Something Maybe Magnificent, page 15
I was way overthinking it, and I could feel my whole face getting hot. Thankfully, we were running in ninety-eight-degree weather, so Eli probably didn’t notice the extra redness. But I blame my fluster for making me say, “I keep hoping he’ll come back, but…” I couldn’t say the rest. I don’t think he will. It hurts to even write that.
“For a long time I thought my dad would come back,” Eli said. “I guess that’s what happens when they leave without saying goodbye.”
“My dad said goodbye,” I said. It was getting harder to breathe, and not just because of the run. “Last summer when we went to see him.”
We ran ten steps without talking (I was counting) before I said, “His goodbye, see you later, has lasted about a year and counting.”
“Harsh,” Eli said. I guess that was his way of saying he understood, because he patted my shoulder, which was super awkward, since we were still running and shoulders bounce a lot when you’re running.
We ended the run at my house. I offered Eli some ice water, and he gulped it down while I tried not to notice how long his eyelashes were. I needed to get a grip on myself. Eli and I are definitely friends, but I do not want to be more than that.
Do I?
My face was starting to heat up again, so I took a drink of my ice-cold water. I almost spit it all over Eli’s face when he said, “I’ve got a good dad now. I just call him James instead of Dad. Or I did for a while.” I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I didn’t ask. He handed me his empty glass and added, “Thanks for the water, Victoria. See you tomorrow.”
He took off toward the road and headed back to his house. I watched him until my house blocked him from view.
Now I’m not so sure I can be friends with Eli. A good dad now? That’s the ultimate betrayal, isn’t it? Replacing a real dad with a fake one?
I’m beginning to think Eli can’t be trusted.
Sylvia Plath says, “How we need another soul to cling to.” She means we all need another person in our lives, to, I don’t know, be ourselves, I guess. Feel loved and strong and safe. Like we have what it takes to make it in the world.
I don’t know if I agree. I look around at the people in my life—Jack, who makes fun of me; Maggie, who annoys me and can’t possibly understand me; Mom, who’s too wrapped up in Kyle; Kyle, who wants to take Dad’s place; Sarah, who has cheerleading camp and basketball camp and no time for our summer plans; Eli, who thinks a fake dad is a better dad than a real one; Memaw, who would probably agree with Mom on everything and loves Kyle. Dad, who’s gone.
Sometimes the people in our lives make us feel wobbly-kneed and hot-faced, or they make us second-guess ourselves, or they make us wonder if there is some deep, dark reason people we love keep leaving us.
I feel stronger alone.
THINGS MOM TOLD ME WHEN I SAID I WANTED TO RUN THIS SUMMER
“Run while the sun’s up” (Like I’d want to run in the dark with coyotes)
“Change your route often” (There’s not much choice out in the middle of nowhere)
“Never wear your headphones over both ears” (I like to listen to music, but apparently, I can only do it one ear at a time)
“Pay attention to your surroundings” (Sometimes I’d like to zone out, but no such luck for me!)
“Always be on your guard” (It’s exhausting)
“Things are different for a female, you know” (I’m glad she told me, but I kinda wish I didn’t know)
“It stinks” (Sure does)
“I’m sorry” (It’s not her fault, it’s the world’s fault)
July 4, 2:49 p.m.
Mom had a rare Friday off today. I can’t remember the last time she’s had a holiday that’s also a Friday off. Wal-Mart’s open every holiday, which means someone has to work. Also, two days off in one week? That’s what you call a miracle, if you believe in such things.
She cooked us pancakes, which we haven’t had in ages, and even let us have some of the orange juice Kyle brought over yesterday.
“He doesn’t drink it,” Mom said. Which means he brought it just for us.
I want to reject his bribes—all of them—but I love orange juice. And pizza. And the Rocky Road ice cream he also brought yesterday. (When Mom was asleep last night, I snuck out and got a few spoonfuls, sticking to the sections with marshmallows. I plan to do it again tonight. I’m sure she won’t notice, since she didn’t notice the last time I did it.)
Kyle had other plans today, I guess, because he didn’t come over until the afternoon. (I learned later he was spending the day with his mom. Aw, how sweet. Blech.)
But I have to record what happened before that. I’m still so mad I can hardly think straight.
During breakfast Mom said, “Victoria, I haven’t seen Sarah around here as much. I thought you two would be inseparable this summer.”
She didn’t know I was a little sore about this. Every time I call Sarah’s house, her grandma says she’s either away at another camp, at the mall (she never asks me to go!), or over at Kristy’s house. Kristy’s a new girl who moved here last year. And she’s okay and all, but I can’t help wondering why Sarah wants to hang out with her instead of me, the person who’s been her best friend since kindergarten!
Mom didn’t know any of this backstory, so I tried to make my voice steady and not too loud when I said, “Yeah. She’s been busy.”
Mom has this supernatural power where she can tell if we’re upset by the pitch and volume of our voice. I didn’t feel like explaining why she detected “a little bit of heightened emotion there,” which is what she usually says when she picks up on it.
I don’t think I did a great job of hiding what I was feeling, but Mom DIDN’T EVEN NOTICE!
It shouldn’t have surprised me. Mom’s got Kyle Vision now.
“What’s she doing this summer?” Mom said, scribbling something on her planner.
“Camps,” I said. “And other things.”
“Oh!” Mom snapped her fingers. “That reminds me. Isn’t your first day of twirling camp today?”
First of all, it’s not a real twirling camp. It’s supposed to be at the middle school, not somewhere far away where we have to stay in a dorm for a week. There are six of us on the twirling squad, and one of the girls’ moms is supposed to teach us how to master more advanced twirling techniques and show us some complicated choreography. We’ll learn all the routines for the seventh- and eighth-grade fall football games.
Second of all, I was sure it was next Friday, not today. Who would schedule a twirling camp on the weekend of July 4? Mom didn’t usually get dates wrong, but again. Kyle Vision.
“It’s next Friday,” I said.
Mom leaned over and squinted at her planner. “I have it written down for today,” she said. “I think that’s why I requested the day off.”
No, I thought. You requested the day off because it’s July 4 and you probably have a date with Kyle later.
“Well, you’ll have to request next Friday off,” I said. “Because it’s not today.”
I had way too much attitude in my voice, I know. Even Jack’s eyes got big and round, and he’s usually half-asleep at ten thirty in the morning.
Mom stared at me for so long I thought she might ground me from going to the camp next week. But all she said was, “Maybe we should call someone and ask. Do you have any of the girls’ phone numbers?”
I stuffed a much-too-big piece of pancake in my mouth to discourage me from saying more than, “Nope.”
Did she really think I wouldn’t remember if my twirling camp was scheduled on July 4? That’s a date that sticks in your brain, if you’re an American.
“I might have someone’s number,” Mom said. She was not letting it go. She stood up and flipped to the back of her planner. I guess it’s not just a planner.
I don’t know what made me explode and say, “Jeez, Mom, it’s not today, okay?” I knew I was overreacting even while I was overreacting. I couldn’t talk myself out of it. I picked up my plate with its half-eaten pancake and walked it to the sink (I may have slammed it there) before closing myself in my room.
Mom let it go for an hour or so, but she couldn’t let it go all day. I heard her on the phone talking to someone. I heard her say, “That’s what I thought. Okay! Thank you, Sharon,” and my whole body went magma hot, then hypothermia cold.
I was wrong, wasn’t I? The camp did start today, not next Friday.
I knew before Mom stuck her head around my door and said, “It did start today, Victoria. I knew I’d written down the right date.”
I didn’t apologize or say anything except, “Well, let’s go, then.” I started to get up, but Mom’s voice stopped me.
“I can’t take you now. It’s too late.”
“It’s not too late! It goes until three!” It was only noon. It was twelve thirty, actually—but let’s not get technical. Either way, I’d only missed an hour. And probably some kind of amazing lunch.
“I’ve already made other plans,” Mom said.
“What other plans?”
“With Kyle,” Mom said.
Oh. My. God. KYLE AGAIN?!!
“This is important, Mom!” I’m not proud to admit I was wailing.
“I know it is, sweetie. But you said it wasn’t today and—”
“But you knew it was! You should have called Mrs. Velchek earlier!”
Mom’s eyes got a little stormy at that, but did I care? NO!
“This is not my fault, Victoria,” she said. “You’re thirteen. It’s your responsibility to keep track of important dates.” She started to move away from my doorway with the kind of look that said, I’m sorry, but how will you ever learn the lesson in this if I give you what you want?
Parents are always so concerned with the lessons we’re supposed to learn! Maybe we don’t need to learn a lesson! Maybe we already know! Next time I would keep better track of the dates.
But today I needed to get to that practice. I couldn’t start the camp already behind!
So I launched myself to my feet and said, “Fine. I’ll walk there myself. And back home, too!”
I grabbed my baton and made it all the way out the door before Mom could say anything. I ran straight to the street and didn’t stop. It was a little awkward running with my baton, but I made it a game—five phone-line posts in the right hand, five in the left. That way one hand and arm didn’t get too tired before the other one helped out.
The middle school is eight miles away from my house. Eli and I sometimes ran five miles—what was another three?
Besides, Mom would come get me once she realized I was serious about this. She wouldn’t let me walk all that way on my own.
I started doubting that once I turned off our street and onto the busier, curvy one that led to the school. I slowed down as I approached the first curve. I could still do it—walk some, run some. I felt a little out of breath and overheated, but that was probably just because it was the middle of a July day.
I heard a car coming, and when I looked over my shoulder, there was Mom.
I knew it.
“Get in,” she said. I couldn’t read her eyes—but I was sure they were apologizing.
I got in the car, trying not to smile.
Mom didn’t keep going toward the school, though. She made a U-turn in the middle of the road (!) and erased all the progress I’d made.
“What are you doing?” I said. (I’m pretty sure it qualified as a shriek.)
“Taking you home,” Mom said.
“I was walking to twirling camp!”
“I’m not letting you walk on this road,” Mom said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Then take me!”
Mom pressed her lips together. I could almost hear her saying, There’s a lesson in this, Victoria. She didn’t say anything the two minutes back home.
I sat in the car a long time, until Kyle drove up in his stupid truck and carried another stupid box that wouldn’t fit in our stupid house. I could imagine them talking about me inside. (Kyle: “What’s Victoria doing in the car?” Mom: “Pouting.”) I couldn’t stand to think about it. It made me feel like I was made of fire, like I could burn down everything just by reaching out and touching it.
I guess I didn’t expect to feel so mad at Mom—not just for not taking me to the twirling camp today, but for… everything. She’s letting Kyle take our place in her heart. I’ve heard all about stepparents—they seem nice, until they start living with you. They’re never good. They resent you because you belong to a life that didn’t include them. They see you as intruders. They turn the hearts of parents against kids.
I just want things to go back to the way they used to be: Jack, Maggie, me, and Mom.
And the shadow of Dad, on his way back home.
July 4, 11:53 p.m.
I forgot Memaw was coming today. I was out practicing my twirling when she drove up, beeping her horn. I wish she’d gotten here three hours earlier! I bet she would have taken me to the school when Mom wouldn’t.
Jack and I unloaded Memaw’s car. There wasn’t much. She brings more grocery bags than personal bags.
We set everything on the table. Memaw looked at it all and said, “Oh, I think there’s one more. In the back seat.”
Mom rolled her eyes.
She doesn’t usually approve of what Memaw brings. She says it’s all a bunch of junk. And it’s true that the cream horns and Oreos and Little Debbie cakes and mini fried pies are full of sugar and the kettle-cooked chips are full of grease and fat. But it’s not like we eat that stuff all the time. Mom doesn’t even buy it.
Sometimes there are extras in the grocery bags—Mad Libs, crossword puzzle collections she picks up in the grocery store line (she already has a million), word searches, and puzzle books.
Jack and I raced outside, trying to beat each other to Memaw’s car. There were two bags. Jack grabbed both, but I tore one from his hand, ripping the handle. “Good luck carrying it now,” Jack said.
It wasn’t that hard, although it was full of shells and cheese boxes (my favorite!), strawberry Pop-Tarts, and a couple of boxes of apple cinnamon oatmeal, which made it a little shifty and unstable.
Jack got the good bag, so I raced him back to the front door. He let the screen door slam in my face, like the gentleman he is, so I had to balance all the wobbly boxes on my arms while I peeled the screen door open with a finger, wide enough to let my hips do the rest of the work.
“You don’t really have to bring us groceries,” Mom was saying when I walked through the door.
“I know I don’t,” Memaw said, and that was all. She didn’t say anything about how she knows Mom needs extra groceries sometimes or that it’s what moms do—help. (I wish she’d said that; maybe it would’ve made Mom feel bad for not helping me by taking me to twirling camp.) Her eyes just got a little shiny and she turned to me. “Saw you twirling out there,” she said. “You’ve gotten good.”
“I would’ve gotten better if Mom had taken me to my twirling camp today,” I said. I’ll admit: I was trying to gain some sympathy points from Memaw. “I figured I should practice since I missed the first day.”
“Why’d you miss the first day?” Memaw said.
I thought about saying, “Because Mom wouldn’t take me,” but I knew that would get Mom started about taking responsibility and not blaming other people for things, so I said, “I forgot about it.”
“Well, I’m sure it will be all right,” Memaw said. She looked from Mom to me and back again.
Mom didn’t say anything.
But later Mom cornered me in my room, while Maggie was brushing her teeth and we were all about to head out to the porch, where we’d watch the fireworks show the city puts on at the lake. We can see it from here, and Mom prefers to stay at home instead of “battling all the traffic” to get a spot at the lake.
“That was a very mature thing for you to do, Victoria,” Mom said.
“What?” I knew what she was talking about, but I wanted to hear her say it.
“Accepting responsibility for your mistake.” She tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. “We’ll get you there on time tomorrow.”
I nodded. Maggie came thumping into the room and Mom backed away, and the moment was over. Maggie launched herself toward Mom, and Mom kissed her forehead. I watched them until they both moved toward the doorway. I followed them into the kitchen.
The fireworks show lasted about half an hour. It wasn’t quite as cool as I remember. I wasn’t sure if it’s because I’m thirteen now or if it’s because Kyle was here this year, watching and laughing and talking.
Kyle left after the show. We all stood watching him drive away, for reasons I’ll never know. Maggie even waved.
We shuffled back into the house. Memaw headed for the living room, and Mom turned toward her room.
“Don’t forget we’re going to see a movie tomorrow, after your camp,” Mom said to me. “So don’t stay up too late.”
“I won’t.”
Mom gave me one of those looks like she didn’t quite believe me.
We’re doing another one of her activities with Kyle, only this time Memaw will be there (and it’ll be indoors and air-conditioned) and maybe…
“Hey, Mom?” I said.
Mom turned back, her eyes looking so tired I felt bad for keeping her from her bed even a second longer.
I thought about just saying, I love you or something sweet, but I said, “Can I bring someone?”
“To the movies?”
“Yeah.”
Mom folded her arms across her chest. “It’s not that boy from down the road, is it?” she said. My face turned so hot I thought I might spontaneously combust. “Jack says you’ve been—”
“What? NO!” I completely interrupted her, but I didn’t feel bad at all. I wasn’t even thinking about Eli! I was thinking about my best friend. “Sarah,” I said.
Mom’s shoulders relaxed a little. She tilted her head and said, “Yeah. I think it would be okay to invite Sarah. We can drop her home after the movie.”
