She sounded hopeful and excited, but I felt heavy inside. “It’s not the same,” I mumbled. “And it’s another whole week away. Are you sure—” The question was too pathetic to finish.
“I’m sorry,” said Becca. “But Hazel . . . it’s only temporary.”
I thought of the way she’d said, We’re constantly tweaking our routine, effortlessly including herself in that we. I thought of the way she was already looking ahead to high school. Something told me it wasn’t temporary at all.
“If it was you joining a new club, I’d try to understand,” Becca said.
She wasn’t trying to make me feel guilty. That wasn’t Becca’s way. But, of course, I did.
“I do understand,” I said, “really.”
I didn’t add, But it would never be me, and we both know it.
Later, I found my moms sitting on the couch in the den. Mimi’s feet were in Mom’s lap, and Mom was rubbing lavender oil into them. From the turntable drifted slow, scratchy jazz and a woman’s voice like warm maple syrup. Dinah Washington, “What a Diff’rence a Day Makes.” Mimi and Mom had danced to it at their wedding. They’d loved the promise that twenty-four hours could bring the sun and the flowers where there used to be rain.
I hated to interrupt Dinah, but this was important. “I need my own phone.”
“You’re eleven months ahead of schedule,” Mimi said, pretending to check her watch.
“You made the high school rule years before we knew I’d be going to Finley,” I said. “Not having one is crippling my social life.”
“I thought your social life was coming along nicely,” Mom said, squirting more oil into her hand and moving on to Mimi’s other foot. “Speaking of, when are you going to have Carina over again? We liked her.”
“I’m talking about Becca,” I said. “You were wrong. Things aren’t the same between us. She’s too busy to see me on the weekends, and we’ve barely talked since school started.”
“How would having your own phone fix that?” Mimi said. “Are there things you could talk about on it that you can’t talk about on the landline?”
“It’s not just talking,” I said. “It’s all the other stuff. Her new friends all have their own phones. They’re in constant touch. I have to use the computer, and even then, I can use hardly any of the apps she’s using. I can’t compete.”
Significant Mom Look.
“I hear that you’re frustrated,” Mom said. “You must really miss Becca.”
“Of course I do!” I said. “She’s my best friend.”
“And you’re saying having your own phone would bridge the distance between you.”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“But babe,” Mimi said, “a phone is nothing but a handful of plastic and metal with a computer chip. It’s a tool. No matter how many bells or whistles it’s got, someone’s got to pick it up and reach out to the other person.”
“Becca knows where you are,” Mom said gently. “She found you tonight, didn’t she?”
“We’re just saying having a phone isn’t the easy fix you hope it’ll be,” said Mimi.
“It could maybe fix it a little bit,” I said, but I wondered. What if it didn’t? What if everything kept going the same as it had been? I’d feel even worse if my moms were right.
“Sometimes friends drift,” Mom said.
“Becca and I aren’t drifting,” I insisted. “This is a temporary glitch. And there wouldn’t even be a problem if you’d made arrangements to keep me at Osterhout.”
“Come on,” said Mimi, “we’ve been through this. Osterhout’s in the opposite direction from work for me, and it would’ve taken two whole hours out of Mom’s day to take you.”
“Rowan could’ve done it,” I said, “since he decided to drop out of college.”
“Your brother did not drop out,” Mimi said sharply. “He deferred. And while Mom and I may not be thrilled with that decision, it was his to make. It’s certainly not yours to judge.”
“I’m sorry,” I said in a small voice, realizing I’d gone too far. I was supposed to gain their sympathy, not destroy it. “I’m having a hard time right now.”
“We get that,” Mom said. “We’re not completely clueless. And tell you what, Hazy. Mimi and I will talk about the phone again. I’m not making any promises, but Christmas is coming and—”
“Christmas!” The word came out with more anger than I’d intended. “That’s months away. Why don’t you admit my feelings don’t matter to this family?”
They blinked up at me, startled and maybe a little freaked out, as if I weren’t their daughter standing before them, but instead a giant cockroach waving its forelegs. The record skipped as I stomped out of the room, and Dinah started singing “What a Diff’rence a Day Makes” all over again.
Upstairs, I pulled out Brownlee-Wellington’s Guide to Misunderstood Creatures. By now I’d written articles about earthworms, turkeys, goats, and skunks. It was time I wrote another.
Based on the fossil record, cockroaches (BLATTODEA) have been around at least as long as earthworms. There’s even a prehistoric period named the Age of Cockroaches. People say cockroaches can survive any disaster, even nuclear war. I like to think that someday, long after humankind is gone, cockroaches and earthworms will still be partying together.
People think cockroaches are filthy pests who spread disease. Really, humans have themselves to blame. We took away cockroaches’ natural habitat and then expected them to stay out of our way. Ha! The truth is cockroaches basically live EVERYWHERE. Most species live in the wild, eating decaying plant and animal matter. (And feces. Don’t think too hard about that.) We just happen to notice the ones that crawl into our kitchens and laundry rooms looking for cookie crumbs and water.
Maybe you didn’t know that cockroaches taste like shrimp and are a delicacy in some cultures. Maybe you didn’t know they’re used for medicinal purposes in others. Maybe you didn’t know that some people keep cockroaches as pets, or that scientists have developed robots modeled on roaches, to explore places humans can’t go. (Rowan told me that.) But now that you do, maybe you’ll appreciate them more.
Mom called up the stairs, “Hazel! Phone for you!”
I forgot all about feeling sorry for myself or angry at my moms. I rolled off my bed, and Arby dashed downstairs after me. I didn’t need to ask who was on the phone. Becca was the only person who ever called me. Obviously she’d had second thoughts. Not about cheerleading. That was too much to ask. But she’d decided she could squeeze me into her schedule after all. I picked up the phone from the kitchen counter and breathlessly said hello.
“Hey, Hazel,” said the voice on the other end.
I didn’t answer right away. It sounded familiar, but it also didn’t sound like Becca.
“It’s Carina. Don’t you have caller ID?”
“Oh,” I said, trying not to let disappointment seep into my voice. “Yeah, we do. I forgot to look. Hi, Carina.”
“I’m not bothering you, am I?”
“No, of course not. I was . . . working on a project.”
“It’s not that thing for language arts, is it? I have so many ideas, I don’t know how I’m going to narrow them down.”
“No, it’s personal,” I said, and then softened. “It’s a book I’m writing. About animals.”
“Wow,” Carina said. “I’ve never tried to write a book before. I’ve never written anything that wasn’t for school—well, except for Lord of the Rings fanfic. I don’t know if that counts.”
“I’ve only written a few pages. I don’t know if it’ll be any good,” I mumbled. “So, uh, why did you call?”
“Do I need a reason?” Carina asked.
“I guess not.”
“I was kidding.”
“I know. But I don’t get many phone calls.” I trailed off.
“Me neither,” Carina admitted. “Anyway, you’re right. I did call for a reason. I wondered if you could come over on Satu
rday.”
I didn’t point out that she could’ve waited to ask me at school. “Sounds good to me,” I said. “I’ll double-check with my moms, but I should be able to come after the farmers’ market.”
“Great!” She sounded relieved. “I felt silly calling, when I knew I’d see you tomorrow. But I didn’t want to wait that long to find out whether you’d say yes. Sorry. That probably sounds super needy.”
Her words simultaneously made me feel fuzzy all over and stabbed at my gut. It felt wonderful to know someone wanted to see me so badly they had to call right away. It hurt to know that person wasn’t Becca.
I took a deep breath. “I was writing about cockroaches. How people don’t appreciate them.”
“Well, people are stupid,” Carina said. “Besides, I heard cockroaches will survive the apocalypse. They’ll have the last laugh after we’re gone.”
I wasn’t sure whether I’d been testing Carina, or whether I’d simply been matching her moment of vulnerability with one of my own. Either way, she’d said just the right thing.
Chapter 13
Carina’s family lived close to Osterhout Middle. Really close. In fact, I realized as Rowan drove me there, my bus had passed her house. It was impossible to forget, with its aqua siding and plummy shutters and trim. On a block of dull-white houses, it stood out like a tropical flower in an otherwise dusty bouquet of baby’s breath.
Rowan had almost pulled into the driveway when he noticed a kid’s bike sprawled across the concrete. We lurched to a stop at the curb. “Guess this is where I leave you,” he said.
“Rowan?” I almost wanted to ask him to drive me back home before Carina knew I was there. Aside from Becca’s, I wasn’t used to hanging out at other kids’ houses, except for school project meetings or birthday parties where the entire class had been invited (and my moms had forced me to go).
Rowan raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to continue. Then the front door opened. I’d missed my chance to chicken out. “Never mind. Thanks for the ride.”
He looked at me strangely. “You’re welcome. Have fun. See you at five.” He sounded like a parent.
As I walked up to the house, I wondered how often Carina had friends over. She’d seemed even lonelier at Osterhout than I had, but maybe she had friends from church, or cousins around her age. But when I saw her smiling in the doorway, I realized it didn’t matter how lonely we’d been in the past. We were friends now.
“Come in,” she said. “I can’t wait to show you everything.”
Inside, the house smelled sweet and spicy, like cinnamon. “I used to see your house from the school bus,” I said, tugging off my sneakers in the foyer. “I didn’t know it was yours.”
She laughed a little. “What do you think?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it before,” I said, trying to be diplomatic.
“Dad and I made a deal. I’d help him paint the house if I got to choose the colors. I don’t think he was expecting aqua and purple. But he’s a man of his word.” Carina shrugged. “At least it made my abuela happy. It reminds her of houses back in Mexico.”
“Does she live with you?”
“Yeah, she’s in the kitchen. She might, just possibly, be baking us a snack.” She grinned.
We passed the living room, where Carina’s mom was fighting to get Hector, Carina’s little brother, to put down his comic book and go shoe shopping. They paused long enough in their argument to say hi. Then we went to the kitchen, where Marta had her project for student government strewn across the table.
And there was Carina’s abuela, who immediately folded me into a hug and told me to call her Abi. I tensed at the unexpected affection, but Carina mouthed, Just go with it. When it was over, Abi held me at arm’s length and beamed. “Welcome, Hazel. We’ve been waiting for you.”
I got the feeling she didn’t mean only today.
“Where’s your dad?” I asked Carina.
“At work.” Her words were clipped. “Come on, as soon as Hector gets his butt off the couch, I want to show you Legend of Zelda.”
It turned out Legend of Zelda consisted mostly of running into hedges. Or trees. Or rocks. At least, it did for me. Carina tried to coach me through the obstacles, but I was hopeless. Except that I liked being with Carina, I really would’ve been happier reading the encyclopedia.
I was grateful when Abi called us to the kitchen. “Hojarascas,” she said, setting a plate of fresh cookies on the table. They sparkled with cinnamon-sugar. “For a beautiful fall day.”
Carina explained, “Hojarascas are fallen leaves—the kind that crackle under your feet. Take a bite. You’ll see.”
I picked up a cookie and took a big bite. Crumbs sprayed everywhere. Carina, Marta, and Abi laughed.
“What do you think?” Abi asked. “Delicious, no?”
I popped the rest in my mouth. “Delicious is an understatement.”
She beamed.
After our snack, Abi sat by us in the armchair, half reading a magazine and half cheering us on. I could tell she knew the game almost as well as Carina did, and Carina knew it by heart. She knew where each key and treasure was hidden. She knew how to slay each enemy. With each triumph, she bounced off the couch and yelled, “Woo hoo! Take that, suckers,” which made Abi say, “Language, mi amor!” and made me giggle. It was impossible not to be happy for her.
Still, I felt itchier and itchier as time went on.
“We don’t have to keep doing this,” Carina said, pausing the game.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. You’ve been picking at that hole in your jeans for the past ten minutes. It’s okay. You proved you’re not an anti-video-game snob. Want to see my room?”
Carina’s room was smaller than mine, and a lot more jumbled. The walls were plastered with posters—Legend of Zelda, Pokémon, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter. Next to her bed was a bookcase crammed with paperbacks. On top of all the books lined up vertically were dozens more stacked horizontally. I hadn’t heard of most of them, but they all seemed to have words like magic or sword or enchantment in their titles. Even her Legos, which covered her desk and the top of her bookcase, were fantasy-themed, with elves and dragons and little spiky-haired creatures I guessed were gnomes or trolls.
“Goblins,” Carina said as I picked up one to take a closer look. “I know I’m too old to play with this stuff. And I don’t play with it, exactly. I design castles with my basic bricks. Maybe I’ll be an architect someday or something. I don’t know.” She sounded anxious.
“You don’t have to justify yourself,” I said. “I’m not judging you.”
“I know.” She sighed. “Your room just seems so grown-up compared to mine.”
It was true I didn’t like clutter. I relaxed better when there weren’t a lot of things demanding my attention. And I didn’t get the appeal of wizards and elves. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t into magic, too.
The difference was that to me, magic was sitting outside in a field of wildflowers, reading Grzimek’s Animal Life Encyclopedia as goats bleated around me. It was sitting in my dormer window, Arby in my lap, watching lightning crackle across the sky, leaving dazzling afterimages on my retinas. It was lying on the rug in front of the fireplace, its bright red coals throbbing like a heart, as jazz played low on the turntable and Mimi said, “Listen to this, Hazel,” before launching into a stanza by Gwendolyn Brooks.
“I think it’s interesting,” I said.
“That I’m a total geek?” Carina rolled her eyes. “Oh well. You have to admit, it beats the real world sometimes. Dogs and goats and guard donkeys excluded, of course. Hey, I know what we should do! I’ve got five dollars left from my allowance.”
I raised my eyebrows. Five dollars could barely buy an ice cream big enough to share. And I didn’t like sharing my ice cream. “What can we do with five dollars?”
“Plenty. Guess what’s three blocks away?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “The bookstore. They sell us
ed paperbacks—the ones that aren’t quite good enough for people to spend real money on—in a box on the sidewalk for fifty cents each.”
That explained her huge personal library. “I don’t have any money on me,” I said.
“Don’t worry. It’s my treat. Or if you feel like you owe me, bring me another bar of soap sometime. We’ve already half used up the one your mom gave me.”
We put on our sneakers, Carina put her phone in her Pikachu purse, and we went out. A chilly breeze lifted my hair from my shoulders. I’d been almost too warm inside the Robleses’ cozy house, but now I was grateful for my sweater. The trees on the block were mottled green and yellow, yellow and orange, orange and brown. Periodically we passed a flaming red maple.
“Do you ever see kids from school?” I asked. “From Osterhout, I mean.”
Carina looked at me out of the corners of her eyes, like she knew what I was really asking: Do people know you’re transgender? “Yeah, sometimes. From a distance.”
“But you’re going to Van Buren next year, right?” Translation: You’ll have to see them someday. Everyone who knew you by another name. Everyone who made your life miserable.
“I am,” Carina said. I could tell she knew what I’d meant that time, too.
“Are you nervous?”
“Aren’t you?”
I accidentally kicked an acorn, and it skittered across the sidewalk. When I’d thought about high school, I’d basically pictured Osterhout but bigger. Kirsten would be there, with more minions than ever, to make my life miserable. But Becca would be there, too, making up for it.
At Finley, I’d traded notoriety for invisibility. I’d made it a whole month without acquiring an insulting nickname, if you didn’t count Yosh calling me Hazel Britannica-Wellington—and I didn’t, because in spite of the things that made him different, Yosh seemed almost as invisible as I was. And I hadn’t intended to make new friends, yet here I was spending the afternoon with Carina.
Not to give the school officials credit, but except for losing Becca—which would never stop being a huge deal—the redistricting thing hadn’t turned out so badly. Finley was okay. I’d never thought going back to my old classmates would be harder than leaving them in the first place. But now that Carina said it, it seemed obvious.
Hazel's Theory of Evolution Page 10
