“Hmm,” she says. “This is complicated.”
“I know.”
“I thought Milla was the girl you were having friend problems with.”
“That was like a month ago.”
“Well, what does she have to say about this?”
“Milla?”
“Yes, Milla. Does she have an opinion?”
“No,” Katie-Rose says quickly.
“Have you asked?”
“Not exactly.”
“What about Yasaman?” Chrissy asks. “Have you told her how Natalia specifically told you she was planning to steal Yasaman away?”
Katie-Rose squirms, reluctant to explain that she might not have quoted Natalia in a way that would hold up in court. It was the gist of what Natalia said, though.
“If you haven’t, you should,” Chrissy says. “And I still don’t understand the ‘partner’ thing. Did Yasaman choose Natalia, or did Natalia choose Yasaman? And you were doing what all that time, while people’s partners were being picked?”
“Enough questions!” Katie-Rose says. “I thought you were going to give me answers, not ask five thousand zillion questions!”
“Hmm,” Chrissy says. She touches the fingers of her right hand to the fingers of her left hand. “So as I see it, the bottom line is that you’re worried Yasaman doesn’t like you anymore. Am I right?”
“No!”
“But you said—”
“No, I said it seems like Yasaman doesn’t like me anymore. Seems.”
Chrissy nods, but the way she does so gives Katie-Rose a bad feeling.
“What?” Katie-Rose demands. “You’re thinking something.”
“Well, yes. I’m thinking that whether Yasaman likes you or not isn’t the issue. The issue is, do you like you?”
Katie-Rose’s jaw drops open. Then she snaps it shut. Her face heats up.
“Do you, Katie-Rose? Do you like yourself?”
Katie-Rose hates Chrissy a little. “Forget it,” she says, standing.
“No, wait,” Chrissy says. She pulls Katie-Rose back down. “That came out wrong.”
You think? Katie-Rose would say if she trusted her voice.
“Anyway, who am I to talk? I do stupid things. I do stupid things all the time.”
Katie-Rose eyes her. “Like what?”
Chrissy lets her head fall back on the sofa. “Oh my God, so many things. Like, last week I got jealous of this guy for absolutely no good reason. His name’s Jellico. Well, that’s what we call him.”
Katie-Rose nods. Chrissy has talked about Jellico before, about how lots of girls in Chrissy’s grade like him, including Chrissy’s friend, Hulya. Hulya is Yasaman’s cousin, which makes their tenth-grade drama all the more interesting.
“Jellico’s in my math class, and last Friday . . .” She swivels her head so that she’s looking at Katie-Rose. “You can’t tell. This is between us.”
“Okay.”
“He told me he likes Hulya.”
“He did?” Katie-Rose doesn’t want to get it wrong, so she chooses her words carefully. “But that’s good, right? That out of all the girls who like him, he picked her?”
Chrissy arches one eyebrow, like is it? Then she exhales. “Yes. Yes, it is. It’s awesome, only I messed up. I told you I do stupid things.”
“What did you do?”
“Something.”
“What?!”
Chrissy gazes at Katie-Rose, and Katie-Rose holds her gaze, even though it makes her heart pound.
“I didn’t want Hulya . . . to go away,” Chrissy says.
Katie-Rose doesn’t understand.
“I was jealous. I was wrong. But I guess I was afraid that if Hulya and Jellico started going out . . .” Her shoulders go up. “Where would that leave me?”
Katie-Rose knits her brows. “So when Jellico told you he liked Hulya . . .”
“I told Hulya he liked this other girl named Chelsea.”
“But—”
“I know.”
“Jellico himself said—”
Chrissy holds her palms out like a cop. “I know!”
Katie-Rose decides it’s kindest to move on from this topic, even though she finds it fascinating.
“Jellico is a weird name,” she says. “And you’re not stupid. Boys are.”
“You got that right, sister.”
“Fifth-grade boys especially,” Katie-Rose says, remembering how Chance cowered when she walked past him, after Ms. Perez banished her from class. Later, on the playground, Chance spotted Katie-Rose and fled from her with floppy, upraised arms, screaming, “Ahhhhhhh! Attack of the poisoned Cheezy D’lites!”
Chrissy clasps Katie-Rose’s hands. “Listen. I may not have helped with your friend situation, but annoying boys are my specialty. In fact, I’ve developed several patented techniques for dealing with annoying people in general, girls and boys. Shall I give you some pointers, little rabbit?”
Katie-Rose considers. Chrissy has no trouble doing things that make her look weird, which is why her brothers consider her to be a superpretty Froot Loop. Chrissy’s “pointers,” if acted on, might very well make Katie-Rose look Froot Loopy-ish, too.
But Katie-Rose admires Froot Loop–iness in a girl.
“Yes, please,” Katie-Rose tells Chrissy. “I need all the pointers I can get.”
before their ana is, because it takes their mother forever to put on her lipstick and line her eyes with kohl eyeliner. She likes to look fancy when she takes Nigar to preschool. Fifth graders can be dropped off outside the building, but preschoolers have to be walked in by a grown-up. Recently, Nigar’s drop-offs have been kind of rough.
Today Nigar has on a pink sweatsuit and pink shoes with Velcro straps she can do and undo herself, while Yasaman is wearing black skinny jeans (Yasaman’s first pair ever!), a long-sleeved shirt with horizontal black-and-white stripes, and a patterned black hijab layered over a soft white underscarf. For shoes, black-and-white checkered Vans, still clean and new looking.
Everything she has on is a hand-me-down from her cousin Hulya, and Yasaman feels lucky to have such a stylish cousin. Hulya’s discarded clothes are cuter than anything in Yasaman’s own closet, while still being “entirely appropriate for a young Muslim girl,” according to her aunt Teyze.
Yet despite the thrill of new old-clothes, Yasaman is troubled. She can’t stop thinking about Katie-Rose and Natalia.
Yasaman is used to Katie-Rose going too far with things, but the way Katie-Rose has been treating Natalia goes beyond too far. Is Katie-Rose just jealous? Or is she mad at Yasaman, and for some reason taking it out on Natalia?
Yasaman called Katie-Rose last night, but Katie-Rose’s babysitter answered and said Katie-Rose wasn’t there. But why would Katie-Rose’s parents hire a babysitter for a not-there Katie-Rose???
Maybe Yasaman should call Milla and talk to her about it—except, no, because today is the day Milla is going over early to Max’s house. Milla told Yasaman about the change of plans yesterday, and also how Max takes tap-dancing lessons, which made both girls giggle.
Milla is probably at Max’s already, or at least on the way. Yasaman could call Violet, though. She picks up the kitchen phone and punches in Violet’s number. She might be there, or she might not, Yasaman tells herself, preparing herself for disappointment.
“Hello?” Violet says.
“Violet!” Yasaman says. “Hi!”
“What’s up, girlfriend?” Violet says. Yasaman starts to reply, but Violet rides over her with, “Ooo, hold on. Gotta get my waffle out of the toaster oven. It’s chocolate chip, and I hate it when the chips get too melty.”
In the background, Yasaman hears moving-around sounds and Violet saying, “Ow, hot.” Yasaman isn’t allowed to have frozen chocolate chip waffles, partly because they’re not good for you and partly because a traditional Turkish breakfast doesn’t involve sugar and pastries. Yasaman’s own breakfast this morning consisted of olives, tomatoes, and tam yağli, the rich, sal
ty cheese her baba loves.
Finally, Violet is back. “Sorry ’bout that. You were saying?”
Yasaman’s throat tightens. She finds that she doesn’t know how to explain what she’s feeling, so she dives in with the facts instead. “I called Katie-Rose last night. But her babysitter said she wasn’t there.”
“Really?” Violet says. “Katie-Rose and I IMed at around eight, so she was there then.”
“Oh,” Yasaman says. She tries to block the image of Katie-Rose whispering no, no, no to her babysitter and backing away from the phone. “Um, what did you IM about?”
“Random stuff, mainly. Although . . .”
“What?”
“She was kind of mad at you.”
Yasaman’s spine tingles. “She was? About what?”
“She told some long story about how you were partners with Natalia instead of her. I got kinda lost, to tell the truth.”
“But I didn’t want to be Natalia’s partner,” Yasaman protests. “Natalia just got there first. And did Katie-Rose tell you how annoyed she got? And how she made this big stink and said I’m not allowed to even talk to Natalia?”
“She said what?” Violet laughs, which isn’t the response Yasaman is looking for. She wants Violet to say how totally out of line Katie-Rose is, telling her who she can talk to and who she can’t. But all she hears is the sound of chewing.
“Violet, are you still there?” she says.
“Yeah, I’m just trying to figure out why Katie-Rose would be so jealous. Of Natalia, of all people.”
“I know!” Yasaman says, glad Violet’s finally taking it seriously.
“Do you think maybe she can’t help it?” Violet asks.
“Excuse me?”
“Like, do you think maybe she doesn’t want to act so jealous, but she can’t figure out how to stop? Or it’s harder than she thinks, or whatever?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t, either. Or I don’t know how to explain, anyway.”
“Try.”
Violet exhales. “Okay. Like, forget Katie-Rose for a second. Maybe lots of people want to change things about themselves, but for whatever reason, they can’t. Do you think?”
Yasaman leans against the counter, considering. Because yes, there are certainly things people can’t change about themselves. But aren’t there more things they can change? Otherwise, people wouldn’t be people. They’d be trees, or animals.
“Like how Mr. Emerson can’t change the fact that he only has one arm?” she says at last. “Is that what you mean?”
“I guess,” Violet says. She sighs, and in that small sad sound, Yasaman grasps what Violet really means. She’s referring to her mom. Duh.
Yasaman chooses her next words with care. “Or if someone is sick, that’s something she can’t change, either. She can’t choose to get better just because she wants to. Because if she could, she would, right?”
“Or he,” Violet says.
“Huh?”
“You said ‘she.’ But it could be a he who’s in the hospital.”
“True,” Yasaman says, though she never mentioned a hospital at all.
Violet is silent. So is Yasaman.
Then Violet says softly, “I’m going to visit her today. My mom. So you’re right, it is a ‘she.’”
“Oh, Violet, I think that’s awesome,” Yasaman says. “When?”
“After school. I won’t be able to stay long, but whatever. It’s good, right?”
“It’s very good,” Yasaman says. “She must miss you so much . . . and you must miss her so much. I’m so happy for you!”
Violet exhales. “Thanks. I’m a little nervous. Isn’t that stupid?”
“Violet, no. Not at all! If I hadn’t seen my mom in that long, I would be totally nervous.”
“And if she was, um . . .”
In a mental hospital? Yasaman thinks, filling in the end of Violet’s sentence in her head. But she doesn’t say it, and she doesn’t make Violet say it.
“I would be incredibly nervous,” she repeats.
“I just don’t want to be fake,” Violet says.
Yasaman is confused. “You’re not. You could never be.”
“Well. Anyway. Can we change the subject?”
“Of course,” Yasaman says. Then she’s distracted by the clop of her ana’s fancy shoes on the wooden floor. Her ana always wears fancy shoes on the bottom and beautiful makeup on the top. The rest of her, she keeps covered up.
“Time to go,” her ana says, striding to the TV and turning off the Nick Jr. show. “We want to get there early so Nigar will have a good drop-off. Right, küçüğüm?”
Nigar’s sweet face clouds over.
“Yaz?” Violet says. “You there?”
“I’ve got to go,” she says abruptly.
“Oh. Um . . . okay.”
Immediately, Yasaman regrets her curtness. “Sorry. It’s just Nigar. I feel so bad for her.” To her ana, she calls, “One sec, Ana!”
“I’ll turn the van around,” Yasaman’s ana says. “Come on, Nigar. No need to look so sad.”
“What’s going on with Nigar?” Violet asks.
“It’s Wednesday,” Yasaman explains, “which means her friend Lucy won’t be there. She’s been having hard drop-offs on the days Lucy isn’t there, and Nigar’s teacher had to have a big talk with my mother. She wants Nigar to stop crying when my mother leaves.”
“What?!” Violet says.
“She says it’s disruptive.”
Violet snorts. “That’s ridiculous. What’s your mom supposed to do, threaten to whip her if she gets teary?”
“I don’t know,” Yasaman says. She’s back to feeling mixed up inside, maybe because life itself is so mixed up. Like how a person can do all sorts of things in the hope of making her day go well, such as putting on makeup or giving herself a pep talk. But the truth is, no one can control what the day brings, no matter how hard she tries.
his hamster. “Stewy, this is Milla.”
“Hi, Stewy,” Milla says.
Max offers Stewy to her, and she hyperventilates and takes a step back, because she’s still not sure about this hamster business. Max looks confused. Milla giggles anxiously. Max steps closer, and he is definitely and without a doubt holding Stewy out for her to take. So . . . okay. She takes him.
Eeeeek. He’s warm and squirmy and snuffles in the direction of her face. He doesn’t bite her, though. And his beady eyes are bright and curious, not bright and demonic. She breathes rapidly. You’re doing it, she tells herself. You’re doing it!
“Here’s his cage,” Max says, pointing to an intricate plastic affair with tunnels and spinny wheels. “See that sock? He sleeps on that sock. And here’s his water bottle. I fill it every night, and he sucks on it whenever he gets thirsty.”
“Cool,” Milla says.
“We could let him go through his obstacle course, if you want. Do you want?”
Milla has noticed all the stuff on Max’s floor. Empty Kleenex boxes with holes cut in them, wooden blocks built into archways. A piece of string hanging from the bed frame at the end of Max’s bed. Dangling from the bottom of the string, a roll of orange duct tape.
“That’s his tire swing,” Max says. “He’s supposed to jump in it and swing, but that hasn’t happened yet.”
“What are the dominoes for?” Milla asks, referring to the spiral of black-and-white rectangles a few inches from the tire swing.
“He’s supposed to nudge the first one over with his nose, and that’ll trigger the rest,” Max says. “It would be the first hamster-triggered domino course in the history of the world—only, that hasn’t happened yet, either.” Max frowns. “He either doesn’t go over to the dominoes at all, or he knocks them all over at once with his big hairy body.”
“He’s not big and hairy.” She lifts Stewy up so that she can touch her nose to his. “You’re not big and hairy, are you?”
She thrusts Stewy away. “Ew! His nose is wet!�
��
Max laughs. “Hamsters have wet noses. It’s just the way they are.” But his expression is kind and open and sort of—well, sort of delighted with her.
Milla’s never had a boy look at her like this.
“Let’s put him through the course,” Max suggests, taking Stewy.
“Okay,” Milla says. She stands there, wondering what her role is to be. She decides it’s sitting on Max’s bed and watching and clapping. She steps carefully across Max’s floor. She’s wearing knee-high white vinyl boots with chunky heels (dangerous around Kleenex-boxes-turned-tunnels), purple leggings, and a gray sweater dress with capped sleeves and silver sparkles sewn into the fabric. She’s also wearing a cute red headband with tiny felt flowers across the top. Basically, she put a lot of thought into her outfit.
“Ready?” Max says.
Milla perches on the end of Max’s bed. She nods.
Max kneels and releases Stewy with a flourish. “Go, Stewy!”
Stewy snuffles the carpet. He lifts his head. He snuffles the air.
“Go!” Max says again. He makes shooing motions. “Move your feet!”
“Go, Stewy!!!” Milla says.
Stewy goes five inches and reaches the first obstacle: a hamster-size staircase made out of Legos. He snuffles them.
Max clutches his head. “Up the stairs. Up!”
Stewy puts his front paws on the bottom step. He pauses, then climbs curiously higher.
Max’s eyes meet Milla’s. “This is the first time he’s gone this far. You must have brought him good luck!”
“I’m Stewy’s good luck charm,” Milla says. “Yay!”
Stewy reaches the top of the Lego staircase and, amazingly, goes down the other side. He is a hamster hero! Then he veers away from the next obstacle, which is one of the Kleenex box tunnels. Max puts him back in place.
“Through the tunnel,” Milla encourages, bouncing on Max’s bed. She realizes to her surprise that she wants to be in on the action, and not just a bystander, so she stands and hip-hops across the littered floor. She drops to her knees beside Max. “You can do it, Stewy!”
Violet in Bloom Page 9
