dad called up and when my mom answered, he hung up on her?

  I definitely hope that my family is not part of the Brandi Bulletin Show.

  “The last bulletin is about the sighting of Mr. Cohen ..... and Ms. Levine on Saturday night at the Multi-Plex, sharing a box of popcorn.”

  “OoOoOoOoOoOoOo,” everyone says.

  Bobby makes kissing sounds on his hand.

  The bell rings.

  It’s time for school to begin.

  I, Amber Brown, am glad that the weekend is over and, at least at school, it’s back to normal.

  I wonder what it’s going to be like when my dad returns.

  Chapter Ten

  Entering the classroom, I see that there is an extra desk.

  I wonder what the new boy is going to be like.

  Staring at the empty desk, I feel really weird.

  It’s not that I don’t want new people in my class.... It’s just that I don’t want new people in my class RIGHT NOW

  “Class,” Mrs. Holt says, “in about ten minutes, your new classmate will arrive. I want you to make him feel welcome.”

  Brandi raises her hand. “Mrs. Holt, what can you tell us about our new classmate?”

  Looking up from her attendance book, Mrs. Holt stares at Brandi. “Do you want this information to help him feel welcome or is it for your latest bulletin?”

  “Bulletin. Bulletin. Bulletin,” the class says all together.

  Brandi smiles. “Both.”

  Mrs. Holt smiles too. “OK. His name is Hal Henry ... and I repeat, please help him to feel welcome. I know that you all will.”

  Brandi raises her hand. “May I please be Hal’s special guide? I know how hard it is to be the new kid in school.”

  “Oooh!!!!!! You’re a girl. You can’t be his guide.” Bobby Clifford crosses his eyes.

  “Boys and girls can be friends,” I say, thinking of Justin.

  Then I think of Bobby and add, “Well, not always.”

  Then I think about Justin and wonder if he had a guide when he went to his new school.

  There’s a knock on our classroom door.

  It’s the vice principal with the new kid.

  We all look at him.

  He’s got brown hair, brown eyes.

  He looks at all of us.

  He’s also got ears that wiggle and eyes that cross.

  “Hal,” the vice principal says.

  Hal’s ears stop wiggling and his eyes stop crossing.

  He’s got a great smile.

  “Welcome, Hal.” Mrs. Holt smiles back at him and points to the empty seat.

  Hal sits down.

  Mrs. Holt says, “Brandi Colwin will be your guide if you have any questions.”

  “I’ll be glad to help too,” Bobby yells out. “I can wiggle my ears and cross my eyes too.”

  Bobby and Hal cross their eyes and
wiggle their ears at each other.

  Soon everyone in class is trying it, everyone except for Hannah Burton and the grown-ups.

  Hal is definitely going to be an interesting addition to our class.

  I bet Brandi is going to have fun being his guide.... She just better not like him more than she likes me.

  I wonder if I, Amber Brown, can have a guide to help me through all of the changes in my life.

  Chapter Eleven

  “These are the best, the best, the very best bowling shirts ever.” I hold one of them up.

  My mom and Max look at each other and grin.

  They helped the team design them.

  We’ve already had one meeting, one practice.

  I, Amber Brown, am team captain of “The Pinsters”—the “Head Pin.” Brandi is on my team. So is the new kid, Hal, who says that he can wiggle his ears and cross his eyes while he bowls. The other two on the team are Tiffani Shroeder and Gregory Gifford.

  Hannah Burton said that the only reason I’m team captain is because my stepfather is the coach.

  I told her that the team voted for ME ..... and Max is not my stepfather, not yet. (Even though I really like Max, I’m not ready for the “step” step yet.)

  “The shirts look soooo good.”

  They’re white T-shirts, outlined in black so that they look like real bowling shirts, with our names printed over make-believe pockets. The back looks really great with the team name and the picture.

  “Try it on,” my mom says.

  I go into the downstairs bathroom, take off my other T-shirt, and put the team shirt on.

  Looking at myself in the mirror, I check out the front and then the back of the shirt.

  It makes me feel like I will bowl even better when I wear it, maybe even break a hundred. (The highest score I’ve ever gotten was ninety-seven and that was with those “cheater” thingies in the gutter, so I couldn’t get a gutter ball.)

  I, Amber Brown, want “The Pinsters” to be the best team in the Pee-Wee league.

  I, Amber Brown, want to understand why the league is called “Pee-Wee.” Maybe because I’m standing in the bathroom, I think it’s a weird name ... but it does sound like something to do in a bathroom. Maybe the Pee-Wee Championship should be called the Toilet Bowl.

  Going back down to the living. room, I model the shirt for Mom and Max.

  The phone rings.

  My mom rushes to answer it.

  She thinks I don’t realize that ever since I got to the phone and talked to my father first, she now tries to answer the phone before me. If it’s my dad, she goes into another room and talks to him and then she lets me talk to him.

  She says she does that so that there will be no more misunderstandings.

  She takes the portable phone into another room.

  Max and I look at each other.

  I sit down at the table and put my head on the table.

  He pats my head.

  It makes me feel a little like a dog, but it also makes me feel good because I know that Max is trying to make me feel better.

  My mother walks back into the room and hands me the phone. “It’s your father.”

  My father’s first words to me are, “What is SHE saying about me?”

  I decide to ignore that question and say, “Hi, Dad. Do you miss me? When are we going to see each other? Do you know yet?”

  He smiles.

  I can’t see him on the telephone, but I can tell from his voice that he’s smiling. “I’ll be back for a visit next week. While I’m there, I’ll be meeting with my new bosses ... and looking for an apartment. Amber, I want you to go with me when I look at apartments since it’s also going to be your place. Then we’ll go shopping and buy all new furniture for your room.”

  I don’t know why I don’t feel more excited, why there is a knot in my stomach. Actually, there’s more than a knot. It’s more like a giant knotted string ball in my stomach.

  I, Amber Brown, am always begging to redo my room at home and my mom is always saying that I can’t right now.

  Now I have a chance to have a whole brand-new room and I’m feeling weird about it.

  My father continues. “We’ll get a television for your room and your own phone line and your own computer.”

  I think about how I’m always begging my mom to redo my room and how she’s always saying, “Not now. Money’s tight and we don’t know how much longer we’ll be living in this place, especially after the wedding.”

  My father is still talking. “We can get you bunk beds or one of those sneaker beds you’ve always wanted. Am I leaving anything out? Is there anything else that you want?”

  I say, “Yes. I want you and Mom to stop fighting with each other.”

  I, Amber Brown, have given up wanting them to get back together. I just want the fighting to stop.

  There’s silence for a minute, and then my father says, “I can’t wait to see you. When I get back, we’ll go apartment hunting over the weekend.”

  “Just so it’s not on Saturday afternoon when the bowling team is competing,” I tell him.

  “OK,” he says. “I’ll go to the game to watch my little girl bowl and then we’ll search for an apartment and go shopping.”

  He’s going to go to the game, the game that Max will be coaching .... the game that my mother will be cheering at.

  My stomach really hurts.

  Something tells me that it won’t be just the bowling team that will be competing.

  When I get off the phone with my dad, my mom asks, “What did HE say?”

  I tell her about the apartment hunting and how I’m going to get a room of my own and all new things.

  My mom is quiet for a minute and then she says,“Maybe it’s time to redo your room.”

  I, Amber Brown, have been waiting so long for her to say that, but I am beginning to think that it’s not rooms that need to be done or redone.... It’s the way that my parents are acting.

  When my parents separated, I thought it couldn’t get worse.

  When they got divorced, I thought it couldn’t get worse.

  Now I’m getting worried.

  I can’t even begin to imagine how much worse it’s going to get.

  Chapter Twelve

  I reread my dad’s latest letter for the eightyzillionth time.

  The last line is “Things will be perfect when I come back and my little girl and I can make up for lost time.”

  How can we make up for lost time? I’m not the same little girl that I was when he left.

  What can I do to make it “perfect”?

  It’s so hard.

  If it’s “perfect” for my dad, I know that it won’t be “perfect” for my mom.

  And what about me, Amber Brown?

  How can it be “perfect” for me?

  I was such a little kid when I thought what would be “perfect” would be my parents getting back together.

  When I went to England over the summer, I still thought that maybe they would get back together.

  I can’t believe that was only a few months ago.

  Everything feels so different.

  I pick up my gorilla.

  “Gorilla,” I say, “before the divorce, my parents fought. Then when Dad moved to Paris, they didn’t have anything to do with each other .... so no fighting.... At least not until I was supposed to visit my dad in Paris.... Then there was some trouble.... Now that Dad is coming back, the fighting has started again ... and they act like I’m a little kid ... that I’ll just go along with what each of them wants.... How can I do that? They both want different things.”

  The gorilla, as always, says nothing.

  I continue. “It’s terrible. When they got divorced, they worked out who got what.... I’m the only thing that they couldn’t give to just one of them ... and now that Dad’s moving back ... they want to split me.... They call it shared custody, but I feel split.”

  The hairy ape still says nothing.

  I get ma
d at him. “You don’t understand. There’s only one of you. What am I going to do when I go to Dad’s and I need to talk to you and you’re here? I can’t carry you back and forth, take you to school with me. It would look really dumb for me, a fourth grader, to take a dumb stuffed animal to school.”

  I continue. “What am I supposed to do? Sometimes I feel like I’m the grown-up, the one who has to take care of both of them. Sometimes they want me to be so grown up .... and then I’m supposed to be their little girl..... Each of their little girl.... You just don’t understand, you ape.... I’m their little girl.... You’re a little gorilla.... You’re never going to have to change .... but I do have to change ... because of my growth spurt ... because my parents are spurting ... or exploding, or something.”

  I feel so mad.

  I throw the gorilla across the room.

  “I’m sorry.” I pick him up. “It’s not your fault, I know.”

  Putting him on my dresser, I look at myself in the mirror.

  I can see more of myself in the mirror.

  Either the dresser is shrinking or I’ve gotten taller.

  I can look at myself clearly ... and I don’t like what I see.

  My stupid ponytails look so baby.

  How are my parents going to take me seriously if I look like a little kid?

  I rush downstairs.

  “I hate my hair. I hate my hair. I hate my hair. I hate my hair. I hate my hair. I hate my hair. I hate my hair. I hate my hair. I hate my hair.” Walking into the kitchen, I stand in front of my mother, who is making breakfast.

  “Let me guess,” she says, putting bacon into the pan. “You hate your hair.”

  I nod. “I hate my hair.”

  “Now, correct me if I’m wrong. You don’t like your hair.”

  “Mom. Stop joking. I’m serious. I hate my hair.” I hold it up on either side of my head. “This way I look like a horse with tails on each side of my face.”

  “It looks cute.” My mom smiles. “I’ve always thought it’s looked cute like that. You’ve been wearing your hair that way since you were little.”